Hope at Sunset

Photo: Brian Federle, Oregon, 2014


Across the fading valley

The silver bay shines,

effulgent edge

under twilight hills.

Confined

flat waters

cut a thin line

beneath dark heights.

Saw-toothed ridges

rip thin clouds

to ragged shreds —

the plunging sun ignites

the resplendent light

of love

for this sad, winter world. 

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.

Winter's Tree of Leaf and Bird

Winter's tree, of leaf and bird, 

of mystery stripped

silent and spare

where living glade

with leafy trunk and fragrant limb

once hid mockingbirds 

as they played

through drowsy summer's 

longest day.

But now in winter's brittle chill 

all is silent, all is still

as death works out 

his hollow will.

(28 Dec 2011)

Light, directly infused

Photo Brian Federle, Sunset at Carlsbad, Jan. 2016

“Faith reaches the intellect not through the senses

 but in a light directly infused by God.” Thomas Merton

Rising from the sea

 death’s veil

overwhelms me.

Brief day fails,

fills the sky

with starry sails

wandering planets,

moonbeams

cold and bright –

holy spirit

of faithful night.

(2012: 2017)

Deep in Grey

Deep in grey

we wait

as black night drops

suddenly 

and completely.

At the end of our day, 

hope is measured

one careful procedure

at a time.

Night is not kind in winter.

Too early It comes,

and stays too long,

brings fear,

red eyes and stinging tears.

lit by red numbers

night measures our lives

one pulse at a time,

in dim blue bars

gleaming in the distant ceiling.

Clasping hands

In the fading day’s light 

we pray

for one more 

morning.

(28 Oct 2010)

Winter Morning

You raged all night,
urging black clouds
to mutinous thunder.

What wind blows from
such mighty lungs
that heaven itself
bends to the blast?

In sleep's confusion
I heard you
calling me
out of the dark,
into winter’s
dim light

where trees rise
still and bare
into the sepia air

and small birds
search
the desolate earth. 

(21 Dec. 2010)

Christmas Eve, After Mass

The light from the tree

throws gold on my

dark wall.

Night lurks, but

thin windows

keep the wind at bay

as day flows faithfully

to day.

So we wait

for the exuberant sun

to spill reckless warmth

over the grateful Earth.

Life is a prize,

a gift of great value

gold given by the eastern king

to the newborn

child.

So receive it!

Your faith

has saved you.

(24 December 2010)

Meditation on a Grey Morning

Grey morning

lights

the bland sky.

Black birds light

on bare trees

thin limbs wavering

as they flit

scanning

the frozen earth.

All the world is waiting,

to unwind explosive buds

to shed thin shrouds

and burst into emerald light

as joyful black birds rise

into the endless

blue sky.

Great is their faith,

these birds and trees.

They know beyond all reason

that the sun

will thaw

the icy grip

of violent winter

and consume the aching world

in the radiant heat

of resurrection.

(10 January 2013)

Storm at Sausalito

Sailboats lashed to the pier,

ebon masts, dark trees bare

with tightly shrouded canvas sail,

rigging singing in the gale,

pier groaning, grey waves grind

clinging sloops to taut lines,

steel bulwarks rise and fall

against gleaming, cool jetty walls.

(12 May 2010)

Refuge

Fog hangs in bright tents
contagion enfolds
blighted white mist
like driven, lost souls.

But curtains enclose
our dim, soft room,
and lanterns guard
against fog’s ashen gloom.

So build high the fire
to warm us this night;
we'll silently wait for
dawn’s thin, brittle light.

(29 January 2011)

fog conceals

fog conceals

winter dark streets

but gently reveals

her tears, her

cold, soft hands,

my mother’s hands

rising from

the waters,

from the fog.

(9 December 2014)

neverending

see how night rushes

down winter streets

how the pall descends

and suddenly casts

the bold sun to the sea.

thus it has been

since colliding

rocks coalesced

and the diurnal

dance began -

and yet, we hope

for sunrise

for summer

neverending.

(11/27/2014)

Too Soon

Too soon
rises the sky
to blue perfection.

New grass waves,
uneven rows
unwary of
the leveling blade.

Delicate flowers
unfold
too soon,

and naive birds
in winter-spare trees
sing
like it’s June.

(17 Feb. 2013)