On By robertalanrifeIn Words...always words2 Comments

Although really a prayer it is done in poetic fashion, not unlike the Psalms…just lesser.

robertalanrife's avatarinnerwoven

Lord, a heart lies in anguish’d ruins,

haunt of those whose boots are stuffed full

of the detritus found only on lonely hillsides

and mucky marshes.

 

There is no comfort in comfort;

comfort itself is a mockery, a shadow.

My soul is o’er grown with the sadness of sin,

untimely and magnetic North to this sorry South.

 

Finding is, to me, just another losing

of what was never found, nor seen;

the secondary reality of a desert’s shimmering heat

rising above an already parched, dead land.

 

Beasts of memory and regret feed

on the bowels of my discontent,

and I am emptied, disavowed of what might

otherwise provide hints of hope, of life.

 

The heartsickness of a harrowed soul

is its own reward to the one who is lost;

wretched reminder of yesterday’s loss by

the infected, troubled mind.

 

Is there to be yet a…

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Haiku prayers

On By robertalanrifeIn Prayers & Liturgy, Waxing PoeticLeave a comment

The contemplative, Japanese poetic form of Haiku is one of many ways to seek inner solitude by way of simple, syllabic word constructions. They were designed to be composed and penned quickly, easily and deeply and then…tossed away like brittle leaves in an autumn breeze. There, they are caught by other breezes and float upward to God. The 5,7, 5 pattern is quite enjoyable and easy to learn. Try it and share some of your own.


I’m here to listen

To the beating heart of God

And hear the silence

 

Perfect in beauty

Shrouded in the mists of heav’n

You reign, exalted

 

Never ending one

See what no one else can see

Come, sweet intrusion

 

Come, save me, O God

Release me from my prison

That I might praise you

 

When separation

Comes to lonely, seeking souls

You share our longing

 

How can I untie

What knots of sin lie beneath-

That you, alone, see?

 

Guide with compassion,

Lead un-wholly hearts to cry

And, finally, see

 

Can you see them now

In suff’ring, never-ending?

Great One, release them

 

Never have I seen

The shining face of our God

So full of yearning

possibilities…

On By robertalanrifeIn Life of Rob, Waxing PoeticLeave a comment

It was 4:00 am and, at the tail end of a recording project, I was desperate for a title track. I had already named the CD, “be that as it may.” Whimsical? Yes. Obtuse? Perhaps. But it was exactly the title that had reverberated in my head for months. That was what it was to be. However, I only had one more day of recording left both on the clock and on the dollar. I was frantic.

Then, a “chance” look across the table of my producer’s kitchen helicoptered my eyes to a picture. It was an image that would provide the muse from which the title song was about to come…in the space of 20 minutes. A solitary figure of a girl, not quite a woman. A girl longing for womanhood. She looks pensively, a little fearfully, into an attic mirror  afraid of what she might see; of what she might not see. She is a girl yearning for something else, something yet to come, just like she whose mirror it was in front of which she now sat might have thought years before.

The print spoke more than I could possibly write. It haunts me to this day. The following is the lyric from the song she inspired (and is downloadable on iTunes, by way of shameless plug).

be that as it may

Words & Music by Robert Rife

©10/16/98

Like roses hung from cellar walls,

Hints of words unspoken fall –

Suggestions of the fragrant fall,

Be that as it may.

When she’s sure there’s no one there

A young girl in a mirror stares

Welcomed in the arms of grandma’s rocking chair –

Be that as it may.

 

Be that as it may

Don’t let it be that we would stay

In waters of a winter’s day,

In the warmth of heaven’s glow we’ll say –

Be that as it may.

 

Hand to face, the touch of love

In bashful eyes, the look of love;

Gives to aching hearts a gentle shove,

Be that as it may.

 

Hiding in their living room

The fire’s warm but ends too soon;

At least it leaves two hearts in a swoon,

Be that as it may.

