Steven Federle Poems

On this concrete pad,
worn thin by time and rain,
our two iron chairs
stand empty and lifeless
...

The afternoon breeze
rushes through the top of my big tree;
its canopy sways and sings in hushed tones
as the declining sun ignites
...

They came suddenly.
First I heard brash honking,
and then, craning my neck to the limit,
I saw them, wide wings moving in perfect formation
...

Cumulonimbus
pressing in from the sea
squall-line, supercell, windsheer,
violent, ragged fingers
...

Seaward waits, poised,
gently rising and falling,
by the concrete pier
ready for our cruise;
...

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 evening wind stirs
our high, green trees,
whispering down the westering sun,
as shadows scale our eastern fence.
...

Vibrant canvas, undulant colors
thin lines of thick paint
streaking white fields,
of bright California light.
...

Another grey morning, much like the last
and for tomorrow, more fog’s the forecast.
When days seem the same, life always seems cold.
Night flows to night, the sad world grows old
...

I look for you in winter’s light
but your face I cannot see.

In spring I found you hidden high
...