Immanence

I know you stroll 
beyond Andromeda
gazing on Magellanic Clouds,
but I cannot see that far. 

I am stardust 
to Earth-fallen.

Yet I seek you in the autumn rain,
hear you singing in the evening wind.

Your breath fills my empty lungs,
your smile lights my darkened eyes,
and my heart overflows 
with your sacred blood —

love spilling,
Earth-fulfilling.

(11 June 2011 - 2/19/2019)

The Obscure Sense of the Presence of God

Walking down a street, sweeping a floor, washing dishes, hoeing beans, reading a book, taking a stroll in the woods-all can be enriched with contemplation and with the obscure sense of the presence of God.    Thomas Merton. The Inner Experience: Notes on Contemplation.


I see how the evening sun lights
the high grass, trees shift in the gentle wind
and small brown birds flit between
outdoor tables as young women
reach for coffee cups
drop sweet crumbs to the rough sidewalk,
to the birds.  Intent on home-work,
office-work, they never look up
to see how the sky
deepens to darker hue;
how day will fade soon
and vermilion night set fire
to the seaward hills.

The west wind will finally drive them in,
and the grateful birds will all fly away.

I see how Your love lurks even in the weeds
that grow on the edge of the most
tended garden; hides in the cries of
the grieving mourning dove;
falls like rain in the tender,
moonless night.

(30 July 2013)

Evening Meditation

Our apple tree is exuberant tonight,

its white blossoms flare within emerald shades

of our big cottonwoods,

and the flashing red finch descends

busy among the bursting white flames,

when suddenly, by a small boy enraptured,

it poses as the guardian halcyon.

Love in April is like this,

measured in flashes

of red wings in trees

and scored in lines of

molten sunlight, pouring

through our knotty fence

into the silky darkness

of our star-drenched night

(4/5/2010)

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)

Abernathy Road Roundabout

Bronze angel, strong arms

lifting the rainbow,

you stand in the center.

Our fast cars veer around

north, then east

to shop, to school,

to home

but we can’t see

what you see.

Even the truckers,

who lumber down

Abernathy Road

and enter the circle

with heady grapes

ready for press, for barrel,

for thick, green bottle

steer past you.

Our lives are scheduled over-full.

We all have

some place else to go

until unfulfilled,

we return at last

to your bright center, 

and in your embracing arms

we rest.

(16 July 2011)

Author's note:

Image: Mother Nature by Lisa Reinertson, in traffic circle at Rockville and Abernathy Roads, Suisun Valley, CA.

Memorial

Summer

He worked nights, leaving as we climbed
the tall narrow staircase to our shared room,
up into the summer heat, the steel fan
in the hallway window
pulling cool, leafy breezes
from our waving trees.

We heard the kitchen screen-door
slap shut, the Pontiac roaring to life,
and watched as slowly he backed down
the dark driveway, and was gone.

And gladly we glided through our misty dreams,
flying over tree-tops, baseball games
and cool swimming pools,

when finally the robin’s enthusiasm
and the fresh morning sun
flashing through green leaves
woke us as we heard the car stop
and Dad call cheerfully, “I’m home!”

The air already scented with bacon and coffee,
we flew down the groaning stairs,
two steps at a bound,
and eagerly started another golden
summer’s day.


Winter

One winter day I did something wrong, and
he got angry and drew his worn leather belt
from the loops of his grey, stained work trousers
To teach me a lesson.

Terrified, I ran upstairs to the big closet
and trembled behind coats and sweaters,
as heavily he came up the steps,
righteous anger ringing in his voice,
tears flowing down my cheeks;

when my big brother, teenage and strong,
called defiance to him and drew him down
into the back yard to fight him
and save me, angered by his
memory of so many other beatings,
determined to stop it now!


But facing his own father
he could not fight back, and
weeping, I watched my dad
pummel my brother’s defenseless face,
far worse than any beating
I would have gotten.