 

Be that as it may

Don’t let it be that we would stay

In waters of a winter’s day,

In the warmth of heaven’s glow we’ll say –

Be that as it may.

 

Life is like a cul-de-sac

We think we’ve grown, we’ve just come back

To where we were but with a few more facts,

Be that as it may.

 

Be that as it may

Don’t let it be that we would stay

In waters of a winter’s day,

In the warmth of heaven’s glow we’ll say –

Be that as it may.

Be that as it may.

Be that as it may…

Triangle Poems III

On By robertalanrifeIn Waxing PoeticLeave a comment

I can’t seem to shake this triangle poem infatuation. They’re impossibly fun. This is installment three…

Fiddle Faddle

Crunchy bits stuck between teeth,

my jaws ache from chewing,

The bowl sits empty

and I am sad.

How I wish

I’d saved

some.

Cowgirl Stomp

Boots at the ready to dance

and jeans too tight to move;

hair so big it leans

but legs so long

and nimble –

dancing

still.

First Love

When first this heart was stolen

from its haven of dark;

began a journey.

Latent this love

came wanting,

warm and

still.

First Love Lost

When first a mind is stolen,

then starts a tale of blind

and foolish dullards;

bent on seeing

things that may

once more,

nudge.

Highland Women

Lain atop these grizzled breasts

are shoulders built of steal

with muttoned buttocks

and ham-like calves;

envy of

highland

men.

Triangle poems II

On By robertalanrifeIn Waxing Poetic2 Comments

I have to say, these triangle poems are a true delight. I strongly recommend them. They are a quick, simple and prayerful way of engaging whatever thoughts might be floating around up there in the amniotic fluid of our minds.

unity in reverse

Come to us this awkward hour

with pensive silt of home.

Woo our devotion

from love estranged

and tilt us

toward

us.

ambiguity

Was this what I signed up for?

To seal the deal with vows

never more to seek

what questions come

in places

dark but

good?

sipping water

Crispy lips half parted now

to slurp what freshness comes

and slake this parch-ed

throat deserted,

now relieved;

stubborn

thirst.

solitary

Were it not for gut-deep cries

my soul might never seek

a breviary,

solitary,

place for me

to find

you.

kilted men

Knees of thunder now revealed

and thighs like knotted pine,

the wind now blowing,

just as you prayed

it would, for

kilted

men.

soliloquy of grace

On By robertalanrifeIn Waxing PoeticLeave a comment

Oh love,

come from the borderlands to this home

and kiss me with kisses both cunning and strong;

lean in to embrace me with arms lean and long;

enshroud this one in the perfume of love.

Oh truth,

unleash the past of your future’s remembrance, near

to all whose hearts can see God’s salvation career

invade, invite, implant love’s tears

embranch this tree with budding truth.

Oh peace,

nest yourself upon this welcome bow,

where soft-shelled womb-free life lives now

and reaches, neck-stretched knowing not how

you enhance this life in food of peace.

Oh grace,

speak not to me, my toothless grin,

my face unseen, my heart wafer thin;

let love’s promise loosed reveal the dark within;

encourage this one with the gentle soliloquy of grace.

Triangle poems

On By robertalanrifeIn Waxing Poetic5 Comments

In some rich conversation among friends on a new Facebook page, designed by friend and author, Valerie Hess, and dedicated to uniting the practice of spiritual disciplines with artistic expression, the subject of “triangle poems” came up. I was intrigued; enough to try my hand at a few. If you like these, try some of your own and share them with me/us. They’re quite delightful and very contemplative.

An Unsatisfied Satisfaction

Contentment has its uses

if choices don’t suffice.

I once felt a fire

where there was none

to remove

this one

joy.

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.

Staring at Sunsets

Shared, the wafting summer light

azure, orange, brightness

unfailing, obtuse

with promises

of happy-

ending

days.

Overalls

Fit to tie and tangle-up

these buttons never fail.

