After Viewing Helnwein's Epiphany II

Enraptured

mouths agape,
they gaze.       

They don’t see her ivory breasts.

Gleaming virginity

eludes Aryan dreams

as she presents them with their

Destiny.

With shadowed arm,

in the harsh glow of

klieg,

he teaches them to 

submit.

They cannot know

how quickly falls

night's

blackest pall.

(14 July 2014)

____
Image: Gottfried Helnwein, Epiphany II, deYoung Museum, San Francisco

Scrubbed Clean

scrubbed clean,

the blue sky

scrapes

black space

and wind fills my face,

raises me to heights

beyond fear, beyond

siren-calls

at crossings

unstoppable

as ancient trains glide,

inexorably

grinding

fate;

but higher I’ll fly,

beyond the stench of ruin.

foul grief cannot follow

to where I’ll go, lifted

by the constant,

immaculate

wind.

Visitation

through hospital corridors

past darkly soiled sheets

through bloody, cold doors

where the comatose sleep

to your death-bed, afraid,

where you waited for me...

...but this time was different;

your eyes understood,

you said slowly, gently

“God is so good!”

Seaward

Photograph: view Golden Gate Bridge from the galley of The Hawaiian Chieftain. S. Federle

"Grace does not destroy nature, but elevates it and consecrates it to God." Thomas Merton

Seaward waits, poised,
gently rising and falling,
by the concrete pier
ready for our cruise;
the polished bowsprite,
jutting in defiance,
fills my heart 
with an undefined dread.

Underway at last on the calm Sausalito channel
we strike sail, ropes winching
mainsail tight, foresail stretched
catching breezes pushing up
from the foggy Golden Gate

but I see only
watery desolation:
no familiar, solid road
no bright guiding line,
no golden prize
as we speed across
the dark, green desert.

The wind, no longer a breeze,
becomes a cold gale, flailing our faces,
making us hurry into windbreakers and hoods,
and when I turn my tingling cheeks
towards the shrouded city, suddenly
out far and in deep, I see

pelicans soaring and plunging to the kill,
ducks skimming low over like fighter squadrons,
and sea-lions spying on us at water level,
their dog-sly eyes following our every move.

Warfare fills this place
as species battle species, and
Darwin writes all the rules.

On this voyage of discovery
we are like school-children gaping in wonder
at colorful plastic buckets of bay water
revealing sea-worms, and spider-crabs,
preying on tiny krill delicately inching
over fronds of firm sea lettuce.

So the bay is not a desert;
life pours over it,
on it, and under it,
claiming at every level
of this moist, roiling world
its birthright,

and we are unwitting participants in this struggle
tossed high and low in our powerful, winged schooner,
gliding lightly, scooning swiftly on our voyage
through turbid, turbulent waters,
through the violent,
living bay.

(22 July 2010)

Seaward sailing under Golden Gate Bridge

The 1%

blaring train

declaring right-

of-way,

elephantine, cyclopean, 

crushing our lives

with money,

bloody truth

strangling the sighs 

of the repossessed  

as wall street swells

with the cries of

the dispossessed.

Insurgent

Image: "Angel in the Sun" Roy Hawkins Jr.

“Only mercy can liberate us from the madness of our determination to be consistent - from the awful pattern of lusts, greeds, angers and hatreds which mix us up together like a mass of dough and thrust us all together into the oven.” Thomas Merton, Raids on the Unspeakable

Thin lines restrain;

sameness

my breath contains,

till I can no longer feel

Your perfect pain!

Make me

a silent ghost -

tears in the night

ache in their souls,

their dream of fright.

Yes! make me Your angel

of the seven plagues;

with Your love

We’ll destroy bland fate.

Mystic

Photo: into the Rainy Night, Ryan Lynham

wind,

whispering trees

clouds, stars

radiant,

unseen

and again, ever-

moving into darkness

pale riders on

night’s mystic train

night, to day,

to winter, to spring

summer’s

heat arises,

unforeseen,

as tender leaves breathe

as taps the rain,

as life remains.

Step of Eternity

But love laughs at the end of the world

because love is the step of eternity. Thomas Merton

Look into my eyes

and see me smile,

hear my sighs turn to

laughter.

Life’s a comedy,

a melo-

drama

filled with

wrong turns,

missed cues,

sudden revisions

and tearful

reconciliations.

Summer

seems endless, and

the heat wilts even

the sleekest, young runners;

but on paths by cool streams,

by deeper waters we walk

as the sun slides through

night’s ancient gate.

To the cobalt sea

we gaze,

to the fiery moon;

For night steps gently, and

sleep will follow soon.

(1 May 2012)

Decline of Day

Gentle breeze,

swaying leaves 

golden-green.

Imperfect sphere

sliding through day’s

perfect, blue air.

Ascends the moon

stark and silver

much too soon.

Clarity

Brian Jones, "Raking Leaves"  Painting, Michael Gibson Gallery, London.

Yesterday

the fog bound-up the dying world

in white gauze,

but the autumn sun shred the fog,

would not permit

white lies,

inconsequential slips

to ease the passionate leaves'

passage into night.

Righteous winds ripped

the despairing leaves 

and sent them twisting joyfully

high over my house,

to the yard 

several over.

I got my neighbor's leaves

so it all 

worked out

in the end.

How Shall I Remember You?

How shall I remember you
searching memory’s dark, dry rooms?

Under high ceilings and dim attic lamps
I only hear echoes of my childhood’s lost past.

You’re calling me outside, past the dark, screen door
onto the back porch, to watch the gathering evening storm,

and there I see the willow tree dancing in the wind
its long green leaves thrashing, its supple branches bend

when following its sure, straight path, the lightning struck it down
and, like all things ultimately, smashed it dying into the ground.

Although I’ve searched these dry, long years after both of you had died,
my tears are done, I see the sun, and my flashing anger is now satisfied.

empty

empty

under the stream

inhaling thick

liquid

panic

I reach above

to where gloom

dissolves to

shimmering sun.

(29 Jan 2014)

Winter Morning

You raged all night,
urging black clouds
to mutinous thunder.

What wind blows from
such mighty lungs
that heaven itself
bends to the blast?

In sleep's confusion
I heard you
calling me
out of the dark,
into winter’s
dim light

where trees rise
still and bare
into the sepia air

and small birds
search
the desolate earth. 

(21 Dec. 2010)

Angels

Àngel duent-se una dona, Cementiri Poble Nou, Barcelona

Photo by David Chacobo on Flickr

Angels rise to pure atmosphere

and call us to share

their freedom.

Hear how they sing

living spring

into our wintered world!

At last we rise

redeemed

to silver souls

in golden

light.

(16 Feb 2011)