Brian Federle, Born March 4, 1986
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.
Just before nightfall
your new leaves
in the cool delta breeze,
your limbs glint
a deeper shade
where rough trunk rises
from clambering vines,
to violet fire.
Oh! Dance with the angels!
Dance with Lord
of the Trees!
His breath will stir you to passion,
His song will lull you
to sacred sleep.
“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
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
(9 April 2013)
Deep inside my silence
words glow like burning stones
plunging to dark waters.
Share with me my holy fire!
With joyful shouts,
we’ll flood the hidden rivers.
But if you leave
My words die
without your eyes,
So come into my heart
and sing with me
this mystic chant!
We’ll be madmen,
hunting diamonds in the dark.
blood thirsty, fresh death-
lies fly super-
sonic flesh thud-
ing ragged rounds
“We are not perfectly free until we live in pure hope. For when our hope is pure, it no longer trusts exclusively in human and visible means, no rests in any visible ends. “ Thomas Merton
Close the the gun’s edge
life is sharply
Clarity is achieved
when you have nothing left
That’s when you realize
that your life stands
without any visible
like a high-
you have the freedom
to stand between
the red rage
and the children.
Photo: Brian Federle, “Night”, 2014
music of days to
night fading; the right note, only
song you know; sum of your days, falling, falling to night.
the black place to wait
for Him. Don’t call out in fear for
there’s nobody there but you and He, so simply be
how His song
fills your darkness with
light; smile at Him, your familiar
bright friend, and no longer will you fear your emptiness.
(23 Dec 2013)
since you’ve been gone the days
except for the rush of wind
in our apple tree.
See how the fruit hangs
heavy, pulling low
so I’ll wait in the shade
of soft July
Deep thunder shakes this warm July evening
and lightning flashes over the waterfront
filling the clear, starry sky with acrid clouds and glimmering rain
falling to the water as children gaze
in shock and awe,
waiting for the next big one to explode.
False bombardment as celebration:
such fits my nation, founded in genocide and slavery,
this nation baptized in the blood and tears
of Navaho and Cherokee and all the tribes of the American holocaust
a nation that devoured one quarter of its sons
in four short, blood-soaked years; my nation,
a nation of efficient bigots and hungry hypocrites,
giving the world Gettysburg and the Trail of Tears
as models for problem-solving;
a nation unlike any other, not able to live up to its promises
because no other nation dares make such promises.
The bright violence of rockets’ red glare lights our sky
like the bold Declaration ignited the world, and thunder
rocked mighty kings from complacent belief in their divine rights,
rocked the people of Europe, thirsting for their own rights
and land and a chance to pursue a little happiness;
yes, rocked even distant Asia, deep in its ancient dream
foolish men joyfully following the distant thunder
to seek the fabled Golden Mountain.
The promise was made and broken and made yet again,
and the anger of betrayal torched the cities of the sixties,
and singed our hearts
and in the redeeming pain of change
made them a little less impure.
Yes, we are imperfect,
but we know our sins
and pay for them over and over again,
and to remind ourselves of the debt yet unsatisfied,
every summer we celebrate in the only way fitting for such a nation;
In the starry sky fiercely glowing with liberty
and in the transcendent thunder
of the Promise.
(4 July 2011)
Bronze angel, strong arms
lifting the rainbow,
you stand in the center.
Our fast cars veer around
north, then east
to shop, to school,
but we can’t see
what you see.
Even the truckers,
who lumber down
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
we return at last
to our bright center,
and in your embracing arms
Image: Mother Nature by Lisa Reinertson, in traffic circle
at Rockville and Abernathy Roads, Suisun Valley, CA.