Looking at his watch he notices
how evenly spaced are the numbers
that so unevenly divide his life.
So, he takes it off.
Picture: www.123rf.com
Category: Waxing Poetic
Having emptied all cerebral drawers for spare change and finding only a bread clip…
His back against the old bank building
on 4th and Kuhl, shirt newly torn,
he looks at his dog and says,
“I got nothin’. But I can still sing.”
Picture: www.fatimadms1949.wordpress.com
Not everyone finds the sun
The tops of the dogwoods nod in tacit approval
that this is good, this wind of splayed imagination.
Winter has spit up on herself, cloaking her weathered shirt
with color and moody panache.
The cars jostle with a renewed vigor,
giving permission to ante up the brazen factor-
what with the sunshine ‘n all.
It’s time to take action since it follows the long deep.
Pulling our lives out of the garage
we trade shovels for blades,
things that scrape for things that whir,
things that were for things that are.
Quail, the Charlie Chaplins of the bird family,
spin their way across seedling lawns
in a dash to new family outings in someone’s arbor vitae.
That’s where the fat, seasoned quail go.
And somewhere, slumped in the same, dark basement
sits a lonely be-spotted, achingly white guy,
whose game hand stinks of Doritos.
It is lonely for another hand.
Thanks to www.geekscribe.com for the learned expose on geekdom.
An unexpected invitation
I have hidden my head
in the cloak of heaven, singing.
I can smell a fragrance
and watch an evening unfold.
Could this be the dance
of saints and sinners,
women and men,
soldiers and satin,
frail and overpowering,
wise and unstable,
sick and perfect,
praise and calumny?
They swoosh and dance and mingle
with heads up and eyes wide
hands clasped and hearts raised.
Listen for their whispered shouts, loudly silent,
heard only by those
with a need to hear something
they did not expect –
“Come.”
Logo: www.tripsmarter.com
and still we hear their distant song
wednesday april 17 2013
__________________
and still we hear their distant song
on nights when the purple breezes sigh
then come whispers not of night and dark
but their harmony hints at a repose
in shadows and the corners of our memories
they salute us and bid us remember
the rest whose days now are sad
for they cannot sing the same words
because they know not yet
the song
Picture: www.southafricanartists.com
but slower still the ones who sleep
for friends lost
tuesday april 16 2013
__________________
but slower still the ones who sleep
in lonely earth now hungrily dining
upon their broken bones
a soil home full too soon
but languish not these shining ones
for now their mercurial feet
dash from joy to light and back again
in the presence of still greater ones
who welcome their company
though we see not their dancing soles
and feel the loss beneath our own
their slow sleep tells stories
of happier waking dreams
now their own
Picture: www.portfolio.du.edu
the earth moves slowly now
for boston
monday april 15 2013
__________________
the earth moves slowly now
while rubble collects dust settles
my ears ache and i cant hear
the screams of the man beside me
looking for his other leg
sad he was a runner like me
this is a different kind of grief
complete and horrifying in clinical precision
respecter of no one
those who run to revenge
those who pray for peace
those who still dont know
those who look the other way
either way
running to grace is still better
than running away in fear
because the earth moves slowly now
From the bottom up
She floats out the front door only long enough
to proceed down unbidden steps;
steps leading to paths of undergrowth
where the birds don’t sing,
and light lay choked and emaciated –
where shadows fear to go.
____________________
Like a bird she drinks from murky fountains
but wouldn’t think to spit out what readily refreshes.
Her heart beats a little faster
as grisly, knotted and dusty food
pushes and strains down a parched throat.
It seems to do the trick.
____________________
But tricks are just that – a sleight of hand,
pandering to the lesser of two evils.
She jostles in a crowd of nice sounding decisions,
sharing space with saints and snares,
riding rutted roads with regals and renegades,
seeding the garden of her own discontent.
____________________
Quickly now, drink no more
from the bottom up, guzzling through the silt
of sorry excuses, misguided plans, foiled ruses.
See first your reflection in the clear water
of destiny’s desire for damp delight,
baptizing you in sweet reign from heaven.
From the bottom up
April 14, 2013
Till Breaks the Dawn
Till breaks the dawn
(Text ©2013, Robert A. Rife; Music: Bonny Banks and Braes)
Till breaks the dawn from eve to morn,
there walks the Lord in shimmering tide.
He leads me now, in hope reborn,
and in his bosom I, safe, abide.
* * *
Refrain:
With tender voice, he calls my name,
no other voice my confidence has won.
Till dark of evening brings the same,
abides he here till breaks the dawn.
* * *
Oft have I left my Shepherd’s side,
to roam alone, in valleys of pain;
‘tis then he calls, his crook, my guide,
and brings me to his side again.
* * *
Refrain:
How low and still, he bids me stay,
and feast upon the hills, a son.
When dark of evening calls my name,
abides he here till breaks the dawn.
Picture: www.jeanneisley.com
These dreams, they sit in search of home
By Robert A. Rife, April 12, 2013
These dreams, they sit in search of home
a place where wishing feeds no more
on fodder fit for those who roam
but heart’s are fed with love restored.
_____________
Awash among a driftwood tide
of love and laughter’s dizzy gaze
her hopeful pirouettes collide;
his hesitancy cautious, prays.
_____________
A garden, still, in Springtime comes
to bless the air with fragrance, sweet.
And angels dance to pipe and drum
when new love breathes and faces meet.
_____________
Remember now these words tonight
and go, frame life through love, aright.
Picture: www.zedge.net
innerwoven 