Who I Am
"To say that I am made in the image of God is to say that love is the reason for my existence, for God is love. Love is my true identity. Selflessness is my true self. Love is my true character. Love is my name." Thomas Merton. New Seeds of Contemplation
Through bone-wrapped eyes, through murky vitreous,
through matter grey, lightning emotions flying
at the speed of light through my
tunnel vision, I focused on what was
just beyond the
end of my
nose.
I did not create that small voice
singing sweetly in
my ringing
ears;
but just before dawn, fingers numb,
hair disordered by the
western breeze
blinding
me
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poem by Steven Federle
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Abaude: Night into Morning
We lie under high arched windows
awake in the deep winter night
and gaze on the tallest trees
glazed in silver light.
They reach up to the radiant moon,
their fingers spread bare and plain,
raised in silent prayer
after December's cold, hard rain.
Your face is bathed in these holy rays,
and I fight sleep; I cannot turn away
from truth so deep as the moon beaming
through our wintering trees ardently streaming.
But I close my eyes for a moment, then see
dawn drawing azure from night's darkest seed,
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poem by Steven Federle
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Abscissa of the Soul
Thomas Merton, The New Man
Go beyond
the surface
of things,
deeper
than thin soil
fecund
in the rain,
but dried to dust
by the summer wind.
Dive head first
into the darkness;
have faith
that someone
will catch you,
that you will
spash into
a warm sea,
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poem by Steven Federle
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Response to Merton: Balandi and Alkaocai
To choose the world is to choose to do the work I am capable of doing,
in collaboration with my brother and sister, to make the world better, more free,
more just, more livable, more human. And it has now become transparently
obvious that mere automatic 'rejection of the world' and 'contempt for the world'
is in fact not a choice but an evasion of choice.'
Thomas Merton. Contemplation in A World of Action
Our world is
bleeding out
filling the sea
with stolen
humanity
Why should I not
reject this contemptible
world?
Last night
in Kahdahar's shadow
Fear smashed open
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poem by Steven Federle
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Love and Living
'Life consists in learning to live on one's own, spontaneous, freewheeling: to do this one must recognize what is one's own - be familiar and at home with oneself.....The world is made up of people who are fully alive in it: that is, of the people who can be themselves in it and can enter into a living and fruitful relationship with each other in it.' Thomas Merton
What is mine,
aging skin
wraps my
inner world
where hidden rivers
course through veins,
rapids throb
with the
urgent pulse of
me.
Me,
my brain
snaps commands
at the speed of light,
compels my hands
to type living
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poem by Steven Federle
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Wildfire Close to Home
'The whole idea of compassion is based on a keen awareness of the interdependence of all these living beings, which are all part of one another, and all involved in one another. ' Thomas Merton
Night streaks the afternoon sky.
Smoke pours through trees
riots through suburban streets,
flames snarl, snap in the meadow,
the red beast
just beyond the fence.
I feel its glare
as wild heat brushes my brow.
Crossing arms, I walk
quickly, first to the corner,
then to the threatened house,
where my young neighbor
clutches her baby
and wonders
when will it be time to flee,
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poem by Steven Federle
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Pax Modern
Away from fading windows
sealed deep within the efficient building
empty chairs wait.
Gleaming floors echo
friends laughing
hello and
goodbye,
but here I sit
alone.
The sun set without me tonight.
Through long corridors I watched
as slit windows softly glowed
with withered passion.
But night rises suddenly!
Night is a fast clock,
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poem by Steven Federle
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Assad Visits Homs
Those who love their own noise are impatient of everything else. … Our noise, our business, our purposes, and all our fatuous statements about our purposes, our business, and our noise: these are the illusion.
Thomas Merton.
He came to visit today
with cameras firmly fixed
on his perfect
hair.
He came with his selected throng
to acknowledge their
devotion
as he surveyed his
demolition.
Those old buildings were such a blight,
rabid rats, full of the noise
of rebellious children,
but now, city leveled, he can see
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poem by Steven Federle
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Political Poem
I don't want to write political poetry,
but conflict washes over my native land
like a Katrina surge.
A tempest in a teapot
doesn't mean much
compared to the
relentless fury
of the tsunami.
This year's leaves, floating
gently to my lawn
glowing orange and gold
through the afternoon sun,
signify more than any inept
congressional
super-committee;
but when I see a policeman,
a man I want to call
protector, hero, friend,
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poem by Steven Federle
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May 1,2011
At nightfall
we wait for the news
disasters lurking, terror
wafting across the land,
like an acid wind
when we hear
that he is dead!
A sudden crowd fills the park
as though we won the super-bowl!
World Champions!
U S A!
I hear their voices
praising God for the bullets
that pierced his brow
and spattered his foul mind
down to a place
as dark
as his murdering
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poem by Steven Federle
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