Kentucky
Summer steam
washes us clean
like a warm bath
as we wade through young fields,
new corn waist high
to where blue sky
meets the rustling green sea.
We navigate by dead-
reckoning to the red barn.
Wary of snakes,
with flailing stick you flush
out the tall, quick hares.
Feathers flashing, quail
burst heavenward at
our clumsy approach,
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poem by Steven Federle
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Do Not Gaze into the Night
"We do not see the Blinding One in black emptiness. He speaks to us gently; His light is one fullness and one Wisdom." Thomas Merton
Do not gaze into the night.
He is not in the cold wind
tearing at tender leaves.
No, nor does He live
on the mountain of thunder
nor on the crashing shore
where the surf pounds
time on rocks as old
rhythm itself;
You'll not
find Him
in the piercing cries
of the children
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poem by Steven Federle
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Fall Leaves
Wind-ripped leaves
cover my yard
severed flesh, leathery
fingers splayed
grip the brick walkway.
Flush winter roses
dropp petals,
red shrouds cover
glistening gold veins
sundered
from ravaged trees.
Yet the trees survive.
mimicking death’s
grey angularity
oblivious to the wind,
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poem by Steven Federle
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The Joy of My Youth
The morning is cold,
the moon slung low
lighting the snow
iridescently blue
In the dark, glowing church
red votives flame
throwing bright prayers
to the ceiling
Introibo ad altare Dei,
The old priest intones
“I will go
to the alter of God”
and I quickly recite
Ad Deum qui laetificat
juventutem meam
“To God,
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poem by Steven Federle
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The First Moment
A door opens in the center of our being and we seem to fall through it into immense depths which, although they are infinite, are all accessible to us; all eternity seems to have become ours in this one placid and breathless contact.
Thomas Merton, Seeds of Contemplation
The approach is clear;
light of day,
bright sky
beyond my
silken shroud,
the door is open,
but I am afraid.
Should I pass through,
perhaps descend to
endless depths?
I listen,
I hear you calling me
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poem by Steven Federle
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Insurgent
'Only mercy can liberate us from the madness of our determination to be consistent - from the awful pattern of lusts, greeds, angers and hatreds which mix us up together like a mass of dough and thrust us all together into the oven.'
Thomas Merton, Raids on the Unspeakable
Thin lines restrain,
sameness
my breath contains,
till I can no longer feel
Your perfect pain!
Then will I become
a silent ghost -
tears in the night
ache in their souls,
their dream of fright.
Yes! make me Your angel
of the seven plagues;
with Your love
We'll destroy bland fate.
poem by Steven Federle
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Step Of Eternity
But love laughs at the end of the world
because love is the step of eternity. Thomas Merton
Look into my eyes
and see me smile,
hear my sighs turn to
laughter.
Life's a comedy,
a melo-
drama
filled with
wrong turns,
missed cues,
sudden revisions
and tearful
reconciliations.
Summer
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poem by Steven Federle
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Sunset
The evening wind stirs
our high, green trees,
whispering down the westering sun,
as shadows scale our eastern fence.
The sun surrenders its May heat
to a cooling Suisun breeze,
while already looming
on the eastern horizon,
rising from the gentle green swell
of low delta hills,
the copper moon vaults
into the cobalt,
its ascendant mastery astonishing
even the wading, gazing egret,
as on the other side
of our slowly rolling planet,
the bleeding sun declines,
searching the sea for healing.
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poem by Steven Federle
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Simeon's Blessing
Blessings
on this radiant child.
I'll smear his head
with bitter oils, cool
his brow with the waters
of paradise,
and with sweet incense
raise to heaven
his soul!
...but I fear for the life
my failing eyes foresee
how the rich of this land
will fear him, strike him down,
covet even the air
he breathes,
and you, daughter,
the soldiers will pierce
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poem by Steven Federle
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I Just Cut the Grass
I just cut the grass, and
the cat is checking out my work.
She’s critical, but helps out,
grazing contentedly on
sprigs of errant chaff
that I missed in my hurry
to finish. Clouds are gathering
on this cold, Holy Saturday.
Now I tarry in my webbed chair,
to sip a cold bottle of beer,
and wonder how green
the world has grown.
Knock-out roses pop
(their vermillion tips shout
in the more common green of fern and ivy)
and red cherries fill the green cherry-tree.
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poem by Steven Federle
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