Consoling Mary

Freely flow her tears;
a dam so brimful
cannot contain
such towering waves.

Wondering that
my words fail
to give peace,
I reach out
and take her trembling hands.

Tearful,
I brush away
all her
bitter tears.


(13 April 2011)

Modern Parable

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.

(2014 March 23)

 

The Sadness of Holy Saturday

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 millennia of agony, 

the six million slain,

all the fallen generations

newly free, heavy nails 

at last released. 

Do Not Gaze into the Night

“We do not see the Blinding One in black emptiness. He speaks to us gently; His light is one fullness and one Wisdom.” Thomas Merton


Do not gaze into the night.

He is not in the cold wind
tearing at tender leaves.

No, nor does He live
on the mountain of thunder

nor on the crashing shore
where the surf pounds
time on rocks as old
rhythm itself;

You’ll not
find Him
in the piercing cries
of the children
of Syria;

but in your own
brilliant darkness
washed clean
by your tears

there you will find Him:
gentle, and full,
and wise.

(8 June 2012)

The Denial of St. Peter

Caravaggio, The Denial of St. Peter

On the edge

hands clenched, 

sad eyes downcast

bitter fear forcing tight his lips

he holds his breath

he pauses

as the angry finger
of the state

points at his throat,

hard eyes searching Peter’s

indecision

for rash conviction;

but she, she knows

has seen before

his adoring eyes, heard his 

boastful voice

by the campfire

of the condemned.

Slowly he moves

toward the inevitable lie

as the bloody sun

stirs to song

the drowsy cock.

(7 June 2012)

The Rejection of Jesus (Palm Sunday)

Jesus the Homeless, bronze sculpture by Timothy Schmalz

Regis College, the University of Toronto.

“I hear the whisperings of many: “Terror on every side! Denounce! let us denounce him!” 

Jeremiah 20:10

Why do you not believe me?

Have I not wept

as, lost and empty

you cried out in the night?

I shed bitter tears

when at last you fell

and did not arise.

I’ll breath my anguish

and fire your still heart

with my passion.

What more can I do for you

than die?

(27 March 2015)

In the Territory of the Gerasenes

Image: Solomon Raj

From deep inside

I heard them,

howling hatred

lashing me with my own hands

gashing the rocky tombs

with my own bloody feet.

Late at night

they cursed and fought

deep inside

my aching skull.

I was their prisoner,

and they were many…

But then I saw Him by the lake

and my soul leapt

even as Legion arose

as with my ragged voice they raged,

“what will you do to us?” 

but my soul cried louder,

“Save me!” 

Hearing us both,

He drove the dark spirits

from my unclean breast

and into the beasts….poor swine.

Madness cast them

into death’s deep pit….

but I could hear only

silence.

Peace

filled me.

My hand moved

only when I commanded,

and what my eyes saw

I clearly viewed.

The people of the village

fearing a man who could

compel demons,

begged Him to leave.

Blind fools!

If only they could see Him

as I do.

As he was going, I begged to go too

and stay forever in the light

of his face.

But this grace

was not

for me alone…

He told me to go

and proclaim without fear

how His love saved me

from my soul’s dark night,

and led me here,

into paradise.

(18 Feb 2013)

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/

+

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 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.

Lazarus Waiting

Photo Brian Federle: Mendocino Sundial 2016

falling sun, life swarming

in the liquid light

as I gaze west, through trees,

over houses, over slatted-fence,

towards the waiting, unseen sea.

a foraging bird drops to my mown lawn

(taking note of my still form)

and pecks out her meal...and flies away.

My apple-tree bends towards heaven

new leaves unfolding;

surely it will be leaf-full by Easter!

so I’ll wait for the world to turn

yet another slight degree, for the lines

of golden light to lengthen towards me

and then end in gentle night.

Passion in the Garden

In the long, empty night
I hear your song.

Longing I seek
but can only see
my own dying face
in shattered glass
and piercing steel.

I tremble in fear.
O, where have you gone?

Sing me again your soaring love-song

and show me the way,
for night’s a thin wall
and death, a porous veil.

(17 Apr. 2014)

Mercy

Night sways.

The lilting tree fills

with mercy.

Raging day,

blue-jay’s anger,

dolor of

rose petals

softly falling

to tender

grass

forgiven

as whispers

the fading tree,

“do not

forget me.”

(22 July 2012)

Abscissa of the Soul

Photo by Brian Federle: Seagull, New Brighton Beach, 2009.

“Once we enter again into contact with our own deepest self, with an ordinate self-love that is inseparable from the love of God and of His truth, we discover that all good develops from within us, growing up from the hidden depths of our being according to the concrete and existential norms laid down by the Spirit Who is given us from God. “
Thomas Merton, The New Man  

Go beyond 

the surface 

of things, 

deeper 

than thin soil 

fecund 

in the rain, 

but dried to dust

by the summer wind.

Dive head first 

into the darkness;

have faith 

that someone

will catch you, 

that you will

splash into 

a warm sea, 

that a strong hand 

will reach out

and save 

your life.

If you wait 

for proof

you will find only

a solid stone 

at your core.

Death 

is like that... 

facts dash 

your brains, 

bring you 

to the edge

of nothing.

But faith 

will lift you 

beyond 

your limitations, 

will bear you up 

on golden wings,

make of you 

the Royal Ordinate 

of time and space

and you will dance 

to the music 

of the spheres,

as without fear

you reach out 

to your Beloved,  

the Abscissa 

of the soul.

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

Author’s Note: In mathematics, ordinate refers to that element of an ordered pair which is plotted on the vertical axis of a two-dimensional Cartesian coordinate system, as opposed to the abscissa.  on a graph, the "x" coordinate rises or falls on the vertical line, but never moves forward. Alone, it is doomed to fail, to fall to its eventual death because things that do not move forward always die. But with its abscissa, it has forward movement... purpose... life... and can continue to soar into the ether. I am not good at math but quite good at seeing things.

(25 June 2012)

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)

He Does Not Need Your Sacrifice

"He does not need our sacrifices, 

He asks for our selves."  

Thomas Merton, No Man is an Island

Your sacrifice is like

the breath

of the sparrow

in the roiling storm.

It is not needed

but pleasing in its

simplicity. 

When you peel away

your small, feathered

soul, when

you stretch your thin

lungs to sing

your hymn of self-

immolation,

remember that

it is not necessary,

no, not at all, 

but still pleasing is

the purity of

your song.

(25 Feb 2012)

The Baptism

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.

In silence, 

I hurry away; 

into the empty desert 

I stray.

(7 Jan 2012)