week of December 5-11, 2005
Rachel Phillips and Deborah Stinson
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Rachel Phillips
itsrachel.rachel@verizon.net
Bio (auto)
Living in Los Angeles, Ca , I own and operate a small healthcare business and spend my time inventing, writing and painting.
The following work is Copyright © 2005, and owned by Rachel Phillips and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.
DefloweredNow immortalized,
such an evening
creped in blue soil,shaken down
from white bough-crashed to flesh…
velvet blood
flown from cave,a hidden grove
undraped, defiled…poison sprayed
on flower,milk-rust dried
at the bottom
of a tiny cup-handfuls of sweet grain
scattered
Outlasting MothsA season of antiquity,
the marrow of a long, thigh bone-Life
gnawed thin by large grey moths…
(old men, young men)
see how light continues
to stray through each
worm-eaten portal(the exact point at which desire
enters and exists the body)continues its journey
long after the roaring wings
of nocturnal insectshave fallen silent.
Through a WindowAt last, I came to a stopping place,
a period at the end
of a long nonsensical sentencelike a worn strand of rope
before it separates completely…or the final step into darkness
In the morning, it begins again,
the soul everyday astounded
by narrow shafts of sunpouring in through a small window.
Deborah Stinson
debbe1954@yahoo.com
Bio
Mature creative writing student, mother of three grown children working on perfecting my writing with a concentration in free verse Aspirations include obtaining an MFA, publishing a book of poems and teaching creative writing A few of my poems have been published in Perigee: A publication for the Arts and The Independent Collegian, the university paper where I took first and second place in the poetry contest and in The Dande Review I live in Oak Harbor, Ohio and attend The University of Toledo, Toledo, OH
Visit Deborah on the web here: www.octoberpoet.netThe following work is Copyright © 2005, and owned by Deborah Stinson and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.
Rendezvous
meeting at night
on the vacant lakeshore road
we’d walk three miles or so
down the stretch of curving sand
laughing
while the moon smiled down
forgetting
daytime was another lifebest kept put away holding hands or leaning lazily
against the other
warm air blanket to the chill
the hours before midnight
long enough or not
were all we had
could ever have
summer ran too swiftly out no prolonging it
despite the ache
to seize it now and then
the rush of it returns
on moonlit nights
in the glimmer between trees.
For Your Next Sculptureyou could chisel me,
one arm behind my back,the broken pieces of my heart
palmed as meager offerings of friendshipor capture that green tint
of horror in my face
when laid open and exposed;you could carve pain
into some benevolent expressionmold my feelings into
something more concretereveal who I am
with your artist’s eyeperhaps create
an exquisite statue.
Lessonson a greyhound bus
at thirteen
shuffled between parentsI met the first man
other than my father
to disappoint mehe had assured me
he’d watch my case
but stole my jewelry insteadperhaps to temper
some other woman’s naive heart
to forgiveness
while being ignorant of minelooking back I see
I was not so much the loser
as shenor am I so inclined to forgive