Here comes another
classic case of
writer's block.
Cock soft,
I spew
across the
white pages.
Maybe age is
catching up
with me.
Time has been
a friend,
but I'm only as
good as my last poem.
I long for the days
when songs filled
my heart, where every
part of me smelled
the rain and the
wet dogs, and the
streets of Spain.
The pain was always
fodder, the joy, the sadness
the madness of love and
sex and passion.
The rancid anger and rage
became the words of
a sage when I broke
out the notebook.
Not tonight, though,
I will wait for the
erection and the blood
to simmer in
the red dot on the
white snow.
Patiently waiting for
the hemorrhaging of
the soul.
-
Author:
Thomas W Case (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: October 13th, 2025 08:52
- Comment from author about the poem: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sQYZm3w3RPc Here is a link to my YouTube channel, where I read from my recently published books, Seedy Town Blues Collected Poems. It's Just a Hop, Skip, and a Jump to the Madhouse, and Sleep Always Calls.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 44
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange, Bella Shepard
Offline)
Comments4
Yay! First comment! Very well done, Thomas! Loved this!
Thanks
I thought this was gonna be about cockerels. What do I know? lol.
lol
Even out of writer's block my friend, you create something poignant, finding just the wright words to convey the emotion. Loved it!
Thank you so much.
Poetic words and images fill this poem with feelings of mold and ash on a cold winter day. Meant in a most positive way this poem feels like a hangover on the day after where the head hurts, vision darkens and one wishes to pull the covers that are already too warm over one's eyes to shut out the light. Well done Thomas.
Much appreciated, my friend.
Most welcome Thomas
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