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175 · Oct 2018
Daniel Icarus
Leslie Philibert Oct 2018
Red ringed arms of leather
fail under the hot ring,
wax and feathers

weaken under the low-draft.
You're a shot bird, a soft hit
falling akimbo down to

the green wash, to the salty
glass of impact, a slip through clouds
for a mouth full of tide.
174 · Sep 2017
Alchemy
Leslie Philibert Sep 2017
the subservience of sunflowers
posed and heavy with dried yellow
spreads over fields of faded growth;

the sun stages the horizon
of sparse trees and hedgerows,
beyond the hope of lost gold.
171 · Dec 2017
Moon
Leslie Philibert Dec 2017
a cold moon, but
ten winters ago
it was encased in more ice;
the stars roll out
of a dark nest,

we slip with care
through snow,
down to the road,
we watch the ghosts pass,
there might be snow foxes
in the lost copse,
careless with cold
169 · Feb 2018
child
Leslie Philibert Feb 2018
einen sommer lang
i heard you growing
but now you carry words
in your pockets

a child is a poem
you read the next day
168 · Oct 2018
October
Leslie Philibert Oct 2018
the moon dilutes
and frights brass-warmed stars, the
crab apples of your story

fall, so let me hide you in
a box under sticky earth.
You are eyeless and unsighted;

rain falls like dog's gravel
and all these short days
are scattered and running,

the wind pushes you aside
166 · Jan 2019
Swan Wrong Place
Leslie Philibert Jan 2019
Eager necked wrap of linen,
You bag of stones you.
Pasted on, you struggle
Above standing water.

The last one through
The door, saintly headed you
Flap out into the cold.

The last, the lost, we two.
165 · Jul 2016
High North
Leslie Philibert Jul 2016
As fingers stretch into the lesser known
                   slate slides into salt,
                   we are stranded in an half life
                   of stone that rolls down ice.

Mist forces us apart,
                  the rain makes us temporal,
                  the sky is as pale as a bloodless girl
                  forcing our steps to quicken.

The North tells me,
                 this is a leaving on a seagull's flight,
                 steps on an artic bridge,
                 a change of tides, and at last,
                 the rain of ending.
About Norway...
165 · Sep 2017
Last Words
Leslie Philibert Sep 2017
autumnsun the soft light close
bloom-in-falling yellow choice
damp the day each circle ending
fade the sky as eyes smile tight
160 · Jun 2019
A Singular Sorrow
Leslie Philibert Jun 2019
lost under my house,
one chair less, a hole,
black teeth chew

at a space in my lungs,
less light through milkglass
means a shifting at table

that sinks bits of night
that hide in corners like steps;
a dull ghost is creeping

in times of moving air.
157 · Mar 2019
Rain Window
Leslie Philibert Mar 2019
My book of poems fails to hide
the space in front of my face.

The window frames the garden.
Das Stillleben. The rain levels
the earth, no longer clotted and rude.

It is time to see the frost washed out.
Dripping glass.Old eyes. Rain.
149 · Feb 2018
Heartroom
Leslie Philibert Feb 2018
a giddy wainscot, a torn curtain
that big-flowered raises the dust
you left stern-legged this place

and left me at a broken window
so please do not turn around
149 · Feb 2019
Reverse
Leslie Philibert Feb 2019
Look...say the stars
What do you see ?
I thought there was only one
What do you feel ?
Who do you think you are ?
Aton's chair, the holy place
The highest in the sky
Read this both ways,....
146 · Mar 2019
Chasing the Dead
Leslie Philibert Mar 2019
skidding around corners on a single leg
you escape fat-cat sleep and hide under carpets
behind doors you are hinted at

so when a door hanging like an anchor
sways in the slight breeze of suggestion
my face turns outwards and drags me

to the window; there are lights behind the trees
maybe refugees of love with hot breath
perhaps morning breakers in stiff clothes
but certainly not the water inside my eyes
143 · Feb 2018
Track
Leslie Philibert Feb 2018
tracks and rain
the leaving

