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.

Silent Will

In the wilderness

of our purpose

a silent will guides -

there were days

meant for our birth


#tanka

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.

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

#tanka

Spiral

Following

her wishes

down spiral stairs,

my eyes sway

hypnotic.


©Eusebeia Philos 2014

Offending

Tramping through

holy ground &

pristine snow,

offending purity

on a whim


©Eusebeia Philos 2014

Remorse

Remorse

emerged

from a flat red

stain of sadness


an old face

without creases



©Eusebeia Philos 2014

Dissonance

The lure to imagine

shattered pieces

fitting together

               pure


a demon's symphony

of dissonance



©Eusebeia Philos 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

Philosophy

She's like philosophy,

with puzzles

and revelations,

bright lights

& dead ends,

looking for the joy

of the next question


©Eusebeia Philos 2014

New Year's Eve 2014

out of a year
of extremes
endured
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.

Fade

Fading
from nothing
to less than nothing

he became the rustle
of a shade lost
in its own
darkness


©Eusebeia Philos 2014

Duty

Duty grinds
like gravity

weighty
unseen

but for
bowed backs
and strained faces


©Eusebeia Philos 2014