After a torturous hour of
math (algebra to be exact)
I start dinner: Middle Eastern stew:
Cardamom, Coriander, and Turmeric.
Cooking is a little like math, but
much more like art. My mind begins
to ease as Bach pumps out
one of his symphonies from
the CD player. The stew boils, and
I want to go outside and play,
chase windmills. Where's Sancho?
Dulcinea's here, frustrated by my inept
ability in the equation game.
I fucking despise algebra.
Where's the Bluebird, the Sunflower,
Bukowski or Eugene O'Neill?
I want to smell a six-week-old puppy,
taste Van Gogh yellow, fuck until
I can't walk, and ease my
way into old age.
Vivaldi plays his victorious song.
And I know I'll conquer the
numbers game, but probably not
before it drives me crazy;
actually, it's a short putt.
-
Author:
Thomas W Case (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: October 10th, 2025 17:10
- Comment from author about the poem: Here is a link to my latest poetry reading on my YouTube channel. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sQYZm3w3RPc My books are available on Amazon. They are Seedy Town Blues Collected Poems, It's Just a Hop, Skip, and Jump to the Madhouse, and Sleep Always Calls.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 34
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange, rebellion_in_sanity
Offline)
Comments5
Gritty and with a bit of warmth. It is a stew in and of itself. Lovely Thomas
Thank you, my friend.
You are most welcome Thomas
If your looking for a warm gritty recipe for a great write, this is it, enjoyed the read
Gritty and excellent! Love it, Thomas! 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Well Done Brother
Thanks.
Some poems leave no choice but to “fave”—this is one of them. The excursions between external stimuli and internal monologue are woven like a masterful hand weaving a blanket: warm, textured, and deeply human.
Thank you so much.
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