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

Neighbor

Better change your ways,

I hear the Teacher say,

when we question
who our neighbor is,

not just the dude in the pew

who sings like you,

off key and all,

or professors and their

obedient sheep tuned to

the classroom sermon,

all those in faithful repetition,

appear alike,
sound the same,

uniform in the outrageous

dress of the same tribe as you,

no that won't do,
get up and

cross the road that splits

your comfort from your disgust,

and do for others

what you do for yours,

clean up their bloody mess,

stash a few bucks in their pocket,

and promise to check back

till they're on their feet,

and ready to be

your neighbor, too.

©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Origins (1)

From early on, looking for an answer,
One single, clear explanation enthralled,
To ease an intellectual fracture

Of how this grayish world came to be called
The home of many, of various kind,
Together and apart, hopelessly walled

From an origin they're hoping to find.
Wandering in thought, as nomads by birth,
Was it a good God - or a watchmaker blind?

Upon their suspicion they base their worth.
Where are we from, the argument begins.
A battle for high ground, there is no mirth.

Each to his own thoughts, on this earth, it spins,
Until tribe against tribe - and no one wins.


©Eusebeia Philos 2013

A Terza Rima Sonnet written for dVerse Poets ~ Form for All ~ Terza Rima