My Grandpa and the Seeds We Sow /  by Elisabeth Cooper

This is a special post on the New Poets of Immortality today. 


As we forge into a new and ancient future shaped by the power and beauty of words breathed by the Spirit, let us not forget that there were, indeed, pioneers who went before us; who cast the seeds of hidden revelation in their time. They gave us glimmers of our future. And now we, both, stop to honor, and continue blazing on in the wonders yet revealed. 


The following poems were taken from a collection of poetry by my Grandpa, John H. Cooper Jr. It was taken from a compilation of His earlier poetry put together on May 3, 1975. He was a true artist and a brilliant mind who gave to me my Irish eyes and contributed greatly to my love for beauty, wisdom, and poetic life.  I loved him dearly and honor him for all he gave to me and all he released into the world. He may not have known that the seeds of his words sown into the earth would serve to help propel a new company of poets in the earth to release the beauty and mysteries of God for a new era.

Festival

By John H. Cooper Jr.

Remembering

The Brilliance

Of living

Is in the reflections

From the many sequins

Of little celebrations

The color

Of living

Is in the explosion

Of multi-hued mushrooms

In the wall to wall

Lawn of people

When

Commonplace things

Are seen-

-and

Seen as things

With which to be

Joyful

Not because they are,

But because they are

The things of God—

—and

Seen as things

With which we

Re-create

Not because they are,

But because they are

The essence of love—

-Celebration-

Catalyst

Turning a day

Into an eternity

Of living

Introspection

By John H. Cooper Jr.

Look inward,

Man,

And perceive the wonders

That your very being houses.

Within you lies

A universe of inner space,

Ignored, and

Little realized.

The organism

Which dwells within a single pore

Can no more

Comprehend its host

Than you, oh man,

Can soar

With thought

To find

The nature of the one

Within whom

You move, and

Have your being.

© Elisabeth Cooper 2019

The Wind Chaser: A Cautionary Tale by Amy Axby /  by Elisabeth Cooper

The Wind Chaser:  A Cautionary Tale. 

29 November ‘46. Page 210. The Storm Riders Almanac. 


My great-grandfather 

spun a good yarn. 

He played a good game.  

And I’m not kidding you 

when I say 

he was ten feet tall, 

and he could do anything. 


The ragged scar on his face 

still smelled like trouble unfurled 

for the lightning that struck him 

as a young man 

was not of this world. 

It took his eye, and 

it took his leg. 

It can happen that way

when men 

refuse the prophets and 

strike at the sun. 


One day a storm blew in,

one brutal beast of a storm,

an old one, and it had my 

great-grandfather in its sights. 

But he perceived no sign of its coming,

the great white whale of the sky.  


“Live by the storm,

die by the storm,” 

he always said, 

but he still had to go 

stand in the yard that day,

that peg leg pirate,

when everyone else with a lick of sense 

was snuggled right down 

in their basements. 

He still had to go after it. 

He still had to go and shake his stick 

at rotations in the clouds. 


It circled him, that swirling monster,

and danced away again,

and running from my hiding place 

I called out to him,

“Grandfather! Come back!”

But he could not hear me, 

or he would not hear me,

over the smell of musk 

in the air and 

a water spout far away in the distance 


He hobbled after it,

wiry and mean and cussing a blue streak,

and I swear he grew as he ran-limped across the lawn,

his cane raised to the Leviathan,

an old man’s harpoon. 


The neighbors came out 

like a wave in his wake.  

Porches filled all down the street 

with people restless and tired of the dark.

Emboldened by his creaking war cries

and whipped by the lashing rain,

they too pointed to heaven

with their fingers,

drawing tiny storms in the air. 

“He always was the meanest man 

in the county,”

they said, nodding to one another,

with not one ounce of grace in their hearts 

for an old man who could still 

outrun the wind. 


And then,

while we watched,

it swallowed him up,

just like that. 

The dark jaws of that storm 

closed around him 

and took him from us forever. 

We could hear him as it lifted him off the ground 

Shouting like a foghorn 

with his last breath, 

in his mind, 

a conqueror, even in death. 


It’s been six years now, but 

I think I’ll see him again, I do. 

I prayed as he ran after that thing so fast

that he would surrender even at the last

and repent of laughing in the face of God. 