Till recently when

I forgot to,

after lunch,

and they

did.

conservatory, cellists and the blessing of un-cool

On By robertalanrifeIn Life of Rob2 Comments

“…the glory of art is in receipt more than critique.”

Good friend and fellow blogger, Barbara Lane, has directed me to some very cool online places for inspiration, laughs, and encouragement. One site that has particularly seized my attention is Art House America. It is the brainchild of record producer, Charlie Peacock and his wife, Andi Ashworth and is staffed by more than a few stellar writers, Barb being among them as an intern. A few months ago, blogger Jennifer Strange submitted a piece entitled “Pride and Play”, which outlined her life as a classical violinist. The piece struck a chord (groan) with me. What follows is a fleshier version of my response to it.

“Brava! I, like you, have lived on the edges of un-cool. I was just acceptable enough to be part of the horde of “normal” kids but too artsy and quirky to dwell among the immortals. By the time I got to high school, I was popular but certainly no A-lister. My insistent intensity wed to a host of personal oddities denied entrance among the luminaries. Who cares? I thought. I had plenty of friends and hangers on, enough to get me through the harrowing hell that high school can be. My feigned demeanor as a Bohemian philosopher-poet, indy-intellectual-wannabe coupled with low blood pressure worked against me. I was a good faker, though, and learned to converse well among those of the socialite nosebleed section.

Being a musician helped. The sense of humor bought some street cred, too. These discoveries, although transient and unstable, at least provided me sufficient groundwork upon which to build a shaky cabin of self-esteem. But, unlike many of them, I was no male debutante-in-training. Instead, I was a gangly singer adopted by a blue-collar brewery worker and housewife into a 900 square foot bungalow in oil ‘n redneck rich Calgary, Alberta.

I’m especially grateful that none of the above provided enough of an obstacle to obtaining a full scholarship to Mount Royal College Conservatory where, as a Vocal Performance major, I studied art song, oratorio, opera and the dreamy female cellists in the symphony. And, since most of our professors were symphony musicians, we would get free tickets to almost anything they played – from Faure to Brahms, Shostakovich to Prokofiev, Schoenberg to Beethoven. It was all so heady and…cool…well, except for the part where my buddies and I would fight for the best seats high above the orchestra where the best sight lines were for staring down the daring, black gowns of the cellists in question. But I digress.

I can think of no reason to regret the loss of elitist membership in favor of the sublime connection to the world’s great music. Moreover, music was the backdrop for my awakening to Christian faith after graduation from high school. For this, and your piece reminding all of us of the uniting and redemptive power of music, I can be forever grateful. Besides, why do they always get to decide what’s cool?”

Yours in recitative, R

Sonnet

On By robertalanrifeIn Waxing Poetic1 Comment

I love the sonnets of Shakespeare. Who doesn’t, right? They have been good friends to me of late. Bill had a way of writing about love unlike any other; new love, old love, forbidden love, unspent love, unrequited love, undeserved love and immortal love to name a few. They’ve inspired me to take a stab at a sonnet of my own. It is a modified form unlike those of Bill’s day. And, although I think it’s pretty good, it’s a want ad or Hallmark card by comparison. Be that as it may, I give you…

Tear me from this mystery of dark and shapeless track of dawnless night

Betrayed within the conundrum of grace, suffused by quickening light

Statistic now in sharp withdrawal and vacuumed from the place of sight,

Warned by love of love forgot.

 

To steal what might have otherwise giv’n a simple love, both shared, sublime

Is to find all that is found when ‘tis doubly passed through space, in time

Where music, sweet, and dancing, too, the world begets what two define,

Found in love what love is not.

 

To remedy the hurricaned heart while delay and trepidy so daunting

Playing games so wicked, wild with words unspoken, doubted, flaunting

Now no sound, nor whispers call to head so bleak, a heart left wanting,

Comes grace, alas, where sin forgot.

 

Love has come where passion burned,

and  stilled itself inside, and learned.