Ainsley Jo Phillips

Anderson, Indiana

Poetry isn't the only type of writing done by Ainsley Jo (shown here in her Indiana Central University Class of '76 picture, which she sees as her most flattering adult studio photo) and, although she considers herself a full time writer, she is also talented in music, visual arts, and drama. She sees her abilities as gifts from God and herself as a steward of those gifts ­ but that doesn't mean she isn't thrilled to receive a check from an editor!

He Felt The Nails

For the courage He had in speaking out,
Saying, "This is where your system fails:
It puts the law ahead of love,"
He felt the nails.

For listening to a different drummer
And choosing to follow unblazed trails
In a time and place that loved tradition,
He felt the nails.

For loving crooked politicians,
Painted ladies, and those in jails;
For respect He showed to women and lepers,
He felt the nails.

When we choose being popular
And hide behind our "holy veils"
Safe from the task of righting wrongs,
We Drive The Nails!

Ode To My Airbags

Although they're more unwelcome than zits,
I'm stuck with them until law permits
Their removal. I fear
They might quickly appear
And relieve me of both my tits!

Nocturnal Vignette

Tonight,
the clear sky
has a
MOON-a-Lisa
smile!

Untitled

Leafy explosion
waiting for its cue in buds
dotting see-through trees.

Potato Plight

I knew very little on frying potatoes
That year in freshman home ec. --
But that was my cooking assignment,
So I thought, "What the heck!?!
I've got to learn how sometime!"
But spring was in the air . . .
When I looked up from my skillet,
Who should be standing there
But that twentysomething teacher
Whom I saw as a super dude.
As I stood in a trance, my potatoes turned black
'Til they no longer passed for food!
That sassy, blonde cheerleader, Penny,
Had been assigned dessert --
And that gorgeous math teacher asked her
To bake him his own (OUCH! That hurt!)
I had aimed for his heart through his stomach --
But those fried spuds had caused me to fail!
Potatoes had made me a laughing stock --
So don't feel so alone, Mr. Quayle!