leaving and rain
the track that takes you
now in winter

a winter of leavings

a rain of tracks
now the rain
the rain
142 · May 2019
Asinara
Leslie Philibert May 2019
mean winds press the heather
this lost island sinking in silver
holds huts of sighs

and a fence of tide, wild horses
stray careless between stone and growth

let me be your windbreak, a slight warmth
there is nobody beyond my sight
139 · Oct 2017
Oven
Leslie Philibert Oct 2017
an animal in my fireroom,
amen of charcoal and dance,
a borrowed sun glowing like want

then cold as far hills,
lost the engine of passion's eye,
heart's turn, lost dark love
138 · Feb 2018
The Biscuit Eater
Leslie Philibert Feb 2018
from outside a nest of light
warm with steam and quilt
and slippers worn with steps;
a kitchen ship and dad crunching

when I think of this
i nearly say i miss you
137 · Nov 2017
Maple
Leslie Philibert Nov 2017
the back of a mirror,
leaves turn into flames
and after the walking

you shake your coat like a wet dog;

the rain waters your smile,
you trail autumn into the hall
133 · Jan 2019
Winter Alone
Leslie Philibert Jan 2019
a big fat white god
hollows out my warmth
the tracks and steps
follow me, a ship
slowed by frost

like a heavy horse i breath ice
dancing at my door

this while stops
and you are not here
131 · Jan 2018
Three Pictures in Prose
Leslie Philibert Jan 2018
A girl with red hair sits in a cafe. She writes a letter, then pauses to tap her pen against a coffee cup. She sighs and then pushes her hair away from her forehead, then glances over the tables.By chance, her eyes meet,as if she is looking for help.

The next day. Sie is reading Heidegger and looks very alone. All this might be conceived coincidence.The cafe smells of damp coats and steam. I move my chair slightly to look at her. She pretends not to notice.

A week later. She is no longer here, but her removed presence warms the near pathological emptiness of the cafe. Outside I see commuters sheeping towards the station, and more life gets lost in sleet. I hope to see her again, but she has gone.
131 · Apr 2019
Wonderful Speaking Voice
Leslie Philibert Apr 2019
he has a wonderful speaking voice
she always said when she liked someone on the telly

but she didnĀ“t like our Auntie
who had her teeth done private
although she was a leftie

( she didn't like Auntie Gladys either)

she called Dad's tea a special
to cheer him up when his team lost and

she is sort of still here.
for Mum
129 · May 2020
You Are
Leslie Philibert May 2020
now spectral in mist
a corner child in circles
well versed in slides and swings

pleasured in unoiled hinges
and the soft giving of sand
you are rain on tiles

lost from the back of my eye
you hide in evenings
128 · Jan 2019
Old
Leslie Philibert Jan 2019
Old
Late in the afternoon
doors seem to close quickly.
Ways break into ochre,
trees black like hours.

Burnt clocks of memory
strike like lazy foxes.
Lazy as a launching swan
my steps falter,

I am a refugee in my own time.
As the light weakens
and the air cools
the pictures peel off like skin
and fall at my feet.
127 · Aug 2019
My Garden In Autumn
Leslie Philibert Aug 2019
this is now a dump
of shrivel and turn-in
the revenge of late months

the earth is tired
wet as a turned boat

after a battle this ground
is no longer holy
scattered with ribs it is shamed

across the lawn I hear voices
so I touch a found stone
in my pocket, just for me
Leslie Philibert Mar 2020
Grillsmoke, childpipe, pulled seconds
Blue-white flags punish wind poles,
Somewhere a door bangs shut
There is distance but only just

You may be punished to see a ghost
Crossing a garden of hard borders
Or a hand on an unknown task
Pulling at greenstuff or wild roots

Bees hum like steady diesels,
Someone laughs with falsehood
This is what  we want to own
Under an expected sky.
125 · Dec 2019
The Search
Leslie Philibert Dec 2019
(for Daniel Philibert)

he is lost, he got lost
your room of milk glass
no longer refracts a ghost;

you are stone, part of a mountain,
eyeless on a cool green bed
unseen and unspoken, now saintly

sparrow-***** and clockwork driven,
you raced with short pace against
the old horse of ice and morning

and the lottery of gravel and slipping;
now I have two weights of good and bad,
two wet eyes, a long look upwards;

sleep over, sleep tight, wait.
125 · Apr 2019
Ahab
Leslie Philibert Apr 2019
(The cabin;by the stern windows;
Ahab sitting alone,and gazing out.)

