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When I was
younger,
I had to learn.
Sit and wait to
write.
I  would get
impatient and force it.
If you read it,
you could tell.

Now I’m quite a bit older, and
I quit trying.
Fodder seems to be
everywhere.
I can write about
the most mundane
things.

Today I’m at the
library waiting for my
girlfriend to
finish up at the dentist.
She’s getting her
teeth cleaned.
All my drinking ruined
my teeth.
When I got them
pulled a year ago,
there wasn’t a
healthy tooth in my head.
I have dentures now, so
I don’t have to
worry about how much I drink.
I know this isn’t a
good poem, but
hey,
there she is
all shiny and bright…
and sober.
This is a repost.  I have been sober for over two years now.  Here's a link to my you tube channel where I read my poetry.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ryqLr9ehn7Q
Life is a series of tiring verbs
as I wade through the
ashes of orchids.
I'm a vagabond with
a ragged soul
coming for you *******
a lonesome road.
I float aimless,
like an acorn in
a mountain stream.
The death of dreams smells
like autumn leaves,
lonely as driftwood.

Home is not going to be
a white door at the
end of a sidewalk.
It's bigger and broader,
and can't fit behind a
fence and walls.
It will always be the
sum of my
memories and longings.

Home is walking the streets,
hand in hand,
with our son on my shoulders.
Home is lying in
the grass with your
fingers in my beard, and hope
oozing from your blue eyes.
It's eating sushi and laughing at
our accidental touch of hands,
reaching together for
the last California roll;
avocado safe at
a sun-dappled table.

I'm drifting lost on
a southern wind.
When I'm with you again,
wherever that is,
I'll be home.
(Repost)
Here is a link to my latest poetry reading on youtube.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ryqLr9ehn7Q
This one goes out to
the rambling, gambling madman
from Aspen- the late great
Hunter S. Thompson.
My drinking has landed me
in prison for a short stint.
To occupy my time,
I read and write,
it keeps my mind sharp
and the nursing homes at bay.
Also, a pen or a book in my
hand has the added benefit
of a signal to the other
inmates that I'm in my own
world, and I don't care to converse.

H.S.T's guerrilla approach to
writing, and his sharp gonzo wit
keep me laughing and thinking
on this carnival ride from hell.
And if I can laugh in prison,
I'm halfway home.
My mind will go where my
body can't.

Like Hunter, I'm a betting man who always
bets on the long shots.
So I'm putting a bundle on
me to pull out of this **** hole
and do something with my life.
** ** **, God Bless you, Doctor.
And as my old man used to say,
"They can **** us, but they
can't eat us."
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ryqLr9ehn7Q

Here is a link to my you tube channel where I read this poem and others from my book, Seedy Town Blues Collected Poems, available on Amazon.
I’ve been to a place at
The end of the sidewalk.
In between safety and  
wild debauched nights of
concrete and neon.

It’s a tabula rasa.
Pristine and precious.
I love it there
where creativity and
innocence dwells on the
backs of phoenix birds and
purple pigeons,
and on the slopes of verdant
valleys, lush with cerulean
blue ponds.

The trees all
gave and gave.
Dragon fruit and  
mangoes and
plants that taught me  
things.

Every fish and turtle that
I caught talks of Keroack
and Dali,
dreams, and love.
Serenity,
thick as maple syrup.
I met some surreal people
and creatures in this land.

And every **** one
of them oozed  
compassion and  
truth from  
every pore.
Here is a link to my brand-new poetry reading.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ryqLr9ehn7Q&t=1s

I've been trying to build a website  www.thomaswcase.com
If you check it out, let me know what you think.
Thomas W Case Feb 10
I dreamed that I had
a boat on a leash,
which was strange
because moments before,
I had it in the ocean,
and I was fishing off
the starboard side.
My nephew was with me
and he got us lost.

We dragged that boat all
over Ventura.
We were looking for
the marina.
The longer that the boat
was on the leash,
the smaller it got.
Pretty soon it was
just a toy, a poisoned
dog that we
threw in the trash.
Here is a link to my you tube channel where I read my poetry.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WKnpk9OMWXg&t=46s
This particular reading is of an open mic I did through the Writer's Workshop in Iowa City.

I've also been working on a website.
Please excuse the boundary
of my sadness;
it's not normal, I'm aware,
maybe, even maddening.

But, the horses need hay.
They are hungry.

Long evenings
full of shadows,
surround my blood
stained lazy bed.

The horses need hay.

Let's gather our
senses, and get to
the fields.
Make-believe we
have purpose and
direction.

Isn't that
the mindset we need
to overcome the largest
lie of them all.
(Repost)
Here is a link to my YouTube channel, where I read poetry from my recently published book, Seedy Town Blues Collected Poems, which is available on Amazon.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ciod7laprVU
Psilocybin silly when the
cops arrive.
Sitting on the couch naked,
laughter, aching jaws.
They ask where my wallet is?
I ask, where are my pants?
Even they laugh.
I can't say mushrooms are
all bad.
They are the catalysts that
brought me back to the
hospital to deal with the
real killer...
*****.
True Story.
I recently did an open mic via zoom at the writer's workshop in Iowa City.  Here's a link.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WKnpk9OMWXg&t=25s
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