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
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
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
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
(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
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
The tide turns
and the boat, no longer tethered,
churns a wake.
With leeward winds
abounding riches, a wait.
“Look” says she,
“that is where I was.
This, now, is where I’m going,
where the broad, flat earth
sprawls herself shamelessly under
the weighty horizon.”
So with constancy and dependence,
breeze on cue and love in the hull,
the water rubs her belly
and she leans toward an open sea.
Picture: www.erwinnavyanto.in
April 10, 2013
When hope has turned her lovely gaze
t’ward soft’ning night and bright’ning days,
then eye of light upon me stays,
revealing what love lifted.
* * *
Like still night air we find our voice,
intoned and waiting to rejoice
where darkness once denied this choice;
we find what love has sifted.
* * *
As hands, rejoined, now find their place
to touch a lover’s loving face
returned in heaven’s sweet embrace,
to learn how God has gifted.
* * *
Hope has promised paradise.
Promised grace, new love enticed.
Picture: www.weheartit.com
I have walked these streets
these cavernous coffins, sparkling but barren,
her belly bearing the swift and moaning metal tide.
She belches out her disapproval
and hungrily takes her place, an upward striving,
a downward gravity, host to vagabonds.
This headmistress of a language tasting
like rubber, and smoke and old pizza boxes
tossed together in a back alley salad of sad.
Here the fingers don’t touch across
the chapel ceiling, draped in mystery.
Here the collective taunt the painters with maintenance.
The broken, steely sky is punctured through
with a thousand fluorescent lights;
and night is confused with day.
Downtown hustlers shepherd their shivering flock
of skin and leather, studs and paint
so their shoes can match the shiny lights.
Down the sides, around the backs
over the heaps, through broken gates
go the wayward shadows…in the city.
Picture: www.city-data.com
All dialogue hid not her desp’rate groans,
instead were heard her pious reflections.
Since none could know what left her so alone,
from deep within her arose deflections.
* * *
When the way gets lost and roads are ending,
new pathways arise, revealing the way
to life’s redeeming freedom befriending.
Then it is tomorrow’s hope comes today.
* * *
Settle not yourself into the dark of night,
Lay yourself out upon God’s altar of light.
Picture: www.dailymail.co.uk
If we are made in God’s image and God sings, then we should be singing, too.
Ancient Wisdom for Modern Seekers
Spiritual Direction for Integrated Living
From liquid courage to Sober Courage
an anamcara exploring those close encounters of the liminal kind
Collaborating with the Muses to inspire, create, and illuminate
...in such kind ways...
"That I may publish with the voice of thanksgiving, and tell of all thy wondrous works." Psalm 26:7
Blog for poet and singer-songwriter Malcolm Guite
…in the thick of things
REFLECTIONS & REVIEWS
Seeking that which is life giving.
… hope is oxygen
Homepage of Seymour Jacklin: Writer - Narrator - Facilitator
If we are made in God’s image and God sings, then we should be singing, too.
Ancient Wisdom for Modern Seekers
Spiritual Direction for Integrated Living
From liquid courage to Sober Courage
an anamcara exploring those close encounters of the liminal kind
Collaborating with the Muses to inspire, create, and illuminate
...in such kind ways...
"That I may publish with the voice of thanksgiving, and tell of all thy wondrous works." Psalm 26:7
Blog for poet and singer-songwriter Malcolm Guite
…in the thick of things
REFLECTIONS & REVIEWS
Seeking that which is life giving.
… hope is oxygen
Homepage of Seymour Jacklin: Writer - Narrator - Facilitator
innerwoven 