Author: robertalanrife

I have spent the better part of my life as a professional musician. Primarily, that has meant the fun and challenging world of church music. Most recently, I have transitioned out of my role as worship and music director for Yakima Covenant Church, Yakima, Washington to global service in Edinburgh, Scotland. I'm a singer-songwriter, liturgist, poet, and writer. I love words. I love to read them. I love to write them. Most of all, I love the many intersections, like a sacramental tapestry, of life, liturgy, literature, the arts, and spiritual formation...oh, and I love haggis.

Triduum Words – Maundy Thursday

On By robertalanrifeIn RobsLitBits, Sanctus, Theology / SpiritualityLeave a comment

Before God’s last laugh of resurrection, in order to lean more deeply into the narrative of these three days (tri-duum) of promises, communion, mandates of love, betrayal, miscarriage of justice, ignoble death, hollow silence, and dashed hopes, I’ll be posting poetry for each day: Maundy Thursday, “Good” Friday, and Holy Saturday.

Today is, of course, Maundy (or “mandate”) Thursday and we find ourselves hidden among the twelve with Jesus at table with freshly-washed feet, the command of love still thick in the air, and imminent threat of betrayal.

Hints in a meal of trouble come

Hints in a meal of trouble come,

while bread, still warm, newly broken

abides, hidden securely between teeth

in mouths hungry for more.

Hunger assuaged, 24 clean feet and a single, haunted table.

–

Only crumbs remain,

mixed up and jumbled in pools of spilled wine.

A rumpled table top, tussled

with detritus of a meal, but laughing, flaunting its revelry

through unknowing smiles and the heavy eyelids of sleepy friends.

–

They restfully recline, sashes loosened,

bits of meat trapped in beards,

but not without gnawing whispers of

“what now?” “What next?” “When?” And in their shared memory

of goodness sense not the coming bad; the storm clouds of betrayal.

–

An ominous, stealthy breeze sneaks through the room,

slithering past befuddled hearts

and blows its dark breath from one

whose riskless love cannot match he whose riskily painted love,

soon full-flayed and dying, cannot be matched.

By Whichever Wind

On By robertalanrifeIn Words...always words1 Comment

For whatever reason, I don’t post here much these days. Lack of inspiration? Maybe, a little. Laziness or neglect? Perhaps, a little. Distracted by other things? Sure, a little.

So, when inspiration comes, it rests on me to act upon it. That inspiration comes by way of this rather evocative piece by Hong Kong poet, Sean Kwok, now relocated to the Scottish Borders. It can be found in the 2024 edition from The Scottish Book Trust entitled: Hope. Contributions feature stories, anecdotes, and poetry highlighting elements of hope. I share the author’s note below in that regard:

I was fortunate enough to have relocated from Hong Kong to the Scottish Borders exactly at a time of political turmoil in my home city. Then the pandemic engulfed the world. When I stopped on a walk on a rather windy day, I made a connection with the wind. It was of course the wind that accompanied my flight to Scotland; so too were the ‘winds’ of historical circumstances and perhaps even a coincidence of timing. I felt guilty for having to abandon my old home and did not readily embrace my new home, yet despit the lockdown, fellow Borderers have generously befriended me. I saw that the idea of home need not be tied to land boundaries but can simply come from the heart, strengthened by connections between people, wherever we come from and wherever we shall go. The transformative aspect of home, like wind, renews my hope that humans can forge better days for each other.

It is with pride I share here his poetic ruminations on the same.

By Whichever Wind

Why do we keep moving, every generation a restless hand?

Some came by boat, others spirited by waters alone.

They kept their heads low; the skies took to our land

and made us whisper their parting promise.

I went atop the winds of fate

predicated by history and always

doubting, an island of distress

too busy casting the flag of freedom to the flame

than to see me go, as if to dry our tears.

I crossed the oceans of a thousand fears,

embracing neither pride nor pain

as I switch to a higher address.

Too accustomed to the ruins of a home away;

too much paperwork on our petite plate.

Memory serves as a chalice untouched by day

yet as infectious as a laugh in duress.

I felt the peace of night a lifetime’s gain

won by those I failed to offer but a voiceless cheer.

But there is more I can claim as my ain

as I find others who have been oppressed no less

by the walls of their house and still take time to play.

To the tune of the Tweed, you vow to confess

surprise at ever sunset, to bear an open heart again.

By whicher wind, you’ve carried your truth and let me fly mine

for both homes share the borders of my heart.

Wherever and wherefore I came and am to go,

I promise to follow the winds of life,

for nothing is more undecided,

than whatever our tomorrows would bring.

And we have much we can do together.

