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)

Winter Garden

Winter garden, rows

leaning low to mud, cold,

promising nothing.

The pale sun, lingers...

Are You still here? I saw You 

in spring, green breezes 

singing in the trees,

lusty crickets shouting grace!

Oh, why did You leave

this place, defiled?

When will You turn Your holy face

again to your unholy child?

(1/15 /13; rev. 1/14/19)

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

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!

On the Razor's Edge

Photo: Brian Federle

“Despair is the absolute extreme of self-love.”

― Thomas Merton

Gazing into bright desert space

we see endless highways, distant

mountains we never reach,

sharp hills, steep cliffs

receding

as we move closer,

closer,

to the pacing sun,

creasing dark canyons,

casting amber light

into the gauzy sky —  

yet our dark dreams trouble

the faint stars; the reeling planets

throw wide nets over

our haunted, lost souls

when, morning at last,

we begin again,

pursuing the tumbling edge

of this turning globe

believing that

it will never end, will never

end,

will never

end.

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)

The Book of Life

“Perhaps the book of life, in the end, is the book of what one has lived and if one has lived nothing, he is not in the book of life. “ Merton, Thomas, When the Trees Say Nothing: Writings on Nature 

Turn the pages
past the flashy cover
beyond sincere dedications;
what do you
read?

Are there tragedies
lurking in your leafy folds?
Do you struggle, oh Hero,
with sirens and one-
eyed peep-
ing Toms?

Are you triumphant?

In your brief tale,
do you satisfy
harried Plot’s demands?

Are you happy
with your climax, your
denoue-
ment?

Or, with eyes moist and red,
at last do you drop
your ragged volume
to the musty cellar floor,
and wonder,

what happened?

(29 May 2012)

Second Death

In the darkness of noon

proud souls decline

from glittering heights

to October's stark truth.  

Sacred fire ignites

their hopeless, sad flight

into sin and self-

separation.

(20 Oct. 2011)

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)

Caïn

L'action délicate de la grâce dans l'âme est profondément perturbé par toute violence humaine . Passion , quand il est excessif , ce est faire violence à l'esprit et sa violence la plus dangereuse est celle dans laquelle nous semblons trouver la paix . La violence ne est pas complètement mort jusqu'à ce qu'il cesse de nous déranger. Thomas Merton . Pensées dans la solitude.


Comme un vent délicate
ta grâce en forme de mon âme infantile
rempli mon vide
avec la forme angélique

et je étais belle
et la bonne

jusqu'à ce que, jaloux de votre amour ,
Je ai tué mon frère .

Maintenant, je crains l'abîme
qui se ouvre sous moi
la tombe
de mon péché - flétrie âme.

Pour vous je prie
pardonnez-moi! me ramener
de la paix engourdissement
de négligence , vide
jour .

(1 Février 2013)

Lost Soul

“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

Soul without light
he screams in anger,

curses his mother
for carving his dying flesh
from her course blood.

His darkness is complete.

He will not see
the sun
though it streams golden
through his open
door.

A prisoner,
he can only gaze
on blighted shade; he cannot stray
beyond the constrained
cell of his narrow
self.

(11 March 2011)

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.

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.”

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.

On a Razor's Edge We Live

“Despair is the absolute extreme of self-love.” 
― Thomas Merton


Gazing into bright desert space
we see endless highways, distant
mountains we never reach,
sharp hills, steep cliffs
receding
as we move closer,

closer,
to the pacing sun
creasing dark canyons
casting amber light
into the gauzy sky,

yet our dark dreams trouble
the faint stars and reeling planets
throw wide nets over
haunted, lost souls

when, morning at last,
we begin again
pursuing the tumbling edge
of this turning globe

and we believe that
it will never end, will never
end,
will never
end.