Fountain of Fire

“Just as it is impossible for a man to see his face in troubled water, so too the soul, unless it be cleansed of alien thoughts.” Thomas Merton

Closing in
the ancient wind sweeps
still waters, turns clarity
to confusion, joy
to primal fear.

I seek my face
but see only a blush
on the river’s edge,
red betrayal seeping
from deep within,
from a wound unseen.

Cleanse me, O Fountain of Fire, 
still my fears
and again I’ll see
my face
washed clean
by grateful tears!

Wildfire Close to Home

“The whole idea of compassion is based on a keen awareness of the interdependence of all these living beings, which are all part of one another, and all involved in one another. “ Thomas Merton

Night streaks the afternoon sky.

Smoke pours through trees
riots through suburban streets,
flames snarl, snap in the meadow,
the red beast
just beyond the fence.

I feel its glare
as wild heat brushes my brow.

Crossing arms, I walk
quickly, first to the corner,
then to the threatened house,
where my young neighbor
clutches her baby
and wonders
when will it be time to flee,
leave home,
abandon furniture, new carpets, tv
dreams of
safety.

We watch and wait
for the calm firemen
to arrest this marauder,
cool its rage,
restore to ordered life
this blue July day.

2012 - 2017

The Whole Song

"We must learn to respond not to this or that syllable, but to the whole song." 
Thomas Merton

You say

"be not afraid,"

yet this darkness is

complete.

A well of silence lies 

beneath my feet 

as I try to feel

my way back to you.

How can I be brave

when all around me rush

rivers of anguish, tears

overflowing life’s banks?

Terror fills the sky.

In dark flashes

my sight declines,

and endless night

encroaches the edge

of vision.

Will you lift me

if I stumble 

and fall?

Oh, call softly

and with seeing

fingers I'll find 

your healing 

hands again.

(2013, 2017)

Pax Modern

Away from fading windows

sealed deep within the efficient building

empty chairs wait.

Gleaming floors echo

friends laughing

hello and

goodbye,

but here I sit
alone.  

The sun set without me tonight.

Through long corridors I watched
as slit windows softly glowed
with withered passion.

Night rises suddenly!

Night is a fast clock,
firing rounds of morning, tomorrow, next week,
next year
into my defenseless heart!

Night is a rude guest,
an expected surprise.

But where is God?

In this comfortable cave

sterile bright altars serve

quick

convenient offerings.

No squalor of crucifixion here!

These are painless rooms,
climate controlled,
self-satisfied.

My soul dozes.

From troubling dreams
of resurrection
beige walls lull me
to dubious peace.

On Viewing Inferno of the Innocents

Poised on the edge of the bed

she sits in sharp light,

pointed feet barely touching

the dim floor.

Through fear-filled, furrowed brow

she stares at the encroaching shadow.

I want to protect her, reach into the canvas

and take her home,

adopt her

make her my grand-daughter

hold her safe and warm

make her whole

watch her dance

fearless

in the golden morning.

As I despair

another little girl approaches the painting,

and broadly smiles in recognition,

nodding to this new-found playmate.

She knows how morning light

always pushes back

the black night.

(24 April 2013)

Author notes

to see the powerful, heartbreaking works of Gottfried Helnwein, visit his website athttp://www.helnwein.com/

Night Train (California Zephyr)

The urgent night train,

rushing quite near

calling me, calling me

come away from there.

Listen! the whispering wheels

rumble on;

not a moment to lose,

but in a moment

long gone.

Despairing,

in the dark night I hear

a distant train calling

in another man’s ear,

and wondering

how opportunity’s lost

I feel in the wind

my fear’s cold cost.

(22 July 2010)

December Fog

Winding over fast roads
through shrouded hills, 
we see the familiar valley
disappear
under a white sea,

                   human confusion 
                   dissolving
                   into pure cloud.

                                   over frozen white roofs
                                   beyond the veiled ridge
                                   the dark disc rises.

                                    Black dawn 
                                    breaks the long night

                                    and spills dirty light 
                                    over the waking city.

                   In the twilight sky
                   shadow shapes
                   fly in V 
                   over still trees, 
                   looking for rest,

any place to touch 
soft, giving ground 
and call it 
a nest.

(16 Dec 2010)

Holy Days

Image, Vincent Van Gogh, Road with Cypress and Star, 1890

These are my holy days

when dark spirits inundate

the mystic forest

and urge me with purling song

into empty waters.

But I’ll stop this descent

into somnolent night.

I see a new way to fight

this terminal pain.

Looking into your eyes

at last I confess

your brighter path

and joyfully say,

Yes!

(20 Nov 2012)

Capitol Corridor

The Capitol Corridor moves heavily through the dark,

crossing the thinly guarded streets, blaring, berating

impatient drivers waiting for flashing poles, sparking

their rage as they glare at watches. The ground shakes,

rolling earthquake, Cyclop's eye, headlight throbbing, crushing

bright straight rails, pounding diesel relentlessly hauling

into no-man's land, receding rails guarded only by brush

and grassy grade and two white wooden crosses, with a basketball

and a balloon for the lost children; caught in the sweep of flashing lights,

they first see the flash, then feel pain, and then blackness swallows them whole,

the suicide, the missed warning, the lost opportunity, the crying

mother searching deserted tracks. But tonight nobody's here, no

despairing child, drifting, desultory, home no longer an option; and so

undeterred, the silver and blue train rolls heavily on to Sacramento.