A protrusion of gratitude

On By robertalanrifeIn Life of Rob, Waxing PoeticLeave a comment

My simple, but genuine gratitude for our life here in Edinburgh…

A protrusion of gratitude

Cloaked in landscapes of light, remunerations

of remembrance brought clear in the rehearsing.

That literature of land partnered with time

makes for fragrant mornings in settings

of coal-kissed stone, unsullied

by lesser things.

No more exile here –

just a protrusion of gratitude.

A poem a day

On By robertalanrifeIn Waxing PoeticLeave a comment

I first posted this as part of a November challenge last year to post, you guessed it, a poem a day. This one plays a bit on the rigours of farming – reeping and sowing – and its seeming ironies and impossibilities. Much like producing…a poem a day!

A Poem a Day

The wordsmith’s challenge: to produce a fully grown garden

in less than 24 hours. Plow down deep, furrough’d in sweat

and the searing summer sun baking whatever it touches.

Cast out fistfulls of seed into the shifting wind and coarse ground

where time and chance and powers above and below

cast out their wills or ills upon your tiresome toil.

–

An ankle turned, the back of the neck red, raw, pealing.

Old machines not meant for new work

retain their eccentricities despite your mechanical interloping.

Tender, anxious words spoken upon docile dirt,

your antediluvian blessing

meant to caress or careen a spark to light a fire all

too easily snuffed.

You trade your peace for her pregnancy.

–

Let loose your prayers for weather and time and the

vagaries of hope, if only to see once more

the perfection in a tiny handful of wheat.

–

Now, do it again tomorrow.

Come, let us tug

On By robertalanrifeIn Waxing PoeticLeave a comment

A gentle reminder that, waiting for summer impatiently doesn’t bring it any quicker; it only delays the enjoyment of what is now.

Come, let us tug on the lampshade of this nascent

summer’s tomboy turning.

She’s taking her damn time finding voice among us

while looking in another direction.

Left alone, she’d rather hum some out of tune

tale of wanton disregard, delaying her surrender

from drowsy trickles to dreamy trysts.

We think there is for us the promise of something

better when the light is longer, the pungence deeper.

But, alas, there remains in her coming only the

last of the winter riddles, hidden among jokes

poor told with silly punchlines.

Maybe if we stop waiting for her we’ll

find today instead?

Advent I

On By robertalanrifeIn Waxing PoeticLeave a comment

Advent began again yesterday and, with it, the retelling of a story that never gets old.

The day before the days

before winter’s satin gloss,

driftwood glimpses neatly hide away in

a gathering pageantry.

Tightly tucked in folds

of ancient wind with pockets out-

turned, falls the Fall,

fallen…and begins a new tale.

Heaven’s sudden smile, casts

a long and shattering light

on the darkening days –

bringing the iron-gilded hope

of dawn’s new Dawn.

_________________________

Picture found here

November – A Poem a Day (finale)

On By robertalanrifeIn Life of Rob, Waxing PoeticLeave a comment

Our Own Now

It is left to time and chance

this risk of memory and loss.

I doff my cap to my own history

while learning presence in present tense.

Swept along the brisk and roiling

river of time, we can watch ourselves

on the shores of our own lives

wishing we were on the other side

or maybe in the water,

going the other direction.

Maybe it’s just good to stand

and look for awhile.

This much I know,

at least I see the river if only this once

and listen to it move

while I laugh a little on

this still ground.

November – A Poem a Day Challenge (day 27)

On By robertalanrifeIn Waxing PoeticLeave a comment

A Poem a Day

The wordsmith’s challenge: to produce a fully grown garden

in less than 24 hours. Plow down deep, furrough’d in sweat

and the searing summer sun baking whatever it touches.

Cast out fistfulls of seed into the shifting wind and coarse ground

where time and chance and powers above and below

cast out their wills or ills upon your tiresome toil.

–

An ankle turned, the back of the neck red, raw, pealing.

Old machines not meant for new work

retain their eccentricities despite your mechanical interloping.

Tender, anxious words spoken upon docile dirt,

your antediluvian blessing

meant to caress or careen a spark to light a fire all

too easily snuffed.

You trade your peace for her pregnancy.

–

Let loose your prayers for weather and time and the

vagaries of hope, if only to see once more

the perfection in a tiny handful of wheat.

–

Now, do it again tomorrow.

November – A Poem a Day (day 24)

On By robertalanrifeIn Waxing PoeticLeave a comment

Okay, so this is perhaps cheating. The purpose of #novemberpoemadaychallenge is to use the initiative as a means of producing original poetry. Granted. But, this is just so good, especially on American Thanksgiving weekend. I find this poem by Joy Harjo utterly transfixing and transformative. Much more happens at our tables than we care to admit or even recognize. Joy calls these things to mind in this remarkable piece. Enjoy.