Social Discourse

Anger reigns, mocks, grows like spittle churning foam

in the backstreets of minds and hearts grown wild,
the post-modern pretense of those beguiled
by belief in a new improved genome
that helps reduce our violence syndrome,
spouting cherished beliefs, language defiled
against contrary others, so reviled,
that reject our views, no credence, no home.

Digital methods leave more to digress -
twitter, facebook, texts, emails, blogs and more
delve deep in views with which we disagree,
if only for the fact of their strangeness.
Might we give our respect and not abhor,
to find a way to see dif-fer-ent-ly.


©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Written as a Miltonian sonnet for dVerse Poets Form for All: The Librarian, the Poet, and the Snowblower hosted by Samuel Peralta

Gather





Kitchen Table



At my best, twelve sit with me,

family feasting on penne pasta, gnocchi,

sizzling italian sausage, vinegar & oil salad,

warm garlic bread is the last to take its place.

I don't mind the Parmesan cheese or

spills of red wine covering me,

banter and laughter flowing around

me in spontaneous inspiration.

 

I bear it, unmoved, with

legs like pedestals and claw feet,

an island of stability.

Others rock back on two legs,

thrilled to tempt tipping,

reaching out to me for balance.

My support is steady, quiet.

They know me, even

love me in their own way,

knowing I am there, making

it all happen, taking

care to tidy me up,

anticipating

when I'll be needed next -

     

      short homework sessions,

      heads huddled in hushed tones, discussing

      living arrangements for Mom,

      usually morning coffee and pastry crumbs,

      board games in the loud.

 

Sometimes they need me for a late night

emergency. I got pounded

one time when the son called

to say he ran the car into a country ditch.

It wasn't personal,

just business.

 

I've been through it all with them,

be here for the many tomorrows.

Might lose a leaf, but

we'll adapt.

 

 

©Eusebeia Philos 2013

 

Written for dVerse Poets Meeting the Bar: Negative Capability as hosted by Anna Elizabeth Graham

Haiku 12

Emotional rant
refused entry to my head.
Eyes narrow to slits.


©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Immersion

"Immersion"

 

Breathing

deeply above

your scented neck, a vein

pulses, a small wave on warm blue

water.

 

 

©Eusebeia Philos 2013

 

Posted for dVerse Poets Form for All ~ The Cinquain

Turn



Early on you taught me,

     remember.

Your hand, butter biscuit warm

reached out to

feel my shadow

until my face turned to you,

     looking,

tasting your sweet breath.

When we talk,

look to me,

          not there

     - here.

I do,

peering in -

teetering with toes to the edge of

a deep canyon where stars

hide until you bid them

rise.

Green and brown stares lock,

mixing in water colors of

unspoken meaning,

perfections of clarity.

Lips moved,

glasses clinked,

eyes spoke.

     Worlds turn,

     leaves turn,

     so do pages in a family album.

Autumn came,

life left your eyes,

bits of me were lost in

pixel reduction,

hovering between opaque

and transparent.

Walls blur,

furniture mixes,

I am solvent, blended

into my surroundings.

Relative to you, I

can't move from your six,

every contact a mere deflection,

     glancing.

Your face is a reflection in

the windows you stare out of,

or a monitor screen,

a faint glow from

a smart phone

buried in distraction.

Conversation is lean,

the functional passes in

efficient phrasing about

     pickup times,

     appointments,

     and to-do lists

while

I silently ask every part

of you

not your face

to

turn.

©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Posted for dVerse Poets OpenLinkNight - 87

Photo credit: Photo Pin



Words with Mad Hops

Me (17 yrs old)

Words with Mad Hops

Back then,
though not big,
I could run
and jump
over a chair
to dunk a ball,
while girls in pink
screamed loud,
barely able to watch
what happened there.

~in my dreams~

Over at dVerse Poets, Brian Miller and Gretchen Leary are hosting Poetics. One of the prompts was to use two, three verbs, three adjectives, and two random words provided by another person. The only person I had to appeal to for possible words was my 10-year old daughter. The words she gave me to use: chair, ball, run, jump, watch, big, pink, loud, there, and then. The first song that came to mind as writing began was Bruce Springsteen's "Glory Days," and its recalling, with lament, of deeds of our youth. Desiring brevity, each word is used once as the last word.

©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Standing in My Road

Photo credit Photo Pin

Standing in My Road

 

Winding, weathered,

winter hit it hard,

scooping buckets of gravel from

the path most chosen.

 

Tires hate them.

My feet have yet to step

to their muddy bottom.

 

It's an easy waltz

round and down,

past the coarse to the

 

smooth middle.

 

I stand,

a peg of humanity in the vastness

of sky and fields

that spiral around me in a

melody of textured browns

and blue glaze.

 

Lightness pulls me upward.

 

My eyes lock heavenly,

up and up I grow,

feet locked in my plot,

my head in the clouds

searching above

for more

room to live.

 

 

©Eusebeia Philos 2013

 

Written for dVerse Poets ~ Oh, The Places We Live

 

Dead Kitty Ditty

Photo credit Photo Pin

Here's a ditty

'Bout dead little kitty

Whose name was Thumper

And kissed a bumper

While crossing the street

For something to eat

Now she's all dead

A knock on the head

Put her in the ground

With kids all around

Wond'ring whose at fault

For the hunger assault

That drove poor l'il kitty

To seek a mouse so pretty

On the other side o' the road

- Hence her current abode

©Eusebeia Philos 2013

kill the monster

Photo credit: Photo Pin

headstone an impromptu table
for dirt banquet in the night
no fork, just a needle
angels invited
demons crash
feasting on monster flesh
i control the beast
- eating it
every bite i grow smaller

©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Written for dVerse Poetics: An Evening of Short Verses