Ripples

She slowly circles
the tip of her finger
in his still waters

the ripples spread
to pleasant shores


©Eusebeia Philos 2013

See

Raise your eyes
look again

see

the sky remains
where it's
always been


©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Her Soul

Her soul

beats to

the rhythm

of a million

tiny suns

bouncing off

ocean blue

ripples


©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Hesitation

Hesitation

was found

in the brake lights

of an idea

that was accelerating

before it knew

where it was going.


©Eusebeia Philos 2013

His Name

Hot water whistles
from the faucet,
fills the sink

razor in hand,
he leans closely

facing the person
in the mirror

recalling his name

Revision

Torn apart

& rebuilt in a year,

this version is an upgrade

with steel skin

& backup soul.


©Eusebeia Philos 2013

This Candle

Light
this candle
between us

in holy ritual
promise
& vow

our clock
this candle

let it burn
       down
burn down

to
the time of color
and fleeing
waxen faces

this light
this candle
between us

would you
snuff it
before?


©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Written for dVerse Poets Pub

We Were Close

When we were close,
the smoke drifted
through the porch
into the night's
open mouth.

Stars shined
out of its throat.


©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Darkness

That darkness
between lights,
more fearful
for its suddenness.


©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Beyond Eyes

Forever ended
before now began

to capture
each other
in the lens
of our eyes

beyond eyes

next time
we see

     another

will be
memories

light & colors
scents
of our introduction

see us
concealed
parting ways
&
recollections

impressions
of our
sentimental brevity


©Eusebeia Philos 2013

dVerse Poets Pub: Open Link Night #126

Forge

Did anyone hear the hammering as pain shaped you in the forge?

#americansentence

Tearing

They were only words
from a voice,
but I heard the sound
of something tearing
below the level
of my thoughts.


©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Wobble

I wobble
in an uncertain step,
nearly fall
but for my wall,
just within reach,
a hand's touch away.

©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Our Love

Our love, a cord of twisted strands, unraveling at the knot we tied.

#americansentence


©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Resistance

An arcing of current
passes between us,
voltage finds our path,

this energy will flow,

do you feel the charge
through your resistance?


©Eusebeia Philos

Magic

Call it down,

bring it on,

     that magic

when your hands

weave the air,

your head tilts,

hearing music

from above,

dancing,

enchanting.

©Eusebeia Philos 2013

World

The fascination of this world
is its brokenness

wrapped & held in
tiny tethers of beauty

brittle
fragile
stretched
     hanging by a thread

dawn breaks
& something else
is sure to drop
& shatter today

the constant repair
to keep it going


©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Earring in '77

At the party
Gladys was eating Oreos
& squeezing a plastic cup
of flat beer
when she offered
     to pierce my ear
     in the night
     off-campus,
that apartment
where Morgan
     fell off balcony
     of Paul's sermon,
     spirit of tequila deadened.

Morgan beat the physics of a falling body
& his two-story
Galileo drop
while Gladys
had me hold
a gold post
in a shot of disinfectant
     vodka,
she's close enough
to numb my lobe with ice,
to stare at her robust mouth -
     gap-filling crumbs between her teeth
     & Procol Harem
     reassure me

& a gold post punctures flesh
into potato backup.

An emergency room visit
& Morgan's still unconscious,
     unable to see
my flash gold earring
and the reasons
to make the drive home
     in bleary dawn.


©Eusebeia Philos 2013

American Sentences for dVerse Poets Pub

The glory all see shining from inside her life hides from her own eyes.

Rain falls on an empty park bench, an umbrella floats in a puddle.

He rested his head on her memory, the only trace she left for him.

His conscience was the critic sitting in the audience of his life.

She slides her finger across the spines of books on her shelf, deciding.

She refuses to accept a rose without the thorns - and the blood they draw.

We can leave clues to find our way back - if staying lost together fails.

All she would ever be to him was marvelous, distant perfection.

With a torch in his hand, he lined up the straw men for execution.



It's been a while since I've stopped in at the Poets Pub. I'm glad I swung the pub doors open today when I saw that Gay Reiser Cannon had presented us the task of writing some American Sentences. Perfect. I've been experimenting writing American Sentences on Twitter since I stumbled across them in the same book that Gay referred to, Kim Addonizio's Ordinary Genius, A Guide for the Poet Within. I've found this form of seventeen syllables to be less restrictive than haiku and a great way to launch creative thoughts when I feel stuck for a longer form. 

