I am working the
kinks out of
my you tube
channel.

But, if you
search Thomas
W. Case on
you tube,
you can watch me
recite some of
my poetry.

Meanwhile,
autumn's feral winds
blow the beggars
from my mind.
I'm just a windmill's
dream, haunted by
a thousand empty
bottles.

Why can’t you be who you were?
I can’t say I like who you are
Or who you are so fast becoming.

Why can’t you be like before
When everything you tried succeeded
And you always had the right answer?

Why can’t you go back to that person
With wisdom and courage and smarts
And be someone that I could love?
        ljm

The darkness comes in gentle waves
Like a mournful sea at ebb tide.
It comes in wisps like smokey sighs
Wafting from a deserted fire.

The darkness seeps into the spirit
Like a leaking, unattended faucet.
It arrives in plain brown wrapping
Tied with twisted, knotted string.

The darkness sings a plaintive tune
That echos in the vastness.
It weaves a heavy coverlet
That blankets any hope of light.

The darkness didn’t have to be
Why ever did I let it in
ljm

When I was little
I was scared
Scared of the monsters living under my bed
I used to hide, under my blanket
Under my blanket, I was safe
The monsters couldn’t reach me under my blanket

My parents used to say
The monsters would go away
I would grow up and that then they would leave

But I grew up
And the monsters didn’t leave
Turns out my monsters, grew with me
Now instead of under my bed
The monsters live inside my head

So I hide, under my blanket
Where I think I am safe
Wondering if after all this time
My blanket can still keep the monsters at bay