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.
Over bright fields
we fly.
Thin slips
of consciousness,
bounded by darkness,
we rise
on our song’s
golden glow,
not knowing
how descends
the growing edge
of nothing.
(7 July 2012)
The poor still wait
for bolted doors to open
hunger to be filled
and concern to replace
the deep scorn
of the rich, who believe
God is on their side,
who offer golden chalices
and cathedrals of crystal
to purchase
eternal life
with God, who remembers
the poor
will fill their every
need
but send away the rich
with nothing
no things to carry
in their powerful, sleek cars
to their empty houses
silent houses
stony, soulless
mansions,
nothing
but their names
on fine marble
engraved,
yet the poor watch
and still wait.
Photo: Brian Federle, Desert Sunrise, Dec. 2016
I, John, declare.
Listen!
Can you hear?
Open your eyes and see.
With outstretched hands reach and
proclaim to the world of endless strife
the Word of peace,
eternal Life!
ref: 1 John 1:1-4
(22 December 2011)
i
When I last saw you
Your hands were clenched
With a rage foreign to your voice
And you were rushing inward
Away from the moon, beyond the glowing
night
Of my grief.
Yet on my way home
I saw the moon rise.
Where have you gone, then, If not
to that land behind the moon?
ii
In the emptiness above the earth
In the terrific clashing of jet with atmosphere
I heard your new voice
I saw your new hands
Tearing at the cold, hurtling steel,
Casting off silk shroud
For dark soil
And even darker rivers.
iii
If stars loom too large
Is not my window too small?
(11/24/1978)
The light is fading early today.
Rain turns the whole world to night.
I drive through watery streets,
headlights
stretch to bright tapers,
red lamps
softly trailing
blood beneath my wheels.
Death’s details
fill my busy day.
First, the uncut granite,
sorted and sized,
words neatly arranged,
ready to inscribe
the bare facts of your life,
and then on to the small, white house,
with its big front window and spring garden
hidden behind the black iron gate;
this is where your party will be.
Our guests will arrive soon,
and I must order flowers, great
purple blooms
to dim this too bright room.
Now we’re nearly finished,
but first I must see
to your final ground,
small patch
of turned earth,
and then tomorrow you can finally rest.
Attend us gently
as we weep
and slowly walk away.
(10 Dec. 2010)
A voice said, “Cry aloud!”
and I said, “But what shall I cry?”
Shall I sing to the people
a song of spring,
hills aflame with green,
dry grass igniting
with joy?
In darker days,
when the high meadow fell fallow
and flowers of the valley
dried to dust,
I thought you’d turned
away, took your giving hands
to other lands.
Despairing, I wept,
stung by tears
from angry Hell,
and doubted
your love.
Oh, forgive me, pity your child
and make your enduring rain fall
on the riotous grass,
on the bold crocus
and passionate
rose.
Photo Brian Federle: On the Pacifica Path, 2014
|
“At the center of our being is a point of nothingness which is untouched by sin and by illusion, a point of pure truth, a point or spark which belongs entirely to God, which is never at our disposal, from which God disposes of our lives, which is inaccessible to the fantasies of our own mind or the brutalities of our own will.” Thomas Merton Rushing from shower to sink, I heard the TV And I stopped, all schedules forgotten, transfixed Calmly, the newsman speculated This was no accident,then, this morning violence, and I wondered I wanted to go on with my own day, I saw a suited businessman, I heard the shrill, muffled And I knew in that moment we all are falling into our dark, quiet center The Eternal, as our shattered bodies rise (9/11/2011) |
Photo: Brian Federle, San Francisco Homeless, 2014.
Walking through the dusty grove
we talked of death and empty graves
when a stranger suddenly appeared.
He walked with us and asked why we trembled so.
Amazed that he seemed not to know
of the blood and pain in Jerusalem,
we told him
how dark the day became, how the sun slid down
to shivering night
when, broken, our friend was placed in the cave.
Rebuking us for our lack of faith,
he explained how it was all foretold in the ancient books;
from Adam to David, the inevitable grave
insatiably claims
corrupt humanity
until now.
We heard, eyes cast down,
when at Emmaus he broke
our common bread
and looking up, we saw Him.
His face was blazing like the sun!
We blinked, and then he was gone,
but the bread remained.
poems 