Email Poem

Your IP Address: 3.15.179.145

Your Email Address:

To Email Address:

Subject

Personal Note:

Poem Title:

Poem

Stuff is suspiciously silent
Spider Solitaire
Like when all the wrong cards
Line up for failure with a grand slam
The blockade of advantages
The stuff space is made of.

The smokey fixtures
The dusty stinking velvet
A dirty green of a dream
The stuff rubble is made of
The channeling of a losing emotion
The Spider Solitaire
Silenced to suspicion.

Po po six in black and the outcome
Of a defeating trio of tens
The position of which never mattered
All the maneuvers of this rubbish
The lows and the highs
And the tens of thousands
Who played Spider Solitaire.

Stuff is suspiciously silent
And then loses the game
What is it about 'what'
That makes this thing happen?
The silencing and it's thick hangings
The solitude of the Spider
Called upon to Solitaire.

/me file save-life saved
On the way up the escalator down once more
Up to that room where Solitaire is played
And dreams are made of
Stuff, an escort to the highs and lows
Makes it unbearable the hunger
For more of the same.

Let her cache or restart the game
Or in preference conquer again
Let Tally trick the deck over either
Solitaire is unfailing to gain
Stuff happens 
It crawls upon time happening
On the web between the drappings.

A mused contemplation
Stuff in a room by her lonesome
Occasions the fabric raiser
The pass time of card playing
Interrupted by here and theres
And so the hobby goes
The Spider Solitaire is written.

CAPTCHA Preview

Type the characters you see in the picture

Required