Thursday, September 19, 2024: Jennifer M Philips's "What Rises?"

What Rises?

Over us hangs the savior sans serif,

no longer watching us, all broken curve and slump

into what flesh was, into what flesh could be,

the soul's encumbrance but not its devisor.

When light enters, darkness solidifies,

moves up out of the margins. That old stain

lifts from the cloth to run, lurid again

in the gutters, the great tergiversator.

Terror's imp and impulse fortifies

the weak against all council or compromise,

plies damage, but knows no collateral,

and keeps uneasy company with ghosts.

The ancient malevolence prompts the dogs to run wild,

jabs a knee in the back that forfeits a man his life,

prods a leader to deny people their livelihood,

and re-labels chaos as just our neighborhood.

The ignorant armies are not those bearing swords

but those wielding words to dissemble, trip, and steal

meaning and kindness from language itself, and boast

messiah-like of their power to crush and to rule.

Grief watches at the tomb for an undefiled

light to emerge, a squaring to come later,

a risen body of real and common good.

© 2024 Jennifer M Phillips

A much-published bi-national immigrant, gardener, Bonsai-grower, painter, Jennifer M Phillips has lived in five states, two countries, and now, with gratitude, in Wampanoag ancestral land on Cape Cod, Massachusetts. Her chapbooks: Sitting Safe In the Theatre of Electricity (i-blurb.com, 2020) and A Song of Ascents (Orchard Street Press, 2022). Two of Phillips' poems are nominated for this year's Pushcart Prize.

Thursday, September 5, 2024: Christal Ann Rice Cooper's " Eve’s Poem of Renewal"

 Eve’s Poem of Renewal

“I Know Everything”

As we walk in the morning dew

My Father activates something within me

lightning, visions, dreams

of Noah’s Rainbow, Abraham’s vision

of who Isaac was symbolizing,

Moses’s flame in the blooming bush

While the men work in the fields

I sculpt my children, grandchildren,

and great grandchildren

male and female

I sculpt them

At night as they lay in their beds

I tell stories to my children, grandchildren,

and great grandchildren

female and male

I tell them stories.

I teach my sons how to make baskets

and collect corn

I teach my daughters how to took for rainbows

and pour oil over heads

When no one is looking

I dance for Him

on my knees I face Him

my 70 x 7 Grandson

who calls me sister.

I am not like Thomas

I don’t need to look at His hands, feet or side

for proof.

I know it is His Him,

and finally, I know everything.

© 2024 Christal Ann Rice Cooper 

Christal Ann Rice Cooper is a newspaper writer, feature stories writer, poet, fiction

writer, photographer, and painter. She has a Bachelor’s in Criminal Justice and completed all

of her poetry and fiction workshops required for her Master’s in Creative Writing with a focus

on poetry. She maintains a blog at www.christalannricecooper.org She, her husband Wayne,

sons Nicholas and Caleb, cat Nation reside in the St. Louis area. She can be reached at

email caccoop@aol.com and Facebook https://www.facebook.com/car.cooper.7