Philip Hoom

Rookie (1968 / Orkney)

In The Fourth Hour - Poem by Philip Hoom

stretching for shadows
that hang on plastered walls
like empty ghouls
resigned to being trapped
in this dimension

inner turmoil projected?
or a nightwake phantom
as tangible as any entity?

I wipe the saliva from my cheek
focusing my mind on positive things
having sweated through
another set of sheets

one day, it will all be over.

this is only the beginning.

Comments about In The Fourth Hour by Philip Hoom

  • (12/14/2006 1:41:00 PM)

    if i had to read poems such as this one to learn how to write poems, i would never learn anything. stop wasting peoples time with this trash that you write, give it up. (Report) Reply

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  • (2/2/2006 5:43:00 PM)

    Excellent poem, perfectly permeated with a tortured anguish. -chuck (Report) Reply

  • (1/14/2006 7:01:00 AM)

    the history fo Everything!
    Yes, one day it will all be over
    and Yes
    each day a new beginning
    and Yes
    the agony of hanging on
    going on
    sweat like acid
    burning the flesh
    seemingly forever
    but not quite
    a fine poem
    (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Friday, January 13, 2006

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