Night comes on like
an old hound lumbering
in from the field.
I don't fight it.
I'm getting too old.
I sit with pen in hand,
and wait for the
darkness to show
me something.
I think about vaginas and
Ireland and fish that
hunt a t night.
I think about
Bukowski and
Beethoven, and the
clitoris, and a kernel
of corn.
I think about my
life and this night, and
how it is better than
those near-death years of
caterwauling and chaos;
drunk by the river, lonely
as a glass snake.
I was living to drink, and
didn't give a damn about
anyone.
I was searching.
I found it
when the light came.
-
Author:
Thomas W Case (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: July 29th, 2024 22:31
- Comment from author about the poem: My two recently published books are, Seedy Town Blues Collected Poems, on Amazon and Rise Up Collected Poems and Short Stories, available on Booksie.com
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 63
- Users favorite of this poem: Teddy.15
Offline)
Comments6
Bukowski would be tickled pink .. and I for one, am glad the light came on ..
I know for many, it never does .. Neville
Thank you, my friend.
The light certainly came on dearest Thomas 🕯️
A powerful poem. Really captured something, and some great lines.
Thank you so much, sweet Teddy.
Great images here spoken straight out of the mouth of truth and the common man it reeks of beer, whiskey, fish guts, cats and dogs and is as real as it gets. The last line was the finisher that ties it together and gave satisfaction to the piece.
Kind of you to say.
Good to find that light. Great lines here Thomas. Fab imagery here. Explicit lol.
Happy Tuesday.
Thank you Cassie.
ten out of ten Thomas!
Thank you, my friend.
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