Redwoods

Photo: "Redwoods" by Sonja Bingen

dark 

shafts 

converging

to blue space, 

confining,massively 

rising beyond reach, past 

simple comprehension, they 

shelter or imprison, lift me up

point the way

to escape, to

the thin 

edge of

faith.

This Rising

I wanted to be the thundercloud

pounding fury in electric flashes,

but impatiently the earth pulled me down,

and trapped me, like silent, winter tule fog,

pausing over dark, delta waters

until I rose over the darkening valley

and observed the crescent moon

ascending over seaward hills,

effervescent disc

dissolving into death,

while radiant, scimitar edge,

rent the black night.

but now, in the pure air at last,

just beneath the black vacuum of my limit,

I discern the elevated host,

this consecrated, bloody body,

in the agony of redemption,

in the glory of this perfect moment,

this nexus of heaven and earth,

this rising.

Brother Sun

Through soft summer grass,

oh, hear the breeze

whisper the past

and what’s yet to be.

Oh, wanderer through

soft singing leaves,

let brother sun

ignite your bright dreams!

French Park Creek

Deep in the woods

down the steep trench

we call to each other -

to the creek we descend

through green shadows rushing

over shallow, smooth stones,

to deeper, dark  pools

where love lies, alone.  

Hand in warm hand

we run, holding tight

and laughing we fall

to our own secret night.

Nearly Ripe

Nearly ripe, these green apples
hang heavy
from our bursting tree,
the warm evening sun
glinting through swaying branches.

They will be ready
in about a week.

Then I’ll slice them into sweet crescents
and their taste will dance upon your tongue
with all the secrets our tree has been keeping,
its living leaves,
its smooth, grey bark,
its very roots
grasping deep
into our dark soil,

and these glowing, green apples
I will make bare and white and moist
a love offering like perfect wine,
and your taste will delight
in the sweet, green love
of the earth.

Rough Sailing

Photo: Angel Island, Steven Federle

deck rising,
waves tossing
taut life-
lines, cold-
sailing, salt-
air, dark water,
wrenched
by gale, by moon,
by jealous
core
of earth,

but hold firm
flex legs to keep
your balance
your next
breath
exhales life
like wind
roaring with
ex-
hilara-
tion.

Holy Mountain

For God is everywhere. His truth and His love pervade all things as the light and the heat of the sun pervade our atmosphere. Thomas Merton

From this small mountain

folded valleys glide

to shining waters.

Flowing like quicksilver,

dark rivers run free

to the sun-drenched sea.

This is your holy mountain.

I seek your gentle voice

where the small birds rest

on thin branches.

See how their breath

arouses the storm?

Fluttering wings

can make shudder the world,

to passion stir vast

twisting winds.

Though I am small

and dying,

make of me

a pillar of fire,

and I’ll descend from these heights

to flood the dark valleys

with your living light.

Wide Iris

Sun glares,

summer simmers, flares

sears the savage sky.

I scowl

contort my taut brow

to block the cutting light

from my too-open sight.

Cathartes Aura

Walking to my car 
on a warm afternoon
up on the high hillside lot
close to the cliff drop,

I see rising beneath me
the bird,
wings spreading six feet,
head naked and red as blood,
white beak hooking invisible winds
to fill the creamy hollow of under-feather,

lifting on thermals
before my eyes,

when two small blackbirds
dive from unseen heights
and viciously caw as they peck
the black back.

Top guns, fighter aces;
these lords of the open sky
sharply turn as the heavy buzzard wheels
through dark pines.

I clutch my keys
and stay to watch the fight.

I want to see how, with curling feathers
and piercing rage
these small beasts
protect their living nest. 

July Morning

sun shifts my shade

to the left, to the back

of my small

circle.

a distant jet

rises to pure blue.

hear its roar diminish

from proud power

to whisper

to nothing.

silently

I obey

the sun.

Journey

“Eternity is in the present. Eternity is in the palm of the hand. Eternity is a seed of fire, whose sudden roots break barriers that keep my heart from being an abyss.”  Thomas Merton


Beneath me lies Denver,
Thrall of stasis,
Tenuous lines
Fading to western chaos –
A glint of light, then darkness

Dark mountains leap up at me
Then fall back silently Into
stony blue gorges.

High clouds brush my wings.
I have captured the sun!
Glittering, I release it.

Listen to the Song

“We must learn to respond not to this or that syllable, but to the whole song.
Thomas Merton, Faith and Violence


Light grows
as vowels flow
from trembling throats;

crystal night shatters
their piercing notes.

Dry Lake

Photo Dry Lake by David Saltaire


Rain lurks 

behind clouds 

too thin 

to send drops,

puddles, 
surging waves.

 flash floods go north, 

to green Seattle, 

easy landfall, 

where no resistance is 

 ever given by 

sandy bottom or 

rocky shore.

There the ancient

desert lies

beneath tons 

of breathless redwood,

dreaming of hot, 

days, dry

winds.

Oh Emerald City, 

so unaware of the pain

and joy of drought, 

endless blue days 

of aching sky,

summer's 

harsh eye 

in January

glaring

as slim clouds 

rush by

hopeful 

of a shower, 

only to evaporate 

to dusty twisters.