Peter's Report

The Disciples Peter and John Running to the Sepulcher

 on the Morning of the Resurrection by Eugène Burnand

Running all the way,

bent double in breathless pain

we peered and saw

the gaping grave

open to the rising sun.

Slowly we entered, our eyes sun-blind,

when we saw the empty bench,

the bloody cloth cast within.

I try to imagine

the piercing flash,

the sudden shudder

of His broken body,

His sharp breath exploding

like a swimmer breaking the surface,

when I saw John’s eyes

outshining the sun,

and my own face

lighting even death's

darkest place!

(24 April 2011, 31 March 2018)

The Other Brother

It was a hot day in the field

when, returning at last

bone-tired, sore from

tending your stiff-necked flock,

I saw bonfires,

extravagant blazes lighting

the way to our house,

but not for me

home late from

work,

so I asked your servant

“why such celebration?”

That’s when my anger exploded;

…poor fellow, he bore my rage

and yelping away

cried it wasn’t his fault!

No, it wasn’t.

It isn’t.

It’s You.

You ask me to obey

and obediently I honor you every day.

With sweat and callused hands,

I cajole this stingy land

to give up a little wheat.

With my blood

I water these fields;

but when I wanted to show

my friends a little generosity,

I asked you for a stingy goat,

a meager feast, and

you said “no.”

So here he is, come home at last,

profligate brother…prodigal,

wastrel, drunkard,

sinner!

He’s back

and suddenly the prize calf

I worked so hard to make so fat is slain,

a royal feast for your favorite son

(though somewhat late) come home again!

But,

as always

my anger fades

in the glow of your summer love.

I don’t like this!

but you tell me

that your love does not diminish

but increases with the giving…

and, after all,

it is not every day that one’s brother

is to life recalled.

So for you, father,

I’ll look him in the eye

and let him back

into my life.

I, John

Photo: Brian Federle, Desert Sunrise, Dec. 2016


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

(23 December 2011)

Cry Aloud

\

Photo Steven Federle: Conflagration at Clear Lake, 2018

A voice said, "Cry aloud!"

and I said, “But what shall I cry?”

Shall I sing to the people 

a song of spring,

hills aflame with green,

dry grass igniting 

with joy?

In darker days, 

when the high meadow fell fallow

and flowers of the valley 

dried to dust, 

I thought you'd turned

away, took your giving hands

to other lands.

Despairing, I wept, 

stung by tears

from angry Hell, 

and doubted 

your love. 

Oh, forgive me, pity your child

and make your enduring rain fall

on the riotous grass, 

on the bold crocus

and passionate 

rose.

Photo Brian Federle: On the Pacifica Path, 2014

Sunrise

Photo: Sunrise Orcas Island, 2014.  Brian Federle

"Sunrise is an event that calls forth solemn music in the very depths of man's nature, as if one's whole being has to attune itself to the cosmos and praise God for the new day, praise Him in the name of all the creatures that ever were or ever will be."  Thomas Merton, Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander

Oh call me softly

in the morning!

With winter's sun

paint golden

the pale trees.

In deep waters,

in cool ponds brush my 

legs, caress

my tender feet.

Your breath flies

through the green 
canyons.

With tongues

of flame

oh, ravish me!

(11 March 2013)

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.

El Nino

Vincent Van Gogh, Wheatfield with Crows, 1890 

fill your heart

with rush of rain,

open your palms

to receive

new life

for your heart

of winter!

oh, see how

the birds

fiercely sing

my love!

(5 January 2016)

   

Beautiful Cellars

‘No clock: only the Heart’s blood. Only the word.”

“I think poetry must,

I think it must,

Stay open all night

In beautiful cellars”    Thomas Merton, A Book of Hours

          ***

High round windows

over wide glass doors

fill with night;

The world’s gone to black,

to void,

to nothing.

Can you hear your whispering blood?

- surge of surf, wind in dark trees

alive - alive -

so arise now and go

down the noisy steps

to the beautiful cellar,

to the poetry.

(18 March 2013)

grace

Hail Mary

full of grace

you are

filled with grace,

with grace

fill me

in streams

of yes

draw me

to where you are

to where He is

among wo-

men,

yes,

among men

blessed

fruitful, grace-

fully gliding

through the

dark veil

at the hour

of yes

to my

death,

amen.

(29 December 2012)

Chocolate Hills

the green world drinks

the blue sky dry;

life’s tender leaf declines

while ancient cambrian

fire survives.

(17 March 2013)

May Rain

“Let the one who thirsts come forward.” Rev, 22.

gentle rain

glistens on gray concrete

and makes pools

of shimmering silver,

clean and new.

the rose reaches

to the grey sky

asking only for drops

of life.

the green earth asks

and receives.

(7 May 2016)