Atonement

"There must be a time when the man of prayer

 goes to pray as if it were the first time 

in his life he had every prayed."  Thomas Merton

Grey mist

rises and falls

enfolding parched hills

easing autumn’s harsh pain

saturating the spreading valley

with gathering rain

and mercy.

(1 Oct. 2012)

Vanitas Folia

Leaves quickly fall

now that November

is nearly done. 

From behind a glass door

I watch the dry storm,

blanket the ground,

Useless appendages

liabilities in the wind,

cast-aways await

the hollow scraping

of my wide rake.

Yet in the tree

holdouts

hope for reprieve, 

wave and rush 

confidently 

sure that bright color

can distract, delay death

with brilliant 

blush.

The Light in November

Photo: Brian Federle,  Oregon, 2012.

The light in November slants low.
It fills my eyes as I glance
askance through amber trees
and see the leaves descend in
gold flashes
past my open window.

The autumn sun skirts
my low Suisun hills
casting deep shadows
along the ebbing marsh

where wading egrets probe
still, black waters

and finding their prize
rise to blue heaven,
white, slender wings
elegantly beating
the softly falling sun.

(2012-2017)

Thanksgiving

Full from the feast

table laded

with fragrant dressing,

steam of onion and celery,

tender turkey and

five kinds of pies

The family gathered.

My parents smiled

at our busy banter

brothers

and sisters nudging and

teasing,  beaming

in the glow

of that happy day

so long ago.

Now you and I gather

our sons around us;

again we pause, pray

and eat the bounty

of this bright Thanksgiving Day.

They say that some things,

kind hearts,

hearty laughs,

enduring love

are so good

they persist long down  

the thankful

generations.

-----------
(for Brian we are so thankful)

November Sky

See the perfect sky of November

cloudless, cool, southern sun,

garden of blue eternity

vaulting over rioting trees, leaves

shouting that life is good

as they fall, and with red cover

the green world

with perfect red

as in perfect blue

life turns inward,

like the planet,

pursuing

the fleeting sun’s

fading hue.

(2013 - rev. 2017)

Fall Leaves

Photo: Brian Federle, Camping, March 2010.

Wind-ripped leaves
cover my yard

severed flesh, leathery
fingers splayed
grip the brick walkway.

Flush winter roses
drop petals,
red shrouds cover
glistening gold veins
sundered
from ravaged trees.

Yet the trees survive.

mimicking death’s
grey angularity
oblivious to the wind,

nude limbs
lean into the howling storm
and dream of June breezes,
singing green afternoons,
the faithful thrush
thrusting new life to flight.

But for now
black clouds gather

the winter wind sings dirges
for these sacrificial leaves
nourishing the famished earth.

(11/18/2010)
re-post 10/25/2017

Miserere

i

In October

golden days suddenly fly

as unexpected,

brutal

nights arise.

ii

You died last spring

when love seemed

to promise life

never ending.

iii

Thirty-one years before,

when I first held you,

your bright eyes

gazed on me

with wonder,

my son —

my love at first sight!

iv

But the cruelty of March

surpasses even winter’s rage.

I prayed for God’s mercy

On that bright, green day.

but bereft in my soul,

only bitter darkness

remains.

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.

Changes

Bird song rises 

in pure, liquid waves

as golden leaves

arc, twisting

to the ground.

Heavy gold

must fall.

October heat

will give way 

to winter rain.

Yet inevitably life flows 

like the breeze

rising from the broad sea

to the high Sierra;

grey clouds rise

and heavy snow falls.

All living waters

give praise.

(5 Oct 2010)

Rain blurs my windows

Rain blurs my windows

melting color into color,

green grass merging

to luxuriant red blooms.

Golden leaves

fly wildly to the grass

and make of the lawn

a mottled carpet,

waiting for a brighter day

when my rake will scrape

them all into tall, brittle piles.

But today is a good day

to stay inside,

warm and dry.

(24 Oct. 2010)

Storm Clouds in October

Grey,

torn, and twisted

they fill the sky

with the slow motion

of gods.

Scraping hills

rising past the dry heights

they promise rain

and new life.

(25 Oct. 2016)