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Best Ace In The Hole Poems | Poetry

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Ace in the hole by Aina, Victor Ifedotun

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The Best Ace In The Hole Poems

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Missing Castles

All the castles
I'd longed to see,
Will never stand
In front of me

All the knowledge
I have gained,
All the emotions,
I have feigned

And now real love
To make me cry
I lie in bed,
I wonder why...

It seems unfair,
But such is life,
I've suffered much,
As with an unfaithful wife

Those castle walls
Will long outlive me,
And it will come the time soon,
For me to see

My maker, 
My love's faker
Soul taker

But I have my one
Ace in the hole,
I've kept one piece
Of me that's whole

That part of me
That believes in me
And no matter
What others see

This part is mine,
And mine alone,
And surely I'll have
Sins to atone,

But this one part,
Believes in me,
And it knows,
I never hurt anyone,
For I chose

To do what seemed right
And moral too,
And though I'd fight,
To prove it true,

I tried to do 
My very best,
I tried to pass
My soul's real test,

If I failed,
It was by mistake,
All I wanted,
Was a smile to make.

Copyright © tom bell | Year Posted 2008

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"A child, more than all other gifts
That earth can offer to declining man,
Brings hope with it, and forward-looking thoughts."

			W. Wordsworth

I am your grandmother.
I spent 24 years making
parenting mistakes, so I think
I'm pretty well trained now,
pretty worn down, open-minded
and accepting.
I think we'll be good friends.

At sixteen, your mother 
said she was having a baby 
and held up to me the blue pastic
device that tested her urine stream
like when she held up the blue ribbon
she won in kindergarten for the best
easter bunny nest made from marshmallows 
and dyed yellow coconut.

Then she threw the blue device out 
into the space between us on the bed, 
like it was the best card in her deck, 
her ace in the hole.
Your father waited in the other room
sitting in the thick silence,
afraid to breathe and miss
my response.

You and your mother did all the work,
but I was there at your birth, 
Standing alongside, coaching your
mother to good contractions until
I was exhausted from gritting my
teeth and pushing too.

And your dad was there, too,
but closer to the business end 
so he could be the first to know the sex.

An unsolicited psychic had told us
you would be a girl, 
and when your dad was told,
he sulked all day 
like it was a conspiracy 
between the women to produce 
only other woman.
He wanted another guy, 
someone to give the men the edge, 
a male child.

When your mother's body could 
keep you from the world no longer,
your head appeared, eyes tightly
shut and a pout on your lips.
Your dad was watching closely,  
the shoulder, the belly and then
his arms flew up in the air 
like he'd made the touchdown
and he cried, "It's a Boy, 
I told you, I told you,"
like he and I had placed a bet.

But then he saw how much
I could love the boy child.

I'm a pretty good grandmother, 
and I think we'll be good friends.

Copyright © Emerson Adkins | Year Posted 2012

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Playing BlackJack with the Devil

He lay awaiting spraying cards

Beckoning with his forked tongue

Come here my son lay down your guard

Bet what you like it is only for fun

I started with a bet so small

A face arriving right at my door

The second led only to reveal

An ace of spades I had won my deal

This seems so easy it cant be true

I lay a bigger bet knowing it is due

Alas there came another Jack

He smiled at me as the devil played back

You have won again now bet it hard

You know you can beat me without any cards

Ride your luck as I did against God

And see where it takes so now bet hard

I lay the rest of all I had

Only to find the cards went bad

A five of diamonds shot out loud

Followed by the Queen as she did frown

His card was showing a souless ace

Asking for insurance I felt his embrace

I declined and waited to see with praise

He smiled as the card flopped over ..... a face

Thank you my son for your donation

Once again? He asked with quotation

I told him I have nothing more

He said dont lie you have your soul

If you win this you will be free

With all the riches and endless glee

I will even show you both cards

Double exposure for my disregard

I agreed and bet my soul

He lay both cards for the endless goal

His smile turned to laughter as he knew

His ace in the hole was on its way through

It dropped and so did my soul

I felt it pull out of my body whole

I lay in his chamber with all the rest

As I saw God next me in distress

For even he had bet his best

And lost to the one that he threw to the mess

Copyright © Penn Kname | Year Posted 2006

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Playing Poker With The Devil

We are all sinners and we know it
Greed and temptation are some of the tools
That old Satan knows how to use well
God has no problem if we make a profit
If we do it his way and don't act like fools
Or we will be playing card in Hell

The Devil deals from the bottom of the deck
Always has a crooked ace up his sleeve
Tell you he has a ace in the hole
And just waiting for you to end up in a wreck
Unless you let God be the coach and believe
'Or the Devil will have your soul

