Nearly Ripe
Nearly ripe, these green apples
hang heavy
from our bursting tree,
the warm evening sun
glinting through swaying branches.
They will be ready
in about a week.
Then I’ll slice them into sweet crescents
And their taste will dance upon your tongue
with all the secrets our tree has been keeping,
its living leaves,
its smooth, grey bark,
its very roots
grasping deep
into our dark soil,
and these glowing, green apples
I will make bare and white and moist,
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poem by Steven Federle
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Abaude: Your Eyes
"In an age where there is much talk about ‘being yourself, ' I reserve to myself the right to forget about being myself." Thomas Merton
When I look into the mirror
I see the perfect mime,
moving left or right, mimicing
my vanity as I comb thinning hair,
check wrinkled skin for new blemish,
try figure out who I am;
but when I look into your eyes
I see long drives, mountain roads
rising to clouds, ocean mist
washing clean the highest pines
as the eastern sky
grows bright with
morning.
Your eyes
enfold me.
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poem by Steven Federle
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City Nocturne
'Where there is no peace, there is no light.' Thomas Merton. Honorable Reader: Reflections on My Work
I dwell in city nights
hear cars cruising
down streets
streaming confusion
whispering,
boulevards of light
stunted lanes,
high-
wire siren, stunned
shot-
finders, tense
dispatchers rolling
black and whites,
ambulance
coroner's wagon
while laughing,
from theatre emerging,
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poem by Steven Federle
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Communion
Alone, I look through my eyes
and see the world
as it is, as I think
it is, as I want it
to be:
bright mornings,
shimmering lawns, trees glowing
golden as night dissolves
to glaring day.
I hear mourning doves,
raucous crows, roar of lawn-mowers,
distant whisper
of traffic
and believe these proof
that I alone can end the night
of anxious dreams,
with quick breath and
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poem by Steven Federle
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We Must Believe
We must all believe in love and in peace.
We must believe in the power of love. Thomas Merton
Peace fills this house
as I alone awake and hear
the sounds of easy breathing,
the morning birds, striving
with rising dawn, singing
in the sun with piercing song,
while in the great distance
beyond the gentle flame of sunrise
anger rages.
The birds of Homs are silent.
Waning day swells
with the wails of
mothers.
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poem by Steven Federle
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Trust
Let my trust be in Your mercy, not in myself. Let my hope be in Your love, not in health, or strength, or ability or human resources. If I trust You, everything else will become, for me, strength, health, and support. Everything will bring me to heaven. If I do not trust You, everything will be my destruction. Thomas Merton Thoughts in Solitude
I trusted my strength,
lifted weights, made
muscled arms strain
overpowered everything.
Young fool!
thinking blood
can forever freely rush
from throbbing heart
to grasping hands.
One day
into a morning mirror
I looked
and saw my father
gray and failing.
poem by Steven Federle
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Christian Burial
We cross the resilient lawn,
stepping over flat stones,
engraved names, lives
encapsulated.
Under the corrugated tent
on green folding chairs
we pause
as his bronze casket gleams
golden in the shade,
you faithfully standing
by his side on this
burial day.
Touching the cold metal
one last time,
I peer down
to a new
deeper place
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poem by Steven Federle
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Mercy and Love
In order to know and love God as He is, we must have God dwelling in us in a new way, not only in His creative power but in His mercy. Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation.
Nothing I could do
would ever be enough
to make the dead-wood
live. Though the wind
and rain sever bright leaves,
tender blossoms from
the cherry tree, and the
birds themselves fly
from my anger,
I know
I could never
make it right,
though with tears I flood,
nourish with a
broken heart's blood
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poem by Steven Federle
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Breech-mender
I cried out for help
and in the silence
I heard a voice,
like my voice
but from deep in a dream,
ringed in song and sleep.
I heard Him declare,
'yes, I am here.'
and so I cried,
'Lord, I am deprived,
have become
the afflicted one
you once saved! '
but He replied,
'Be quiet. For
In the silence
of your soul
I'll make
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poem by Steven Federle
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Unsent
In the distance
across the dark continent,
we've drifted
into silence,
our years shrouded
in a mist of
unknowing.
Oh, once we were brothers
roaming the hills of green summer!
Remember that long bike ride?
We pedaled all the way
to Link Road, to the
Little Miami River
to see Mark.
I could not imagine
that we could go so far,
but we did.
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poem by Steven Federle
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