I wasn’t sure until today, 

but then I knew for certain

when a wooden leg 

fell on the ground in front of me,

right out of the curtain 

of the sky. 

© Amy Axby 2019

My Name is Ruth (Part 2) by James Welch /  by Elisabeth Cooper

Traveling from earth to sky

Like Jacob you are a ladder

Linked to the sea of glass

Where angels gather

To see what will come to pass

They ascend and descend

On the sound of your heart

You’re the gates of your soul going up

And your spirit coming down

Revelation pouring in

And the kingdom being spread around 

The core of you is sealed in hope

Beauty reflecting from side to side

Your gate goes ever higher

Lift your head and keep your heart open wide

Grace and joyous strength flows

Within a righteous tide 

Bountiful justice and mercy

Guiding the course of every stride

Now behold the determined harvesters

Who burn and smell like praise

Their eyes are lit with love and they move

In supernatural ways


I am Ruth 

I stand in the frame 

Go beyond the door

Into the sound of His name 

© James Welch 2019

Every Drop by Geoff Pope /  by Elisabeth Cooper

Early in the morning

new music flies awake,

holding old notes of faith,

in the room of the meek

musician.

 

Covers off,

feet meeting the floor,

arms rising,

praise building,

he plants prayers in the air —

moves

resurrection-ready,

sliding up

scripture pictures

permanent on the walls

of his rejoicing heart.

 

“Worthy is the Word . . .”

he sings, his cup of life overflowing

with the name of Jesus

written on every drop.

 

© Geoff Pope 2019

My Name is Ruth (Part 1) by James Welch /  by Elisabeth Cooper

My name is Ruth 

And I heard a sound 

Of harvest-grain 

Falling to the ground 

From there rose a soft ascension 

Of the warm harvest wheat

Across the threshold to the threshing floor

Transformation complete 

I gleaned those that thought they were passed over

Saved for later doesn’t mean rejected

In the right season you’ll return

Ripe, equipped, whole and protected

Husk and chaff 

Separated

Every kernel with hope for something more

Beyond the lintel and through the door

Gather in the doorway of joy

And brace yourself beneath its beams

The substance of faith

Are seeds for your wildest dreams

Across the threshold to the threshing floor

Beyond the lintel and through the door

Prepare to harvest your faith

Glittering hope like never before 

© James Welch 2019

Hearts of Fire and Steel by Elisabeth Cooper /  by Elisabeth Cooper

Bring back the fervid zeal

The hearts of fire and steel

The hands that believe and build


Bring back the words of silk and hammers

The spirits in light crafted

The minds of wisdom and wingspread 


Let the promise of beyond what we see awaken

The breathe of the Lion flow

In embers and winds of Eden we wake to the glow


Inside

Outside


There’s a great stirring

A great knowing

A great burning


Sparks fly 

Light cries


There’s a loud bellow

A great calling

A great falling


Of fire

Desire


Change comes

Historys’ future


We wake the earth

With thunder

With wonder

© Elisabeth Cooper 2019

The Storm Riders Almanac: Page 439 by Amy Axby /  by Elisabeth Cooper

Hey there, Sister,

See any twisters 

along this rugged plain, 

stirrin’ up dust 

and causin’ a ruckus ?

That’s what I thought. 


They know better than to show their naughty selves to me. 


I am a Storm Rider.


What?

You want to know 

how I do it?


Lean in,

as the wind blows 

so you can catch a listen, 

close by this campfire.  


Let me fill 

your metal cup,

and I’ll tell you what the 

Thunder told me 

on that dark night

long ago. 


Here is what you do—

Tear this page out,

and put it in your pocket, 

or stick it to your looking glass—


I can tell by looking at you. 


One of these days, 

you’re going to

need it. 


Here it is. 


(Are you ready?)


You tell that storm your secrets. 


That’s right. 


You tell it every 

shining golden egg 

of a dream. 


Tell it every worst terrible

shivering thing. 


But you must 

never 

never 

never

lie.   

Never lie

to that Fee-Fie-Foe-Fummer. 

It can sniff out a faker 

like the giant sniffs out blood and bone. 


Tell it your secrets.  

Walk into that lightning booth 

and make an honest woman of yourself. 


Count your sins out 

on the white beads of that hail, Mary,

And when you’ve come clean 

before the dark robe of the sky  

You stand upright.  

