The Poetry Marathon

The struggle of man

waking up with the world sleeping

the world before the sun

The struggle of man

showering in silence

other than flowing water

and shuffling feet

Avoid the stroller

in front of the door

There’s the sun

The struggle of man

deep breath

so much weight

Empty busses

The struggle of man

enter the common cafeteria

”Breakfast?” She asks.

Philip V. Coombs 10-11am

Time only likes bodies that are riddled with something.

Bullets or cancer or whatever

Natural foods have no flavour.

Pause.

I have been expecting

expecting

expecting

expecting

expecting.

Philip V Coombs 8-9am

 

 

Scratching the bottle neck

and fiddle head

reaching into the thistle

reaching past the thistle

to pull out the neck of something

that was still alive

Yes I have self abuse

SCARS

The ones on my flesh

HEALED

I swallow the thistle

while scratching

my fiddle head

and bottle neck.

Philip V. Coombs 9-10am

You will find your way

she would say to me

He will find his way

she would say to them

I have found my way

and it will be the same as her’s

but hopefully with

far less

pain

Philip V. Coombs 7-8am

I shouldn’t

get caught up in the details

as sone of you are unreachable

by nature

the rest of you are intangible

unless you get

caught in the details

unless those very details

keep me alive

Philip V. Coombs 6-7am

I hate beaches

but I love the people that love them

I hate musicals

bit I love the people that love them.

I hate love

But I love the person who loves it.

Philip V. Coombs 5-6am

Chairs are screeching

with vehement rebuttals

leading to laughter and drink

with contradictions abound

but no one is hurt

just strikes of the pen

and who wields it the best

with hunger

and heartache

And

Ink

Philip V. Coombs 4-5am

Pick a sentence

between one and ten

You picked the same as the last

I can sing

Every word you say

I pushed a word in front of another

Adjusted the predicate to your advantage

I’ve written more words

Hidden under

Parallel lines

Than I have ones that are free.

I can sing

But my dancing is miserable

So the night

Will not go away*

(Pause No. 1)

*My eyes close the tightest

when this life is the brightest.

Philip V. Coombs 3-4am

Born on the ocean.

Threw rocks at the ocean.

Shot bullets at the ocean.

Swore at the ocean.

Resented the ocean.

Fucked by the ocean.

Smoked by the ocean.

Dumped shit in the ocean.

Bodies found by the ocean.

Priests molested by the ocean.

Abused children drowned in the ocean.

Family secrets in the ocean.

Even Vikings left on the ocean.

Tore roots from the ocean.

Left the ocean.

Forgot the ocean.

I am this ocean.

Philip V. Coombs 2-3am

The Fingers Feel the Feathers

The fingers feel the feathers

but forget

The air feels the slice

with a lack of memory

The tree however

will remember the arrow

for a hundred tears

The Flag Feels the Fingers

Our flag is the colour

of sun faded blood

A glim’s fire

triggers emotion

Hands of stumps will remember

the vote

forever.

Philip V. Coombs 1-2am