Steven Federle Poems

Walking through the dusty grove
we talked of death and empty graves
when a stranger suddenly appeared.
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It was a hot day in the field
when, returning at last
bone-tired, sore from
tending your stiff-necked flock,
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Sit in dark rooms
as Fox news
complains
that the President
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For all God's gifts there must be in us a response of thanksgiving and happiness and joy: but here we thank Him less by words than by the serene happiness of silent acceptance.
Thomas Merton, Seeds of Contemplation
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As surely as God is trustworthy,
His clouds will rise in the desert sky
pillaring, muttering thunder
while close by, hot winds
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Rain lurks
behind clouds
too thin
to send drops,
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Lifeless distant plains
Jagged peaks, red sky rising
God’s fire, frozen
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the darkness rises
over low roofs

past the weak glow
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The winter tree
does not move.

Its wide trunk
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