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Her skin is full
of holes, and
she's ***** by
the dawn on a
daily basis;
wandering the midnight
streets of this
broken City.
Her feet are
calloused and raw.
That once tough heart is
soft now, looking for
love in the rabid
faces of evil.
Seagulls still fly into
cars, and spiders
spin webs in the dark.
Abandoned houses have
become her home
and her soul aches
for someone to hold.
Sometimes,
dreams float by,
like a dragonfly
on a soft breeze.
https://booksie.chainletter.io/i/thomaswcase888

Here's a link to my recently published Limited Edition book, Rise Up Collected Poems and Short Stories.
It must be the small things that make the difference
The birds singing in the morning light
It must be the small things, some near some distant
Have we really  become beauty resistant?
To moonbeams chasing sunbeams
Sunshine filtering through green clad glades
Memories  I treasure are haunting my dreams
It would be funny, if it wasn’t tragic
We are losing the plot, forgetting the magic
Why are these pockets of joy too hard to find?
Why do we ignore the small things
Why are they forgotten, when did we leave them behind?
I can hear
Them playing,
The devil inside
from the carnival
down the street.
All the bleak
eyes wandering
through the
empty crowd,
looking for
love or dope;
something to change
their perception.
 Jun 2021 grumpy thumb
Bardo
Is this it ? Is this (to be) the One ?
....No! It won't work, it never does... they never do
It works for others yes!
But no! not for me
Have seen too many false dawns now
I won't fool myself again with thoughts of...
Thoughts of El Dorado land.

Just because I've found a new way
And it'll feel good for a little while
But then it'll go just like they always go
Those nice feelings that come
They lie to me, they laugh at me
Make a fool of me every time
Like a mirage
Dancing tantalisingly in the distance
Only to disappear once you grow near
I know their not going to last, not going to stay
They'll not take me... not take me to El Dorado land.

But still, maybe... maybe I'll celebrate all the same
Just for the hell of it
Make believe that this was surely IT this time
Yea! I'll get a little drunk and pretend, pretend I've found it at last
What I've always been looking for,
All those years of looking and never finding
Feeding on scraps, vague intuitions, funny dreams and feelings...
Even though I know it's not gonna work
Knowing that behind it all it was always bound to fail
That I'll always be outside those gates looking in
Knowing I'm not invited.

                          II

They talked of a land that was wondrous, marvellous!
Not something out there but something here within
Of a strength that was golden, that was yours and yours alone
That could never be stolen
A great treasure that lay inside... that lay within
I read their books, I studied their maps
And then I set out, I set out for El Dorado land.

I followed them as best I could
I tried, I tried but seemed to lose every time
I know - I know I did it wrong
I always do it wrong
Wrong is where I live I think
Wrong is where I come from
Probably Wrong is where I belong.

I'm old now
I watched and waited too long
And nothing much really happened
And no one...no one came.

To have lived and never to have seen, never to have known
El Dorado land.
The Eternal Seeker who in the end never finds what he's looking for. A nice slice of Melancholy LoL Always been a bit of a Seeker, new philosophies and therapies, so many different ways. Trying to heal old wounds and become whole again. The search goes on.
 Apr 2021 grumpy thumb
L B
Spilled
 Apr 2021 grumpy thumb
L B
Why does the room smell flowery
like spilled wine and longing

I rub the damp mop along the oak
darkening its grain
Beautiful in ruin
again
 Apr 2021 grumpy thumb
L B
"****** of crows"
Yes, that too~
The dysmorphia of an aging body
struggling to try on dresses
struggling for some semblance
of age-appropriate beauty
has-seen-a-better-day

Mother-of-the-bride
captured
for a photo
hugged by lycra
Arthritis crying from every joint

More like carcass-by-the-road
 Apr 2021 grumpy thumb
L B
It has happened again
While I'm not looking...
Snow drops and crocuses
tumbling into tulips and azaleas
The slow muted understory of color on the snow
Traipsing toward the waking sun
that herald robin
V of the geese
ever-pointing the direction
out of darkness
into life

...to reach the crescendo, yet again
Leave behind the bud ~
exquisite ~ Hope
of mere possibility
of dew jewels scattered in the green

And never grow tired of this procession

to love life
to love life

Love ~
Inexpressible

Love inaccessibly fragile
fool of a child
we always long to be
Love ripped apart at the V
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