Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Jun 2020
Sarita Aditya Verma

My part of the world
Knows not who you are
A talent beyond words
Rhyming life in your lyrics
Effortless you sing your songs

Tom Waits
Why I never heard you before
Now I love your songs
And want to listen to some more
Forevermore

Talk not about me like this
Lady you never heard me before
And now you speak of my songs
As if you been a fan of, all life
Don’t  flatter me now

In this world there is misery enough
As I drive down the ghost town
Fearless eyes and lies, I see
Scary for people to cope
So, in my songs I sing of hope

“Hey little bird, fly away home
Your house is on fire, your children alone
Hey little bird, fly away home
Your house is on fire, your children alone”
Thank you, Thomas W Case for introducing me to Tom Waits and sharing his lovely song 'Jockey full of Bourbon' and encouraging me to write something
So this is what I could think of while listening to Jockey full of Bourbon
The Last verse is from this song  :)
 Jun 2020
Whit Howland
The water lapping the shoreline
makes me think of your words

my life is on an even keel

and it's your voice that still
echoes through my dreams

my songs and poems
it must be because

you made pain
loss

and sorrow look
so easy


at a point in my life
when it was hard enough

just to pick up the phone
and deliver the news

it's been thirty years now
and her voice

is still yours I hear
when I pull your book

from my shelf
one more time

my life is on an even keel

Whit Howland © 2020
A narrative impressionistic word painting that went unexpected places. An original.
 Jun 2020
Carlo C Gomez
He Waits for his wife
Sitting in her lawbreaking bra at the bar

These days she goes by
Kathleen

Something odd is brewing in the kitchen
Even the dog is howling

One mouthful is tempting
But better not swallow

Otherwise, it's a certain trip
To Little Red's recovery room
In response to Thomas Case's "Tom Waits Poem Challenge"
 Jun 2020
Thomas W Case
I was living in this
flop house above
a **** shop in Amarillo.
I had a one eyed cat
named Walter, I'd bet
a sawbuck that when
I slept,
he drank my whiskey.
I sill love him though.
He stuck around longer
than those old painted up
ladies that strolled through,
and tested my bed springs.
I got two shots of Wild Irish Rose
left, then it's back to these
***** streets of broken dreams
and sick scenes.
Here is my challenge to everyone.......Write a poem inspired by Tom Waits....Everyone welcome.   Here is mine.

— The End —