The Elders Are Confused

You call us unruly children,

but you confuse us!

First, your cousin came,

eating insects, drinking honey,

preaching re-thinking,

shoving stubborn heads

under cold Jordan's

waves.

Clearly possessed!

Then along you came

laughing, eating, drinking,

with sinners consorting,

singing songs of paradise
to prostitutes.

So what's it to be?

Mourning

to John's dirge?

or dancing

to God's piper?


****
ref: Mt 11:16-19

(8 Dec 2011)

School-children in the Courtyard

Like red flowers they sit

awash in the sounds of the day

the frantic machinery of the garden,

saws, growling blades leveling

rebellious weeds.

In the blue breeze,

they nod.

the ascendant sun,

sovereign of the living afternoon,

showers them

with a solar embrace

and gently rocks them

all off to sleep.

Fill Your Life with Bright Morning

Fill your life with bright morning,

breathe deeply the wave-kissed breeze

and run until you no longer touch the earth.

Pay no attention to the darkness that lurks

just beneath your feet, the swirling vortex

pulling you down, drawing your singing blood

into the unknown land.  If you hear grieve

the morning dove, say it’s not for you he sings;

oh, fill your lungs with the pure,

cool hope of spring!

(23 March 2015)

Capitol Corridor

The Capitol Corridor moves heavily through the dark,

crossing the thinly guarded streets, blaring, berating

impatient drivers waiting for flashing poles, sparking

their rage as they glare at watches. The ground shakes,

rolling earthquake, Cyclop's eye, headlight throbbing, crushing

bright straight rails, pounding diesel relentlessly hauling

into no-man's land, receding rails guarded only by brush

and grassy grade and two white wooden crosses, with a basketball

and a balloon for the lost children; caught in the sweep of flashing lights,

they first see the flash, then feel pain, and then blackness swallows them whole,

the suicide, the missed warning, the lost opportunity, the crying

mother searching deserted tracks. But tonight nobody's here, no

despairing child, drifting, desultory, home no longer an option; and so

undeterred, the silver and blue train rolls heavily on to Sacramento.

(Posted 12th May 2010 by Steven Federle)

Morning

light, liquid, over-

flowing bright leaf, washing clean

night’s graven, dull stain.

Nightfall

the darkness rises

over low roofs

past the weak glow

of my window -

through rough fences

into trees it drifts

black space filling the holes

between roses.

(17 March 2015)

Tree and Cloud

Photo; Tree and Cloud by David Saltaire

Upward strains brittle
limbs, arid tree lifts grey age
drifts down love’s pure grace.

(9 Aug 2012)