Saturday, March 17, 2018


Image: Fancy Farm, 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, 

but in the dark barn 
we find 

God's own light streams down 
into fragrant stalls
as wise eyes
regard us.

We reach out to touch.

They nod, 
first in warning,
then with bright approval.

(6 Feb 2012)

Monday, March 5, 2018

Suisun Spring

Photo: Brian Federle, "Camping" 3-25-2008

the green glow
of our cottonwoods
newly clothed in the gentle April sun ....

our apple tree,
still skeletal,
intimating cotton buds
promising green glory to come,

and the grass!
all winter-yellow evaporated,
shouting like a
third-grade leprechaun
skipping across the playground
in the school's St. Patrick's Day Parade.

but most unforeseen,
along the rough fence
the vinca
blazing with royal light
in the deep, verdant shade
of our cottonwoods.

(12 April 2010)

Sunday, March 4, 2018

from "Memorial"

Brian Federle, born March 4, 1986

Seven years after my father died
my first child, my son, was born in spring,
and in the gleaming, sterile room
I first held him in my arms
as, with his impossibly wide, blue eyes
he calmly gazed right into my raw soul,
and I felt in a sudden rush of warmth,
a timeless love
and at last discovered
the reason for my life.
It was then
I understood my father.
In my son’s face I saw my own
and felt my father’s eyes gazing
in warm wonder on me
and I glowed with
unconditional love for my son.

Sunday, February 25, 2018


This stained glass window can be seen inside of 
St. Peter the Apostle Church, 179 Baldwin Road, 
Parsippany, NJ, USA. 


From this holy height,  
I gaze into
my Father’s eyes.

His fire scorches
my trembling flesh,
and fills my soul
with sacred breath.

In joyful flames
I suddenly see
I never was
what I appeared to be.

(25 February 2013)

Saturday, February 24, 2018


Night sways.

The lilting tree fills
with mercy.

Raging day,
blue-jay’s anger,
dolor of
rose petals
softly falling
to tender


as whispers
the fading tree,
“do not
forget me.”

(22 July 2012)