Poems by Steven Federle

Cain

2012-02-21T20:52:00.001-08:00

Thedelicate action of grace in the soul is profoundly disturbed by all humanviolence. Passion, when it is inordinate, does violence to the spirit and itsmost dangerous violence is that in which we seem to find peace. Violence is notcompletely fatal until it ceases to disturb us. Thomas Merton. Thoughts in Solitude.

Like a delicate wind

your grace shaped myinfant soul

filled my emptiness

with angelic form

and I was beautiful

and good

until, jealous for yourlove,

I slew my brother.

Now I fear the abyss

that opens beneath me

the grave

of my sin-withered soul.

To you I pray

forgive me! bring meback

from the numbing peace

of careless, empty

days.

Joshua Tree

2012-02-19T22:34:00.000-08:00

As surely as God is trustworthy,

His clouds will rise in the desert sky

pillaring, muttering thunder

while close by, hot winds

blast the manzanita,

throw bright mica

at slick rock walls,

and bend low

the Joshua tree

with His mighty

breath.

We thought that all was lost,

that God, once denied,

would refuse to hear

our thirsty prayer;

but know you this:

His nature

is all

Yes.

***************

AN: Ref. Second Corinthians 1:18-19

Image: http://jimsmartphotography.com/?attachment_id=669

Hear my love's breath

2012-02-18T21:24:00.001-08:00

I hear my love's breath!

Oh, where should I stay?

Whispering fear

to the stale,

withered day?

I feel her breath, moist

on my bleak, barren soul.

She warms my heart,

brings me out of the cold.

Chiron

2012-02-16T18:58:00.000-08:00

Chiron and the boy Achilles, Roman fresco Pompeii
C1st A.D., Archaeological Museum of Naples

Soon night will tie a knot
through the silky cord of time;
we'll gaze through gauzy windows
as to nothing day subsides,

as fly avenging furies
through cimmerian skies,
Chiron will teach us all
the truth in all our lies.

--------------------------------------

Author's note: KHEIRON (or Chiron) was the eldest and wisest of the Centaurs, a tribe of half-horse men. But unlike the rest of this tribe he was an immortal god. He was a great teacher who mentored many of the great heroes of myth including Jason, Peleus, and Akhilleus. Eventually, however, he passed away from the earth, after accidentally being wounded by Herakles with an arrow coated in Hydra-venom. The wound was incurable, and unbearably painful, so Kheiron voluntarily relinquished his immortality and died. However, instead of being consigned to Haides, he was given a place amongst the stars by Zeus as the constellation Saggitarius or Centaurus. (http://www.theoi.com/Georgikos/KentaurosKheiron.html)

Rising Sun

2012-02-15T20:53:00.000-08:00

rising sun

floods the highway

washes with gold

my eyes

blind, peering

waiting

for an opening

to go.

Ash Wednesday

2012-02-14T06:00:00.000-08:00

Earth tilts and

winter passes.

Now is the time

for ashes.

Searing songs

cremate the pain.

Wavering palms

incinerate.

From ash to ash

to God we call.

From dust to dust

we rise and fall,

and reaching high

beyond our grasp

our souls ascend

to brighter paths.

sometimes in the night

2012-02-13T20:51:00.000-08:00

"Love is the revelation of our deepest personal meaning, value and identity. But this revelation remains impossible as long as we are the prisoners of our own egoism. I cannot find myself in myself, but only in another."

Thomas Merton. Love and Living.

sometimes

in the night

I fight the

deepening shadows

of sleep disturbed

by fearful stirrings,

silent watchers

standing, waiting

as I fall

into

nothing...

but when I awake

and turn to you

I feel your breath

and finding myself anew

again

I begin

to live.

Suisunes Woman

2012-02-12T20:53:00.002-08:00

when waters were clear

and elk foraged, fearless on

high bluffs, she waited

for her husband

flowing swiftly

with catch of salmon

he rode the western wind

as her eyes guided him

while high above

gathered the feathery

souls of the old ones,

returned from sea,

honored guests,

to the evening feast.

Wooden Valley

2012-02-11T22:00:00.001-08:00

Wooden Valley

leans into spring,

worn blue with time,

rises to age-

less azure skies.

