The Vine
The ugly stump, desolate, dead
and too deep to pull, waited for my saw,
but I, lazy and pre-occupied, lingered
as winter inundated
the mud and rock desert
outside our kitchen window.
Then spring came, and all excuses spent,
I slogged out, grim executioner,
ready to cut and pull,
when I beheld green, craggy fingers praying
for just one more chance;
so putting the saw back into our messy garage,
we began the project,
raking, hoeing, cutting, digging
(hard work for a lazy man)
and soon sod to lay
and bricks to haul for the patio,
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poem by Steven Federle
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The Dance
The gym was dim.
Red and white balloons
glittered in the dusk
while flashing lights writhed
on the dark floor
like enchanted water-snakes
gliding through scented fog.
This was a celebration dance!
Eighth grade done at last,
they stepped, hesitant, into the roiling
teen-age sea, their synchronous, bobbing heads
attuned to the be-bop rhythms of the city (not their city) ,
and the lusty calls of the hood (not their hood) .
Smooth gym walls echoed the dj's mechanical angst
endless, relentless beats, the racing heart of the machine,
artificial sighs, nano-seconds long and gigabytes wide.
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poem by Steven Federle
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Out of the Hard Blue
Out of the hard blue it comes
throbbing, powerful, flinging dust and small stones,
as it clears the swaying tops of neighboring redwoods,
and gives the empty, clear, and calm air
substance, color, and turbulence.
We shield our eyes and turn away
from the spinning propellers as the
helicopter floats slowly down
closer and closer to the playground:
ten feet, six, five, one, done;
and lightly resting on gray pavement,
on the hopscotch lines and painted stars and planets,
the roar of its motor drops from banshee scream
to diminished moan, and finally to whisper
as blurred blades slow, and the flight finishes,
and all motion stops.
Then the school children take over, shouting
as they rush, straining against teachers’ restraint,
to see this amazing machine come to visit.
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poem by Steven Federle
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Gravity
We walk secure, grounded, heavy, oblivious,
safe from perplexing weightlessness,
unlike Life Savers candies on Atlantis spinning theatrically
as glittering Las Vegas floats beneath,
or those rusty spherical droplets
of Tang, humorlessly drifting over the Indian Ocean;
we are safe even as Kubrick's treacherous computer,
tenderly releases the cradled voyager to drift reeling away,
receding, smaller and smaller, no longer a man,
a fading star, and then just gone,
unclaimed even by the false gravity
of his mother-ship.
Yes, we are safe because she holds us tightly, binds
us with unseen, loving coils, lest we range to adventures
too high, too dangerous,
too unnatural;
the bungee jumper, skydiver, snowboarder, eventually all learn
her love is costly,
and even tired, timid professors shudder
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poem by Steven Federle
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The Movement Of The Soul
'All the passions can be reduced to four: joy, hope, fear, and grief.
These four are so closely connected that, when one is controlled,
the others all obey. Consequently they can be reduced to one: joy.
And desire is the movement of the soul seeking joy.'
Thomas Merton, The Ascent to Truth
Fear
is knowing
that the dark cloud
bearing down
on thrashing trees,
sending calling birds
to awkwardly flee,
holds both
life
and death,
but not knowing
which it will be.
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poem by Steven Federle
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The Other Brother
It was a hot day in the field
when, returning at last
bone-tired, sore from
tending your stiff-necked flock,
I saw bonfires,
extravagant blazes lighting
the way to our house,
but not for me
home late from
work,
so I asked your servant
“why such celebration? ”
That’s when my anger exploded;
…poor fellow, he bore my rage
and yelping away
cried it wasn’t his fault!
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poem by Steven Federle
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My Mother's Gift
You visited me near dawn -
I saw you
and felt your joy
and heard your voice,
like a memory of waking to bird-song
on a warm, Ohio summer's morn -
you used to sing 'rise and shine! '
bringing me bleary-eyed, bounding
into my childhood's
glowing day.
And last night
I saw you again.
I love my dreams about you.
You sweep away
all fear
with your calm voice.
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poem by Steven Federle
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Simplicity/ п р о с т о т а
unencumbered
like water
flowing through
pure time, my
mind climbs to
perfect sky
to the silence
of my heart
to meet you
and know
at last
your simple
will.
************************** *********
п р о с т о т а
н е о б р е м е н е н н ы й
к а к в о д а
п р о т е к а ю щ и й ч е р е з
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poem by Steven Federle
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The Doctor Said
The stroke was bad, and arriving at the hospital
we expected hushed, grim words
from the preoccupied doctor.
The doctor said it was brain-stem, hopeless;
the coma was total; his mind, the doctor said,
was at the bottom of a deep well.
So we entered his room and
saw the machinery of life-support,
reassuring noises, glowing red displays,
tubes and wires tethering his shattered mind to the bed.
The doctor said that Ed would not come back,
and we should cut off the milky food
flowing down a clear tube to his still living gut,
and give him a gentle death by starvation;
it would not be painful, the doctor knowingly said.
But his coma was so restless and active,
his eyes were wide and darting,
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poem by Steven Federle
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Seaward
Seaward waits, poised,
gently rising and falling,
by the concrete pier
ready for our cruise;
the polished bowsprite,
jutting in defiance,
fills my heart
with an undefined dread.
Underway at last on the calm Sausalito channel
we strike sail, ropes winching
the mainsail tight, the foresail stretched
to catch freshening breezes pushing up
from the foggy Golden Gate;
but I see only
watery desolation:
no familiar, solid road
no bright guiding line,
no golden prize
as we speed across
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poem by Steven Federle
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