©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Misunderstanding

Words strung together
by the fluent tongue
to ink and paper

created in innocence
for a discerning ear

born to please
monsters they became

in misunderstanding


©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Yearning

All your yearnings,

each a whispered prayer,

ascend to a high place,

let the rain fall,

complete its way,

let it splash in answers

on your face

turned up

in question

to the sky.

©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Your Heart

Your heart

confesses an eloquent

ruby flow,

bleeds poison,

potent by love's sting

that should have been

a kiss to heal.

©Eusebeia Philos 2013

One Way

She walks
the long way

ankle-twisting
rough gravel

barely a road

through waves
of rippled hills
ascending

never looks behind
to see the time
already far gone
from unravel

rusted wire fences
stitch both sides
in firm denial

heavy weighted clouds
above & ahead

where is shelter?


©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Green Paths

The untouched
in you
is wild,
still new,
the dew

of morning
in your mind,
fresh grown
& green,

a path
for you
to find.


©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Sunset From Sea

Knifing mountains of clouds

slice upward

through the sky

from the dappled sea,

sunlight

the color of warm honey

bleeds through the cracks,

rivulets glisten

in the cuts of shadow.

©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Oblivion

Don't make any
   sudden moves

   in this,
our quiet oblivion,

no sense reminding
anyone we're here,

happily disregarded.


©Eusebeia Philos 2013

In Me

They are one
living as two,

     seamlessly,

the other
we are not
sure about,

     there may be more,

     we don't go looking.

Neither completely
body or mind,

they politely
step aside for each

     when it's one's turn to go out,

passing through
     the membrane
that cannot contain
     either,

a voluntary location
to repose until a
call to action rings
a quick exchange

     for the proper face.


©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Time Springs

What does time ease
but springs in an old clock,

winding down hours
until energy is spent,

metal coils
without purpose,

waiting for
animation.


©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Tide Marks

Tide marks
of your desires

rise and fall
on my heart,

the degrees
      distant,

leave scars
stained loud,

stretched,

in your oceans
     of storm
          and calm.



©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Fruit

Meet me in
the old grove
beneath the
untended fruit,
where the sun leaves
its last touch,
and we'll fill 
ourselves
of sweet flesh
in warm grass.



©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Brown Autumn

In farmer's fields
green that screamed
of spring rise and 
vibrant summer life
drifts to dry brown of 
autumn's harvest store.


©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Ashes

Even in ashes
our words stirred,

elevated
in warm currents,

declining
to descend.


©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Flying Leaves

Driving on the familiar road
in the early morning distance
between death-like sleep
and caffeinated hyper-sight,
a form moved across my eyes
ahead of me,
above the lanes.

The sky swirled high
with weaving leaves,
growing outward
and pulling back in
like a chest rising and falling
in search for air.

The spell lingered
for a few more deep breaths,

then broke in a rush
as the leaves spilled
out of the sky
and became
hundreds of joyous sparrows
on way to winter's home.


©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Note: an expanded revision of "Flying Leafs" posted earlier.

Buzzards

the sky stands tall
buzzards glide
in spirals
stacked 1-2-3
descending to earth
where death eats in dirt


©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Flying Leafs

Driving on the familiar road
in early morning absorption,
living again after 
night's temporary death,

the sky swirled high
with weaving leafs
till the spell
turned them back
to sparrows by the hundreds


©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Cracked Window

Every day

she stared out

through a cracked window

at the world around her

and came to understand life

in shattered visions.

©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Fuel and Air

Unrestricted in space
we are volatile,
in freedom we twist
into turbulence
like spirits released
from a long,
lonely confinement,
swirling in and out
of each other,
intertwined,
a spark ignites
our primal elements,
weaving, flowing,
threaded together
into this burning knot,
a dancing ball of blue flame
released,

burning and not consumed.


