• Profile picture of Thomas W. Case
    Porch Cat Gospel

    She begged for it, pleaded,like everything alive does.Scratch at the door,singing her little sermon,tail ticking time.Green eyes flashing,centuries of instinct.So I put her out.Mesh cage on the porch.Sunlight thin.World almost safe.I left her there,like every other sunshine promise day.Groceries....

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  • Profile picture of Thomas W. Case
    Flutter Away

      The moth kept pouring itselfagainst the porch light.Over and over.A tiny, dusty bodychasing something brightthat had no intentionof saving it. I understood that.Spent enough yearsdoing the same thing.Following neon signs.Half-empty glasses.Things that looked warmfrom a distance. I was twenty-one,standing beside my...

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  • Profile picture of Thomas W. Case
    The Sage from the Weeds

      I was standingon the eighth hole,a 99-yard par three,thinking about the shot.Nine iron in my hand.The sweltering July heat.Staring into the sunat the green.That big oak treeon the right side.Thinking abouthow many timesI had found it.Avoid the trouble right,I...

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  • Profile picture of Damian DeadLove

    Damian DeadLove wrote a new post

    An Honest Song

    Beggars exist because of thievesGreed still rampant after all these yearsInnocence lost as a widow grievesCorporate profits triple off bottled tears Evil entered the garden and sin bloomedWithout words of love all light is doomed Loners talk about freedom and lieInviting...

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    2 Comments
    • Writers have the intense obligation of stating the truth regardless of the outcome to themselves. Poetry is often a way to do so. Write on!

      • Thanks so much for reading and your kind words, Kathy. So glad you connected with the write my friend. I agree with you completely. Appreciate you.

        Damian

  • Profile picture of Ghosteen

    Ghosteen wrote a new post

    Let Me Be the Landlord of Your Dreams

    Lovers and wife’s lipstick  leave rouge palimpsest  across my funeral arms,    tell the mortician ‘I’m so over them’  and my neck still slips from the rope    If my fingers could pull strings from the sun  they'd strum guitar across your breasts,  could you feel my absent  hands in...

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