Saturday, September 17, 2016

Assad Visits Homs

Those who love their own noise are impatient of everything else. ... Our noise, our business, our purposes, and all our fatuous statements about our purposes, our business, and our noise: these are the illusion.

Thomas Merton.

He came to visit today
with cameras firmly fixed
on his perfect

He came with his selected throng

to acknowledge their 

as he surveyed his
Those old buildings were such a blight,
rabid rats, full of the noise
of rebellious children,
but now, city leveled, he can see
how beautiful it all will be.
Bright new buildings soon will rise,
and scrape death from the acrid sky; 
and everything will be 
first rate!
....but just out of al Jazeera’s frame
black smoke pours over
Baba Amr;
incinerated hopes;
dark stain.

(27 Nov 2012)

Headline NY Times, 17 Sept. 2016: 
                                    His Grip Secure, Assad Smiles While Syria Burns

Saturday, September 10, 2016

The Abyss of the Soul

“The truest solitude is not something outside you, it is an abyss opening up in the center of your own soul.” Thomas Merton

When night rushes in
and tightly presses
my fading eyes
and even the faithful wind

with breathless prayer
will I call you.

Your strong hand
will catch me as I fall
beyond my failures
beyond the
of my will,

down to my truest solitude
to the abyss
of the soul.


Friday, September 9, 2016

Psalm 9-11 (dedicated to Fr. Mychal Judge)

I hear your soft voice
In the hushed evening breeze
as gentle wind fills 
these tall, murmuring trees.  

For you're never too far;
your soft breath I can feel.
My soul stirs with faith
that no anger can steal.  

Through the cold, empty night
you fill my dark soul.
Your brilliant light breaks
death's harsh, ancient hold.  

In the morning I'll hear 
your clear voice proclaim
my life you've restored,
bitter tears wiped away.

(7 March 2014)

Saturday, September 3, 2016


My busy day paused,
gassing up the car,
I waited as the gallons flowed
and clicked to a stop,

and ready to go,
I slowly drove
toward the busy street

when the sudden crush
of limb and leaf,
held me on the edge ­—

how a dying tree’s 
green embrace
cradled me
in my shattered car,

Friday, September 2, 2016

Day's End

I'll fill this small space,
coarse stone in the stream,
as soft, summer winds
gently shape me,

my rough lines smoothing,
polishing dull skin,
‘til golden and gleaming
I’m clean once again.

(30 June 2011)

Political Poem

I don't want to write political poetry,

but conflict washes over my native land
like a Katrina surge.

A tempest in a teapot
doesn't mean much
compared to the
relentless fury
of the tsunami.
This year's leaves, floating
gently to my lawn 
glowing orange and gold
through the afternoon sun,
signify more than any inept

but when I see a policeman, 
a man I want to call 
protector, hero, friend, 
spray orange pain 
on crouching kids;

when protesters become enemies
of the state, and plans to smash
hope are made
on great, glistening tables 
in bank boardrooms 
with the tears 
of the foreclosed, 

then must I write political poetry.

I'll lob a simile
into the executive suite, 

I'll make strong the barricades
with my fierce metaphor.

(21 Nov 2011)

Политические Поэма

Я не хочу писать политические стихи,

но конфликт моет над моей родиной

как волна Катрина.

Буря в стакане воды

ничего не значит

по сравнению с

неустанной ярости
о цунами.
В этом году листья, плавающие
осторожно, чтобы мой газон
светящиеся оранжевые и золотые
через день солнце,
означает больше, чем любой неумелой

но когда я вижу милиционера,

Человек я хочу назвать

защитник, герой, друг,

спрей оранжевый боли
на корточках дети;

, когда протестующие стали врагами

государства, и планы, чтобы разбить

надежда сделаны

на больших, блестящих таблицы
в банковских залах заседаний
со слезами
из исключил,

Затем я должен писать политические стихи.

Я уволю сравнение

в Executive Suite,

Я сделаю сильными баррикадами

с моей ожесточенной метафора.
Обратите внимание на мои русские читатели: Я используюGoogle Translate, чтобы сделать эти стихи  настоящей записки) на русский язык. Хотя я изучал русский язык в колледже, много лет назад, я чувствую, неопределенной, что эти переводы являются удовлетворительными. Не могли бывы выслать мне комментарий и скажите мне, если онихорошо читать на русском языке? Я был бы благодаренпредложения. Спасибо. Стивен Federle