Someone Had To Change

Long days ago, early in the union,
in our bedroom (mine as a single),
on a box spring and mattress
low to the floor,
a panel of the Taj Mahal
screwed to the wall behind,
a headboard perhaps,
the opposit wall had
a bamboo curtain
hinting at another way out,
eastern tapestry hung across
four corners of the ceiling
like a net full of the day's catch.
It was my retreat.
She sat cross-legged on the bed
and lit into me over some trivial
matter, amplified by
lunar cycles
emotional demons
family histories
full of failed daddy days
where are you
Gone gone GonE
mommy control issues
NOW i said
mocking sisters mocked
in their mocking mimicry
decibels rising and falling
the world falling apart...
I was mesmerized
not looking away,
rubber-necking my own high speed
crash on the autobahn.
It was my first time,
so I might have attempted
reason before parts of me
receded into the walls
and ceiling, and I was
looking at the scene
from far away,
knowing now
the wisdom of
subverting
myself
to keep the
precious peace.


©Eusebeia Philo 2013

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

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