See the bold mustard

straight rows defy

winter's dark glow

light with cold fire.

Breaking Silence

2012-02-10T19:00:00.000-08:00

It is not speaking that breaks our silence,

but the anxiety to be heard. Thomas Merton

In chilled twilight swells

the chorus overwhelming

echoing passion,

half of water, half

of leafy bank, the night they

fill with lusty will,

persistent, straining

these marshland poets converge,

anxious to be heard.

Redwoods

2012-02-09T18:55:00.000-08:00

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.

Modern Parable

2012-02-08T21:04:00.000-08:00

The evil one

believes that he alone

lives in paradise.

He sees his gold and marble halls

fat tables groaning under

feasts unshared,

worships the idol

in the mirror

and he smiles;

whereas the saint

labors in hot vineyards,

wipes brows burned by

the risen sun,

creases the fertile earth

and with wrinkled hands

fills the bowls

of the poor,

and God smiles.

Night Burial in Homs

2012-02-06T22:29:00.000-08:00

She was just eight years old,

thin wisp in a canvas shroud,

easy to carry in the night

as he slipped by snipers

hurried through

the killing lanes

to the grave,

scrapped gravel

over her head

and paused to offer

her innocent soul

to Allah,

when shots snapped,

and he fell.

Now father and daughter

together lay, no longer

afraid.

Хамза аль-Хатиб

2012-02-06T21:39:00.000-08:00

Хамза аль-Хатиб,
мило улыбнулась.

Неужели он думает о школе
и футбол, и друзья
ожидания, чтобы играть
, когда они поймали его,

примерно буксируемых его в свой белый фургон
взял его на своем участке, и потребовал
исповедь
его блестящие слезы,
от его нежной покраснел
с смятения и страха?

Они сделают из него
например
о том, что происходит с теми,
кто стремится к счастью
в Сирии Асада.

Но вы, плач родителей,
Вы трубки нам ваше пытали ребенка
искаженное лицо, зияющие грудь
рваные оружия, опозорившейся половых органов.

Показать нам, как
Асад разрушает свое будущее.

О родители Сирии, встань
и отправить Асад
в съеживаются от страха перед воротами небес

как Аллах
осторожно колыбели
ваш убиты
детей.

Kentucky

2012-02-05T22:00:00.000-08:00

Summer steam

washes us clean

like a warm bath

as we wade through young fields,

new corn waist high

to where blue sky

meets the rustling green sea.

We navigate by dead-

reckoning to the red barn.

Wary of snakes,

with flailing stick you flush

out the tall, quick hares.

Feathers flashing, quail

burst heavenward at

our clumsy approach,

but in the dark barn

we find

forgiveness.

God's own light streams down

into fragrant stalls

as their wise eyes

regard us.

We reach out to touch.

They nod,

first in warning,

then with bright approval.

Night Train

2012-02-05T18:42:00.000-08:00

The urgent night train,
rushing quite near
calling me, calling me
come away from there.

Listen! the whispering wheels
rumble on;
not a moment to lose,
but in a moment
long gone.

Despairing,
in the dark night I hear
a distant train calling
in another man’s ear,

and wondering
how opportunity’s lost
I feel in the wind
my fear’s cold cost.

Crows in Fog

2012-02-05T18:39:00.000-08:00

Shrouded limbs
hang high
over the rising red church.

Breathless,
the muted world
waits
in morning's
white core.

That's when crows
black shadows
on thin branches,

silently wait
high above
the empty schoolyard

for children's shrill calls
to begin another
innocent day.

After the Storm

2012-02-05T18:35:00.000-08:00

Light surging down
glistening lanes

gleaming torrents
consuming the rain

the blazing sun
floods the damp valley floor

from somber penumbra
the bright star breaks forth

radiance shatters
the storm’s dark pall

The sun drowns dull night
In its flashing flood-tide.

Advice to Candidates

2012-02-05T12:11:00.000-08:00

Everyone wants to

be heard! Speak louder than the

rest, fill raucous rooms

with your rancorous

thunder, flail all resistance

to the ground. Your lies

will win the night; but

in the clear morning, be still.

