from "Memorial"

Brian Federle, born March 4, 1986

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

and I glowed with

unconditional love for my son.

The One Thing

“Happiness consists in finding out precisely what the ‘one thing necessary’ may be, in our lives, and in gladly relinquishing all the rest. For then, by a divine paradox, we find that everything else is given us together with the one thing we needed.”  Thomas Merton

rain

falling

tenderly

on spring grass, on leaves

bending as two mourning doves moan,

beat wide their wings and brush back the sky, falling low to

dark earth. Gladly would I give it

all for a moment

in the glow

of your

eyes!

(9 April 2013)

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)

Night Falls

 

Photo: Brian Federle, "Open Gate" Pacifica 2012

    Night falls

slowly in spring
through trees newly flush
with unfurling leaves.

     Birds rush

through swaying limbs
to newly-built nests,
to lives yet to live

as day fades
to shimmering silk
as stars gleam with
     
       celestial milk.
                                                                                                                                                                                               

Cold Winds

Cold winds,

the sharp edge

of winter — hard

and solid and blue —

fires dull fields to green

as slate-grey trees

their secret lives

reveal.

The Movement of the Soul

Photo, Brian Federle; In Golden Gate Park, 2013

"All the passions can be reduced to four: joy, hope, fear, and grief. 

These four are so closely connected that, when one is controlled, 

the others all obey.  Consequently they can be reduced to one: joy.  

And desire is the movement of the soul seeking joy."  

Thomas Merton, The Ascent to Truth

Fear

is knowing

how darkness

bears down, how the

storm thrashes

the autumn-bare

trees.

Summer's birds

cannot withstand
the fearful night
so they flee.

Fear

leads to grief

when tumors increase.

Blood grows

thick

until, together

at last, we stand

coffin-side

and wonder

why.

This is the line that splits heaven from hell.

We comb his hair

and shave his face,

carefully fold a rosary

into his cold hands,

and wonder that

his chest is

so still.

But his eyes are safely

sealed against the

terrors of the grave,

so we lay him to rest

and slowly go

our separate ways.

Remember

those cold March days

when we stood, our

backs to the rising sun?

Too bright to see,

we felt the sun stroking us

with a lover's warmth,

rekindling in us

hope's desire.

Thus will it always be.

Death can never win

though the illusion is strong.

The mortal body succumbs

but the soul ascends,

like birds, joyfully rising

to the morning sun.

On the Feast of St. Stephen

The Martyrdom of St. Stephen by Peter Paul Rubens 1616-1617

"The life of the soul is not knowledge, it is love, since love is the act of the supreme faculty, the will, by which man is formally united to the final end of all his striving – by which man becomes one with God." (Thomas Merton, The Seven Storey Mountain)

See how wind tears, how

clouds ravage the sky

to shreds…

Can you hear the geese fleeing,

shouting dread

as the savage storm crouches?

Are you afraid?

I know

how the sea sometimes

launches boulders;

but the stubborn land

bows and waits

and, swollen, forgives

with torrents of life;

rivers of joy.

(2013-2017)

Delta Rain

Soft rain

on dark oaks

Clustered green 

curving canyons rise

to velvet crease.

Thick mists consume

stoic cattle, 

slowly climbing

verdant slopes.

Meadows gather 

new-born lakes.

Delta birds -

grebe and pensive loon,

goldeneye and pintail,

ibis and snowy egret 

slowly wade.

With flashing beak

they break

black waters.

(29 Apr. 2013)

Binary

A young child falls

and, laughing, rises to

his mother’s arms.

Rivers of youth

cut canyons

from ancient

bones.

(16 Nov. 2011; Rev 2/15/2017)

While you were asleep...

The sun has not cleared

my neighbor’s house yet.

His high trees glow

golden-green, nodding slightly

in the morning breeze,

but he is not about,

probably sleeps

deep in still rooms

curtained and shuttered,

easily breaths

unaware

of the deep chorus

swelling in the brightening sky,

mourning dove and

mocking-bird, jay and sparrow

and clicking hummingbird

singing into being

the new day;

but I see

and I hear.

I’ll tell him

what he missed.

Visitation

through hospital corridors

past darkly soiled sheets

through bloody, cold doors

where the comatose sleep

to your death-bed, afraid,

where you waited for me...

...but this time was different;

your eyes understood,

you said slowly, gently

“God is so good!”

Listen to That Darkness

"Oh, listen to that darkness, listen to that deep darkness, listen to those seas of darkness on whose shores we stand and die. Now can we have you, peace, now can we sleep in Your will, sweet God of peace? Now can we have Your Word and in Him rest?" Thomas Merton, A Book of Hours.

+++++++++++++

I'll wait in this bright room.

Night rages, windows fade

to none,

and trees bend, thrashed

by your love-song.

For you I'll wait -

Oh when, oh

when

will you come?

(23 Aug 2013)

Morning Harvest

The best apples are near the top

so bringing out my new ladder

I rise through the swaying branches

to reach bright green clusters,

but, intent on windfall, the Suisun breeze

flails the apple leaves

and conspires with swaying limbs

to blow me back down again.

Stubborn human,

I climb to the extreme step

and find them all waiting,

glowing, green, ready.

Rejoicing, I fill my paper sack

until its weight brings me back

to the stationary ground, satisfied

with the morning's sweet harvest.

(11 July 2013)

Ordination

“What we are asked to do is to love, and this love itself will render both ourselves and our neighbors worthy.”  Thomas Merton

+

deep in this cathedral

love resounds

through the bright air

of paradise

love rebounds

playful, full of

prayer.

Oh, hear the organ’s

profundo ring
laughter

as love pierces

your living heart

as, prostrate,

love breaks open

your breathless soul.

(18 November 2013 on the ordination of my brother)