I really think it’s very sad No! Not just sad, extremely bad That Eve alone was blamed for years And women oft reduced to tears,

Who was she in the Garden, there before The tree with cherubim and flaming Sword Was guarded? What true thoughts, not culture’s lore, By grace,

Who are we, Jesus, to demand proof from you of your integrity? We are as nothing; a mere speck of dust in the sphere of

My soul has died a thousand deaths; My pain and anguish has no limit to cry a thousand oceans to ache with intensity unmeasurable the

Those summer days we pinched off the blooms to make ballerinas, bud for the head, sticky stamen under the silky skirts, and then the whirling.

by J. Otis Powell   Amnesia regarding social, cultural and political movements is fashionable, in part, because patriarchs would rather not acknowledge how the shape

Look at the stars! look, look up at the skies! O look at all the fire-folk sitting in the air! The bright boroughs, the circle-citadels