gordon coombes

Rookie (nova scotia, canada)

Walking With The Dead - Poem by gordon coombes

spending an evening with the dead
as i take my nightly walk
along the streets of this sad little town
along the streets of that sad city years ago
these spectres these ghosts these ghouls
some straggle behind
others race on ahead
their moans & their groans
their cries their rants
they chatter away they pester us
they do not claw & rip at our flesh
they are more devious than that
like our past selves
what would we sell for love
for talent for genuise
for a life of ease
for a life without pain
to the gods we are a cosmic joke
so who's to listen to our cries-

repeating their sad stories
over & over again
how one held a gun to his head
another chose pills & booze
another walked off the edge of a cliff
into ocean waves crashing onto the rocks
another drives his car into a tree
another retreats into his head
never to emerge again
beaten down by love & life-

all day long they hang around
its lost its novelty
corpses slowly decaying
oozing falling apart rotting away
putrefying smelling of some loathesome disease

some beckon me to join them
others are more scolding
some recount my sins
reminding me of all the evil I have done
others promise a better life-

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Comments about Walking With The Dead by gordon coombes

  • (2/24/2005 10:28:00 AM)

    This poem brings to mind Anne's Sexton's The Truth The Dead Know.
    Everything this morning reminds me of something else.

    I like the idea of this piece, for one who isn't done answering to the dead, it tends to strike a chord with me.
    Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I enjoyed this piece...

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Read poems about / on: sad, car, evil, city, ocean, tree, lost, pain, life, love

Poem Submitted: Thursday, February 24, 2005

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