Listen as small birds

rest lightly on sway-

ing branches. With piercing song

they paint a new day.

Close By

2012-02-02T18:51:00.004-08:00

close by,

in this empty room

I feel air lightly cross my lips,

rush to rising lungs,

mix with surging blood

and lengthen my life

by another breath.

Then I know how thin

the line between am

and has been.

But watching the sun decline

through windows of time

my wonder rises

as stars fill my widening sight

and I see how it will be

in eternity.

First Flight

2012-02-02T18:09:00.000-08:00

The young bird hops,

into my open garage.

Head hunched

it studies the veined floor

like a map; lost traveler

cast low from

wooded heights,

and lifts to its mother

a raspy cry.

Too early from the nest

fearful of the sky,

unsure of tender wings,

not able to fly,

it’s helpless.

I want to hold it,

feel its heart

tremble in my gentle hands

return it

to shredded nest,

or,

like a prayer,

cast it high to heaven

and watch it fly

or fall,

but I do nothing

when echoing its mother’s call

the youngster stumbles out the door

and into the still street -

Breathless,

I watch mother bird

diving near

as the fledgling

rises

into familiar air.

You Speak

2012-02-02T05:47:00.001-08:00

"I am myself a word spoken by God. Can God speak a word
that does not have any meaning?" Thomas Merton

You speak

and I breath the air

that you imagine,

smile, and like the calling bird,

I rise to the sun!

But when my selfish soul

swells with self-

sent hell

you wake me,

and expel me

from my troubled sleep.

Oh, I yearn for that day

when forgiven and

by your love

subsumed,

I'll steadfastly abide

in your constant light.

The Sadness of Holy Saturday

2012-01-30T22:10:00.001-08:00

Through the moonless night

clouds choke receding light

and the world descends

into darkness.

Where are you

as winter's chill pierces my hands?

Oh, where have you gone?

Do you not care that I decay

without your gentle breath,

that without your light

I wane like the failing sun?

Why have you abandoned me?

Through my tears I see

two millenia of agony,

the six million slain,

all the fallen generations

newly free, heavy nails

at last released.

The Mute Pain of Trees

2012-01-29T22:37:00.000-08:00

Cezanne’s rough, jutting trees
slashing the blotted sky,
at the dark bridge at Mainte,
stone arches stoically standing
as scarred trees hang low,
over the still, black Seine;

while in the Grove of Heroes
an ancient redwood

twisted trunk,
tense muscles,
aching, rising,
spiraling past scars,
past clean cuts of
amputated branches,
beyond the tops
of lesser trees,
all pain forgotten,

spreads its green crown
and shoves the blue July sky
a little higher.

Hamad al-Khatib

2012-01-29T10:26:00.000-08:00

Hamza al-Khatib,

smiled sweetly.

Was he thinking of school

and soccer, or friends

waiting to play

when they caught him,

roughly hauled him into their white van

took him to their station, and demanded

confession

from his glistening tears,

from his tender face flushed

with confusion and fear?

They would make of him

an example

of what happens to those

who pursue happiness

in Assad’s Syria.

But you, weeping parents,

you-tube us your tortured child’s

distorted face, gaping chest

torn arms, dishonored genitals.

Show us how

Assad destroys your future.

O parents of Syria, rise up

and send Assad

to cower before heaven’s gate

as Allah

gently cradles

your slaughtered

children.

Vespers (you are near)

2012-01-28T18:01:00.000-08:00

You are near

though I cannot see

your face.

Your voice I hear.

Your gentle breath

moves to quiet passion

the bare limbs

of your beloved trees.

I hear you say

that you love me.

Your darkness

I embrace;

for me you wait

in the rising night

with endless gift

of eternal light.

Meditation at San Damiano

2012-01-26T19:35:00.000-08:00

dark veins fill my sight
lying dendrites firing doubt
through my fragile faith,

complication
denying all escape

but as these steps ascend the steep hill
and converge into the unseen sky

I climb
to my blue redemption,

simple
and free.

Starry Night

2012-01-26T18:24:00.000-08:00

Night fills the valley.

Swarming armies rise to crest

to fiery west.

The battle is done.

Tumbling stars overturning

pale winter's stark sun.

