Out of the Silence
"Out of the silence, Light is spoken." Thomas Merton
I walk
into the morning.
Birds
drowse
in the dark,
an unseen breeze
strokes my
arms, my bare neck,
as two cranes
over the edge
of the meadow
rise
as the Holy Spirit
moans
in tones
of morning light.
poem by Steven Federle
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Surrender
"Real self-conquest is the conquest of ourselves not by ourselves but by the Holy Spirit. Self-conquest is really self-surrender." Thomas Merton.
Look to the west
and see how your eyes
must narrow
or turn inward
to shut out
the glare
that precedes
darkness.
Hills wrapped in haze
lose all definition
become flat, devoid
of fold or crevasse.
No sudden rise
blocks your way
to the edge
at the top.
Surrender there
to the light
before
night.
poem by Steven Federle
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The True Lover
The lad came to the door at night,
When lovers crown their vows,
And whistled soft and out of sight
In shadow of the boughs.
"I shall not vex you with my face
Henceforth, my love, for aye;
So take me in your arms a space
Before the cast is grey.
"When I from hence away am past
I shall not find a bride,
And you shall be the first and last
I ever lay beside."
She heard and went and knew not why;
Her heart to his she laid;
Light was the air beneath the sky
But dark under the shade.
"Oh do you breathe, lad, that your breast
Seems not to rise and fall,
And here upon my bosom prest
There beats no heart at all?"
"Oh loud, my girl, it once would knock,
You should have felt it then;
But since for you I stopped the clock
It never goes again."
"Oh lad, what is it, lad, that drips
Wet from your neck on mine?
What is it falling on my lips,
My lad, that tastes of brine?"
"Oh like enough 'tis blood, my dear,
For when the knife was slit,
The throat across from ear to ear
'Twill bleed because of it."
Under the stars the air was light
But dark below the boughs,
The still air of the speechless night,
When lovers crown their vows.
poem by Alfred Edward Housman
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Inspiration
"Inspiration is a judgment on a deep level, somewhere down in the ground of our being." Thomas Merton
In the bright morning
when I awake
my soul arises
from sleep's dark cave.
I'll not deny
what it is
that you see.
Just say what I am
and, by you inspired,
that will I be.
poem by Steven Federle
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Mystical Night
"The mystical night is not mere night, absence of light. It is a night which is sanctified by the presence of an invisible light...." Thomas Merton, The New Man
From this holy mountain
rises good night
on the gentle wind
of shadowed bird flight.
How I long for darkness
to overtake
day's tired sky,
my upturned face,
and Thou,
oh Night
of Joyful Flame!
with your dark love
set my soul ablaze!
poem by Steven Federle
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Sonnet V: Nothing But No
Nothing but "No," and "Aye," and "Aye," and "No"?
How falls it out so strangely you reply?
I tell ye, Fair, I'll not be answer'd so,
With this affirming "No," denying "Aye."
I say, "I love," you slightly answer "Aye";
I say, "You love," you pule me out a "No";
I say, "I die," you echo me an "Aye";
"Save me," I cry, you sigh me out a "No";
Must woe and I have nought but "No" and "Aye"?
No I am I, if I no more can have;
Answer no more, with silence make reply,
And let me take myself what I do crave.
Let "No" and "Aye" with I and you be so;
Then answer "No," and "Aye," and "Aye" and "No."
poem by Michael Drayton
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St. Senanus and the Lady
St. Senanus
"On! haste, and leave this sacred isle,
Unholy bark, ere morning smile;
For on thy deck, though dark it be,
A female form I see;
And I have sworn this sainted sod
Shall ne'er by woman's feet by trod!"
The Lady
"Oh! Father, send not hence my bark
Through wintry winds and billows dark,
I come, with humble heart, to share
Thy morn and evening prayer;
Nor mine the feet, oh! holy Saint,
The brightness of thy sod to taint."
The lady's prayer Senanus spurn'd;
The winds blew fresh, the bark return'd.
