Creatively reversing a stalemate

On By robertalanrifeIn Life of Rob, Waxing PoeticLeave a comment

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

On By robertalanrifeIn Parables, Waxing PoeticLeave a comment

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

On By robertalanrifeIn Prayers & Liturgy2 Comments

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

Psalm 1:1-3, a litany of confession

On By robertalanrifeIn Life of Rob, Music and the arts, Prayers & LiturgyLeave a comment

awesomestories.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

Photo found at www.awesomestories.com

 

In humility and faith, let us confess our sins to God and neighbor.

Kyrie

©2008 by Robert A. Rife

Kyrie eleison, eleison;

Christe eleison, eleison;

Kyrie eleison, eleison.

(repeat)

 

Lord, have mercy, have mercy on us;

Christ, have mercy, have mercy on us;

Lord, have mercy, have mercy on us.

 

Psalm 1:1 Happy are those who do not follow the advice of the wicked,

God of holiness, goodness and light,

forgive us for our wanton disregard

of all that is good, acceptable and perfect: your perfect will.

Forgive those times we willingly submit

to that which is beneath our humanity and less

than your expectation, design and desire for our lives.

…or take the path that sinners tread,

Lord of grace,

many have walked the easy and dark road of hate, sin and neglect.

Forgive the ease with which we, too, walk such roads.

…or sit in the seat of scoffers;

Holy One,

if we stay long enough in places less than

our creation, our calling, our creed,

we succumb to skepticism, unbelief and eventually

cynical denial of truth, beauty and goodness.

Guide us away from such horrifying places and open our eyes

to the glory of life-giving love encased in the tenderness of grace.

2 but their delight is in the law of the Lord, and on his law they meditate day and night.

Lord, you are all our delight and the one in whom we revel and rejoice!

3 They are like trees planted by streams of water,

which yield their fruit in its season,

and their leaves do not wither.

In all that they do, they prosper.

Let this life yield its fruit in us, O Lord;

revive all that is dead in us, restoring us to greatness in your name.

 

Singing together:

Lord, have mercy, have mercy on us;

Christ, have mercy, have mercy on us;

Lord, have mercy, have mercy on us.

 

Kyrie eleison, eleison…

Beside

On By robertalanrifeIn Life of Rob, Waxing Poetic4 Comments

Beside the chair is a table too small for books,

books too small to read long enough,

in light too bright to hide the inconsistencies;

words too many to possibly live well.

 

Beside my memory is a tabloid soul

too flirtatious for dining room company,

pureed too finely to enjoy the chunks of life

strewn about the perimeters.

 

Beside the stumps in the yard

sleep the bones of last year’s plans,

the prickly needles fallen from the curious trees,

the crunch of old promises under feet, newly shorn.

 

Beside the evening, falling from the grace of day

lie mischievous hints of tomorrow, come too soon

but late enough to collect itself anew

in the hands of another.

 

Seeds

On By robertalanrifeIn Life of Rob, Waxing Poetic, Words...always words2 Comments

tangled roots

Like pervasive, unwanted seeds, words find cracks and root in places where gardens are meant to be…


*

Words, cold and brittle, cast out like seeds

lay in heaps on a warm, tender earth.

*

One sinks lower than the others and

pushes roots down, cracking open forbidden soil,

*

wrapping itself around innocent roots

like the tendrils of some old, persistent tale.

*

Vines grow where magnolias were before.

They boast their unwelcome appearance,

*

and find unseen cracks, where gardens are meant to be;

places reserved for the fragrant beauty of silent afternoons.

*

Where once the healthy stalk whispered her delights

into laughing ears, ready for the rest of the story,

*

now she lay choked, emaciated.

For want of sun, flowers, once taut and certain

*

cry out against their wanton pursuers.

“This is not life!” they cry.

*

Pull me from this place of shame

and replace these bony fingers of macabre intent

*

with a throat renewed, a deeper breath,

and pause to stretch and sigh once more.

Picture thanks to www.spinningspokes.com

Pilfered

On By robertalanrifeIn Waxing Poetic4 Comments

A poetic hymn celebrating Easter’s promise.

empty grave

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pilfered by such crimson stains

un-ruin of lost passion’s gaze.

We see, although with borrowed eyes,

the ways of marrow’d bones that cry

and heed tomorrow’s empty plans,

still grasped are we by steady hands.

Once-sceptered race, too weak to sing,

hums strained refrains, the note’s the thing

that begs to be so firmly placed

beside heav’ns door, to see our face.

 

Pilfered, now, the empty tombs

of prison-ing stone that left no room

for breath, nor sight, life’s dividend

so oft ignored, yet without end.

The beating heart in longing chest

can speak no lies, at love’s request

when barrenness no longer reigns

and God above sees not a stain.

Sorrow’s nest, our broken lot,

lies strewn about, dark chains forgot.

 

Pilfered, now, once seeing eyes,

which, seeing, saw but only lies

and in such blindness, seeing sought

to see once more what love forgot.

The heart bursts open, warm and full

and knows the place from whence it’s pull:

paraded by heav’ns stunning grace,

now heav’nward, sure, it finds its place.

Secured by love, in hope, transformed

salvation’s gift: the cold heart, warmed.

 

 

 

Spring on Ash Wednesday

On By robertalanrifeIn Prayers & Liturgy, Waxing Poetic3 Comments

Ash Wednesday has come round again to spill forth her penitent goodness. I first posted this last year on Ash Wednesday. Let’s walk the Lenten road together.

 ash wednesday

 

 

 

 

 

Begins again this Springward journey;

rebirthing all that once lived.

Trickle again once fickle brook and stream

sickle sighs yet in repose, sleeping still.

Earth, sore and Winter-stiff, seeks, sighs

stretches out skinny arms of want.

Her cold, hard bosom births not what soon will come

e’er the Sun’s hungry mouth suckles,

fills his lusty gut on hopeful barrenness

feasting on milk of timeworn, weary passage.

* * * * * * * * *

She forgets not the suddenness of late

and sooner dark, splayed upon a fine, greenness

come for to spite the buds of transforming light

bidding death where life has yet to emerge.

Warmly insistent she speaks, sharing her story

poured out over the long-shadowed land.

Bring such bothersome beauty to branchier speech,

fall around us, spilling, foaming such fury

and fermenting our soon-drunk wine of promise;

earthen spirit’s Eucharistic prayer.

* * * * * * * * *

Hush now, silence yourself bold coldness and spare not

freedom’s great gift only taken this once year’s-life.

Steep instead in warmness, worried not for lack

but bubbling and birthing bold words lightly spoken.

Remind us, refresh and reframe what is still rooting,

routing sad night-hood to don the new, the now, the never again;

only to return, restored and restoring,

regenerated, reborn.

Give us again your beauty for our ashes.

Wednesday speaks your secrets.

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.