after blue day

night rises

from dark soil

slowly filling

the space between

slender blades

spreading ink

over windows,

eaves, still trees

until the earth

becomes one

with the
stars.

(10 May 2016)

Baptism

Rain falls
peaceful, unceasing
filling brimful
the bright day.

Liquid shimmer
glowing ocean
softly silting soil
like love
filling full an empty soul,

O cleanse me
as, trembling,
sinful, I walk into
your sacred font.

View from Sutro

"It is God’s love that speaks to me in the birds and streams but also behind the clamor of the city." Thomas Merton

Seen from golden heights

the tangled city

squares up.

Straight streets,

rigid veins

spurt quicksilver

past towers

of fog.

It throbs.

Hearts, minds,

sing passion

joy, lust,  

boredom.

A dying man

clinging to desperate sheets,

passing;

An infant crying

drawing raw air,

beginning.

It’s alive,

greater

than its sum.

See how it beats

in the cool Pacific sun?

St. Peter Addressing the Begger

Look up at me, turn

your wide eyes,

expectant, wondering,

hopeful, and see

what I can give.

Do you want a coin? Some-

thing good to eat? Do

you want a little

kindness?

I have none of these

to give you

but the kindness

and the secret of

the seeds of healing

flowing all around you

spring breeze,

swirling gentle desire,

blessing your torn lungs, infusing

your tainted blood, singing

sweetly your freedom!

In His name, then, I command you

to rise and take your place

beside me, and enter into

His holy temple!

(14 April 2013)

My Mother's Gift

Photo: Brian Federle

“It is our emptiness in the presence of the abyss of His reality, our silence in the presence of His infinitely rich silence, our joy in the bosom of the serene darkness in which His light holds us absorbed, it is all this that praises Him.”   Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation. (for Brian)

You visited me near dawn. 

I saw you
and felt your joy
and heard your voice,
like a memory of waking to bird-song
on a warm, Ohio summer's morning -

you used to sing "rise and shine!"
bringing me bleary-eyed, bounding
into my childhood's
glowing day.

And last night
I saw you again.

I love my dreams about you.
You sweep away
all fear
with your calm voice.

But always after,
when I wake up,
you are gone,
and I face another indifferent day
in this agnostic world.

But this time was different!
"You are glowing!" I said
from the deep mist of my sleep,

"It is because 
He Is."

And though I could not see
what you ceaselessly see,
I gazed upon the 
overwhelming light
enfolding you,
and I tried
to find its source
but could only feel
its sudden glory...
its unremitting,
warm embrace
of unconditional
love.

I did not want to wake...
I wanted to stay with you,
in the warmth
of this revelation,

but of course,
I returned to the morning
to the pale sun,
to the granite and steel world,
to the darkness of the mirror,
to life,

and yet,
your  gift remains
in the glow of faith
beyond 
my failing sight.




(10 Jan 2011; 6 Dec. 2016: 26 April 2017)

Pietà

Into the church

we few mourners gather

close to the small table

filled with a photo 

of a smiling

young man,

a single candle,

and a golden cube.

I did not know him

whose ashes

now lay within 

that dark space.

Old friends, his parents, 

and so we came

to keep them company.

We pray the sacred

texts, sing holy 

mass to send 

his lingering soul

sweeping home

to Heaven,

but his mother weeps 

in the silent repose

of ancient pain.

On the Feast of St. Catherine

The poet on the radio

earnestly read her expert lines

about the sad state

of the world,

the failure

of governments,

churches,

parents,

lovers,

the certain decline of

the cosmos,

the end of the world.

Her lines were exquisitely made,

and I listened with admiration and envy

to perfect rhymes, subtle

metaphor, nuanced images

until I felt both elation and

despair.

Then I looked around me,

to the riot of life in

my backyard,

the shrill ecstasy of birds

the shout of the rose.

My children gathered today

for a Sunday feast, full of

laughter and my corny jokes.

Maybe the poet didn’t have a backyard,

could gazed only on bleak

city walls; maybe her lover

walked out (or should have) or

her children never call.

I worry about the poor;

whenever a grimy hand out-

stretches, I see the pierced hand of Christ,

offering me gifts, pearls of great price!

(29 April 2012)

Author's Comments:

 I'm feeling guilty about dissing Adrienne Rich here... she really is a marvelous poet.  If you'd like to explore her more, try this link:   http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/adrienne-rich

Brian's Psalm

In winter's stark dawning 

in cold fog encased,

your warmth I'm discerning

though night will not fade, 

for unwilling is morning 

it lurks in sore limbs,

yet your song is arising 

and I know that you'll send

to my darkest night-hour 

new light to set me free

and your song I'll be singing

in the glow of the east!

Wisdom

Photo by Brian Federle, Hawaii, 2016.

"I beside him as his craftsman, and I was his delight day by day,
playing before him all the while,playing on the surface of his earth;
and I found delight in the human race" Proverbs 8:22-31

Dark mountains rise

to meet the sun.

Night drops

to the western sea.

Skyward

lifting joy to heaven

as dark waves clash

washing clean the past —

all pain subsides,
fulfilled.