Image: NASA Astronomy Picture of the Day, 2009 May 9, "Starry Night in Brazil. "

Grizzly Island Road

2012-01-26T10:47:00.000-08:00

Soft sky, blue and white
cloud swelling over low hills,
delta waters,
twilight sloughs

calling to geese and egret,
kingfisher and mallard
to lounge in waving reeds
as grazing cattle linger
in verdant valley.

Like a river the road flows
down to the sacred sea,
to the deep, living stream
of Earth.

Life

2012-01-23T06:06:00.000-08:00

a photograph by Sonja Bingen

You breathe, and my lungs

rise and fall like winter trees

swaying, sure of spring,

like water-drops, cells

twisting, galaxies pulsing

with abundant life.

daybreak

2012-01-22T07:34:00.000-08:00

daybreak, still limbs lace

to gray sky, wait for the next

storm to shake open

morning, still sleeping

shuttered windows conceal the

cold face of daybreak.

when it happens

2012-01-21T21:37:00.001-08:00

Image: Ancestor, pastel by Ethel Mortenson Davis

when it happens,

will I feel the dark waters

seep into my lungs, hear the silence

pour thickly through my ears,

taste the bitterness

of uncried

tears?

I've heard how it rattles

as it jimmies locked doors

searching for any opening

to surprise sleeping cells,

strangle

the innocent

heart.

As the wave washes through my mind

Will I feel terror

as I flee

to higher

ground?

Or will I quit

this tragic trip just

seconds ahead of death's cold grip,

and ascend to you,

slender and

shining

and new?

First Rain

2012-01-20T21:05:00.000-08:00

Vincent Van Gogh: A Public Garden with People Walking in the Rain

first rain, wind driven,

soaks my hair; into my face

flies cold grace, fills the

narrow gutters, streets,

eager fields, with life revives

this gray winter world.

fatal night

2012-01-19T19:24:00.001-08:00

deep in the night lights

rise and fall, convulsing clouds

fill the sky with death's

blighted breath, my heart

thrills, my blood fails and leaves me

undone, breathless and

blind, 'till in the dark

your eyes ignite and lift me

out of fatal night.

I've Never Been out to Sea

2012-01-17T19:48:00.001-08:00

I've never been out to sea

though I've touched iridescent waves,

flown over blue surf

and played in safe, familiar bays

with dog-eyed seals and

wondering whales.

But gazing, just as the sun

juts beyond night's edge,

I see this curving ball, endless

band of water held close

to jealous core by clear bands

of gravity, hurtling

through the void,

Human eyes, wrapped in

spheres of bone and blood,

follow earth's trajectory just

ahead of the season, bask in

the coming summer sun as it

heats blue waters, casts high

bright towers of

cumulonimbus;

for I am a child of the sea,

and I can see out far

and in deep.

No Reason

2012-01-17T18:31:00.000-08:00

The Call

It happens in the morning
When you least expect it.

You’re sitting at your desk
One day, answering the phone,
When the call comes,
Your brother saying
That your father
Is dying.

You try to answer, to call her,
To make plans to fly
But breathless
You can only
Drive, drive
Drive.

The flight

And later
That night on the plane
You gaze
On the cities of the South,
And the moon is so close
You can see your own face.

The hospital

In the morning
We drove to the hospital
To pick up the brown paper bag
With his things in it –
A watch, some clothes,
His glasses. I waited
In the no parking zone
While you went inside.

When the guard walked up to me
I explained, and he nodded,
And walked away.

Visitation

In the stillness of his face
We try to find reasons

But the flowers are too bright
Violet and red and white

His face does not move
His eyes are pressed tight

And when I touch his hands I
feel ice, the ice of rage quieted.

So close the bright lid
For the wind is cold

Though the sun still shines
For no reason, no reason.

His Secret

2012-01-17T18:25:00.000-08:00

The pain cuts me
Like an edge of ice
Cutting brightly
Into thickening
darkness.

We walked slowly
To his grave.
The grass was wet
With winter's dew
Newly melted In
the warming sun.

I saw it,
The newly turned soil,
A few rocks
Glittering joyfully
After a million years In
underground darkness,
Raised at last,
Bare and sparkling
In the black earth.

