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.
Photo: Brian Federle, “Open Gate” Pacific, 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.
Photo: Brian Federle, Sun in Clouds, Hawaii 2016Clearing the tallest
eve of the big house,
the sun overwhelms.
Then the mockingbird chants
intricate psalms —
All praise to the
lord of the sky
and with glory
fill the land!
Bird song rises
in pure, liquid waves
as golden leaves
arc, twisting
to the ground.
Heavy gold
must fall.
October heat
will give way
to winter rain.
Yet inevitably life flows
like the breeze
rising from the broad sea
to the high Sierra;
grey clouds rise
and heavy snow falls.
All living waters
give praise.
Deleware reservoir is flooded.
Delicate pools
of blue reflect
the fleeting arch of a heron ascending
as I wait
by the lakeside.
(20 July 2016)
fill your heart
with rush of rain,
open palms
to receive
new life
for your heart
of winter!
oh, see how
the birds
fiercely sing
my love!
(5 January 2016)
Seagulls circle high,
In the heavy October sky
wide, white wings
nudging the dull air
riding gyres
past the waving crest
of our highest redwood.
They are strangers here.
They’ll find no shallows to fish
no mussels to lift
above the concrete wharf,
drop and crush
and delicately dissect
still living white flesh.
They must be lost.
Here they’ll find no flying sail
no schooner driving into
wintery winds. They’ll have
no rising bow here
to amend their errant way.
And yet, for now, they’ll stay,
Graces of light
In the gray gloom
of this cold autumn
afternoon.
(27 Oct. 2010)
In the morning, early
before the sun has cleared
our neighbor’s roof,
we move through
our morning chores:
You water your gardens
and I feed my birds.
The rose, the morning glory,
creeping higher
up the blue trellis, reaching
for the brightening sky;
in the window-box
the vinca flaming red,
as sparrow and finch tumble
from the cherry tree
swarming in noisy congregation,
fussing and quarreling, shoving
for more seed –
rejoicing!
Rushing, pushing
the sparrows shove;
pulsing wings
beating the air,
all for a bounty
of unexpected feed!
When drops two doves.
Wings folded,
they plaintively call;
the seed of plenty
gently falls.
(9 May 2015)
Dawn fires
the cold roses
one-
at-
a-time,
when, with
planetary urge,
all explode into
vermillion
conflagration.
Then the cherry tree,
plain in
drab leaf,
erupts into
emerald
glory,
and high
from the bright rooftop
the mourning-dove
sings
her low,plaintive
song of
summer.
(14 June 2014)
poems 