But legends hint, that had the maid
Till morning's light delay'd,
And given the saint one rosy smile,
She ne'er had left his lonely isle.
poem by Thomas Moore
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Dark Contemplation
"Contemplation cannot be taught. It cannot even be clearly explained. It can only be hinted at, suggested, pointed to, symbolized." Thomas Merton. New Seeds of Contemplation
Through seasons of pleasure
and months of pain,
morning birds calling;
night's howling trains
oh, fall into dream's
cold silent folds
where unyielding truth
nightly is told.
The morning star's rising
through night's fading lace.
Soon sun will be glaring;
truth without grace.
poem by Steven Federle
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From A Dark Room
"Our spirits were made for light, not for darkness." Thomas Merton
This dark room
comforts me.
Tender eyes
are safe here from
the hot autumn wind.
Dark tears cleanse
as I gaze out
to the shimmering street
where rises the sacred scent
of yellow flowers,
heavy
and sweet.
poem by Steven Federle
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I showed her Heights she never saw
446
I showed her Heights she never saw—
"Would'st Climb," I said?
She said—"Not so"—
"With me—" I said—With me?
I showed her Secrets—Morning's Nest—
The Rope the Nights were put across—
And now—"Would'st have me for a Guest?"
She could not find her Yes—
And then, I brake my life—And Lo,
A Light, for her, did solemn glow,
The larger, as her face withdrew—
And could she, further, "No"?
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Along The Road, In The Morning
Along the road in the morning,
I saw the sun horning n' horning.
I saw the sky; turning blue,
I saw the light giving the clue.
That ‘get on with life' and with the cart,
The clue that rises in the heart.
The clue that gives a thought to the mind,
‘Go and get the characters of the kind'.
Fetch the early morning bride,
Take a look at the thinking site,
Along the site, know your side.
Along the road in the morning.
And after I put my shoes to bed,
The sun came up to me and said;
"Why don't you humans do early rise? "
"Why don't you stand with the wise? "
"You guys do know that health is wealth,
Then why are you not trying your stealth? "
Wonder what the problem I guess is,
Why is the sun still at me shouting?
Along the road in the morning.
And when I looked at the sly, it said;
"Your hearts are burst, glowing red,
You guys are filled with private breath,
Your fret is leading you to wreath."
I wandered around the sky and thought:
That "I am the master of my life,
And you of yours, you have no hold
Over me to tell that in my strife."
And after this, three weeks had gone,
The literary power in me had gone
And I was stunned by the fact,
That I hadn't obeyed nature's pact.
And they were right- the sun and sky.
In endless, fearless, numbness; O my!
I couldn't presume my faith again,
Unless I suffered the equal pain.
So, once I started my life anew
It was fantastic-nature's crew,
The sun and sky and sky and sun,
Both were happy in the thanking;
Along the road, in the morning.
poem by Osama Waqar
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At Lulworth Cove a Century Back
Had I but lived a hundred years ago
I might have gone, as I have gone this year,
By Warmwell Cross on to a Cove I know,
And Time have placed his finger on me there:
"You see that man?" -- I might have looked, and said,
"O yes: I see him. One that boat has brought
Which dropped down Channel round Saint Alban's Head.
So commonplace a youth calls not my thought."
"You see that man?" -- "Why yes; I told you; yes:
Of an idling town-sort; thin; hair brown in hue;
And as the evening light scants less and less
He looks up at a star, as many do."
"You see that man?" -- "Nay, leave me!" then I plead,
"I have fifteen miles to vamp across the lea,
And it grows dark, and I am weary-kneed:
I have said the third time; yes, that man I see!"
"Good. That man goes to Rome -- to death, despair;
And no one notes him now but you and I:
A hundred years, and the world will follow him there,
And bend with reverence where his ashes lie."
poem by Thomas Hardy
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Aubade: Suisun Valley
'Love is not mere emotion or sentiment. It is the lucid and ardent response of the whole man.' Thomas Merton
Waves of grey light
wash over our small valley.
Cool morning
sea-born breeze prevails
for now.
High-toned birds wait
for the golden sun to ignite
our swaying trees.
