Love this woman, a fellow poet leader in Wisconsin

Fran Rose

Fran rose at the reading in a coat of red

Like a preacher, rebuking our sin

We who have softly read our words

Preach, Fran, how to redeem each sound

Sounds, the bones of words

Words, the sinew of sentence

Sentences, marrow of thought

Thoughts, arithmetic of poems

Poems, worth the volume

Poems, the crow landing directly in your path

Fran, bless us with courage to

Lift our chins, speak correct, deliver erect

Red, ripe words across the frozen lake

Words—chosen ones—shouted for civilian

Loud words for troops

Read loud for the learned

Read for the idiot

Read for the poor in spirit

Read for the hungry

Read for the swearing in

Read for the parade

Read for wife read for kids

Into our ears, sounds, formed, tongue

In position, voluminously heaved forth

Fran, forgive us

For we know not how we utter

Lead us not into poor enunciation

But deliver us from quiet poems

And forgive us our low volume

As we forgive those who mutter amidst us.

I believe in the loudly spoken Word Almighty,
Maker of Mind and Motive.  And in Poetry, 
The Son of our Experience--Conceived 
By the Holy Pen, born of the Virgin Ink, 

Suffered under Long Spent Hours, forgotten, 
Dead, and buried.  Poetry descended into hell 
The third day he rose again from the dead 
Ascended into heaven and sitteth on the right hand 
Of Literature, the Father Almighty; from thence
He shall come to judge the writer and the dead. 

I believe in the Blank Page Ghost
The Holy Audible Word
The Communion of Poets
The forgiveness of rhymed words
The resurrection of Memory
And Imagery everlasting.  

AMEN.