Biography of Tom Foster
Born a small wooden boy Tom was sent to school, but got distracted and joined a traveling show instead.
Becoming disalusioned he left the theatre and ran with the wrong crowd eventually becoming a real ass.
Later he was swallowed, then escaped, from a whale.
As of late he works helping other wooden people find thier place in the world.
He still dreams that someday he'll become a real boy
Tom Foster's Works:
'Poems for the Reading'
'Que es Arte? '
'Homeless to Househusband'*
*only one still available :)
Tom Foster Poems
I’ve lost better poems than this Boxes crammed Notebooks full abandoned Under rapid retreat
Words Like Rain
Like rain Water her words I drink them Like poetry
In And Out Of My Hands
It’s early November Late evening and I’m just leaving work Another ten hour shift behind me Walking across the parking lot
Where Be The Angels
On a cold steel table Deep in the Antiseptic gray green brick basement of Some government building
He handed me the Chocolate doughnut Smashed Wet
I Got Monkey's On My Back
I got monkeys' on my back But I’m not gonna send ‘em packing It’s comforting to have them there It’s nice to know that someone cares
The bell chimes Soft tone calls People into line All good
As Old As
It’s early January Early morning My feet are cold on the bathroom tile And that’s not my face
Are you mens sana he asked I told him I wasn’t aware of the facts Are you compos mentis he inquired again
Singing For My Supper
Hey Wadd'ya think the possibilities are That you could see your way clear To consider the chance and maybe
Come Out Of The Closet Daddy
This morning is a poetry morning And I am on fire Fire in my brain Hand
The heart does not have a plan A time table The heart acts on impulse desire Passion
Up The Hill
Sitting on a crumbling couch Spilling toward the middle where Bear of a man Wraps a tube around his arm
The July 4th Poem
This is not America Home of the free and the brave My country tis’ of thee Sweet land of liberty
The July 4th Poem
This is not America
Home of the free and the brave
My country tis’ of thee
Sweet land of liberty
Something’s gone awry
Wheels slowly turning
Fascist vice tightening
Is it manifest destiny or
Dues ex machina