Only in the darker eves
do I hear the mourning dove's
steady moan.
In silver-blue tones,
he bids his love
awake!
poem by Steven Federle
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What is—
215
What is—"Paradise"—
Who live there—
Are they "Farmers"—
Do they "hoe"—
Do they know that this is "Amherst"—
And that I—am coming—too—
Do they wear "new shoes"—in "Eden"—
Is it always pleasant—there—
Won't they scold us—when we're homesick—
Or tell God—how cross we are—
You are sure there's such a person
As "a Father"—in the sky—
So if I get lost—there—ever—
Or do what the Nurse calls "die"—
I shan't walk the "Jasper"—barefoot—
Ransomed folks—won't laugh at me—
Maybe—"Eden" a'n't so lonesome
As New England used to be!
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Will there really be a "Morning"?
101
Will there really be a "Morning"?
Is there such a thing as "Day"?
Could I see it from the mountains
If I were as tall as they?
Has it feet like Water lilies?
Has it feathers like a Bird?
Is it brought from famous countries
Of which I have never heard?
Oh some Scholar! Oh some Sailor!
Oh some Wise Men from the skies!
Please to tell a little Pilgrim
Where the place called "Morning" lies!
poem by Emily Dickinson
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The silence of eternity was broken
The silence of eternity was broken
and powerful words of creation spoken.
"Let there be light, " The Almighty God said
And virgin light through the universe sped.
Annular Eclipse
"The gate of heaven is everywhere." Thomas Merton
I can hear your soft breath,
gentle strains of music
the easy breeze
nudges the curtains
and peace flows
across my skin
like cool water.
But soon impatient dusk
will overtake bright day
when the sun dims
in the dark grip
of eclipse, and ancient
terror thrills even
the most
comprehending mind;
for this is when
metaphore
overtakes fact,
and unknown stars glint
in the afternoon sky.
We never knew
they were hanging so low,
diamonds in deep
caverns,
new light!
poem by Steven Federle
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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
to Your love,
I heard Your voice!
Now the warmth of morning
cradles me
like
open hands.
Now I know
who I am.
poem by Steven Federle
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Sonnet LIX: As Love and I
As Love and I, late harbor'd in one inn,
With proverbs thus each other entertain:
"In Love there is no lack," thus I begin;
"Fair words make fools," replieth he again;
"Who spares to speak doth spare to speed," quoth I;
"As well," saith he, "too forward as too slow";
"Fortune assists the boldest," I reply;
"A hasty man," quoth he, "ne'er wanted woe";
"Labor is light where Love," quoth I, "doth pay";
Saith he, "Light burden's heavy, if far borne";
Quoth I, "The main lost, cast the bye away";
"You have spun a fair thread," he replies in scorn.
And having thus awhile each other thwarted,
Fools as we met, so fools again we parted.
poem by Michael Drayton
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Your Silence Sings
"Silence can carry many different messages; it can be a powerful form of communication." Thomas Merton
Your silence sings in
emerald leaves glistening
through arching blue skies.
Apple trees groaning
anointing the sacred ground
with seeds of silence.
Close by rushes a
train; howling wind brushes my
face with your silence.
poem by Steven Federle
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Middle-Age Enthusiasms
To M. H.
WE passed where flag and flower
Signalled a jocund throng;
We said: "Go to, the hour
Is apt!"--and joined the song;
And, kindling, laughed at life and care,
Although we knew no laugh lay there.
We walked where shy birds stood
Watching us, wonder-dumb;
Their friendship met our mood;
We cried: "We'll often come:
We'll come morn, noon, eve, everywhen!"
--We doubted we should come again.
We joyed to see strange sheens
Leap from quaint leaves in shade;
A secret light of greens
They'd for their pleasure made.
We said: "We'll set such sorts as these!"
--We knew with night the wish would cease.
"So sweet the place," we said,
"Its tacit tales so dear,
Our thoughts, when breath has sped,
Will meet and mingle here!"...
"Words!" mused we. "Passed the mortal door,
Our thoughts will reach this nook no more."
poem by Thomas Hardy
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