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  • PS: Your Poem A Week w/ Philippe Shils

PS: Your Poem a Week w/ Philippe Shils

​A poem and a picture weekly for a year.  #weeklypoemandpic

PS: SOCIAL MEDIA/BOOKS/BAND

38. the luxury of sadness

8/29/2020

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Picture
38. the luxury of sadness

my stoic wife is weeping
about our dead calico.
mauled by the neighbor
dog it dragged itself
up the steps onto the porch.
how old was she I ask.
nine amanda says.
we found her when
I was pregnant with Lu.

(amanda was crouched
as though holding a basket

wiggling her fingers

enticing something
from beneath the shed)

I return to my old superstitions
and wonder about cause and effect
as it relates to bubka the calico cat:
she almost hung herself dead in
a closet and was saved by
by the length of her dew claw--
that was in the room that's now lu's.

I think of curses
then reject them.
stories of orphans and
blunt stupid demons.

there's hope for the
coincidence of proximity
followed by an impulse to
name the most inconsequential
and least travelled bridge.

she was found near the garden
I explain uselessly to lucia

as heart shaped
tomatoes tumbled from
vine to palm.

#weeklypoemandpic
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37. Swarm versus Herd

8/26/2020

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Picture
37. Swarm versus Herd

The swarm says
don't scare me I
won't think its
funny.

The herd says
there's not
enough clutter.

The swarm says
we are thankful
for forgiveness.
Otherwise we
would be a
lost and lonely
little soul.

The herd says
at the core
of the tangle
is a knot.

The swarm says
we are
a stuntman.
We are
a flag.
Seeds don't
assault
the air
this way.
If they did
the trees
from those
seeds would
turn actively
towards the sun.

The herd says
it wasn't
really a hit
and run. It
happened too
fast for that.
It was barely
noticeable.
The shape
of thunder.
The lightning.
The lightning's
ankles.

#weeklypoemandpic
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36. History lesson

8/12/2020

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Picture
36. History lesson
“Well Capricorn I hope you like the color black because that peacock is your color in this game.”

Capricorn’s opening move would be studied and although of course he lost
his willingness to move the piece and
his anger at being called prissy
was the first thrust in the rebellion
and subsequent freedom from the oppression of the man or the type
of man who smugly made the challenge.

That board and the black piece would be found years later a fossil the board
hard as rock instead of a scarf
as it surely was once worn around the neck tied intricately but easily removed
with one fluid movement so it could be draped down with casual yet regal ceremony and the game played upon it.

​Was it Capricorn’s scarf or his opponent’s? It was always made out to be the the oppressor’s board but really it was Capricorn’s and he unwound it incorrectly from around his neck the midddle finger mispositioned but symbolic of something new in spite of its or because of its awkwardness. And then the flood and the anger and the preservation of that moment as a relic as a play as a poem as a painting and the phrase “Capricorn called a peacock’’ as a means of denoting
anger that leads to change.
#weeklypoemandpic
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35. Roost

8/11/2020

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Picture
35. Roost
​
In this world you should convert easily.
Adopt.
Or not convert at all.
Adapt.
Find the way of the pigeon.
Never be forced to escape
or to be a refugee.
Land where there is a place to alight.
Sing underwater bruits.
Raise your young in rafters.
Make a nest of scraps.
Eat morsels moist or dry.
Don't grow teeth. Or do.
Find the warm windowsill.
Cool on the predatorless statue.
Imitate the sound
a flapping goose makes that terrifies
the bigger jawed beakless creatures.
Be the night birds that move more
air in the dark but sparingly.
Sink talons into the screen door
and perch like a bat.
Open with the door.
Close with the door.
Be weighty as a body.
Be weightless as the
remaining fish
in the opaque sea.
Do you believe
in pigeon babies?
They creak like hinges
between the bricks
hiding where there once
was chimney and smoke.
#weeklypoemandpic
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34. Contact tracer.

8/2/2020

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Picture
34. Contact tracer.

Isn’t that what you keep
track of
all the time
anyway
Who touched you
who you touched
Full time work
Part time work
4am work
Calling people saying
who do you know
that has this
stain on their
Face facts
I need you to face facts;
that forehead you
pressed on with
your finger
Don’t make your
point that way
Don’t push on
that woman’s head
You will get sick
like an idiot
An idiot that got sick
making a point
Answer the phone
Answer
the phone
You need to say
who you touched
It is your responsibility
now that you are ill
​
#weeklypoemandpic
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    PS: Your Poem a Week w/

    Philippe Shils - he lives in central Illinois. He has chapbooks available from Underground Books, Right Hand Pointing Press, and a collaborative one with his band The Red Wheelbarrows available at gigs and on Facebook by request. He plays old time banjo and has two kids who are patient with their father.
    Check out his New Band, Books and Social Media!! 

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