The Widow

It hurts to brush her hair
anymore.
Mirrors are anathema
to black tangles
that choose where they
lie or fly,
with an occasional recommendation
from an uninspired
hand,

and eyes,
flat, unblinking,
fix on what has left,
     negative space,
see invisible shadows,
life stains,
in vague and familiar places -
     kitchen chair
     razor on the sink
     unmade bed -
that hold her gaze,
seconds, minutes, hours.

Nothing changes.

The fragrant, earthy garden
of her tended soil
in the long yesterday
will not bloom today.

She pushes a strand of hair aside.

Perhaps tomorrow
she'll empty his drawers
and closet.


©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Posted for dVerse Poet Pub ~ Poetics: Dominant Impression in Artistic Description 
Hosted by Kelvin S.M.

In the Window

Your allure and refinement is on display
in every way,
for all to see and savor.

Still they walk past.

Rigid, elegant lines sweep out around you,
fashion clings to you like suitors on Helen.
Your beauty is unreal
in a world where mere flesh fails.

No man kisses your cold lips,
for your stare comes back in return.
Within you is all you will ever be,
nothing can be added.

You stand in exquisite posture,
your form hand shaped,
for all to glance,
take a chance,
draw their gaze.

Still they walk past.

Stoic beauty,
has life left your eyes?
Have you grown cold
to the indifference
shown you in the hours?

Would they stop
if they knew -

if mannequins
had feelings, too?



©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Written for OpenLinkNight at dVerse~Poets Pub

photo credit: photopin.com

get schooled

the halls were full with the little ones
in the early ‘60s
supplicants in white shirts and clip-on ties
read write repeat
worship
under four-foot tall
some always bigger
zigging, hugging the wall
to avoid mushy sawdust piles
                 stench
randomly located on polished tile floors

funky shaped heads
brylcreem enfused hair
slicked, curled, waved
girls – no teased hair – shrieking mandate
from mother superior
she hates cotton candy

wander the halls
to sister so-and-so’s first grade class
find your seat
fold your hands
look straight ahead
raise your hand to be excused to the restroom
sister, it’s too late for chuck
          oh my
why do i sit behind him
alphabetically
fate doom divine punishment

served three years
in that parochial penitentiary
ball point pen jab head shots
          pay attention
taped mouth
          stop talking
stand in corner
arms out---stretched shaking
palms up
books stacked in each
          sticking up for some bullied kid
          at recess
down to her secret office
braided leather whip threat
          whatever

mom and dad figured it out
a new bus, a new route
forehead stuck to the window
           alone and already far away
to some progressive pastoral
place
run out of order
by our lady

had to go back
once more
to add a new name
and confirm
it was still there
four years later

forty years later
walls still stand
by the ideas
that built them

i won't be back again



©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Posted for dVersePoets~Poetics - Hosted by Mary

photo credit: photopin.com

Us

Pressure pounding,

Mounting fast.

Weather grounding,

Release at last.

Torrential downpour,

Rain or hate?

Through the door

I hide from fate.

Cover my soul,

Shield my fear.

What a goal!

Shed a tear.

Cry not long,

For through I see,

A wondrous song

Belonging to me.

Is it true?

Can it be?

I see you

Holding me.

Pressure releasing,

Lessening fast.

Sun is shining,

Us at last.

©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Haiku 11

Certainty is done
Finding what is meaningful
will now fill my day
 

©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Haiku 10

Wind fractures the air
The house holds firm to the ground
as they lie in rest


©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Battle

I'll not forsake the battle
for a life filled with ease
To desire endless comfort
would itself become disease


©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Stars, Shagbarks and Brass Beds

Just kids in the summer of '69, we -
Rob and Dave (brothers) and me - planned it out
Stay up all night
    24 hours
Flashlights, transistor radio, sleeping bags
Under the stars
     Head up
          On a hill
An amazing, different world from the daytime version
     that was so tame
This was wild, scary, solitary,
     stained with inky darkness,
          strange sounds, flashes, premonitions
               unknown
We were 12-year old adventurers in our own backyards
Like young men sleeping in jungle beds
     fighting a war on the other side of the world
We were brave, too
Grounded in the ordinary
Tuning in WIXY-1260 to hear Dylan
     sing about a big, brass bed
We lay on the side of my small hill
Our only connection to others
     through that scratchy transistor
while we floated on our magic carpets
     looking into the depths of untold worlds
          accessible only through our wide open eyes
               and unbroken imaginations
     PLOPP!
Something fell from the sky
     Hit near us
All I could find was a hickory nut
     PLOPP!
          Again
Shagbarks, I said
     That wasn't enough for Rob
          Could be enemies
I never saw Rob cry before
His mom met him and Dave at their back door
I rolled up my bag
Tiptoed through my silent house
Contemplating the meaning of "Lay, Lady Lay"

©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Inspired in the last hour by Mining the Memory - dVerse Poets Meeting at the Bar

Photo courtesy of HubbleSite

Haiku 9

Veil of molten fog
Crying walls fall from the sky
Where have you gone love?


©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Stand By Me

Stand by me, the smoke house voice sang
Above the brown-noise blacktop
I thought of you, glorious you - Us
Tight and crisp, against the world

Above the brown-noise blacktop
Carried by liquid splashes of memories
Tight and crisp, against the world
Talon sharp, lovely assassin, you had my back

Carried by liquid splashes of memories
I though of you, glorious you - Us
Talon sharp, lovely assassin, you had my back
Stand by me, the smoke house voice sang


©Eusebeia Philos 2013

A three-stanza pantoum repeating whole lines.

Amaryllis

I always stir when the amaryllis blooms,

And the shepherdess collects her strays.


©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Poetry at Work 1

I do what I must
To make my work best
While my love of words
Must wait for a rest


©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Haiku for Karina

Pure girl August born
Hot sizzle slash, sun moves flash
On dawn of new morn

©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Madness Came Upon Me

Madness came upon me
while sitting on a park bench.
Lost in the nether drearies,
I heard a voice faintly familiar,
In an essentially strange form.
Unknown words in my thoughts,
words never heard, shockingly felt,
left impressions with no understanding.

I blinked on the park bench,
hoping to see the terrible voice
bouncing, accusing in my skull,
placing weight upon my heart.
Tight the band was drawn and
narrowly I turned inside to hide
the thought of what I heard
to be the madness come upon me.

It was a sullen angel that descended
from the burning clouds of late day
summer sky, to sit beside me on the bench,
giving black counsel in a breath that
formerly could entice me to heaven's gate.
Now, only was the grayish picture
left that sketched a story sadly told,
when madness came upon me
while sitting on a park bench.


©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Good In A New Way

Errors are rubbed with an eraser,
The paper never as white.
Stains on a shirt be blotted away,
The difference is ever so slight.
Dents bumped out with a hammer,
Dimpled but totally right.
All will be good in a new way,
Looser and never as tight.

All will be good in a new way,
Just not the same as before.
The pieces will sew to another,
Not smooth as when they tore.
The cracks'll glue back together,
Not like new as out of the store.
All will be good in a new way,
Just not the same as before.

©Eusebeia Philos 2013