Hold your head high,

and take a risk—


And you tell that storm 

right where it can go. 

© Amy Axby 2019


Zion by Elisabeth Cooper /  by Elisabeth Cooper

We carved our hearts

In the mountain sound

And the sound of the mountain

Carved its heart in us

Imprinted with the words 

of thundering drums

Surrounded by light

of dancing strings

Ringing 

Voices of bells 

Announcing freedom 

The air is alive with music

The colors are alive with Wisdom

Zion has a hold on me

The music of this city is home to me

I’m caught in patterns of the mountains light

Finding lost memories 

Of before

My before

In folds and crevices 

Valleys and peaks

I have come to find 

Where I was born

In the dream of a King

Washed in wonder and possibility

The hues of Zion 

In the city of my heart

Everlast

I’m in the city 

And the city is in me

Identity carved 

In waters deep

Deep mountain waters

Sing with fire, wine, and oil

Born in blood and water

In the rhythm of His heartbeat

I remember 

My origin

Zion singing

© Elisabeth Cooper 2019

Awakening by Elisabeth Cooper /  by Elisabeth Cooper

If I run

faster

further

unstoppable

If I speak

surer 

stronger

unquenchable


If I love

deeper

wilder

unthinkable


If I sing

higher

greater

unshakable


If I rest

fully

truly

unbreakable


The Great Thunder

The Great Light

The Great Power

Permeates and quakes the nations

© Elisabeth Cooper 2019



The Storm Rider’s Almanac: Page 103 by Amy Axby /  by Elisabeth Cooper

One time 

I spread my wings

and flew across the world,

Dorothy riding her tornado stallion

all the way to Wonderland. 

When I got there 

I defied gravity

on the Roller Coaster of Doom,

and, oh, what the hell,

I cut my hair.

Tip:  Do you know that you should 

watch out when a woman does that—

The Big Chop?

It’s a clue. 

Hark, listen up now!

She is fixin’ to go 

stark-raving-yellow-fever-prairie-crazy, 

and if you look too long

into those black eyes, Susan,

she will take you with her,

right down that rabbit hole.

But let’s 

be sure to

be clear:

I didn’t fall,

I jumped. 

I took the long way down,

and I heard demons there,

and I saw them too

as they slithered their way 

behind my back

and stabbed me with their silvery tongues. 

But sometimes you let them do it,

don’t you?

You let them have their way with you,

because you love the ones that kissed you

with demons in their mouths. 

I met the King and all his minions

and the Queen 

with her red hearts for eyes. 

She loved me, it’s true, 

but she was mad as a hatter. 

I grew a lion’s mane. 

A good trim on a 

Super Full Wolf Blood Moon 

will do that,

but only if you believe it. 

I grew a lion’s heart too.

I didn’t know a haircut could do that, 

but I guess I should have. 

And the Mind of the Universe,

it shrunk itself

and curled up in my hand

like a golden kitten. 

The next thing I knew 

I had new shoes on my feet 

that burned like fire 

in a good way. 

The tag read “Home Sweet Home,”

behind a picture 

of the sweetest smiling 

blue-eyed man—

The brand, I guess, 

but I’d never heard of it. 

I contorted myself,

my lands,

you should have seen it,

so I could rest my head 

on those shoes, 

and I slept like the dead. 

And when I rose again,

I laughed like a baby,

nestled in a treetop. 

