Wednesday, January 29, 2014

Surgery Sings // Taking My Knee

I did not expect
Van Morrison to greet me
in the surgery.

Lying flat on my
back in the haze of incense,
no damn patchouli,

I thought I’d have to
genuflect on marble
in humble homage.

Tupelo Honey
plays among blue-masked surgeons
- they might have been green.

A music countdown
begins to remove me from
the scene, looking at

the dancing doctor
lip syncing in his disguise,
cradling a power saw.

Van sings, I depart
the seven middle oceans
of the deep blue sea.

The room where they cut
you is cold, preserve the flesh
at all decent costs.

Cold and proper, a
cold steel saw cuts bone from bone,
upper and lower

legs, separating
what was joined in the womb,
worn daily in life.

Sensible degrees
are dropped in a swap of
man-made, God-given,

a shotgun marriage,
titanium and plastic
cemented to bone,

polished dead metal
inserted through a zipper
of flesh and staples.

I meant to ask if
they played Van through every
cut, cry of my leg

while I slept under
general anaesthesia,
the dream of nothing.

But pain speaks before
any more songs can be sung from
a mouth in anguish.

Sunday, January 26, 2014

Silent Will

In the wilderness

of our purpose

a silent will guides -

there were days

meant for our birth


Slow Fall

Hope slows the fall

coming down from

that exhausting tumble

suspended in the years

Old Laborer

His tree root hands,

knobs and knots

that used to be knuckles,

lay by his side,

the old laborer at rest

for our viewing.

Wednesday, January 22, 2014

Grass, Sun, Soil

Sounds calling in songs
she sang while working in ground
that needed tilling.

Grass blends with the sun
to cover the soil, loose and
somewhat defiant.

Her feet press the grass.
The green pushes between her toes
in a knowing touch.

Springing up from rest,
blades of grass bend their eyes
from scandalous dirt.

It’s been ages since
the soil was a boulder, proud
and above all else.

Firm, untouchable,
he’s a rock, unbreakable,
worn to sand by rain.

Rain fell one thousand
years, raised the grass by the roots
while stones settled in.

Dirt and grass are the
wonders she dotes on daily.
Birds carry the news.

No one carries dirt
home in a fragrant bouquet -
maybe a bucket.

Small Boat

the small boat
dry on the shore
leans on its keel
    in the sand -
shudders in a gust

©Eusebeia Philos 2014


Saturday, January 18, 2014



her wishes

down spiral stairs,

my eyes sway


©Eusebeia Philos 2014


Tramping through

holy ground &

pristine snow,

offending purity

on a whim

©Eusebeia Philos 2014

Thursday, January 9, 2014




from a flat red

stain of sadness

an old face

without creases

©Eusebeia Philos 2014

Wednesday, January 8, 2014


The lure to imagine

shattered pieces

fitting together


a demon's symphony

of dissonance

©Eusebeia Philos 2014

Sunday, January 5, 2014

Not Minas Morgul

Blinking red eye

stares out

from a tower

not Minas Morgul

sees nothing

from the top

of its tall

metal frame

©Eusebeia Philos 2014

Friday, January 3, 2014


She's like philosophy,

with puzzles

and revelations,

bright lights

& dead ends,

looking for the joy

of the next question

©Eusebeia Philos 2014

Wednesday, January 1, 2014

New Year's Eve 2014

out of a year
of extremes
and countless
lessons learned


new days wait
on the other side
of a year expired


share the hour
and a glass
in a toast
with friends alive
& those who've passed


begin and end
the year with a smile
bookend laughs
at the in-between


the last hours
fell with snow
in cold abandon

©Eusebeia Philos 2014

These are micropoems originally posted on Twitter while out for New Year's Eve 2014. For convenience, I've let them fall together in this post.


from nothing
to less than nothing

he became the rustle
of a shade lost
in its own

©Eusebeia Philos 2014


Duty grinds
like gravity


but for
bowed backs
and strained faces

©Eusebeia Philos 2014