Saturday, May 19, 2018

Pentecost



When you left us
I saw how the clouds parted,
rent curtains,
as you cleared earth’s
drossy smear,
and passed into a heaven
bright beyond
our wildest imagining.

Bereft, fearful, we
shut tight the door
against wolves’ howling
and waited for you
to keep your promise.

At first it was a whisper,
the sea-ward wind
prying loose our
weak walls,

but soon the song rose, until
its power overwhelmed us
with chords of faith,
and, afire at last,

we spoke!

Thursday, May 17, 2018

Simplicity of being

Photo: Brian Federle, Lanterns, 2014.

"....it is of the very essence of Christianity to face suffering and death not because they are good, not because they have meaning, but because the resurrection of Jesus has robbed them of their meaning.” 
Thomas Merton
*********

The moon fades, 
clouds enshroud stars
pale trees glare 
ensnared by winter winds 
blanching at death's edge,  

and yet you whisper 
gently in the rain, 
promise me gifts 
of disease and pain
to strip me clean
and pure again.  

O, make me
your sacrament!

pure essence,
of eternal gain.

(11 Sept. 2011: rev. 5-17-2018)

Friday, May 11, 2018

молитва

Фото Брайан Федерл: Утро, штат Вашингтон, август 2014 г.

глубоко в моем центре
лежит
слово.

он резонирует
мягко, это
шепоты
мне в ухо.

ее любовник,
тишина,
объятий
слово
как густой туман
ласковый
золотой
прибрежные склоны.


но эта сырая песня
метафоры,
тревожный гонг,
бедных подражания,
пересмешник.

терпеливо,
слово
сопротивляется
все объяснение.

это просто
есть.

--------------------------------------------------------------------


Prayer

deep in my center
lies the 
word.

it resonates 
softly, it 
whispers 
in my ear.

its lover, 
silence, 
embraces 
the word 
like thick mist 
caressing 
golden 
coastal slopes.

but this crude song is 
a metaphor, 
an anxious gong, 
a poor imitation, 
a mockingbird.

patiently, 
the word 
resists 
all explanation.

it just simply 
is.

prayer

Photo Brian Federle: Morning, Washington State, Aug. 2014


deep in my center
lies the
word.

it resonates
softly, it
whispers
in my ear.

its lover,
silence,
embraces
the word
like thick mist
caressing
golden
coastal slopes.

but this crude song is
a metaphor,
an anxious gong,
a poor imitation,
a mockingbird.

patiently,
the word
resists
all explanation.

it just simply
is.

(3 Sept. 2010)

Wednesday, May 9, 2018

The Ground of Life


“He who is alone and is conscious of what his solitude means, finds himself simply in the ground of life.”   Thomas Merton.

I am alone, listening,
to every sound.

The breeze
whispers poems,

the plaintive dove
softly moans

in that small place
above our front-porch,

and tells me that love
is certain.