fathoms under the salt planks
your walfish waits in tide and ebb
and you are distilled too,

into something like love,
the personal chase of two waves
waiting in the sea, trapped,

his white brow throws a squall,
eight bells, there are holes in the sky;
not yet, not now, next
121 · Mar 2018
trump
Leslie Philibert Mar 2018
trump, um, um
do no ald, trrr
umph ! umph !
trump...****, ****
written in the style of eugen gomringer
121 · Oct 2019
Outside
Leslie Philibert Oct 2019
the dead are circles of cold wax
torn from stars in glass
they hide behind ears
and hang like children on gates

a bone family on the hunt
wearing clothes that hang like martyrs

they do not benefit from sleep
121 · Feb 2019
River Of Salvation
Leslie Philibert Feb 2019
Gutted and fake, half man,
Called into line and tainted,
Your cold-birds have fled.
A coughing horse tires at your side.

My steps are out of season,
More a summery walk along banks.
The fox-trails are closed with web,
Lost with intent, the child's first angst
Hides in strikes of green.

Holy Mary Mother of God,
This disclaimer will not help.
121 · Nov 2018
Stopped
Leslie Philibert Nov 2018
A toenail of a moon,
slightly turkish, hides
in a ***** aquarium

and stops my knees.
We frozen are blind
beyond November.

We dead are actors;
pullers of dogs and leaves,
rootless as the wind.

My grief ? Spooned out...
I halt under the night.
118 · Jul 2020
The Moon Two Sides
Leslie Philibert Jul 2020
ash-teethed                                  milk-eyed
a hunter's shadow                      baby round
climbing down                            nail new
wet cardboard                             lover tested
street runner                                packed and bound
so down the dark road               sleeping sea
Just some jumped up words
116 · Sep 2019
Ghosts
Leslie Philibert Sep 2019
the torn owl of autumn
hides behind a glass of rain
thin strips of the moon

hang like a tired curtain

behind the black hedge
voices seem serious and muted

we need to be empty to escape
115 · Jan 2019
Snow
Leslie Philibert Jan 2019
My house of snow
has fallen moons
in its garden.

All these frozen curves
and mounds are
a white woman sleeping.

A swan lifts heavily
over quiet water.
For a moment, all is still.

Then we become those
we have lost
and live their borrowed lives.
112 · Jun 2020
Sunday
Leslie Philibert Jun 2020
the distanced grunting
of schedular lovers
the smell of toast at doors

an early child
screams at the rain
church bells demand

that crows attend the boxing
while streets are as empty
as a doll's eye

a week later
108 · Jan 2020
Walk
Leslie Philibert Jan 2020
trying to make
something out of nothing

a funeral without a burial
the hard pull of tough bracken
a body of gnarled wood
some damp ash of remorse

so i stop and consider the flat river

people die and turn into stones
and trees and never return, that's all
94 · Feb 2020
Frost
Leslie Philibert Feb 2020
All through Saturday morning
(the wrong time to walk)
frost hardened my steps.

I had no chance to call up
the forgiveness lost in endings
but rather followed any direction

like a cautious fox in steps.

The pines around trap ghosts
they gather round this curious accident

of me alone, slow on foot.
92 · Jan 2020
Ice
Leslie Philibert Jan 2020
Ice
imagined white skin
brittle as a buried plough,
winter stars have dragged

a sheet over poor us;
drifters along white rivers
crack the faces of pools,

cold smiles and frozen steps
throw out false sunlight,
we slide accordingly on glass
to the grace of old water
57 · Jan 2020
Lament
Leslie Philibert Jan 2020
my pasts queue up
like street cruisers
at a mafia funeral

father, son, ghost, story
i am poured out
or divided like marbles

grainy prints and old letters
hunt me up and down stairs
a socked columbus returns;

all the time i ask if that
is all i will ever manage
this little, this loss, this day

— The End —