© Amy Axby 2019

Ox and Yokes by James Welch /  by Elisabeth Cooper

I’ve found a tangle-thrill light

Cast from feather-formed heights

Shadows of flames form love in my eyes

The whirling sets me twirling

Into a chorus unfurling 

As I fly up into fire-filled skies


The secret is freedom

Fear I left in the chaos below

My heart strings tune to sounds

My mind doesn’t really have to know


Because the yoke is easy

And the weight of light bends through time

The promise of Joseph was one from the Ox

Whose burden would have been mine

© James Welch 2019

Where Justice Lives by Elisabeth Cooper /  by Elisabeth Cooper

There’s a sound of rumbling 

The thunder of laughter

In the courts 


And all the chariots of justice ride 

On the rhythm 


The sound of the joy of government

Swirling around in the wine


Profound justice lives 

In waves and breakers

Of light and life

In bread and wine


In the redemption of time

In the mines of destiny 

Where the treasure 

Holds

Ancient wisdom


Where light 

Sounds it’s trumpet

And life prevails

© Elisabeth Cooper 2019

Pioneers by Elisabeth Cooper /  by Elisabeth Cooper

Where are the pioneers

With golden strands of destiny

Laced between their lips

Calloused hands

Eyes that see beyond the brush of chaos

In the fire of His gaze they dwell

Becoming the blaze they behold

Fearless feet

Ears that hear beyond the clattering voices

Bellowing their cries of

Distraction, derailment, and deafening doubt

Unbending spines

Minds of steely oneness 

Synchronized with the thoughts of The King

Sword wielding wild spirits of the brave

Battle-tested hearts 

Proven in dark fiery silence

In the roads they built alone

Graced in steadfast resolution

Fiercely forged 

Unmoved in the face of accusation

In the face of misunderstanding

Formed in lonely and wondrous paths of ancient discovery

They stand

Hearts entangled into the rhythm of Him

Taking shape in the sound of many waters

Love stronger than death

One

The earth has yet to hear the roar

Of the fire branded warriors

The love driven revelators as they sound victory

Get Ready

With voices of silk and hammers 

With hands of skill and art

With hearts of prophecy and fire

They Come

©Elisabeth Cooper 2019


To You My Child by Amy Axby /  by Elisabeth Cooper

To You, My Child

Your beautiful bones

the petals of you

unfolded on the day of your birth

And I am in love 

and I am terrified 

as they place you in my hands—a sacred trust—

because you come with a guarantee 

a guarantee

that you will push me

to the end of my self

to the end of what I am 

and I will fail you

It is a guarantee

and so I ask your forgiveness 

in advance 

I will teach you all I know 

and don’t know 

and I thank you for leading me to the place of 

my lack 

my weakness 

my need 

My child 

You revealed to me 

the throne of my heart 

and it was empty 

and you reminded me

to tear down 

the bloodthirsty idols of my ancestors 

and ask God to sit with me there 

and you reminded me 

to eat bread with him

and drink wine with him 

so that when you reached for me

I had something 

to give. 

©Amy Axby 2019


Veil vs. Sphere by James Welch /  by Elisabeth Cooper

Rend not your garments

Remember you are clothed in righteousness 

Return to the Peace from the Prince

Recall your birthright of Sonship

The veil has been torn

And now I can grow up into new layers

Really they are horizontal spheres

I’ve cast off the layers that wrongfully clung

And embraced stretching through the new

I value the stillness

Gaze around the vast comforters that cover

Each wave a soda-pop of excitement

All these eternal saints casting and crowning

So many seas splashing below the rainbow

This atmosphere is here

“Points towards your heart ”

It it is HERE

Can you see the atmospheres of influence around you?

© James Welch 2019

5 Year Old Poet Prophets (Poem By Sophia Stott) /  by Elisabeth Cooper

We need to pay attention to children. We need to recognize emerging prophetic voices in the next generations; value their wisdom, whimsy, and depth.

Recently a friend and pastor, Darren Stott, shared with me these words that he began to write as his 5 year old Daughter, Sophia was talking. Sophia talks constantly (and she is brilliant and hilarious!), but he recognized this went beyond chattering. As I read her words, I immediately recognized the depth and the Spirit of Revelation resting on them. I asked Darren if I could post her “spoken word” on The New Poets of Immortality page because the poet prophets are rising. And some of them are 5 year olds.

Playground is the Earth
Playground for Heaven it’s all white 
It’s cutted in half
Those halves come together and they make a playground


Earth goes on the bottom

Heaven goes on the top
They are combined 

But God controls one.

Sin has control of the other

 

There is tape that sticks on to something until it gets moved. 

The tape is called The Standard. 

The Earth and Heaven get that special tape to stick together.

If they lose that special tape then they fall apart. 

Different countries have different heavens and different gods and they should choose the right one. 

It hurts, people don’t want to think, but it’s the mind that has to choose. 

Let the mind choose. 

Let’s pretend someone wanted to choose sin but they can’t, do you know why? 

Because of the standard. 


When somebody prays and says that they choose God, God hears them he puts a star on top of the heaven roof. 

By Sophia Stott