Shout Your Hosanna!

 A little late I suppose but still worthwhile I hope. This is a hymn text I wrote ten years ago for Palm Sunday.

 

Shout Your Hosanna!                                                                    

Music: Trad. Gaelic Melody (Morning Has Broken); Text: ©2003, Robert Alan Rife

Shout your Hosanna! Sing with elation!

Watch the Messiah humbly ride forth.

Loudly proclaiming, “Love rides victorious

into the city, Jesus is Lord”!

 

Shout your Hosanna! Jubilant voices!

Palms wave in blessing, enter the King.

Incarnate wonder, sits on a donkey,

let no one silence praises we sing.

 

Shout your Hosanna! Come, son of David!

Soon to be offered up for us all.

Power and glory, once were Your garment,

soon to be broken, Savior of all.

Restore

holding hands

Reaching from out to in, future through past for this tactile day.

Evading the magnetic north of separation,

still looking for merging places past submerging faces.

Tacit in self-flagellation, preferring the flesh of music,

origins reemerge and kiss what will be with lips of what was,

resuscitates love not so long lost but with luster removed.

Eternity wins out over the bully of time and

restores to earth what belongs to heaven.

Picture: www.justapieceofcraps.blogspot.com

Parking Lot Poems IV

hamburger and fries

Picture: www.thescarydiseasecancer.blogspot.com

Food Value

Such fine dietary fare,

this hamburger and fries.

If not for the milk,

‘twould be better

to eat a

cardboard

box.

* * *

Hoover

The vacuum cleaner clatters,

it’s rumbling roar outdone

by clinks, clanks and clunks

of somebody’s

favorite

silver

chain.

* * *

Territory

Who’d have thought this little dog

had so much shit inside?!

We’ve only been gone

for half an hour

and he’s dropped

a load

thrice.

* * *

Nowhere Kids

Some kids seem born to suffer

the fate of rejection.

Their peers, a mean lot,

off’ring thoughtless acts,

of cruelty-

their best

gift.

* * *

Locker Politics

He leans against her locker

and smells her golden hair.

He tries to impress

but gets instead

a shoulder,

cold and

hard.

imgres

Picture: www.that1guy19.blogspot.com

“The Poet”

This piece by Kate Harris comes from a favorite blog of mine, Art House America, and is just too rich not to share here in my own little creative corner of the cyber world. I hope you glean as much from it as I did…and will for some time to come.

Bono

“Not simply because it reminds me of those happy, familiar sparks of gladness in my own heart, but more because it reminds me that the job of the poet — of the artist — while weighty and significant on a grand scale, is really first and foremost a work of invitation. The poet is one who toils and works and feels and sorts through all manner of things seen and unseen and then welcomes others in, beckons them, calls to them, “Come and see what I can see!”

 

     This invitation echoes a greater invitation by the first of all creators who begs us to see as He sees, to love as He loves. The poet, the artist-prophet, mirrors Him as closely as anyone — seeking to see rightly and truthfully, to give proper expression to that vision, and finally to invite others in to those experiences such that they might be changed. It is a worthy endeavor….The poet is one who gives us new eyes to see, who helps us make sense of what we experience, and who invites others to see more deeply into what it is that their experiences mean.

In the delight and joy of those who ever strive to see and tell, R

 

Photo: Steve Garber

Parking Lot Poems III

Gorgeous

She’s always been a princess-

Daddy’s girl to diva.

Now she’s just lonely.

She’s gorgeous

and knows it.

Gorgeous?

Sad.

* * *

Compulsion

He lives downtown in squalor,

sharing a space with mice.

Through tequila haze

he finds his way,

but can’t find

his own

soul.

* * *

First night

Mere hours after their promise

he fumbles with her dress.

He finds instead

the inside

of her

heart.

* * *

first time parents

First cry

It had been twenty-two hours

and still nothing to show

but pain, sweat and…pain.

Four hours later,

forever,

their lives

changed.

* * *

Redundant

He’d worked there for fifteen years

and never a sick day.

Sitting in his car,

this was a day

he’d rather

forget.

Soon.

Parking Lot Poems II

imgres

Gangsta

The parking lot skateboard kings

scatter like scared pigeons

when the cops return

to apprehend

the loud and

fickle

horde.

* * *

Queen of Hearts

She’s dressed far too well for here,

this queen of hearts mall-rat.

She’s most visible

by the food court.

She’s banking

on that

fact.

* * *

Husband Shoppers

Husbands, out grocery shopping,

make piss poor companions.

If you want to have

a better time,

just go there

with your

friends.

* * *

15 Items Only

It’s okay, they’ll understand.

I’ve got twenty-two things,

but it’s all small stuff.

