Exiled to dusk,
Fractions of the sun
Begin to lift away,
In concealment
We shudder,
Casting our reels
Into a pond of uncertainty,
Clock hands bend
With advancing shadow,
And speak of time
Only in past tense.

I so want everything
I ever felt for you
Preserved for posterity,
Even should forever
Be far less than
We imagined.

For many years,
I didn't own a
television.
I didn't want one.
The news gave me
anxiety, and most of
the movies were
horrible.
Bad actors,
terrible acting
and predictable plots.

I wasn't buying any
of it.

My Dad loved
watching movies.
He often used the word,
contrived
when summarizing them.

I remember watching
The Grapes of Wrath
with him.
After the movie, Dad talked
about leaving in his will,
a list of his ten favorite
movies for his seven kids
to watch sometime.
He wanted us to know
him better.

He forgot about it and died
a few years later.
I always thought Dad had
too much faith in mankind.
But, after watching The Grapes
of Wrath again, maybe he
didn't.
I hope we all live until
we die.

Branscombe blossom
fair and light
coats the grass with pink and white,
mossy branch and apple breeze
stirs the limbs of dancing trees
orange tips and foraging bees,
no sweeter does the blackbird sing
than in an orchard filled with spring

As I woke
One blue dawn
A robin sat on
My window ledge
To greet the
coming morn.
He was small
with a redbreast
So sweetly did he sing
It brought joy to
My heart that
Little bird did bring.
As my head rose
From my pillow
I slowly left my bed
I gently closed my window
And crushed it’s
******* head.

Oh happy Sunday hour
after five and before the tea-time tide
when those who filled the beach
with grubby toddlers, toys and spades
return to roasting hotbox cars
and stow the cool-bag in the boot,
along with salty dogs who want to sleep
creeping under blankets kept especially for them,
farewell they wave,
with lollypop sticky, sun-touched infant hands
a tired last goodbye to the sand
that battlefield land of dug-outs holes and hollows
a ruined castle landscape
that the sea will fix tomorrow

I'm happy to announce the release of my
latest book of poetry, Sleep Always Calls.
It's available on Amazon, and I read from it on
my YouTube channel.

"Sleep Always Calls is a powerful poetry collection by American poet and author Thomas W. Case. The poetry is raw and gritty. There is honesty and truth in the writing of Thomas W. Case, which is refreshing in today's world of contrived and polished literature. Once you start reading this book, it will be difficult to put it down. The themes range from addiction to heartbreak, and always, a semblance of victory for the downtrodden soul. His creativity and insight are brilliant and fresh in this poetry compilation."