Silence,
Stillness in the field,
The wind intimating
His newfound secret.

Journey

2012-01-17T18:21:00.001-08:00

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.

The Call

2012-01-17T18:20:00.000-08:00

Over Missouri
A green mist beckons.

I refused the river, the dark stain
On the spreading prairie;
I refused St. Louis, though the trees themselves called.

To the sea it rushes;
I cannot refuse.

Variations on a Theme

2012-01-17T18:15:00.000-08:00

But there are so many

things

To be considered.

The sky, for example,

Is blue today

And white clouds

Are gliding

Over the green continent.

Meanwhile, under the trees

Up Bonny Dune Road

Antennae tremble in the

breeze

While a bird hovers

Momentarily

And dives.

And what about me?

Suppose I’m driving towards Davenport

And I turn too fast

Around the smooth curve

And, seeing the bearded man

Bent over his tripod,

His camera aimed

At the glittering creek

I hear the screaming horn

Of a head-on pickup-truck

And crashing glass

Suddenly fills

My flaring eyes . . . .

. . . . or maybe I swerve in time

And drive on to Davenport,

To the Whaler Inn,

And with my camera

Search for the right shot –

A white church

Against brown hills.

But today I sit alone in the living room

Listening to Mozart , waiting for you

I watch as the cat stretches

By an open window

And stroke her warm fur,

Black silk in silver sunlight

On the dark red carpet.

Magnolia Poem

2012-01-17T18:05:00.000-08:00

Slender magnolia, radiant shaft
Piercing dawn’s darkness, embracing
The frail light of October;

Even the promised night
Cannot disperse this fury,
This joy of the soil.

New Wine into Fresh Skins!

2012-01-16T20:29:00.000-08:00

Renew me, wash me
in deeper pools open my
righteous, narrow mind,

for your wine over-
whelms, rends ancient seams, blood streams,
my weakness reveals.

Make me a new man
and I'll hold your wine within
my fresh, new-made skin.

**********************

"...nobody puts new wine into old wineskins; otherwise, the wine will burst the skins, and the wine is lost and the skins too. No! New wine into fresh skins!" Mark 2:22

Moss Landing

2012-01-15T21:21:00.000-08:00

Framed in darkness
Like birds in deep silence
The sky and sea breathe
In steel blue longing
Remembering the dying sun
And the cries of gulls diving.

On insubstantial sand
We watch an impossible ship
Moving and not moving
Like a silent cloud at the edge of the world.

I can see no men aboard
Although I know they are there.
I know they are in steel rooms,
Warmed by twisting turbines,
Softly cursing,
Listening to the fog.

The sand moves under us
As we walk to the sea.
Our steps change forever the earth.
The sea changes forever,
We change the sky with our breath
And wind-blown sand covers our feet.

Yet we move,
And for a while we walk
Away from the sea.

The sea will change.
The sky will change.
They will wait.
There’s no hurry.

Levi Becomes Matthew

2012-01-14T22:47:00.000-08:00

The Calling of St. Matthew by Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio(1599-1600)

You call me out
of my money hole
and tell me to take you
to my home?

How can a rabbi like you,
so well known,
healer and
Anointed One,
come into my
unclean house?

But, please, come along,
at any rate, and
let me show you
my tawdry place!

All my friends see us
on the stony road
and ask to join
my sinner's feast;

but after dinner
you gently teach
your painful path
to perfect
peace.

Bluebell Books: Sunday Interview on Summer Into Fall with Steven Federle

2012-01-14T20:36:00.000-08:00

Bluebell Books: Sunday Interview on Summer Into Fall with Steven Federle

Dry Lake

2012-01-13T21:04:00.000-08:00

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.

Gleams a Light (revised)

2012-01-13T19:13:00.000-08:00

Across the darkness

on my windowpane

breaks waves of lace

splits night to color

that night cannot understand,

bright hope ignites

My soul's aflame

‘till the unseen hand

breaks the link

and night fills

my sight again;

yet I’m content

for deep in my core

the fire still shines

and hope still soars.

