Through other eyes

On By robertalanrifeIn Life of Rob, Waxing Poetic2 Comments

eye

 

 

 

 

 

Today, I dreamed of pulling leaves from evergreen trees;

of plowing a field of whale skin soup;

of interrupting the mute guy standing, alone, outside the Mission;

of dancing naked in front of the mirror in my Sunday best;

of swallowing whole the corner of my toast;

of shouting quietly up the stairs to my wife in the basement;

of turning around so I can keep going straight ahead;

of loving when my hating heart says otherwise;

of singing when my silent voice denies these notes;

of releasing myself to become heaven’s captive.

The world makes sense through other eyes.

 

in the s p a c e s

On By robertalanrifeIn Life of Rob, Waxing PoeticLeave a comment

Scottish trails

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

few of words greater of speech

I bask in the s p a c e s between words

and cheat the answers in pursuit

of the better question

while others scurry beneath their rhyme

pushing them up hills around corners and through doors

I must disavow these letters

these curled up gems and dotted spirits

crossed meanings and severed vowels

but before I can sit down on the edge

of the new I must relinquish

the periods at sentence end.

and replace them with something else,

Sonnet for the Common Man

On By robertalanrifeIn Waxing PoeticLeave a comment

common laborers

In honor of Robbie Burns, poet laureate of Scotland, born this day in 1759 in Alloway. He ever championed the plight of the common man but, ironically, was the toast of Edinburgh and London high society. Long may his legacy remind us of our need to walk shoulder to shoulder with “the little guy.”

 

 

 

 

 

Seen without his hard hat, hammer and a drill,

one could not forget his meager manner.

For, through his calloused hands, he ever strives to build,

with strength not derived from rich man’s banner.

He stoops and bends and heaves with stout, broad shoulders,

through heat of day, his burdens bravely borne.

At evening breezes’ promise, then he’ll hold her,

no heavy burdens carried till the morn.

As silence settles, with no moon, comes darkness,

and dreaming comes to steal away his pain;

in these grey hours his battles cease their starkness,

yet as the new day dawns he’ll start again.

In simplest pleasures finds he all his joy;

the common man wins peace fit to enjoy.

Photo from www.peace-cyprus.org

Porch Poems IV

On By robertalanrifeIn Waxing PoeticLeave a comment

shooting star

 

We undo our top buttons

We undo our top buttons

on pants not meant for this;

dinner was too good

not to undo

the buttons

of our

pants.

 

A shooting star this dark night

A shooting star this dark night

has taken up her place

among the sky gods.

She jealously

separates

night from

day.

 

Night love

Your breasts, so full in this light

beckon me toward you.

The porch light’s burn low;

but our passions

cauterize

the damp

dark.

 

Afterward

This morning you look at me

and the night before laughs

at our warm, tired limbs;

our happy souls

and bodies

soft from

love.

 

Goodnight to this night

We bid goodnight to this night

and all she had to share.

The porch chairs, still warm,

hold stories told

tonight, for

you and

me.

Porch Poems III

On By robertalanrifeIn Words...always wordsLeave a comment

Ducks in the cattails

Sometimes I think I get stuck

like ducks in the cattails,

grinding out their path;

their bodies, tired,

their wings, trapped,

their sight,

gone.

 

Cleaning out the shed

There are days when tasks are hard,

like cleaning out the shed.

I always find more

stuff I don’t want;

lost things that

speak of

me.

 

Crazy Uncle Roy

Medicine Hat, Alberta:

there, crazy uncle Roy

reached under the porch,

pulled out a snake,

grabbed its head

and kissed

it.

 

Snakeskin Boots

I grew up in Calgary,

where cowboy hats are cool.

I was cooler still

with snakeskin boots

my uncle

made for

me.

 

Staring at Sunsets

Shared, the wafting summer light

azure-orange, brightness

unfailing, obtuse,

with promises

of happy-

ending

days.

Porch Poems II

On By robertalanrifeIn Waxing PoeticLeave a comment

 Cigarettes and ice cream

Some things don’t fit together –

cigarettes and ice cream,

sex and TV Guide,

you and goodbye,

fear and love…

unloved

child.

* * *

Football scores and cowboy boots

Football scores and cowboy boots

are how he learned to dream.

Touchdowns meant for us,

 and boots that fit,

are all he

needs to

smile.

* * *

Windchimes

Such a clanging song you sing,

invading our quiet,

pensive solitude.

You remind us

it’s alright

to sing,

too.

* * *

Post pork ‘n beans

Filling up the stale, night air

and stealthy as a hawk,

come unwelcome sounds

fraught with danger,

poison stench;

our peace?

Gone.

* * *

Starlight fantasies

Posthumous luminaries

pursue the evening sky,

Starlight fantasies

spill out their seed

and lighten

every

pain.

Porch poems I

On By robertalanrifeIn Waxing Poetic2 Comments

the porch

Front Porch

I think I have a mem’ry

of something wide and strange,

with depth of field and

softness, wielding

timely smiles

and old

songs.

 * * *

Sunset Surprises

We’ve been here now for two hours

relinquishing our dust.

It falls like evening’s

slowing moments

fit for love,

this done

day.

* * *

Banjo time

We came to sing and play tunes;

fingers itch to play and

puncture the fatigue

with notes that spray

our faces

with cool

joy.

 * * *

Too many stars

Too many stars are breathing;

unscented, sky candles

point the way to night

and solitude

and whisper,

“please don’t

go.”

 * * *

Counting costs

Little do we understand.

Here, we wait, embracing

what little we see.

How grandiose

these virgin

dreams, how

chaste.

Picture from www.knowingthedifference.com

A Prayer After Epiphany

On By robertalanrifeIn Prayers & Liturgy9 Comments

Lord of the blind and those who will not see,

replace our black with grey;

our grey with white;

our white with light;

and all that is not what it seems will become what it must be.

 

Lord of the destitute and drawn-out,

lance these boils of sin-soaked pain

in the brine of salted, holy blood;

revive what we never knew was dead;

that the winds might catch your scent – the fragrance of grace.

 

Lord of the convinced and righteous,

remove from us our certainties;

our ambivalence toward ambiguities;

our reticence to swim in the waters of paradox;

that the world gets to see your way in us, not our way with you.

 

Lord of the fractured and forgotten,

seek out the silenced voices encased in amber

where no one hears their desperate choking;

no eye sees inside their deceiving exteriors;

find them and with white hot love, melt their prisons.

 

Lord of the shiny and gleaming,

scratch our taut and brittle surfaces;

add the character of time to our faux beauty;

send us the numbing ache of obscurity;

so that your gentle glow outshines our brash gleam.

 

Lord of all that lives,

plow the musky mutations from our once-breathing gardens;

unbalance our stiletto lives that teeter precariously;

releasing us from our cramped smallness;

that our spirits may once again yawn and stretch into life.