Thrown Whispers

Loved ones

in light

throw whispers

over walls -

hear their joy spread


#tanka

Familiar Pain

found

at the end

of a new

beginning -

familiar pain


#tanka

Through Her

I could see through her,

not lightly,

into a dimension

of beckoning trees

and slanted moons,

where blues and stars

were full to taste.

Gears & Pulleys

Open him up

gears & pulleys

bolts & screws

metal & flesh

   substituted parts

      to walk on his own

         alone

forward & home

Freedom

Forward
she swings
smiling

kicks her legs back
in reverse

once more
she dives
then up

arcs into a cloud

empty seat returns
spins wild
chains clatter

Calm Sea

a calm sea ~

taste of storm

in a red stare


#haiku #senryu

Other Tides

other tides

sweep hearts

divert souls,

moves them

at will


#tanka

Let It Go

   I walk over the sound of hate,
lives small in the weed thistle,
crunching in the melting snow,
along with bones breaking
in the dry forest tree,
sap crystallized
under the
bark.
   Won't the ivy climb 
anyway,
hand placed above the other,
over and over?
   I can't look up anymore
without losing my place,
hearing the moans
below me.

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