Please, be patient,

I’m with my

squirrely

kids.

* * *

Customer Service

Shit, this place is humungous!

Is there a chance I’ll find

the four small items

I came to buy,

let alone

some help

here?

Photo from www.phlmetropolis.com

Parking Lot Poems

imgres

 

View from the Security Window

Upstairs, two teenagers gawk:

“Hey dude, come look at this.

Check the rack on her.”

They’re on their break,

and bored of

doing

work.

* * *

Compensating

I think he’s compensating

with that bad-ass truck.

But on the front seat?

His little friend,

a tiny

poodle

dog.

* * *

4-Way Stop

4-way stops have politics:

Speed up to get there first.

Get there together?

Then wave him on,

(unless you’re

in a

rush.)

* * *

Fast Food

Food sociology says:

Poor people eat poorly.

Rich people eat well.

Thin people eat.

Fat people

sometimes

starve.

* * *

Cell Phone Rape

Loud, self-important talkers:

do us all a favor –

toss your fucking phones

in the toilet.

We don’t need

to hear

you.

Photo from www.fdbusiness.com

 

Creatively reversing a stalemate

couple fighting

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The car door slams and with it…silence –

the deafening stillness of conversation’s end.

Tied as two instead of one from two.

 

It is the beginning of that stalemate

of back to back in unrumpled sheets.

She undresses in the bathroom.

 

Grunts, where words used to be.

Words, where dialogue used to be.

Stares where seeing used to be.

 

The carpets vacuumed a little too quickly,

the dishes stacked a little too loudly,

the radio blaring a little too obviously.

 

Four days later the icy surface cracks.

In the kitchen, his back against the wall,

with devilish grin, he loudly farts.

 

They’re laughing still.

They made love tonight.

Twice.

There you will find me

dust

 

 

 

 

 

In the spaces between the leaves,

in that breath of less than more,

in pieces of air, which stand

among the ruins of our yesterdays;

there you will find me.

* * * * *

In the hours between the seconds,

the seconds beyond the years,

the minutes of our days;

there you will find me.

* * * * *

In the sediment of memories,

in the pale, blueness of tomorrows,

in the spoken, unsaid goodbyes;

there you will find me.

* * * * *

In the palm of our hopes,

in the inward grope of our fears,

in the flight from our grey to green;

there you will find me.

Photo at www.adlib.blogs.com 

Follow me…a litany

images

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

How good it is whenever we leave all false agendas, desires, plans, schemes, thoughts –

our very selves behind and obediently follow the Master without hesitation.

…and he said to him, “Follow me.”

How good to imagine a world where those without hope are given hope

because the community of Jesus follow the leading of their Master and Teacher

and bring this hope in all they say and do.

…and he said to him, “Follow me.”

How good it is to host the Presence, keeping company with sinners, tax collectors, lepers and the outcasts.

…and he said to him, “Follow me.”

How good to have ears to hear the voice of Jesus calling to us,

urging us to follow him wherever he goes,

participating with him in bringing the new wine of God’s kingdom to light around us.

…and he said to him, “Follow me.”

How good to live before God every moment with godly sorrow for our sin,

fully embracing our brokenness in honesty and authenticity.

…and he said to him, “Follow me.”

How good to celebrate with all whose repentance brings new life

and an accompanying deep life change even when such celebration causes raised eyebrows.

…and he said to him, “Follow me.”

How good never to allow ourselves to succumb to religious peer pressure

that traps one in the smothering flames of imposed, restrictive faith life

and thereby lessen the gospel message in compliance with it.

…and he said to him, “Follow me.”

How good never to succumb to the same judgmental spirit which produces and perpetuates religious peer pressure.

“Father forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

…and he said to him, “Follow me.”

How good to taste the old, complexly rich and fragrant wine of our forebears

while working in the vineyard alongside our Master Winemaker.

…and he said to him, “Follow me.”

How good to be in our places of work, looking left and right

to find those of ill repute and the despised with whom to drink new wine.

…and he said to him, “Follow me.”

How good to stand in the place where others are,

be the voice of Jesus calling to them, saying “follow me”

and teach them how to catch others in the net of grace.

…and he said to him, “Follow me.”

How good to be those who hold the redemptive instruments of grace

at the bedsides of the broken together with our great Physician.

…and he said to him, “Follow me.”

How good to bring encouragement to all whose “bridegroom” has been taken from them

either by sickness, death or malfeasance.

…and he said to him, “Follow me.”

How good…

How good, indeed.

Praise be to the Lord of all lepers, losers, limpers and lovers.

…and he said to him, “Follow me.”

Photo from www.sermonreflections.blogspot.com