God does not play cards with Satan
But he does know all the trick, he is the real deal
There is no gamble in his game
He know what Satan can do to a man
And make one dizzy with his old spinning wheel
You see there is no shame in his game

Has Lady Luck there to temp and lead you on
He know that he is a cheat and cannot do it alone
Making the stakes higher and you have to play
When it is over, they are both gone
Cut your throat and to the bone
Your best bet is let God be your dealer everyday

Copyright © Danny Nunn | Year Posted 2010

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Ace in the hole

Even if they make more jobs in 
the name of us plebs in the populace, 
We won't still get placed; 
we don't know the puerile and popular.
They term us the weak, 
the lame and every meaning of regular,
But we are strong, we are eagles; 
we will strive and thrive till we takeover.

Copyright © Victor Ifedotun Aina | Year Posted 2016

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Cliche Heaven

Cliche Heaven

Be it as it may I'll try my hand at some clichés
    and address the elephant in the room soon when pigs fly.
It’s a win- win situation, put your game face on, work the crowd
   as we wrap our heads around comparing apples to orange.
We are all data driven, with an ace in the hole, stick a sock in it
   while stepping  up to the plate and  peeling back the onion
 and easily hit it out of the ballpark with a world of hurt.

Be my team player, run with this, my agent of change  
  but don’t throw me under the bus as you think outside the box.
We can touch base later seeing where the rubber meets the road
  and put boots on the ground, a perfect storm, deal with it.
Here’s my two cents,  if it works  I'll go off the beaten path
    driving route 66 on the road not taken when it’s up for grabs,
     and taking a walk in the sun, learning the new math.

That said,  don’t  put me out to pasture,  wait for it,  
  there’s no sign of my slowing down,  its going viral.
These are the signs of the times, take the bull by its horns,
   It’s a brave new tomorrow and all bets are off.
Don’t  force my hand to be up close and personal
  I’m a rebel without a cause and  to die for.
   Don’t get bent out of shape raising the bar in the winds of change
    There’s something for everyone, just another babe in the woods.

Stay tuned, like, duh, as a matter of fact, at the end of the day,  
  it’s a last ditch effort as you live and learn the luck of the draw.  
Pay it forward, that’s the ticket, give and take, get a wake up call,
 same song and dance, say what you will, you’re as sharp as a tack.
It’s all smoke and mirrors, just splitting hairs to reinvent the wheel 
 and walk the red carpet for a quick buck to pay as you go
 Heaven help us, 
I believe there's an app for that.

Copyright © DM Babbit | Year Posted 2016

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Jimmie Jim my piddling crony

         Jimmie Jim my piddling crony was a little toady
     Happened to meet a gaudy king who loved a hot toddy
                 Jimmie’s *** an ace in the hole
            Dipped in snail’s pace in the king’s bowl
     Said Jim Sire, my daddy, King of Ire, I am your bawdy

Copyright © RAJAT KANTI CHAKRABARTY | Year Posted 2014

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Solitare is a game
Strategy? Suspense? Quite the game
I can remember the last card I drew
A meaningless red king
The king had nowhere to go
Nowhere to place himself
No queen to lay with
And there were the seven of them all in a row
I saw Jack and two
I read the numbers one by one
Ace in the hole
Then I lost the whole damn thing
The game of solitary confinement
The game of life?
The loss of the loss of himself
The gain of the plot of the wealth
The jibberishly mulled wine words of the mind
I am running out of time
And the time is now


Copyright © Jessica Saltzer | Year Posted 2010

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A passion not likely realized

Out of all the relationships I’ve ever been in, few really ever knew me.
Just bits and pieces rehashed, concocted and dispensed from;
A world I know as the files from my performing arts.
      But with you it’s different because you’re so damned pretty.
     I tell myself to stay Germaine when I’m around you but;
     As soon as I set my eyes on you I lose track.
I’m moved by feelings I can’t even name.
You probably know what I mean don’t you;
Younger days and different faces where the blood flowed so thick;
And passion was so hot it set your body on fire,
        Ah but the kicker; the ace in the hole; the crux of the biscuit with you;
        And moves me most even more then the probable thrill of your kiss is;
        It’s all of you that has made my heart beat irregular rhythms;
        And that I’ll always remember.

Copyright © Leonard Taormina | Year Posted 2011

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My Nose Is Hard

Murk Rammer froze as he felt the nuzzle
of a snub-nosed thirty-eight’s deadly muzzle.
Louis The Retch poked it into his back.
“The jig’s up, Rammer. I ain’t cuttin’ no slack.”