Gleams A Light

2012-01-11T19:54:00.001-08:00

Gleams a light

across the darkness

casting waves of lace

on my windowpane,

breaking night into colors

that night cannot understand.

Hope ignites,
my soul's aflame!

but when the unseen hand

breaks the link,

unbroken night

fills this space between.

Yet I am content,

for deep in my soul

the fire

still glows.

Starling Flight

2012-01-11T19:14:00.000-08:00

Starlings whorl,

gyre curls

rise, turn, drop

to airy knot

rippling mist, round

folds, cloud

undulant

when, without warning,

they light and draw a tight

line of night

on thin wires.

Dappled Sky Horse

2012-01-09T21:20:00.000-08:00

image courtesy of Sonja Bingen

black veins at the source

wide; narrow as limbs taper.

gaps of dappled blue.

from the black earth, heat

of life rises, flows up

to the folded sky.

Yahweh's Voice (Psalm 29)

2012-01-08T20:53:00.000-08:00

Yahweh's voice through endless seas

convulses terebinth, trembles trees,

primeval forests compels to bend

to majesty proclaimed

from His highest seat

on the rising wind

****

Top Image:A Wind-Storm in the California Forest, after a sketch by John Muir

laudatortemporisacti.blogspot.com

Bottom Image: A terebinth tree, common to the Middle East

The Baptism

2012-01-07T14:48:00.001-08:00

I walked down from Nazareth with the crowd,

nudged on by their excited chatter

and rumors of a crazy man by the river

shouting God at sinners,

thrusting them into the Jordan

like so much dirty laundry

to be rinsed clean and pure.

These are my people,

hungry people

seeking new wine and

new bread, lepers

yearning to be cured,

But deep within me

silence grows,

and somehow I know

that I am closer to Home,

though so far away

from my father's workshop

and my mother's kitchen.

When John sees me

he takes my hands and gently

pushes my face into the stream

befouled with the sins

of the people...

I cannot see.

I struggle

to rise and breathe,

from this watery death

I want to be free,

and as I break through

I see His fire, I hear

His voice like a flash of wings

falling down on me,

calling me His Beloved Son,

telling the stunned crowd

to listen to everything

I will say,

but frightened,

I hurry away,

into the empty desert

to stray.

This House

2012-01-04T21:06:00.000-08:00

In this house

walls vault

rise to high windows,

arch to sky and tree.

See the bright table,

gleaming plates!

Onions are steaming

in the fragrant air; Oh, hear

the happy clatter

of dinner

in this house.
*****

AN: Photo is of my childhood home in Silverton, Ohio

Winter Garden

2012-01-03T21:00:00.000-08:00

Winter garden, rows

leaning low to mud, coldly

promising nothing.

The pale sun, lingers...

Are you still here? I saw you

in spring, green breezes

singing in the trees,

lusty crickets shouting grace!

Why did you leave me

in this place defiled?

Will you turn your holy face

from your unholy child?

****

Зимний Cад

Зимний сад, строки
наклонившись низко, чтобы грязь, холодно
перспективные ничего.

Бледное солнце, задерживается ...
Вы все еще здесь? Я видел, как ты
Весной, зеленый бриз

петь в деревьях,
похотливые сверчков кричать благодать!
Почему вы оставили меня,

В этом месте осквернил?
Будете ли вы превратить ваш свят лицо
с Вашего нечестивый ребенка?

once it begins

2012-01-03T08:48:00.000-08:00

once it begins

i cannot stop

nor would i wish to

end the torrent of words

crush of photons

bright weight of day

driving dark worlds

through eternal space

trains howling

poems careening

through silver morning

where i sing

out my

warning

Tree and Sunset

2012-01-01T21:21:00.001-08:00

photograph courtesy of Sonja Bingen

Oh, learn from the trees,

that through cold days' rush

endure, from hope to hope,

and embrace

evening's blush.

See how the faithful jay

flits from branch to

barren branch,

and sings of

summer's lost day.

For all trees believe

in summer's heat,

though icy winds may strip

their tender leaves.

They know that change

is always the same,

until

some long winter hence

they'll fall, by vicious storm slain,

and grateful life will

quietly end.

terminator

2011-12-31T22:27:00.000-08:00

thin line of night,

edge of living light,

inevitable

as God's mighty hand,

wipes clean

this dirty slate

to begin again

a clear, new day.

