Easter 2013

Easter Sunday 2012

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Thank you!

Easter Friday 2012

Easter Sunday (2010)

Magdalen in the Garden

I went to the tomb with the other women
our hands limp as the rags
we carried to wash away dried blood

from his eyes, ears, feet, and flesh,
to anoint his body with oils,
with prayers as final as the stone

we expected at the mouth of the cave
with no one to help us--
not even the boy who laid him out,

and blessed his body with a threadbare sheet
to cover his nakedness until we returned.
But now the boy wouldn’t accompany us

out of fear of those who have always
stood between us and our joy.
And then this man whom I mistook,

for another, until I heard his voice
and realized it was He--
who had never listened

when we called ourselves blind,
deaf, crippled, leprous, or lost,
but always saw us as whole,
and called us into abundant life.

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From Dub Wise (Peepal Tree Press, September 2010)

Easter Song (for my daughters)

Take this as a sign of faith, little sister

pouis have begun to blossom again

flaunting their gaudy petals against the highway’s stain,

those empty spaces where turkey buzzards gather,

in the yearly round of loss and gain.

Take this as a sign of faith, little sister

Easter lilies have defied the lies of winter:

endless days of blight, misery, and pain,

flowers revived by brief morning rain.

Take this as a sign of faith, little sister

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Good Friday (2010)

Magdalen’s Song

And what will happen to us
now that they have killed him?
Who will be there to tell us
never to bow, never to bend,
but to follow our star
out of our Gardens of Gethsemane?

We walked with him on the way,
but not to be free like this
with his mother, broken
when she saw his body
hanging from a tree,
digging her finger in the dirt,
as if by burying her tears,
she could bring him back from the dead?

And now there’s no one left
except her, the boy, and me—
the men deserted him to Romans
who knew I would have died beside him
when they held their swords to my throat,
and looked in my eyes and laughed,
not because they wouldn’t have killed me,
but they had known me before
as the woman with seven demons,
but now I was only a woman
looking up at a dead man--
black wings hovering behind the clouds.

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From Dub Wise (Peepal Tree Press, September 2010)

"Empty Nest" by Geoffrey Philp

Her little boy had gone away.
So she searched his drawers for the lock of hair
After his first haircut in his grandfather’s chair

How he wailed when she crouched to pray
This would be the worst she’d ever have to bear.
Her little boy had gone away.

She had steeled herself for this day
But never imagined how her palms would sear
While brushing his face, the burn of his tears.
Her little boy had gone away.

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I’ll be taking a break over the Easter holidays. Be back on Wednesday,
April 15, 2009.

"Magdalen's Song" by Geoffrey Philp

“

Magdalen’s Song

And what will happen to us
now that they have killed him?
Who will be there to tell us
never to bow, never to bend,
but to follow our star
out of our Gardens of Gethsemane?


We walked with him on the way,
but not to be free like this
with his mother,
broken like his body
hanging from a tree,
digging her finger in the dirt,
as if by burying her tears,
she could bring him back from the dead?



And now there’s no one left
except her, the boy, and me—
the men deserted him to the Romans
who knew I would have died beside him
when they held their swords to my throat,
and looked in my eyes and laughed,
not because they wouldn’t have crucified me,
but they had known me before
only as the woman with seven demons,
but now I was only a woman
looking up at a dead man,
almost like he was a forgotten lover--
black wings hovering behind the clouds.

"Judas Song" by Geoffrey Philp

You always had to win, didn’t you?
I always thought we’d stand together
like victors over the bodies of these Roman
soldiers, but you were secretly counting
the hours weren’t you? To wink at me
like I was Judas, your little whore.
Dip your bread in the wine
to make me think that I was the only one
you could trust with the great task.
You lied to me!You said that I wasn’t
like the rest, that we’d chosen each other—
that you’dturn everything around
in the end like you always did—
you’d make everything as clear as the sky
over the plains of Sharon, not like the fog
rolling into Gethsemane,
and me with these dead coins in my hand

On Ash Wednesday: "not another aids poem"

“not another aids poem” was originally published in hurricane center (1998). The title of the poem was suggested to me when a friend of mine had applied for a grant and one of the evaluators scrawled across the sheet, “Not another AIDS poem!”


Update (12/1/2009): The link to the podcast has been broken, so I've changed the format to video. Here's the link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=17T4HiQbLvI

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