Category: Waxing Poetic

Satisfaction guaranteed

On By robertalanrifeIn Waxing PoeticLeave a comment

Marvel at the cost of such pedantry,

succumb to the vagaries of baubledom, hoofery, and chicane glaminosity.

The suit fits well, the shoes reveal the glib and jabber of your craft.

In your pocket you finger loose change,

rubbed together like shuffle and jump bumper cars.

See the shine he says.

Looks good on you, he says.

One last gander, he says, take it for a spin.

You check out the merchandise while he checks out yours

and, together, you strike the deal to deal the strike.

Inside it smells like an Alberta forest with a hint of cheap cologne.

Something doesn’t feel right, he switches feet too often,

hasn’t looked you in the eye, yet,

and talks faster than you can type.

But something about this impish clown ghetto pulls one hand to sign,

the other to wipe the sweat from your anxious brow.

This parade of top-down, convertible politics

sits in your gut like so much bad stew.

Need and want swap places and you sigh…

But in the end, your satisfaction is guaranteed.

After all, the payments won’t kill you,

but the possessions might.

 

Kill ’em all

On By robertalanrifeIn Parables, Waxing Poetic7 Comments

An obvious risk to such provocative pieces is their potentially divisive, incendiary nature. I post because I am compelled to write what I feel. But I do so in full recognition that what I feel stands in contradiction to what many others feel. Hence, with conviction but also humility, I post…

Yes please, describe for us your toxic, platinum dreams

you grumpy old men, front lawn savages and blue-haired fussbudgets

whose projected fears force our embroilments.

Like a bikini at a funeral you bluster and fidget

and point fingers with one syllable jeers, taunting of yesterday’s better standing.

Only then will we learn that the beach of our desires

doesn’t meet your death loving, tea ‘n sympathy standards.

You clink glasses with friends at darts, or grab ass in the elevator,

but turn a blind eye to a man on trial

because his head covering took away your comfort.

Wrap yourself in the flag for protection

from those sandy, bearded bastards who kill your friends killing them.

Then, with hand on heart, the right politics,

a cigarette tucked behind your ear, and misty-eyed blindness,

you look for ways not to look for ways.

Let’s help our kids by killing theirs.

Let’s build our future by robbing theirs.

Let’s pad our budgets while emptying theirs.

Let’s speak for us by silencing them.

We don’t need to love,

just kill ’em all.

That’s what Jesus would do.

night

On By robertalanrifeIn Waxing Poetic2 Comments

Winking past benighted minions

still and soft, she glides away.

Severed light pushed off her pinions,

for she had nothing left to say.

***

Dark her bosom, darker forming,

full of starry, whiteling lights;

perched atop the scalp of morning,

waits for courage to ignite.

***

Now to find the peace so wanting,

till we are awake again,

sleep bejewels our hearts unflaunting,

send us now thy rest, our friend.

Triangle Poems VI

On By robertalanrifeIn Waxing PoeticLeave a comment

Gubernatorial

Just as we were making way

the circus came to town.

We began to hope,

but had to stand

in a booth;

and truth

fled.

***

Penmanship

The scratch of ink on paper

still thrills a writer’s heart.

Her quill skips and weaves,

darting hither,

following

her heart’s

end.

***

Cheese

Good, like sunny afternoons,

and flowers in a field,

aged milk matures

to bring a taste

of heaven,

ripe and

old.

***

Checkers

Red and black go dancing past,

old friends still sitting there

well past dinner time.

“King me” he says.

“That’s not fair!

You won

last.”

***

Stilettos

Calves as tight as trampolines,

she totters high above

we humble mortals.

Forcing a smile,

she winces

and looks

down.

Morning run

On By robertalanrifeIn Life of Rob, Waxing Poetic3 Comments

Flagrantly I fall into mists of morning’s madness.

What is it I so crave about this pain?

Droplets of dew vie with damp, glowing forehead

and share a breath of dawning air.

Footfalls fast, no frequent, and plodding,

struggle to overcome this sluggish lump of futile flesh.

