Rush Hour Prophet – a poem by J. Culain Fripp

Rush Hour Prophet

Benediction beneath
the bridge

Olive branch in his hand
or perhaps
a victorious palm?

He blesses
the hurried,
steel masses
moving into the city

He wears no crown
and his throne is
suitably thorny

Gray beard and
dark skin
weathered by days
and nights
in the free city air,
and under
god’s skies

On occasion joined
by a shadowy
apostle, standing
to shoulder

Reminding me
to live
beyond my
the daily news

The stoplight
catches me
brings me
eye to eye
with the silent prophet

I extend my
hand in offering
ask him
his name

my name
is Moses”


J. Culain Fripp is an Asheville, NC native who now lives in Geneva, Switzerland. Over 25 years dedicated to working, observing and reflecting on life in conflict and crisis-affected environments, internal and external, he has returned time and again to poetry as a journalistic practice. Most recently, his work has appeared in Rue Scribe. Instagram @Kalevala04

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