Category: Words…always words

My Gingerbread Church

On By robertalanrifeIn Poet-Prophets, RobsLitBits, Words...always wordsLeave a comment

I’ve not been especially active on this site for awhile. You know how it is with poets. Feast or famine. Self-aggrandisement one minute. Self-loathing the next. Ah well…

Therefore, I felt it a good way to break this space open once more, not with one of mine, but with a surprisingly tasty piece written by a young friend, Ruth. She is as intelligent as she is effervescent.

Please enjoy her words as I have. Perhaps have someone read it out loud to you while you sip mulled wine and let Ruth’s words warm you. I give you “My Gingerbread Church” by Ruth Quill.

_____________________________________________________________________________

My Gingerbread Church

At 11 John’s Place, a gingerbread house is under construction.

The pathway paved with after eights, garden filled with candy canes.

The porch a little crumbly, entrance, two gingerbread slabs 

leaned against each other like a pointed hat.

–

A gingerbread ramp with chocolate finger railings,

liquorice door frames and jelly beans for handles.

A tube of icing to cement the jellied toilets to the floor,

a gingerbread roof sprinkled with hundreds and thousands.

–

There are jelly babies crying in the back room,

but our lullabies are full because we know what’s coming.

Jonathan snores and clarinet hums, samba drums and tap drums,

young shepherds and wise men, holy screams of labour.

–

Let’s build a gingerbread altar for him, bejewelled with smarties.

Let’s hang a gingerbread mobile from the ceiling.

Let’s light a gingerbread candle and watch it burn down till the special day,

–

when we’ll hand out gingerbread on the door, inscribed in royal icing

with liturgies and scripture, and then snap it in two,

and dunk one half into those brilliant cups of tea,

and eat it, soft and sweet, broken for us, broken for all.

_______________________________________________________________________________________

Ruth is a Scottish poet and freelance programmer based in Leith. Her writing is often inspired by childhood whimsy and play.

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.

November – A Poem a Day Challenge

On By robertalanrifeIn Words...always wordsLeave a comment

I don’t write much poetry these days. Partly a lack of inspiration. Partly laziness. Partly a narrower life hallway not as friendly to poetry construction. Okay, mainly laziness. Good friend and fellow poet, Kelly Belmonte over at All Nine (please do check out her wonderful stuff!) has thrown down the gauntlet, literarily speaking. She’s has taken up the challenge to post a poem a day, or at least, a number of times throughout November.

Dearest Kelly, I take up that challenge. I do so in the simplest possible manner: Haiku. Nineteen syllables more than the ridiculously long stretch of dry, poetry-less crickets from me of late!

So, here goes.

Day 1 –

November

I saw what November press’d

against her bosom –

Spring, wrapped up tight in Winter.

Sometimes

On By robertalanrifeIn Words...always wordsLeave a comment

Sometimes a poem works well enough to post again…sometimes.

robertalanrife's avatarRob's Lit-Bits

Sometimes the drops of air laugh at our impudent chuckle

and gather themselves into a breath. Sometimes

 

when the robin stares too long at the kitchen window,

we become her careless dream. Sometimes

 

the patches of nothing between the rain

know something, too, of waiting. Sometimes

 

I pinch myself asleep long enough to awaken again

to the resurrection of your scent. Sometimes

 

the sucking sound when pulling boots up from the mud 
is how I hear your leaving. Sometimes


the one goose not in formation with the others, 
heading where life goes are my thoughts without you. Sometimes


like old leaves pasted back on the living tree 
is the sound of my cracked voice next to your song. Sometimes

 
like a shower in the lobby with the door open 
is our talk. Sometimes

 

in the wordless poetry, alone,

is our silence.

 

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The Moorland Fairies

On By robertalanrifeIn Words...always wordsLeave a comment

After having a conversation about “old school” vs “contemporary” poetry with a young student in the middle of a Master’s degree in Comparative Literature, I thought this one might be a good one to repost. In honour of “old school”…

robertalanrife's avatarRob's Lit-Bits

The folklore of the Scottish highland moors is extensive and, frankly, creepy as hell. This is a poem that narrates some of that creepiness. Enjoy…or whatever one does with this kind of poetry!

 Moorland Fairies

From marsh and hill through woodland, still,

arose the lithe-limb’d people.

Their frozen stare could nearly kill

e’en those under God’s steeple.

* * *

For many years they haunted men

and frightened little children.

They came at night from eerie dens

to poison, scare or steal them.

* * *

Hunted down with bow and gun

till all were tired and hopeless,

till one cold day, they came upon

a creature in death’s caress.

* * *

So pale and wan, it lay atop

a thicket, robed in grasses;

it’s bluish skin, stout hearts could stop

black eyes, like coal-molasses.

* * *

The men bent down to prod and stare,

its spindly shanks to…

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