Dear God, help me to see the horizon,

because there is my end.

My beginning.

Sonnet from an airport lounge

On By robertalanrifeIn Waxing Poetic, Words...always wordsLeave a comment

This is not autobiographical. I repeat, this is not…oh never mind, you decide. As a recovering alcoholic with almost 10 years sober (no, stop, please…enough), this is an all too familiar scene. Trying to wash away fear, doubt and pain while dulling the insistent voice of comfort offered us by God and stranger. Hurting together is still better than drinking alone, n’est pas?

Sitting in the airport lounge with spirit bayoneted,

half-hearted conversations, words, more words, tumble out, un-netted.

Ne’er-do-wells sing trashy songs, their voices loud, un-vetted,

scare away all vestiges of peace,  un-still…

* * * * *

Seeking solace, groping hope from speaker’d plane route changes,

arrivals swapped as airplanes, circling round, my vision ranges.

Slow, so slow and slower still the time, these hours, outrageous

offer little respite from these voices, shrill.

* * * * *

But in the lateness of this hour, e’en now there comes a voice,

some gentle, waltzing words of comfort land, offering a choice

to listen hard, to find, to seek and fin’lly heed this noise,

since Whiskey Sours failed their task, this heart to fill.

* * * * *

So much to lose, through burden’d care;

so much to gain when life we share.

Still time for Fall

On By robertalanrifeIn Waxing Poetic5 Comments

The days and nights they tumble on,

one day’s toes on tomorrow’s heels.

She grunts and forces her way upon

those who see time as cogs and wheels.

***

The endless hours push and shove

and jostle in hooded robe and shoes,

that heedless plod till more’s not enough

to hinder pathways trapped in ooze.

***

To catch the minutes wand’ring past,

their wings so sprightly fluttering by

’tis hopeless hope this die we cast

to tame this time, though hard we try.

***

Then stillness in this world should we

be after, solitude, tranquility.

God won’t rush, transforming, He,

our hearts from panic to civility.

***

So, let these moments taken now

to pause, reflect, encounter all

be God’s release of furrowed brow,

and stop…to smell the Fall.

Thanks to Lois Keffer for the awesome photo from her own Photoshop collection.

Still, in One Peace

On By robertalanrifeIn Life of Rob, Prayers & Liturgy, Waxing Poetic2 Comments

Still, in One Peace

Fitting is it not that matters mounting,

with mystifying weight, find smaller place

and quieter voice beside waters of one’s heart, stilled?

***

Edges blunt as catalysts osmose, and color replaces frightened

monochromatic moods, all oozing

together in the panacea of grace.

***

I catch my breath long enough to taste air,

long forgotten and let the taste of quiet

fill my longing lungs with life, raw and real.

***

Here, there are no answers,

only better questions; hints of high above

where life grows smaller but clear, unified.

***

Lastly, I stretch legs, weary from

longer strides than meant for.

Here I am, still, in one peace.

 

Hope Arising

On By robertalanrifeIn Life of Rob, Waxing Poetic4 Comments

One man’s horizon is another’s destination.

To see far is not to see clear,

but clarity comes when morning hints

a cold shoulder mystique against the fallen night.

And once more, dawn rises over dusk

one day’s ‘yester’ trades places with another’s ‘to’-

never to return for

all is new once more.

An Evening’s Refrain

On By robertalanrifeIn Waxing Poetic2 Comments

“There they are”, she says,

“how noteworthy, how noble under bastions of light

these gentlemen in tea-coats and cummerbunds.

They tilt their caps to passing ladies

with “adieu” and “hail, and well met, sweet girl.””

“Quickly”, she says,

“step lightly toward the dawn

and, before the shivering, cold dew of morning,

pin the drops that fall to the ground

with footsteps, trim, and gayly tripping.”

When one decides for time and chance,

fortune’s wind of destiny depletes itself

amid the wild, barren tapestry of evening –

and stops to sigh and, with delight, gently whispers

“goodnight.”