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March 2023
HP Poet: Thomas W. Case
Age: 53
Country: USA

Question 1: We are very happy to have you participate, Thomas. So how long have you been writing poetry, and how long have you been a member of Hello Poetry?

Thomas W. Case: “I've been writing poetry since I was 16, and I've been a member of hello poetry for 3 years.”


Question 2: What inspires you? (In other words, how does poetry happen for you).

Thomas W. Case: “The things that inspire me to write are life: the good, the bad, the ugly. Emotion inspires me to write. Poems come to me in many different ways. Sometimes in pictures, sometimes a word will pop into my head and I will write around it. And sometimes a situation in my life will transpire and I will write to process it.”


Question 3: What does poetry mean to you?

Thomas W. Case: “Poetry is cathartic for me. It's a lifesaver, it gives me a unique perspective on the world, it helps me to make sense of life. Poetry is my highway through the madness.”


Question 4: Who are your favorite poets?

Thomas W. Case: “Charles Bukowski, Pablo Neruda, Dylan Thomas, and W.B. Yeats.”


Question 5: What other interests do you have?

Thomas W. Case: “Writing short stories, reading, and spending time with my kids.”


Mr. Timetable: “Thank you so much, Thomas! We really appreciate your willingness to be the first one to be spotlighted.”

Thomas W. Case: “Thank you, man. I look forward to seeing the post and how it turns out.”



And thank you everyone here at HP for taking the time to read this. We hope you enjoyed getting to know Thomas a little bit better.
– Carlo C. Gomez (aka Mr. Timetable)

We will post Spotlight #2 in April!
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~
You're alive, my candle
You're a beautiful and unique wick
About to blow out
In the night of falling shapes
In the night of fever walk
We did the igniting
We did the melting
We do the killing
~

~
Ragged mist of stalled horizon,
from dry dock
to disadvantage point

second hand shops
of sackcloth and ash,
they contain multitudes

treading the outside edge
of perception,
rehearsing disaster
in fistfuls of earth,
and the immaterial:
the stuff of pure shadow

a bevy of dead buildings
resemble a fallen actress
in the throes of dance,
with emaciated figurines leaning
forward in the temple,
listening for clues
too far to whisper

work will never resume
on the tower,
and it will remain painfully scanty,
a place to bury strangers
or raise up cholera

the third world summer
sun on sacred walls,
red before orange,
let the rays burn away our sins,
we contain multitudes

but one step inside doesn't mean
we understand anything
~

undefined spine
so close, in lordosis

will gravity win tonight?

swayback
around a fountain

she's curving toward
rebirthing cisterns
about the recesses
of her question mark

(?)

privately electrified
in beautiful confusion
the brain is lost

innately she takes
another drink from my hands

It was midnight
the moon sailed through the clouds

Winds howled
so did the wolf

The insects trilled
while in the distance machines drilled

Roadways to resurrect in the dead of the night

Snow covered land, white
no sign of the Sun

Do not follow the shadows
they can mislead

Puzzled and incomplete

Mystery of the truth

In pictures framed