©Eusebeia Philos 2103

Senryu 1

hearing her heart call ~

he strains against his conscience ~

unable to respond


©Eusebeia Philos 2013

He Takes

He stole the gold

wrist and neck chains,

pawned 'em

for good money,

took the cash,

rings, coin collection

-gold and silver,

collectors guns,

an iPod and

its speakers,

cashed in the

savings bonds

and his own

insurance

policy,

"lost" an iPhone,

smashed a car,

blew out engine one,

blew out engine two

(different car)

He's a thief

so he can be an addict,

he likes heroin

heroin eats him

He's a liar

so he can be an addict

he likes heroin

heroin speaks truth

He steals the truth

so he can be a lying addict

he says

trust me

so he can con me

again

too late for locks,

nothing left

©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Your Word

Your word is only a sound you make,
a physical thing
it seems
     an involuntary response
          to some distant stimulus
chord vibrations that are pleasing
some center of your throat
in your cat-ness
     purring

for it has no connection
to what is here,
right now, in front of us,
was it even an interaction,
your reaction
to what I said,
cognizant of my sound
but not my thoughts?

Random follow-ups
put you in some distant place,
transported
or perhaps you were never here
to begin
this sin
of pretending to understand.


©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Wedding Dancing

Aches and pains
disappear

at the open bar

in open fascination
of the pulsing,
writhing mass
of dancing bodies
in techno-trap-
whadizthizmuzic.

A few quick
dance lessons

from Jack Daniels and
the music pulses in

matched synapses,

gives me that old
fashioned primal beat.

Salome, you dears,

don't ask for my head

when you nab me

for a dance, you

three, barely
thirty-something

daughter's friends,

in your combo of
youth and virtuosity.

Escorts at both elbows
with one leading the way,
to their dance floor domain
we go, those three
and my gray goatee to

jump

gyrate

bump

to the rhythmic method

of da-da-dancing,

definitely not the father-daughter dance.


©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Something Follows Me

I try to outrun it,
pacing into the tall grass of the fields
where the under-creatures scurry and
chattering insects leap from harvest heads,
even wading hip high under oozing nightness
absent any human companion,

something follows me
and I sooo want to turn and face it -

again,

for though I struggle,
I've built immunity
and want to exercise my
peculiar muscles,
make the adrenaline flow
against this troubled foe,
toe to toe.

It always chases me
because I carry it with me
wherever I go,
                    portable,
I make it so,
I want it so,
attached to me,
this fault in my pocket
that follows free,

my mishapen character,
a pattern in my mind will
distill into the reality
I need to see,
recognize it clearly,
an image burned
in my surroundings manifest,

so comfortable
that my psyche dances through,
knowing that
my coping skills
can thrive,
feel alive,
clash blades,
against this thing
that follows me.


©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Calydonian Boar

Gone a whoring,

the man-pig

routs with his

snout in the dirt of

the crude temple floor,
blessings for his quest,

calls for the priestess

to attend him,

come accept his

drink offering,

grunting beast,

foul breath in 

unwashed crusts

of skin, names

himself beautiful,

boasts of his

suppurating wound,

fixed in its soul-less
primitive throes,

a lower function mind

appeals to any who

answer his discharges,

husky-filled calls

masked in distinctive
aromatic rubbings,

pleasing words,

read at leisure

in old parlors,

the poems of a

Calydonian Boar,

intent to destroy,

he's a ravager.

©Eusebeia Philos 2013

A Short Absence

Pink bathing suits and pillows are packed

for the drive up to the islands,

she pulls the mini-van down the drive

and small hands wave out the window,

while he

reclines on the porch,

takes a swig,

lights up a Cuban,

and wonders -

knowing he would decline

- why he never got an invite.


©Eusebeia Philos

A story written in 55 words for dVerse Poets Meeting the Bar

Fervor

Fervor burns in their hearts,
pure convicting blood
courses through veins
undiluted by any wisdom
in the circle of human dirt,
anti-intellectual zealots
defying their own creed
of love for others
in favor of their greater love
to wear the judge's robe,
sanctions of imprimatur,
intoxicating authority,
perfect righteousness,
the taste of bitter judgments
lingers on their tongues.


©Eusebeia Philos 2013

A Note Past Due

   Send this note,

spinning the clock hands backwards

through a wormhole,

   with no regrets

attached,

it's paper and ink,

crumple it,

wad it,

pitch it,

(if you want)

not a weight around his neck,

   to myself,

you were made of the right stuff

without knowing it

to chase the sky signs

blue-stamped in your

essential desires,

free to choose

an alternate impossible assignment

rather than the one

the oracle predicted for you

   in the past

family narrative that says

you do what your daddy did

do-wah-diddy-diddy-dum-diddy-

do what you dream

before you wake up

to the mediocrity of

being practical.

