I used to go to
these poetry slams in
Des Moines.
Little coffee shops of
academia.
They were competitive.
I won a few.
I was homeless and going
through a divorce, life
had me by the throat.
I wanted to win at
living.
That was going to
be a long shot.
The patrons applauded
after the poetry was read.
And after the cruelty of
The concrete, the applause
felt nice.
But mostly, it was the
pretty posey,
the cute and polished
cat shit that received
the prizes.
The stuff with no guts.
It felt like I was watching
goldfish in a bowl.
Eventually, I walked out
of the coffee shop circuit.
It didn’t prepare me at all for
my debut in the abandoned houses,
writing words on the walls of those
mad January nights.
-
Author:
Thomas W Case (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: February 24th, 2025 11:47
- Comment from author about the poem: I am so pleased to announce the release of my new book, It's Just a Hop, Skip., and a Jump to the Madhouse https://www.amazon.com/Its-Just-Skip-Jump-Madhouse/dp/B0DY4XDQYC/ref=
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 37
- Users favorite of this poem: Cheeky Missy, Teddy.15
Offline)
Comments5
Enjoyed the read and very good luck with the book
yes. Thank you.
As Paul Simon said the words of the prophets are written on the subway walls and tenement halls. Well written
so true. Thanks
I think it takes all sorts to win, I guess the one on the night that touches more of the audience. 🌹
yes, thank you, sweet Teddy.
Excellent write, been in a few poetry slams myself, never won, but had lots of fun and made so many awesome memories
Loads of fun, ty
You're welcome
Reality never strutted more sweetly than when you committed it to verse and rendered the same to effect, complete with exquisite imagery and a very haunting poignancy. Thank you very much for sharing.
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