Thursday, February 28, 2013

Seed of Hope

Photo credit Photo Pin

Seed of Hope

Late summer, when the sun sets in the field,
we walked, anxious, down the green, grassy slope
to the bench, a seat of inspiration.

Low in the sky, a cloud became a shield,
I fell under shadow, your loves elope
as someone recites your incantation.

Disgorging the pain, long held - now unsealed,
our distance grew, spirits began to grope
through the heavy winter months of ashen.

Now, light lingers, the snow begins to yield,
uncovering the pearl of treasured hope,
a seed of spring green, our love refreshen.

Consent to begin, no hurts left to wield,
sharing a new season - to be revealed.

©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Written as a sonnet for dVerse~Poets Pub on Form for All: On Midwinter, Magic Realism, and a Trireme Sonnet

Tuesday, February 26, 2013

Love Wanes

Love Wanes
Affection rings my ears,
signals loud through
my confusion and fears.
Do I see two or one?
She, a moon,
less my shining sun.
The sky, the sun, the heat,
once in her
they came to meet.
Her land's grown cold,
days flow short,
a season to unfold.
Craving life, my soul,
she grows dim,
exacts her toll.
A shroud of dark is night,
gives no warmth,
no stream of light.
She spins in her cloak,
I ask to hear
a word once spoke.
Her lips tremble light,
no sound is heard,
she's gone in flight.
Our word cannot be said,
lives no more,
its life has bled.
Silence utters her mute fact,
the moon wanes,
she's a darkened pact.
©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Saturday, February 23, 2013

The Widow

It hurts to brush her hair
Mirrors are anathema
to black tangles
that choose where they
lie or fly,
with an occasional recommendation
from an uninspired

and eyes,
flat, unblinking,
fix on what has left,
     negative space,
see invisible shadows,
life stains,
in vague and familiar places -
     kitchen chair
     razor on the sink
     unmade bed -
that hold her gaze,
seconds, minutes, hours.

Nothing changes.

The fragrant, earthy garden
of her tended soil
in the long yesterday
will not bloom today.

She pushes a strand of hair aside.

Perhaps tomorrow
she'll empty his drawers
and closet.

©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Posted for dVerse Poet Pub ~ Poetics: Dominant Impression in Artistic Description 
Hosted by Kelvin S.M.

Tuesday, February 19, 2013

In the Window

Your allure and refinement is on display
in every way,
for all to see and savor.

Still they walk past.

Rigid, elegant lines sweep out around you,
fashion clings to you like suitors on Helen.
Your beauty is unreal
in a world where mere flesh fails.

No man kisses your cold lips,
for your stare comes back in return.
Within you is all you will ever be,
nothing can be added.

You stand in exquisite posture,
your form hand shaped,
for all to glance,
take a chance,
draw their gaze.

Still they walk past.

Stoic beauty,
has life left your eyes?
Have you grown cold
to the indifference
shown you in the hours?

Would they stop
if they knew -

if mannequins
had feelings, too?

©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Written for OpenLinkNight at dVerse~Poets Pub

photo credit:

Sunday, February 17, 2013

get schooled

the halls were full with the little ones
in the early ‘60s
supplicants in white shirts and clip-on ties
read write repeat
under four-foot tall
some always bigger
zigging, hugging the wall
to avoid mushy sawdust piles
randomly located on polished tile floors

funky shaped heads
brylcreem enfused hair
slicked, curled, waved
girls – no teased hair – shrieking mandate
from mother superior
she hates cotton candy

wander the halls
to sister so-and-so’s first grade class
find your seat
fold your hands
look straight ahead
raise your hand to be excused to the restroom
sister, it’s too late for chuck
          oh my
why do i sit behind him
fate doom divine punishment

served three years
in that parochial penitentiary
ball point pen jab head shots
          pay attention
taped mouth
          stop talking
stand in corner
arms out---stretched shaking
palms up
books stacked in each
          sticking up for some bullied kid
          at recess
down to her secret office
braided leather whip threat

mom and dad figured it out
a new bus, a new route
forehead stuck to the window
           alone and already far away
to some progressive pastoral
run out of order
by our lady

had to go back
once more
to add a new name
and confirm
it was still there
four years later

forty years later
walls still stand
by the ideas
that built them

i won't be back again

©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Posted for dVersePoets~Poetics - Hosted by Mary

photo credit:

Tuesday, February 12, 2013


Pressure pounding,
Mounting fast.
Weather grounding,
Release at last.
Torrential downpour,
Rain or hate?
Through the door
I hide from fate.
Cover my soul,
Shield my fear.
What a goal!
Shed a tear.
Cry not long,
For through I see,
A wondrous song
Belonging to me.
Is it true?
Can it be?
I see you
Holding me.
Pressure releasing,
Lessening fast.
Sun is shining,
Us at last.
©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Haiku 11

Certainty is done
Finding what is meaningful
will now fill my day

©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Haiku 10

Wind fractures the air
The house holds firm to the ground
as they lie in rest

©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Sunday, February 10, 2013


I'll not forsake the battle
for a life filled with ease
To desire endless comfort
would itself become disease

©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Thursday, February 7, 2013

Stars, Shagbarks and Brass Beds

Just kids in the summer of '69, we -
Rob and Dave (brothers) and me - planned it out
Stay up all night
    24 hours
Flashlights, transistor radio, sleeping bags
Under the stars
     Head up
          On a hill
An amazing, different world from the daytime version
     that was so tame
This was wild, scary, solitary,
     stained with inky darkness,
          strange sounds, flashes, premonitions
We were 12-year old adventurers in our own backyards
Like young men sleeping in jungle beds
     fighting a war on the other side of the world
We were brave, too
Grounded in the ordinary
Tuning in WIXY-1260 to hear Dylan
     sing about a big, brass bed
We lay on the side of my small hill
Our only connection to others
     through that scratchy transistor
while we floated on our magic carpets
     looking into the depths of untold worlds
          accessible only through our wide open eyes
               and unbroken imaginations
Something fell from the sky
     Hit near us
All I could find was a hickory nut
Shagbarks, I said
     That wasn't enough for Rob
          Could be enemies
I never saw Rob cry before
His mom met him and Dave at their back door
I rolled up my bag
Tiptoed through my silent house
Contemplating the meaning of "Lay, Lady Lay"

©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Inspired in the last hour by Mining the Memory - dVerse Poets Meeting at the Bar

Photo courtesy of HubbleSite