(Posted 12th May 2010 by Steven Federle)

The Bridge at Rio Vista

The bridge stands low

over the swollen

Sacramento,

black water,

rushing to

darker seas,

hypo-thermal,

sucking breath

from the fallen,

the overboard,

the suicide.

Its sturdy stanchions,

hold fast,

give refuge

from the maelstrom,

a way across

or a place

to jump.

War Rages

“All men seek peace first of all with themselves. That is necessary, because we do not naturally find rest even in our own being. We have to learn to commune with ourselves before we can communicate with other men and with God.”  Thomas Merton


War rages
in secret places,

cold war,
shivering bones
firing stones into
the hidden nests
of the
enemy

until war ends
in collapse
or
annilhilation;

but simply speak
and soon words
like sweet rain
will ease your
desert pain;

reach out,
hand to trembling
hand
and find
new strength:

friendship
and sacred
peace.

Deception (Black Mesa Landscape)

Black Mesa Landscape  Georgia O'Keefe


Darkness still grips the world
with tales of deep holes,
caves dug into the skull,
empty graves waiting
rooms blackened by loss
of power as in panic we light
candles and hear the wind ripping
against trees, tearing the
sky for any sign of salvation,
and guided only by this
little light, this small rectangle
of white screen, the black letters
dancing in regular rows under my
fingers, I search this small window
for any reason to hope.
                                 But of course
true to its endless promise, the sun
casts first glow on the outermost leaves
and the grass finds itself again and begins
its daily green glow, and I wonder why
fragile faith is so easily crushed
by night's routine lie.

Discontent

Late at night
our trains pass through broad meadows.

We grip controls, heavy, uncertain, anxious
about schedules,
about stalled cars on tracks,
about small children darting through the night,
small children who dare steel wheels and blinding lights
who test death at our trembling hands;

we guide our trains
probing the night
along the measured way,

discontent,

without incident.

sometimes in the night

"Love is the revelation of our deepest personal meaning, value and identity. But this revelation remains impossible as long as we are the prisoners of our own egoism. I cannot find myself in myself, but only in another."  Thomas Merton. Love and Living.

sometimes

in the night

I fight the 

deepening shadows

of sleep disturbed 

by fearful stirrings,

silent watchers

standing, waiting

as I fall  

into

nothing...

but when I awake

and turn to you

I feel your breath

and finding myself anew

again 

I begin

to live.

Child in a Pout

Child in a pout

self-absorbed,

all alone

in anger he shouts

“I’ll run away

from home!

I’ll run away,  run away

far from my

home.”

(Enfold him deep

in the dark

of my eyes,

sing him to sleep

fill his dreams

with my cries)

“Oh, I'll go with you, hurry!

together,  today!

I’ll follow you

always to

wherever you stray

and you never will ever

again be alone,

for wherever I am,

there you’re ever at

home.”

Spring Storm

towers fill the sky
wind-washed, waves surging, seaward -
mountains, living green!

running away, fear
filling the edges of sight;
throat tightens on knives.

hope wanes; vain night fails
never; dawn insinuates
another raw day.

Crisis

I look for you in winter’s light

but your face I cannot see.

In spring I found you hidden high

in the living green of the tallest tree.

But now in winter's still, grey sky

for you with aching heart I seek.

Where have you gone? Oh, show me your face

and rescue me from my barren faith.

Solace

“Just to love a person because she is who she is, or he is who he is, and not for any other reason, is genuine support.” Thomas Merton


Tears,

dark fears

like wind-

lashed leaves,

like faithful doves

who softly grieve ,

you cry,

and though I don’t

understand

why life fills you

with such fright,

please believe

that I’ll always be there

to help you get

through your darkest

night.

Caught in This Web

Caught in this web

I cannot move.

Memory

strains for depleted days

like thunder raging

in distant valleys.

I recall the squalls

that shattered my sky,

the rain that poured spite

and held me in its

violent thrall.

Yet

I may not flee

to what still may be

though intently I peer into

fading western air

to find some sign

of tomorrow’s beauty

or fear.

Thus Hope

wavers and fails

like a pithy stalk

in a ceaseless gale.

Now

“Our being is silent, but our existence is noisy.” Thomas Merton

day begins

glint of grey, 

gust nudges the curtain

sun lights my face

as from unfinished dreams 

I wake, 

eyes, 

wide, dazed

I rise

walk

now

into morning filled 

with shout of geese, 

trains blaring,

hurry,  can’t

be late,

now

into the shower, 

hot shock of water

wide-eyed

rush through

my scheduled day

eyes always on tonight, 

tomorrow

later...

no time for

now.