New Year's Eve, 12/31/2011

St. Sebastian

2011-12-30T22:32:00.000-08:00

Slender arrows,
pierce me through.

I wanted to forgive,

but too quickly

they flew.

My mind fades.

I rise to you.

Image: St. Sebastian, Andrea Mantegna 1456-59, Kunsthistorisches Museum

(viewed at the De Young Museum, San Francisco)

Old Simeon's Blessing

2011-12-29T22:23:00.001-08:00

Blessings

on this radiant child.

I'll smear his head

with bitter oils, cool

his brow with the waters

of paradise,

and with sweet incense

raise to heaven

his soul!

...but I fear for the life

my failing eyes foresee

how the rich of this land

will fear him, strike him down,

covet even the air

he breathes,

and you, daughter,

the soldiers will pierce

your tender breasts

with heavy swords

tear an open wound

deep in your heart,

to be a sanctuary

for all the mothers

of all the children

yet to be slain.

Most blessed

are you, my child, most holy

is your name.

ref: Lk 2:34-35

Winter's Tree of Leaf and Bird

2011-12-28T15:58:00.000-08:00

Winter's tree, of leaf and bird,

of mystery stripped

silent and spare

where living glade

with leafy trunk and fragrant limb

once hid mockingbirds

as they played

through drowsy summer's

longest day.

But now in winter's brittle chill

all is silent, all is still

as death works out

his hollow will.

I, John

2011-12-27T22:17:00.000-08:00

I, John, declare.

Listen!

Can you hear?

Open your eyes and see.

With outstretched hands reach and

proclaim to the world of endless strife

the Word of peace,

eternal Life!

ref: 1 John 1:1-4

How Beautiful (from Isaiah 52:7)

2011-12-25T17:26:00.001-08:00

How beautiful

on the mountain

are the feet of him

who treads

bright paths of

freedom!

From winter's

gray day he

sings into being

new life

peace

and eternal

light!
*******
Какая красота (из пророка Исайи 52:7)

Какая красота
на горе
являются ноги того,
кто ступает
яркие пути
свобода!

Из зимы в
серый день, когда он
поет в бытие
новая жизнь

мир
и вечное
свет!

Sunset on Christmas Eve

2011-12-24T17:06:00.001-08:00

Light's nearly gone

bare trees flare gold

sun descends,

day turns cold.

Old world ends

in a brilliant flash

but from the east

hope springs at last

fresh from a child

drawing first breath,

and the tawdry cycle

of night and day,

the hopelessness

of fear and hate

new love overwhelms

as new day begins

with first holy breath

of God-infant.

Winter Tree

2011-12-23T13:34:00.002-08:00

The winter tree

does not move.

Its wide trunk

plunges into graven earth,

unseen roots, grasping hands

feel deeply the living soil,

hold firm anchorage

against the coming storm,

but rising wood, thin

though strong enough

to paint slender lines,

trails into purer air,

gives shelter

to Christmas birds.

They hunch on stems, quietly

waiting to sing open

the dawn.

Morning Prayer

2011-12-20T21:45:00.002-08:00

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,

your song's 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!

**

Утренняя молитва

На абсолютном зимний рассвет
в холодный туман заключенная,
свое тепло я взыскательных
хотя ночь не исчезнут,

для желают это утро
он скрывается в боли конечностей,
Ваша песня, вытекающих
и я знаю, вы будете отправлять

на мой темный ночной час
новый свет, чтобы освободить меня
и ваша песня, которую я буду петь
в лучах восток!

Leap of Faith

2011-12-19T20:56:00.001-08:00

You've decided

that you want me,

and so commanded

flashing angels

to invade my night,

with my blind bliss

to contend,

and weary with seraphic strife

I gave in:

a pius moment

here and there,

a sign of the cross,

a whispered prayer,

until, patient Father,

in bright dreams you've called

and led me high

up your holy mountain

promising

that I will rise

and never,

never fall.

Psalm for the 4th Sunday in Advent

2011-12-17T21:27:00.000-08:00

In the morning mist

wait the coastal hills,

waves fixed, sea frozen

to solid rock,

smooth

as rippled silk.

