The Heist
Two grey-blue mockingbirds
alight on my cherry tree,
and set up their look-out;
the squatting male belches
shrill, harsh warnings, his
screeching song feigning pain
to make the gold-finch
and robin flee in alarm,
while Bonnie to his Clyde
picks at my ripe cherries and
knocks one to the ground;
flitting lightly down, she arises,
all Betty Boop
red lips pouting
between pointed beak,
as together they make their get-away,
high into the cottonwood,
beyond the reach of my constable cat,
to divide the fruit of their crime.
poem by Steven Federle
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Dry Lake
Rain lurks
behind clouds
too thin
to send drops,
puddles,
surging waves.
flash floods go north,
to green Seattle,
easy landfall,
where no resistance is
ever given by
sandy bottom or
rocky shore.
There the ancient
desert lies
beneath tons
of breathless redwood,
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poem by Steven Federle
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Faith and Disobedience
When I heard how you raised
the little girl who died,
with searching hands
I found you,
and felt a strange new thirst
for light,
So I begged
for a miracle.
You asked me
if I believed
that you really could do
such a thing,
could illuminate
my personal night.
Filled
with inexplicable
faith, I said
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poem by Steven Federle
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A Good Day
I called today
and heard the sharp alarms
ring by his bed,
but you said
it was a good day.
He was awake and
though gagged raspy with tubes
again humor filled his sly eyes.
He Laughed at the irony
that he, of all people,
should be rendered
speechless.
So through your speakerphone
I spoke to him,
uttering my limp, encouraging words
into the silent, empty air.
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poem by Steven Federle
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Sunrise
'Sunrise is an event that calls forth solemn music in the very depths of man's nature, as if one's whole being has to attune itself to the cosmos and praise God for the new day, praise Him in the name of all the creatures that ever were or ever will be.' Thomas Merton, Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander
Oh call me softly
in the morning!
With winter's sun
paint golden
the pale trees.
In deep waters,
in cool ponds brush my
legs, caress
my tender feet.
Your breath flies
through the green
canyons.
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poem by Steven Federle
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Wilma's Welcome
He sat the table, fresh kid,
waiting for his dinner,
pushing back the war
now so far away.
His big brother smiled
glad to see him safe,
when she walked in,
carrying a steaming plate
of the best fried chicken
either had ever seen.
The aroma awoke in his memory
soft Ohio nights,
God's righteous thunder rumbling
gentle rains cooling the hot August sky,
when Mom carried in our dinner,
fried chicken and mashed potatoes,
safety and love.
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poem by Steven Federle
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Cry Aloud
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,
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poem by Steven Federle
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How to Die
Darkness looms
on folded wings
cold and undeniable.
But its flight stalls,
as life rages on.
Red Infection flares
in your pale blood,
your tired heart savaged
by thin assassins.
Should you go now
into Dylan’s good night
where faint stars
call softly to your wasted soul?
Yes
enter
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poem by Steven Federle
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Detachment
I live between two worlds.
On this substantial earth
senses stir in morning wind
eyes liven in golden light
the noonday sun flares,
arms, legs, back brushed with fire,
fevered brow, I hear clanging bells
the blare of trains, elephantine
motion, sure and steady
over the ungiving ground.
How shall I detach
from this panoply, this
pulsing world,
rousing
swirl of all-
sense?
Yet
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poem by Steven Federle
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Elegy for Juliani
They found him today,
the dirty canal washing his face,
his lungs bursting full
with watery breath.
Confusion and hatred
coldly cast this child
to the chilly turbid flow.
Another child died long ago
and all the people wept
to see young life so quickly swept
into death’s deep sleep,
and so they begged
for a miracle. He said
“Wake up, little girl, ”
and startled, wide eyed and
very hungry, she sat up.
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poem by Steven Federle
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