North Wind

 North wind 

rushes and blusters

in the bright March sun,

scatters 

winter’s chill,

hints of the heat 

to come.

In Arching Waters

In arching waters

the black bird dances

with graceless step,

head jerks, probing soft soil,

penetrating wet grass

when rearing back primitive eyes

it raises ivory beak

and offers a shining prize,

living, writhing.

captive

to mother-sky.

(4/28/12)

Winter Tree

Photo Brian Federle: Desert Tree, Palm Springs, 2016

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.

(12/23/2011)

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)

 

Wildfire in Paradise

The burnt sky of

Paradise, drifts

towards the sea.

On acrid breezes

ashes fall —

promises scattered

and consumed,

as the sun —

its dark,

bloody husk,

exposed at last —

hangs, ruined.

11/11/2018