Songs of the Lesser Servants: Spiritual Poems

By Richard Alan Ruof

The poems in this book depict the conflict between
the secular-commercial and inner-spiritual views of life.style="mso-spacerun: yes"> In many poems the spiritual world interrupts
the daily round of life flowing into consciousness, bringing harmony and an awe
of the divine. Other times the poems
portray lawlessness and distortion that make human life grotesque.style="mso-spacerun: yes"> Rather than teaching lessons, the poems
describe how modern society has lost touch with spiritual truths.style="mso-spacerun: yes"> As an obsession with the material and
secular way grows, a beautiful harmony yields to conflict; the divine and
profane vie for attention. Only a
renewal of traditional faith restores the spiritual.

Poetrys rhythms relay the inner sights.style="mso-spacerun: yes"> The reader hears the words in his or her own
voice, suddenly glimpsing the spiritual world, which departs the scene having
stirred the inner experience that often in modern life is fading.

The spiritual is ageless. But the material quickly dissolves exacting a toll upon the age
that surrenders the eternal dimension.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 19, 2003
• ISBN: 9781410735836

Richard Alan Ruof

Later in life the author sensed an unfinished business. Spiritual experiences posed questions about life’s meaning.   At ten the author had a vision of the face of Christ, followed by dreams of decimation of earth.  He turned to prayer, eventually becoming a Christian pastor.  Throughout life the arresting spiritual deepened life’s meaning.   Fearing he never would share his experiences, he asked for a gift to relay their meaning.  In poems a source beyond gave blessings and warnings.  The poems address the ongoing flow of modern life and convey experiences on long daily walks.    The author earned four academic degrees, but found lives of God’s lesser servants especially engaging.  These poems were given in a place called Auburn, PA.  

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© 2003 by Richard Alan Ruof. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system,

or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying,

recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author.

ISBN: 1-4107-3583-4 (e-book)

ISBN: 1-4107-3582-6 (Paperback)

ISBN: 978-1-4107-3583-6 (ebook)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2003091868

These poems were registered for copyright 11/1996 and 6/1997

1stBooks-rev. 08/05/03

CONTENTS

NOTE TO THE READER

INTRODUCTION: ONLY WITH PRAYER

I. GLIMPSES OF THE ETERNAL

GLIMPSES OF THE ETERNAL

THE LIVING VISION AND TESTIMONY OF THE DEAD

RED AND BLUE WINDOWS

GOD IS NEAR

OUR WORLD IN BUTTERMILK

THE FEARFUL ENCOUNTER

WHEN SUN AND EARTH AGREE

PORTAL OF THE SKY

WHEN GOD BECAME FLESH

HEAVEN’S BRIGHTEST STAR

A VOICE WITHIN IS CALLING

II. LESSER SERVANTS IN FAMILY

ABOUT THOSE RINGS

IN MY THOUGHTS THERE MOVES A DANCER

THE PROVIDER

SOL

FOR THE WIZARD I SAID A PRAYER

CHOOSE MY LOVE FOR ME

GIVING HONOR TO THE WIFE

OF BRIDGES AND GENERATIONS

SPIRIT MOVEMENTS

MAGA

THESE MOMENTS WHEN GOD SPEAKS

A PICTURE IN PICTURES

A WALK WITH THE DOG

YOUR ARTISTRY

THE MARRIAGE SONG

LUMPS OF COAL

IN MEMORIAM

A VOICE IS CALLING

III. THE COURAGE OF THE LESSER SERVANTS

SUNDAY PRAXIS AMONG BEACH UMBRELLAS

OH THOSE CHARISMATICS!