From kitchen window,
I screamed to them both
to stop!

That was when my father saw,
in the kitchen window’s glare
his own father’s angry eyes,
and felt his father’s fists
landing hard on his own face,
and he stopped and
embraced my brother.

Spring

Seven years after my father died
my first child, my son, was born in spring,
and in the gleaming, sterile room
I first held him in my arms
as, with his impossibly wide, blue eyes
he calmly gazed right into my raw soul,
and I felt in a sudden rush of warmth,
a timeless love
and at last discovered
the reason for my life.

It was then
I understood my father.

In my son’s face I saw my own
and felt my father’s eyes gazing
in warm wonder on me
as I glowed with
unconditional love for my son.


(30 Jan 2011/ 2017)

Photo: Steven Federle holding Brian Federle, March 1986

Aubade: Mourning-dove

Dawn fires

the cold roses

one-

at-

a-time, 

when, with

planetary urge,

all explode to

vermillion

conflagration.

Then the cherry tree,

plain in

drab leaf,

erupts into

emerald

glory,

and high

from the bright rooftop

the mourning-dove

sings

his low, plaintive

song of 

love.

(15 June 2014)

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)

like water

swinspeed.deviantart.com



like
water
rushing in
trees sing in the breeze, 
in the gale at the end of the
world. sun drops over the edge, spinning world, straining to
break free, by gravity held, trapped
like me as night drops
like water
in the
trees

(3 June 2013)

Ordinary Time

Counting 

numbering days and nights

calculating the length

and breadth of

our alloted

breaths

we live

by the numbers.

It starts in a split second

of passion

in the darkness

plunging headlong

to a date certain

when savage lights assault

our tender eyes

and we see

how it will be

in this clock-

work world.

Time orders All.

Class bells 

church bells

the grandfather clock

in the hallway

heavily chimes 

as our lives sway 

in the diurnal dance, 

we wake and sleep

laugh and weep

and it is all very ordinary

until it is not;

then the chain breaks

and heavy weights 

crush our vision's

persistence 

and at last we subside

into inordinate

existence.

(1 March 2012)

My Sister's Birthday

We watch as toddlers
run squealing through the house,
laughter bounding through bright halls,
a knee-level storm of pure joy.

They punctuate our grown-up conversation
as the slide-show begins.

Now you’re the bright eyed infant!

Mom was so young and pretty
Holding you close
in her strong, gleaming arms,

as the cousins, delighted, cry
“Look! Grandma’s a baby!”

In wonder we watch
the years of youth and school
love and weddings
and bright new babies,

pause on the haunting eyes
of those gentle people
whom we’ve loved
then lost
to the good night.

As your party continues,
I see in the eyes
of four generations,
a century’s worth
of smiling for the camera
a cloud of love
transcending both years and death.

So don’t worry about your age, dear sister.
clearly
we never really grow old.

(5/11/2014)

Vanitas Folia

Leaves quickly fall

now that November

is nearly done. 

From behind a glass door

I watch the dry storm,

blanket the ground,

Useless appendages

liabilities in the wind,

cast-aways await

the hollow scraping

of my wide rake.

Yet in the tree

holdouts

hope for reprieve, 

wave and rush 

confidently 

sure that bright color

can distract, delay death

with brilliant 

blush.

The Ground of Life

“He who is alone and is conscious of what his solitude means, finds himself simply in the ground of life.”   Thomas Merton.

I am alone, listening,
to every sound.

The breeze
whispers poems,

the plaintive dove
softly moans

in that small place
above our front-porch,

and tells me that love
is certain.

Kentucky

Image: Fancy Farm, Kentucky

Summer steam

washes us clean

like a warm bath

as we wade through young fields, 

new corn waist high 

to where blue sky 

meets the rustling green sea.

We navigate by dead-

reckoning to the red barn. 

Wary of snakes, 

with flailing stick you flush 

out the tall, quick hares.

