Hope at Sunset

Photo: Brian Federle, Oregon, 2014


Across the fading valley

The silver bay shines,

effulgent edge

under twilight hills.

Confined

flat waters

cut a thin line

beneath dark heights.

Saw-toothed ridges

rip thin clouds

to ragged shreds —

the plunging sun ignites

the resplendent light

of love

for this sad, winter world. 

A Father's Lament

Photo Brian Federle, Hawaii, 2016

Spring fills this dry land

With life, yet

I cannot see your face

or embrace you with a father’s love

as I did when last you filled our lives

with your easy laughter

and beautiful eyes.

Shall I speak to you, tell  how

small birds gather

in the budding apple tree

hungry no more,

filled with joy?

I cry out to you

and the startled birds

fall into silence,

Let me tell you, then,

Of my new life without you.

Deep in my side I feel endless pain

where my heart once beat;

now I merely breathe

emptiness.

My son, oh, where have you gone?

Call to me from the brilliant heights,

for deep in darkness I lie

crying to see you just

one more

time.

(for Brian Federle, 3/4/86 - 3/25/17)

prayer

Photo Brian Federle: Morning, Washington State, Aug. 2014


deep in my center

lies the
word.

it resonates
softly, it
whispers
in my ear.

its lover,
silence,
embraces
the word
like thick mist
caressing
golden
coastal slopes.

but this crude song is
a metaphor,
an anxious gong,
a poor imitation,
a mockingbird.

patiently,
the word
resists
all explanation.

it just simply
is.

(3 Sept. 2010)

Evening Prayer

Wind stirs in expectation,
softly strokes my face.

The March sun reassures,
warms my pale flesh
through layers of thick sweater
and winter coat.

Under indigo hills
new grass flows,
yellow and green,

as past distant ranges,
to the sky-bright, rounded sea
it flees and sends
a gift of clouds,
aflame
in glory.

Peace to the grass of the fields!
Peace
to dark hills and drifting clouds,
and to the sacrificial sun
peace!

(21 March 2014)

Transfiguration

This stained glass window can be seen inside of 

St. Peter the Apostle Church, 179 Baldwin Road, 

Parsippany, NJ, USA. 

Website: www.saintpetertheapostle.org/

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From this holy height,  

I gaze into
my Father’s eyes.

His fire scorches

my trembling flesh,

and fills my soul

with sacred breath.

In joyful flames

I suddenly see

I never was

what I appeared to be.

(25 February 2013)

The Goodness of March

Photo: S. Federle, Little Pink

The goodness of March,

rain, strong winds,

buds swelling —

the everyday

resurrection.

The tree

we planted last year

on the first anniversary

of your passing

is blooming,

its small, pink bursts

quietly exploding

in the green glow

after the storm.  

I smile to see it —

thin, wavering limbs

climbing to the sky, defiant

in the March wind.

Are you smiling too?