THE FUNDAMENTALIST

THE ANGER OF THE LEAVES

ABORIGINES

MANUMISSION

WHEN HENRY OWENS PASSED THROUGH TOWN

THE LEGACY OF RUTH

DEAR LORD, YOU ARE NEEDED HERE

HE THOUGHT IT WAS

EVEN ME

SAY NOT…

PEARL

TILL MORNING COMES

AN EVER ROLLING STREAM

CONFESSIONS OF A LESSER SERVANT

I PASSED BY

8

THE JUST SHALL LIVE BY FAITH

WHERE SHE PICKED THE BLOSSOMS

THE PAINTED HORSES

FAREWELL TO SPRINGTIME

IV. THE WORLDLY CONFUSION

UH-UH, SAID THE ANGEL

BEWARE THE HUMBLE SYCOPHANT

THE CENTRIFUGAL PHANTASMAGORIA

ELECTRONIC GODDESS

ABOUT YOUR WILD PARTIES, SHE WARNED

THE DEVIL’S BRIGHT CANOPY

IF MURDER IS YOUR BAG

A METAPHOR DOES NOT

THE ABORTIONS

THE CARNIVAL OF VALUES

THE BIRDS AND STONES CRY OUT

V. WARNINGS OF THE UNSEEN MESSENGERS

WARNINGS OF THE WINGS

I FOLLOWED A RAPIDLY FLOWING STREAM

FAIR WARNING OF THE UNSEEN MESSENGER

DYING NOVEMBER

YOUNG HICKORY TREES, DIAMONDS AND SAPPHIRES

CONE MOUNTAIN

OF DOGS AND SHEEP

THE JOY OF HIS SERVANTS

INTERLUDE: A Peculiar People

THE LOST POEM

VI. BEFORE HER EYES A VISION

A WEEPING WOMAN

THE TEMPLE OF LIGHTS

HEAVENLY LIGHTS

ABOUT YOUR DIET, SHE SAID

THE MONSTER

THE RINGS OF FIRE

THE KINDLY GRACE

WHERE EAGLES REST

THE EXODUS OF THE SOULS

VII. IN THE SAVIOR’S FOOTPRINTS—The Christian Year

MOTHER EARTH

SNOWS OF CHRISTMAS

A DANGLING CONNECTION

THE LIGHTS OF CHRISTMAS

COME THOU LONG EXPECTED

THE DAY-SPRING COMES

GOD’S LOVE FOREVER SHINES

THE SLEEPY SERVANT

SLEEPERS AWAKE

THE SERMON ON THE STAR

AVOID THE PERPENDICULAR

PARADIGMS

ON VIEWING VAN GOGH’S PIETA

SPRINKLES OF LIGHT

SO WILL HE WEAVE THREADS OF MERCY

VIII. AN ASSORTMENT OF CONCLUSIONS

THE WORDS OF A MAN’S MOUTH

dream scenes, etcetera

OLD SIMON WAS WELL KNOWN

QUITE AN EXPLOSION

GOD IS NOT MOCKED

SIC CAVEAT PROFLIGATOR

WHEN IT COMES

THE TRUMPET CALLS

NOTE TO THE READER

Forced into early retirement by medical circumstances, in the ensuing quiet the author sensed an unfinished business. His spiritual experiences had posed questions about life’s inner meaning. Though subjective, often they were coupled with objective evidence and at times shared by others.

At age ten the author had a vision of the face of Christ, followed by dreams of the decimation of life on earth. He turned to prayer in his search for the one who was then unknown to him. Coming from an unchurched family, ultimately he became a Christian pastor. He often asked for his wife to experience as he had, then ceased asking. Months later, together they experienced a spiritual manifestation. Throughout his life the miraculous spiritual world returned unannounced.

At last, fearing he would never share his experiences, he asked for a gift to relay their meaning. His dreams resumed: giant scrolls, pages of poems; then the poems were given to him. An inner world spoke its blessings and warnings, as if he were accompanied as he drew closer to Christ.

The poems depict the conflict between the secular commercial and inner-spiritual views of life. In many poems the spiritual world interrupts the daily round of life flowing into consciousness, bringing harmony and an awe of the divine. Other times the poems portray lawlessness and distortion that make human life grotesque. Rather than teaching lessons, the poems depict how modern society has lost touch with spiritual truths. As an obsession with the material and secular way grows, a beautiful and peaceful harmony yields to conflict; the divine and profane vie for attention. Only a renewal of traditional faith restores the spiritual.

Poetry’s rhythms relay the inner sights. The reader hears the words in his or her own voice, suddenly glimpsing the spiritual world, which departs the scene having stirred the inner experience that often in modern life is fading. Our modern habits of analysis, reason and discussion evade the spiritual. Instead meditation, perception, analogy and sharing lend sight to see the drift of lives and generations toward fulfillment or failure.

Personal materials have been avoided except where permission has been granted. Otherwise, similarity to now living persons is coincidental. Nor are comments relating to organizational systems specific. The events, scenes and portraits describe the spiritual and worldly, an everyday world of shifting dimensions. The lesser servants pass unnoticed, but at a depth which astounds.

The author has earned four degrees, but also has found the wisdom of God’s lesser servants to be timeless.

These poems were registered for copyright 11/1996 & 6/1997.

The cover design and title derive from calls to faith and warnings to ordinary Christians from martyrs, referred to as Eagles, in particular Richard Gwyn, a Welsh schoolmaster, and his wife Catherine.

Revelations 20:4

INTRODUCTION: ONLY WITH PRAYER

As I prayed for words

in this age of sighs…

Unspoken poem I felt you softly tiptoe

Into my thoughts as if no soul alone

Sufficient could be to fashion your lines

And message into an earthly reality.

Like a fresh solitary breeze you blew

Upon my face, and with a sudden grace

You entered hands uplifted in prayerful

Entreaty that I Christ’s servant still might be.

How long awaited

was Spirit sovereignty

Until those gentle waters in me flowed

To cleanse my soul and welcome you, this I know

No longer. But when on the page you took shape

I recognized you from the form that unfurled

Before my clouded sight some nights before

When I prayed for voice to tell God’s miracles.

For God’s love that was

is now and evermore.

So may God’s children in days of sorrow

And in times of accumulating woes

Await His soft and sudden touch of comfort

And His unrolling scrolls of saving words

Pouring forth the blessings of Holy Scriptures

As they groan in sore inadequacy

And weep before the Spirit in their need.