Feathers flashing, quail

burst heavenward at 

our clumsy approach, 

but in the dark barn 

we find 

forgiveness.

God's own light streams down 

into fragrant stalls

as wise eyes

regard us.

We reach out to touch.

They nod, 

first in warning,

then with bright approval.

(6 Feb 2012)

Suisun Spring

Photo: Brian Federle, "Camping" 3-25-2008


the green glow
of our cottonwoods
newly clothed in the gentle April sun ....

our apple tree,
still skeletal,
intimating cotton buds
promising green glory to come,

and the grass!
all winter-yellow evaporated,
shouting like a
third-grade leprechaun
skipping across the playground
in the school's St. Patrick's Day Parade.

but most unforeseen,
along the rough fence
the vinca
blazing with royal light
in the deep, verdant shade
of our cottonwoods.

(12 April 2010)

Bridge at Montezuma Slough

We drive to see

where the twisted road will lead.

Salty river, winding slough,

dark water

rising to frothy cap

slapping concrete pier,

moon driven waves race

back to beckoning bay.

Finally we must decide...

cross the low bridge

or turn back,

but the flood is so close to the deck!

We feel tidal vibration,

basso profondo,

rattling sub-sonic

in our ears

as together

we face our fear,

and slowly cross,

eyes always ahead

til again we feel sure earth

solid beneath our tread.

(2013  - 2018)

Camping at Lake Berryessa

My children sleep
on the thin vinyl floor
while above our tent,
just past the dark tree-line,
the Milky Way glimmers
like cool waves breaking
on the black coast
of the deep mountain sky.

All night
the lake whispers softly
under gentle western winds
as egret and owl
keep guardian eyes
on the sleeping
human shore.

While watching my sons sleep,
I hear the low murmur
of wild turkey and possum
scuffling through dry dust and leaves,
searching our campground for leftovers
peanut butter crusts, hot dogs and beans,
any careless, easy meal,

when I feel rolling pressure
pushing insistently at base of our tent,
and, alarmed, hear quick, powerful,
exploratory snorts.

Holding my breath,
I gaze into the deer’s
questioning,
fearless eyes,

and wonder
if we campers
are part of this
ancient community,

or welcomed,
honored guests,

or simply curious,
rude intruders.

(30 Jan. 2011)

Thanksgiving

Full from the feast

table laded

with fragrant dressing,

steam of onion and celery,

tender turkey and

five kinds of pies

The family gathered.

My parents smiled

at our busy banter

brothers

and sisters nudging and

teasing,  beaming

in the glow

of that happy day

so long ago.

Now you and I gather

our sons around us;

again we pause, pray

and eat the bounty

of this bright Thanksgiving Day.

They say that some things,

kind hearts,

hearty laughs,

enduring love

are so good

they persist long down  

the thankful

generations.

-----------
(for Brian we are so thankful)

Summer River

“It might be good to open our eyes and see.” Thomas Merton

ore’ shading trees' hanging leaves cast green sheen on waters, on the deep unbroken mirror when, rising from night it breaks lightning and draws first breath of thin air - and, discovery made, falls back into the cool watery shade.

Moss Landing

Framed in darkness

Like birds in deep silence

The sky and sea breathe

In steel blue longing

Remembering the dying sun

And the cries of gulls diving.

On insubstantial sand

We watch an impossible ship

Moving and not moving

Like a silent cloud 
at the edge of the world.

I can see no men aboard

Although I know they are there. 

I know they are in steel rooms,

Warmed by twisting turbines,

Softly cursing,

Listening to the night.

The sand moves under us

As we walk to the sea.

Our steps change forever the earth.

The sea changes forever,

We change the sky with our breath

And wind-blown sand covers our feet.

Yet we move,

And for a while we walk

Away from the sea.

The sea will change.

The sky will change.

They will wait.

There’s no hurry.

In memoriam: Arthur Federle, 1978, Brian Federle, 2017

(1979. 2017)