©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Written for dVerse Poets and Poetics ~ Sent With A Stamp hosted by Mary.

Stranger He Knew

When darkness
turned its brush
on his heart
in paint the color
of livid bruising,
she reached far
and knocked
on his entry,
     tapping
     an inquiry,
breaking his
introspection
of sorrow in words,
the bothers of a man
hid behind a stout
door of oak and brass,
heavy hinged,
     a second appeal
     louder,
he looked up,
opened the door
to a stranger
from the street,
a city castoff,
standing just aside
the revealing light,
she had a word for him,
a scrap of paper
scratched with verses
of what he knew
about ideal love,
wishes from his heart
through the ghost
of another world,
they'd blown away,
written in
another mind,
another time,
carried far
in updrafts,
car exhausts
to her
understanding eyes,
straight speak,
she shares
of the truth
she sees in him
and his words,
and more,
as she stands
part way
inside his
open door,
and he wonders
how a stranger,
born from the heart of a poet,
came to know more of him
in so few scribbled words,
than others who'd
glanced over him for a life.


©Eusebeia Philos 2013

I Left

We left the town
on this beat down
dusty trail of
gilas and rocks,
squabbling about
who owes who what,
and what for that
drunk poker cheat
stole my hard coin,
smack that paint up
girl had a smile
for me at dark,
swilled last liquor
from my saddlebag -

my tongue was a
might bit sharper
than his thin skin
and I jabbed him
clean and through
until he drew...

I left a body
just off the trail,
behind a boulder,
about ten miles back,
clear and peaceful
this quiet track.


©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Over at dVerse Poets, Shanyn has us writing Cowboy Poetry. 

Samson

By the treachery of Delilah,
her mythic man
of outrageous deeds
on the fields of war
and the beds of pleasure
was caught up by
enemies of his tribe
and relatives of his victims,
made bound, cured
of his animal instincts,
and the eyes that found
Delilah right and pleasing
were gouged out,
lust for lust,
blood vengeance for those
who had fallen by
Samson's angry hands,
which now blindly felt
in the darkness for
the pillars that would
give the mighty man
a last epic victory,
a rally for his tribe,
a satisfying death -
falling by the violence
of his own hands,
rubble for his grave.


©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Not Machine

Metal on metal

screams for attention

as the pace picks up

and no one notices

the cracks, small,

stressing from the fatigue,

the battering

that won't relent

to keep the machine

on schedule, tight - too tight

with needs to anoint, 

a patch repair on the fly,

searching for the manual,

the how-to of self healing

to trouble shoot

this collection of parts

- body, soul, mind -

intricacies of movement,

before the ground rises up

to meet staggering knees

that are willing to run,

just reduce the load,

shut it down,

bring it in,

for it's built to go

and go it will to flames

without care.

©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Perception

All the bits of you,

unpersuaded permanence,

unable to change,

forever stained in

your personal ink,

unwilling to move

and unlatch itself

from your soul,

kicked into a world

of existence and being,

unrecognized blank pages

when the first person

with a pen writes

the name you carry

forward in identity,

declares you

in their perception

of one-eyed singularity,

to be the doll or beast

in their vision at that

moment of naming,

let the title stick

or find

another person or friend,

lover,

holding you by the handle,

to look at you differently,

to become someone new

without changing

a thing

about yourself.

©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Hurt

Hurt,

in the plural,
fused together
as one
through
the confusion
of years
and new
disappointments,
no marks,
(now)

up close
and personal,
deep bruises
where none
can taste,

black breath

hiss in
your ear
with repetition,
oily burns
smell in

your nostril,

no incense
relief for
lighted candles,
put another
coin in the box
and stay
away from
anymore who'd
do the same.


©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Confusion

Your mind

stands divided,

speeds in confusion,

swirls in contemplation,

simple tasks confound,

this was your choosing,

splitting the union

of minds grown

together

as one.


©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Fluid Love

A liquid, fluid love

that flows from heart to heart

in rivers fast and thick,

to carry out to sea

in current unopposed,

our leisure deep and blue,

a bottom, endless falls,

nor reckless we return

to shore where loveless stand

to stare with painful risk

at we who have no fear

to drown as one with arms

around no one but us.


©Eusebeia Philos 2013

A poem of iambic trimeter written for dVerse Poets ~ Open Link Night #107