Romans 8:26

I. GLIMPSES OF THE ETERNAL

GLIMPSES OF THE ETERNAL

The clouds were strewn across the sky

Like golden logs on a sapphire river

First in patterns crosswise then gliding

To straighten in passages toward a far

Dimension. Distant ponds of blue

Were deepening as yellow beams

Of falling sun drew down their hues

To twilight. Puffs of powder dabbed the scene

Like spirit forms passing that soon

Dissolved from view as God hurried

To lend a glimpse of the eternal

In far off time and place. Yet here

The Maker painted such daring strokes,

Then added His bold signature

In flaming streaks of orange, that souls

Paused to recall that such glory

Would shine in Heaven forever.

While God has called His greater servants,

Their names recorded in Scripture—

Young Samuel heard in the temple

Moses saw the bush unconsumed burn,

The twelve apostles saw the Son

Arisen, and saints sought God’s vision—

Yet God has called His lesser ones

Who had their glimpses of His sudden

Arresting presence. These servants

He gathered like those scattered clouds

And placed in them a bright vision

Of His Risen Son. Of scant renown

Their lives flow straight in the currents

Of a celestial river

Into the sunrise of forever.

THE LIVING VISION AND TESTIMONY OF THE DEAD

The Vision

There are times when life’s pages turn together,

A puzzling occasion or a revelation

When faceless hours into awareness stumble,

And time capitulates as life looks out a window.

The children bowed their heads at the teacher’s command

"Read a while or do your math or spelling while

I take some time to work on a change in schedule."

And as obedience paused one sensed a visitant

And turned around to see

In the rear window peering

A reflection; and slyly

Its source went seeking.

Beyond three desks and past the door no source located.

He turned to view in glass a face surpassing human.

The eyes glowed faint blue pouring forth a radiance;

The features unblemished shone of rosy tan.

But sensing his world threatened

He grappled for dissolution,

And efforts expended,

Retreated to his station.

There he gazed again in wonder and sensed no harm;

The face was firm co-mingled with compassion.

Within some questions formed:

A faulty mind or vision?

But both intact, he ventured,

Who is this one who writes in me this burning question:

Beyond the walls and windows of our world what is there?

At home out poured his questions

And came a mother’s answer,

"Just pray and God may tell you

What He wants you to learn."

Not an answer but only…

A turning of chapters.

Waters Of Life And Death

Prayer after prayer,

Then a space thereafter,

In sleep came a dream—

An unforgettable scene—

Unfolding sights of incredible beauty.

The bright golden sun glowed drenching all in sunlight

And yellow-green leaves rose high under sapphire-blue skies

Like rows of tall arborvitae. And trees of all types

Drifted far out of sight, while nearer grew clusters

Of lush vegetation. Clear and pure waters

In rivulets flowed and wound among the greenery.

It was good to be there;

But came a dissolution

A picture flipping over,

Suddenly disappearing…

And then as a flash of lightning rapidly creeping

Unveils an apparition vast of darkened forms

Appears the skyline of a crumbled city resting

In the distance, under clouds that warn of coming storms…

Solemn on the orange horizon of a fallen sun.

Curves the bridge returning from the crumbling city

Across the river of darkness arriving at our shore.

Beware the river furious.

Remember what you’re seeing

Rushing to its destination

From a far and unknown source.

All was dead. No clusters of green; no slight stirring

Of animal or human, neither on the shores

Nor in the sky. Like some prehistoric winged creature

Falls to earth and gasping dies, rests on the earth’s floor

Its spreading wings and collapsing body far across

The vast horizon, so earth and sky lay dead and lifeless.

The air hung dark and heavy, all buoyancy lost,

Its substance altered, smothered by a blizzard

Of dark microcosmic confetti, oppressing.

What a sorry vision—

Our living home now dead.

But the bridge of brown rocks stood firm, unshaken,

Resting on pillars that raised arches gigantic

That held the braces on which the crossway suspends—

A firm pavement beneath the soles of the passers.

Yet to the hurried pilgrim appeared open spaces

Through which were seen the rushing

Darkened waters, energies

Expressing, rising, bulging,

Like striated sinews

Of a twitching muscle; then

Rising to a falling rock

To send it skipping, again

Careening to splash and

Sink—lost forevermore.

Asks the mind alarmed

By such sights unearthly:

Who laid the pillars, the arches, and the braces

That hold the vast crossover from shore to shore

Above the raging river so those who wish might one day

Cross from shores of death to distant life-giving shores?

Who neglects the passage,

Forgets to fill the spaces

For those passing over?

Time’s Message

Then the sorry scene quickly

Transported to the ruins

Of the crumbled city.

The sad eyes awaken

And the mind walks mournful

Among the crumbled buildings standing close against

The orange sunset. The ruins settled granular

And dust-covered, looking like former concrete blocks

Or bricks deteriorated into sepulchres

Of sand. And over all poured orange luminescence,

Like a glazing to preserve museum pieces

Which threaten to dissolve destroying all traces

Of those who lived but now

Are gone. Where are those traces?

Where are the autos

Wagons and carriages

The poles with power

Or to carry messages

Of joy or sorrow,

Where mechanization

To suggest that someone

Was here? But yet the ruins

Kept still and offered nothing.

Only