A Winter Walk

On By robertalanrifeIn Waxing Poetic2 Comments

A Winter Walk

The lines carved in her face match

the long, meandering trail of their lives.

His impatient love steadies

her anxious calm, and they know.

They know the steps it takes

to get from house to road and back.

She knows the words that fuel

his little boy insides housed

in gristled and calloused skin.

He hears her voice long after

she has left the house to play Bridge.

He has never done taxes, liked candles

or vacuumed the stairs.

But his love song to her leaves him bloodied

from stray hammer blows rebuilding the deck;

purple from not looking up to see

the corner of the new shelves for her pantry;

broken from dropping the new pedestal sink

on toes, much more fragile still.

She covered his shivering husk when

he caught pneumonia last year during harvest;

cut his gnarled toenails when his new hip

denied him the movement to do it himself;

combed his hair because, well, it needed it.

Deeply divetted in the haunches of time

were daily walks to the gate by the gravel road.

Their son-in-law took a picture last year.

They were on a winter walk.

It hangs on a silent mantel –

that still remembers them.

Through other eyes

On By robertalanrifeIn Life of Rob, Waxing Poetic2 Comments

eye

 

 

 

 

 

Today, I dreamed of pulling leaves from evergreen trees;

of plowing a field of whale skin soup;

of interrupting the mute guy standing, alone, outside the Mission;

of dancing naked in front of the mirror in my Sunday best;

of swallowing whole the corner of my toast;

of shouting quietly up the stairs to my wife in the basement;

of turning around so I can keep going straight ahead;

of loving when my hating heart says otherwise;

of singing when my silent voice denies these notes;

of releasing myself to become heaven’s captive.

The world makes sense through other eyes.

 

When bleeds the sky

On By robertalanrifeIn Beauty, Christian spirituality, faith, sacramental living, spiritual formation6 Comments

when bleeds the skyThe moments of our days are unpredictable, holding out little prescience as to their pending gifts or challenges. What faces us can only be guessed at. Most often, in terms of our under-the-sun perspective, life can feel a bit like a craps shoot. To many, such a heavenly closed door policy is anything but comforting. We prefer instead the more attainable light of tightly Franklin-Planner arranged days. Without casting aspersions on such a wise care of time, I’d like to suggest that even our best planning can ill-prepare us to encounter God’s mysterious visitations.

I speak not of those fantastic Old Testament stories of flying chariots, burning pillars, swooping angels, Angel of the Lord appearances and the like. I speak instead of the small, almost imperceptible invasions of the Holy upon our otherwise lack lustre days. That moment of awareness, of…recognition wherein the universe, if only for a moment, makes sense. It can often be accompanied by a clear and calming peace, even joy, which allows all else to fade into the background. Occasionally, a particularly ominous, albeit centering, “fear” frames these times, lending the profound insight into…something.

In these spacious moments of grace, God allows us a front row seat; not of the apocalyptic kind where we hope to see whose side wins, but of the more existential kind. As we go about the numbing minutiae of our days, God comes and taps us on the shoulder. It’s a touch so gentle and unassuming that we do not spin around as we might when a meddlesome younger sibling might have done when we were children. Instead, we are invited to lift up our heads from their place, buried in the details of daily life, and wait.

The pause we feel is not merely some ripple in time like one might experience on the Starship Enterprise but something more, subtle, more…intentional. Then, as we wrest ourselves from the preoccupation with ourselves and manage an inward glance, God who, in Christ, has taken up residence within, causes condensation to appear on our souls; hints of God’s warming Presence. Contemplation is the act by which we wipe away this condensation and, behind the fogged mirror of our being, we see the face of Christ, opaque and slightly blurry, but unmistakable.

We let our eyes meet and he points us upward to where we mistakenly aim our prayers and shows us a sky that is cracked and unsure, but behind which leak strands of red-hued light, made that way as truth shines through blood-stained beauty and we are changed from shadow to brilliance.

* * * * * * * * * *

When bleeds the sky, the heav’ns drawn taut,

we feast our eyes on what fades not;

and God’s way dawns on nighted hearts

in sweet refrains God’s love imparts.

______________________________

When righteous hands stretch’d out to die

the broken world and heaven cried,

but God stayed not in dreary tomb,

but rose again to life anew.

_______________________________

When souls draw nigh to find their place,

in glory’s glow, sin leaves no trace;

now live we in God’s bosom rest

and there, secure what’s true and best.

 

(Text: Robert Rife ©2013; Tune: Traditional English melody)

Photo @ www.phombo.com

in the s p a c e s

On By robertalanrifeIn Life of Rob, Waxing PoeticLeave a comment

Scottish trails

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

few of words greater of speech

I bask in the s p a c e s between words

and cheat the answers in pursuit

of the better question

while others scurry beneath their rhyme

pushing them up hills around corners and through doors

I must disavow these letters

these curled up gems and dotted spirits

crossed meanings and severed vowels

but before I can sit down on the edge

of the new I must relinquish

the periods at sentence end.

and replace them with something else,

Sonnet for the Common Man

On By robertalanrifeIn Waxing PoeticLeave a comment

common laborers

In honor of Robbie Burns, poet laureate of Scotland, born this day in 1759 in Alloway. He ever championed the plight of the common man but, ironically, was the toast of Edinburgh and London high society. Long may his legacy remind us of our need to walk shoulder to shoulder with “the little guy.”

