Depression (2021)
Draining of life
Encompassed in an unseen weight
Pretending it’s okay
Regretting
Emotionally exhausted
Sorrow hanging like a cloud
Should I just
Ignore it
Or
Not?
Pottery Class during the Poetry Marathon
in the Potter’s hands
I am holy mud; blessed, thrown
the Creator’s cup
Sorry.
The thought of you suffocates me now.
The memories of us
Are strained and warped
I feel the need to apologize,
But I know now
I have nothing to apologize for
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry I’m not sorry.
I’m sorry I couldn’t be you.
Is It A Plane?
There is a light in the distance,
Is it a plane?
I can’t tell if it’s getting closer.
Is it a plane?
I imagine being near the light
Feeling its warmth
its energy
Is it Superman?
No
That’s silly
Stay focused
Is it a plane?
30 minutes have come and gone,
It hasn’t moved.
It’s not a plane.
Poem 3-Brain
My brain scampers
I drift in and out of consciousness
How many poems
Are written half asleep
Or half aware
My brain swirls
Dancing with words
Little partners
That drift in and out
Of my private seduction
My brain tries to focus
I am at it’s mercy
It drifts, sways, swirls
It scampers
It seduces
I am at the mercy of the poem
Taken
Who told you that you could use
My image anyway you choose?
And likewise, Pix of them I take,
Will find they live a pseudo-fate.
For ‘taken’ they are
And ‘taken’ shall be;
Their image, yes,
Belongs to me!
#2. Juna
Juna sits so regally and fine
Her white fur tangled everywhere
Like tumbleweeds divine.
Although her hips are giving way
She follows faithfully
Chasing shadows with a bliss
Wandering and free.
Juna is a friend of mine
A dog who is so true
I’m grateful for her presence
And energy anew.
Itching
The growth on my arm
is getting bigger
a friend suggested
a linguist
who arrived on foot
who asked for tea
who handed me a note inscribed
”ADJECTIVES ARE KEEPING IT ALIVE”
So I stopped
talking
altogether.
Philip V. Coombs 11-12pm
Little Lucky
Four-leaf clover in my pocket.
Skipping stones along the river.
Singing tunes.
Better sleep.
Four-leaf clover Luckiest of them all.
Barefooted on moss.
picnic with a soft breeze.
Dreams continue.
She Took A Photo
She took a picture
one long forgotten
buried under age
She took a picture
a moss covered
walking bridge
She took a picture
standing in the
long green reeds
She took a photo
capturing her
loveliest memory