The mountains wait too,

but closer to the sun

they know more,

and do not despair

for they know that soon

heaven will call on them

to proclaim His peace

and plenty!

Then will the poor

have their fill

of justice.

*****

Thank you for the award. I nominate Cloaked Monks Blog

http://cloakedmonk.com/2011/12/14/snippets-from-detention/

Pietà

2011-12-17T20:14:00.000-08:00

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 I came

to keep them company.

We pray the sacred

texts, sing holy

mass to send

his lingering soul

sweeping home

to God,

but his mother weeps

in the silent repose

of ancient peace.

Lake Country

2011-12-15T09:26:00.000-08:00

Photo Courtesy of Sonja Bingen

Dark line, thin divide

sky and lake face,

gaze upon

cloud and ripple,

flush of fading sun,

in cold depths unseen

but deeply known,

night

stretching

to ancient space.

In the Cold

2011-12-13T19:57:00.000-08:00

In the cold

there's no room

for old fears; tears

that freeze on your

cheeks are

useless.

Lying under narrow eves

on porch or sidewalk grate

waiting for sleep

or death

to ease your pain,

you cannot remember

how you got this way;

for thought, like water,

congeals to solid rock,

and you can't

even pray.

*******

Author's Note: Estimates of the numbers of homeless in the US today range from 200,000 to 500,000, many of whom are unsheltered children. This is a national disgrace.

**********

В холодное

В холодное
здесь нет места
за старые страхи, слезы
что мораторий на ваш
щеки
бесполезно.

Лежа под узким кануны
на крыльце или тротуаре решетку
ожидания для сна
или смерть
чтобы облегчить вашу боль,

Вы не можете вспомнить
как вы получили таким образом;

для размышлений, как вода,
застывает в твердые породы,
и вы не можете
даже молиться.

***

Автор отмечает,
Оценки числа бездомных в диапазоне сегодня США от200000 до 500000, многие из которых являютсянезащищенных детей. Это национальный позор.

Royal Presidio Chapel, Monterey California

2011-12-12T21:45:00.000-08:00

Pelicans fly at dawn,

Heavy, unsure of the wind,

Their hungry cries piercing the sky

Fiercely searching receding waves.

Ancient sorrow lingers here,

The stunned saints with fading stigmata

Painted dimly into ever-falling shadow.

Our Lady of Sorrows wears a black mantilla. Her

cold, glimmering hands clench

The lace handkerchief Maria Antonia brought.

Our Lady of Solitude pierces my soul,

Her face shining forth from layers of death,

Her astounding eyes glittering with living anguish.

Travis Moonrise

2011-12-12T21:20:00.000-08:00

Over barren trees

the tattered moon

ascends, barely clearing

dark hills

pausing, unwilling

to fall back

into cold, delta fog,

like the lumbering C-5

through the gloom

rising on bright thunderbolts

to December's

bleeding moon.

Magnificat

2011-12-10T21:41:00.000-08:00

The poor still wait

for bolted doors to open

hunger to be filled

and concern to replace

the deep scorn

of the rich, who believe

God is on their side,

who offer golden chalices

and cathedrals of crystal

to purchase

eternal life

with God, who remembers

the poor

will fill their every

need

but send away the rich

with nothing

no things to carry

in their powerful, sleek cars

to their empty houses

silent houses

stony, soulless

mansions,

nothing

but their names

on fine marble

engraved,

yet the poor watch

and still wait.

**

магнификат

Бедные все еще ждут
для болтовых двери, чтобы открыть
голода должны быть заполнены
и относятся к замене
глубокое презрение

богатых, которые считают,
Бог на их стороне,
, которые предлагают золотые чаши
и соборы кристаллической
купить
вечной жизни

с Богом, кто помнит
малоимущие
наполнит их каждый
необходимость
но ушли богатым
ни с чем

нет вещи, чтобы носить
в их мощные, гладкий автомобилей
их пустые дома
молчание дома
каменистые, бездушные
особняки,
ничего
но их имена
на мрамором
гравированный,

еще бедный смотреть
и еще подождать.