 

 

 

 

 

Seen without his hard hat, hammer and a drill,

one could not forget his meager manner.

For, through his calloused hands, he ever strives to build,

with strength not derived from rich man’s banner.

He stoops and bends and heaves with stout, broad shoulders,

through heat of day, his burdens bravely borne.

At evening breezes’ promise, then he’ll hold her,

no heavy burdens carried till the morn.

As silence settles, with no moon, comes darkness,

and dreaming comes to steal away his pain;

in these grey hours his battles cease their starkness,

yet as the new day dawns he’ll start again.

In simplest pleasures finds he all his joy;

the common man wins peace fit to enjoy.

Photo from www.peace-cyprus.org

Porch Poems IV

On By robertalanrifeIn Waxing PoeticLeave a comment

shooting star

 

We undo our top buttons

We undo our top buttons

on pants not meant for this;

dinner was too good

not to undo

the buttons

of our

pants.

 

A shooting star this dark night

A shooting star this dark night

has taken up her place

among the sky gods.

She jealously

separates

night from

day.

 

Night love

Your breasts, so full in this light

beckon me toward you.

The porch light’s burn low;

but our passions

cauterize

the damp

dark.

 

Afterward

This morning you look at me

and the night before laughs

at our warm, tired limbs;

our happy souls

and bodies

soft from

love.

 

Goodnight to this night

We bid goodnight to this night

and all she had to share.

The porch chairs, still warm,

hold stories told

tonight, for

you and

me.

Porch Poems III

On By robertalanrifeIn Words...always wordsLeave a comment

Ducks in the cattails

Sometimes I think I get stuck

like ducks in the cattails,

grinding out their path;

their bodies, tired,

their wings, trapped,

their sight,

gone.

 

Cleaning out the shed

There are days when tasks are hard,

like cleaning out the shed.

I always find more

stuff I don’t want;

lost things that

speak of

me.

 

Crazy Uncle Roy

Medicine Hat, Alberta:

there, crazy uncle Roy

reached under the porch,

pulled out a snake,

grabbed its head

and kissed

it.

 

Snakeskin Boots

I grew up in Calgary,

where cowboy hats are cool.

I was cooler still

with snakeskin boots

my uncle

made for

me.

 

Staring at Sunsets

Shared, the wafting summer light

azure-orange, brightness

unfailing, obtuse,

with promises

of happy-

ending

days.

Porch Poems II

On By robertalanrifeIn Waxing PoeticLeave a comment

 Cigarettes and ice cream

Some things don’t fit together –

cigarettes and ice cream,

sex and TV Guide,

you and goodbye,

fear and love…

unloved

child.

* * *

Football scores and cowboy boots

Football scores and cowboy boots

are how he learned to dream.

Touchdowns meant for us,

 and boots that fit,

are all he

needs to

smile.

* * *

Windchimes

Such a clanging song you sing,

invading our quiet,

pensive solitude.

You remind us

it’s alright

to sing,

too.

* * *

Post pork ‘n beans

Filling up the stale, night air

and stealthy as a hawk,

come unwelcome sounds

fraught with danger,

poison stench;

our peace?

Gone.

* * *

Starlight fantasies

Posthumous luminaries

pursue the evening sky,

Starlight fantasies

spill out their seed

and lighten

every

pain.

Porch poems I

On By robertalanrifeIn Waxing Poetic2 Comments

the porch

Front Porch

I think I have a mem’ry

of something wide and strange,

with depth of field and

softness, wielding

timely smiles

and old

songs.

 * * *

Sunset Surprises

We’ve been here now for two hours

relinquishing our dust.

It falls like evening’s

slowing moments

fit for love,

this done

day.

* * *

Banjo time

We came to sing and play tunes;

fingers itch to play and

puncture the fatigue

with notes that spray

our faces

with cool

joy.

 * * *

Too many stars

Too many stars are breathing;

unscented, sky candles

point the way to night

and solitude

and whisper,

“please don’t

go.”

 * * *

Counting costs

Little do we understand.

Here, we wait, embracing

what little we see.

How grandiose

these virgin

dreams, how

chaste.

Picture from www.knowingthedifference.com

A Prayer After Epiphany

On By robertalanrifeIn Prayers & Liturgy9 Comments

Lord of the blind and those who will not see,

replace our black with grey;

our grey with white;

our white with light;

and all that is not what it seems will become what it must be.

 

Lord of the destitute and drawn-out,

lance these boils of sin-soaked pain

in the brine of salted, holy blood;

revive what we never knew was dead;

that the winds might catch your scent – the fragrance of grace.

 

Lord of the convinced and righteous,

remove from us our certainties;

our ambivalence toward ambiguities;

our reticence to swim in the waters of paradox;

that the world gets to see your way in us, not our way with you.

 

Lord of the fractured and forgotten,

seek out the silenced voices encased in amber

where no one hears their desperate choking;

no eye sees inside their deceiving exteriors;

find them and with white hot love, melt their prisons.

 

Lord of the shiny and gleaming,

scratch our taut and brittle surfaces;

add the character of time to our faux beauty;

send us the numbing ache of obscurity;

so that your gentle glow outshines our brash gleam.

 

Lord of all that lives,

plow the musky mutations from our once-breathing gardens;

unbalance our stiletto lives that teeter precariously;

releasing us from our cramped smallness;

that our spirits may once again yawn and stretch into life.