Jogger - Poem by Leslie Philibert
Being chased by a ghost, the roots of his teeth
break with impact, joints tied together with string,
corpus filled with compressed breath.
He gasps stones, grit and smoke, an air maschine,
a wet, strained mask, the bottom of his lungs filled with silver.
His heart shakes like a shocked bird.
It is as if all things in the park have been stilled,
left and right, one and two, all under the grey
now out in bad standing.
Comments about Jogger by Leslie Philibert
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
- Still I RiseMaya Angelou
- The Road Not TakenRobert Frost
- If You Forget MePablo Neruda
- DreamsLangston Hughes
- Annabel LeeEdgar Allan Poe
- Stopping By Woods On A Snowy EveningRobert Frost
- IfRudyard Kipling
- Do Not Stand At My Grave And WeepMary Elizabeth Frye
- I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love YouPablo Neruda
- TelevisionRoald Dahl