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If you were kinder than I,
you would treat me with respect.
If you were brighter than I,
you would not flaunt your genius.
If you were richer than I,
you would not call me a pauper.
If you were socially elite,
you would not mock my status.
If you were my superior,
you would sit beneath me.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Forget me not
Waiting….
Despite being blue
Privilege to be
Wildflower in the wild
As long as I am
In memory of you
I am
Do forget me not.




Shell ✨🐚
Flower of the blues. Forget me not .
I find myself slipping
dripping
sipping on old coffee
my useless dreams diminished
my dreamscape world
is all but finished
I don't do well when in this place
it reminds me of a darker space
when I was young
and ran from sleep
to chase off the morning
the dark
the deep
I would plan my escape
until the last fading thought
then awake to the light
that so hard I had fought

I find myself slipping
to a place I once knew
but the nights aren't as dark
for their numbers are few
I've been to the crushing
place.
It smells of death, and
spider mums.
Daisy chains dropped,
when the music died.
The lake is murky now.
Clowns roam the street,
looking for carnivals
and meat.
Silly boys still believe
in love and dreams, and
girls that like opera and
giving head.
This world is strange, and
Picasso walks the lonely
avenues, feeding
seagulls' peanuts and paint.
No one blames him.
It's his blue period.
All the while,
an old bent man plays
the guitar.
He smells like camels,
and hope.
~
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!
~
Below are Thomas’ favorite poems of his and links to each one:

Lonesome Neon Nights: https://hellopoetry.com/poem/3699838/lonesome-neon-nights/

Stabbed by the Autumn Leaves: https://hellopoetry.com/poem/3727658/stabbed-by-the-autumn-leaves/

In Lieu of Flowers (a personal favorite of the Timetables, too): https://hellopoetry.com/poem/3910240/in-lieu-of-flowers/

And then the Night Comes: https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4404576/and-then-the-night-comes/

And I Will Rise: https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4680341/and-i-will-rise/

He also has a YouTube channel where he does poetry readings: https://www.youtube.com/@ThomasWCase
Just like Orpheus,
I descended.
Though,
my digression was
for different
reasons.
Yeah, I tried to
rescue you from
your hell.
Bring you out of
the degradation,
the debauchery.

It smelled like
***** and ****.
The swine squealed.
The harpies shrieked.
And,
I looked
too long.
I became you.

Thank God I escaped.
Fate dragged me
out by the scruff
of my neck.
I will never
visit your
underworld
again.
You've made it
your home.
In the shallows of time
I call to thee
When the weight of this burden I carry
Brings me ever closer to the edge
I seek darkness while the Sun serves
only to more clearly expose
my longing for solace
I know not how to reach you
But I sense you with every breath
Perhaps the next life will be ours
Speak to me once more while I slumber
That my heart may be renewed
That my longing be not in vain
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