Robert Combs Poems

thru the ancient window
a fine spun blower's window pane
above the carrion winter courtyard
where my angels have gathered
...

I saw you
standing on the edge of the harbor
waiting for the ship
coming into sight
...

go insane
a game
I learned to play
...

awake
day 13
alone in the cold calm
of the purple desert
...

my hands once strong and agile
lie quietly in my lap
soft and fragile
where I once had hair
...

the stairway of my life
has no gilded edge
rather tacks
and splinters
...

when the river becomes a soft song
high leaves do their windy dances
never thought I'd live this long
living with these dangerous chances
...

the things I wish to tell you
cannot be said too quickly
and I never took the time before
and it's been a long time coming
...

what in the world
have I put myself into
this time
down on a dream
...

at a loss for splendid
insurgency
mindful of palpitant
rebellion
...