Murk had been tricked by a double-crossing dame,
alias “Frigitte,” he didn’t know her real name.
She’d been his undoing, that cute little louse,
undoing the buttons on her bulging blouse,
then slipping out of her slip and her hose,
and her holster too; yeah, she had one of those.

He’d fallen for Frigitte, completely deluded.
She’d come on strong, delightfully denuded.
She’d kissed him hard and let him get a good grab,
but when he dozed off she skipped out and blabbed.

The shamed shamus woke up and found a clue
and went to a warehouse -- a decision he’d rue.
He’d fallen for the ruse, he’d taken the bait,
and walked right in to a date with fate.
That darn dame had put him on the spot.
He was one peeved peeper who’d loved for naught.

The warehouse was full of contraband goods.
They belonged to The Retch, a sleazeball hood --
lead falcons from “Malta” and vases from “Ming,”
dubious diamonds and other blarney-ish bling,
a lading of lies from a smug little smuggler,
who played for keeps and went for the jugular.

And now The Retch had gotten the drop.
No chance for Murk to call for the cops.
“It’s curtains for you,” the Retched one said,
“The only way out is to go down dead.”

“You win,” Murk said, with a little shrug.
He knew he was beat and waited for the slug.
A bullet in the back was the final payoff.
Fat chance The Retch would decide to lay off.

Murk heard the click of a cocked-back hammer
and waited for death in his taciturn manner.
Bang! went a gun – but not the thirty-eight.
The shot came from someone hiding behind a crate.

The Retch went down with blood on his chest,
then high heels approached; you know the rest.
Bad girl Frigitte leapt into Murk’s arms.
She just couldn’t stand to see him harmed.
And that had been Murk’s ace in the hole,
playing so well the Romeo role.

He wrapped his arms around Frigitte’s waist
and their mouths joined together, such a spicy taste!
Then he took her hand and led her out
into rain washed streets where wet shadows slouched.

Did Murk turn Frigitte in to the cops?
Or let love fill his head with mushy slop?
The ending of this tale I’ll leave up to you,
but as for me, I haven’t a clue.

Copyright © Stanley Carter | Year Posted 2016

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A vision not likely realized

It’s strange somehow thinking about the times I’ve spent in relationships yet;
Few have ever had the chance to really know me.
Just bits and pieces rehashed and concocted; 
From a world he quietly calls “the Halls of Lenny’s performing arts”.
     But with you it’s different because you’re so damned pretty.
     I tell myself to stay natural when I’m around you but;
     As soon as I set my eyes on you;
     I seem to lose most of my composure.
You move me from a place I sometimes don’t even remember is there;
You probably know what I mean don’t you;
Those times from another place where the blood runs thick;
And passion burns like an eternal flame that sets your soul on fire,
        Ah but the kicker; the ace in the hole; the crux of the biscuit is;
        What moves me most about you goes;
        Way beyond what may be there inside of those jeans I've seen you in
        It’s you; all of you that makes my heart beat irregular and I’ll never forget.

Copyright © Leonard Taormina | Year Posted 2011

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Somebody told me that cliches are dead
But what if I run out of things to say
Can I say "to know me is to love me"
Or "tomorrow is just another day"

What about "liars never prosper and cheaters never win"
Would I be accused of reviving the dead
"A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush"
Or is it "an ace in the hole instead"

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder"
Or if you fall "it's only a scrape"
What if I tell them to "button your lip"
Will they get "all bent out of shape"

But I'm "at the end of the pecking order"
So how much can I really know
I'll never use cliches again
Right after " I told you so"

Copyright © Larry Belt | Year Posted 2010

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Comin' In On The Cable

Napoleon's teleconferencing Tzu's Art of War
to Ghanghis Khan 
Antoinette's summoning Betty Crocker 
'cause ah crumb last piece of cake is gone 
Hick Finn's still shunning country wisdom 
of Uncle Tom 
Moonshiners in the backwoods're busy trying 
to extract morals out of the fable 
Paula Dean's made effort to tone down
her brazen ladel 
Dolce n' Garbana got a task colossal 
team up with Aeropostle checking authenticity 
of every label 
Meanwhile Cain n' Abel're reconciling 
at The Lamb's marriage supper table
N' all the rest' re beating their chests like 
publicans wondering who tarnished the cable?
Nerdy Paul's ported himself off to a juicy 
contract with Sprint 
Metro PCSers n' McDonald's hipsters' re
combing the second hand stores looking 
for silly black hats preferably free of lint
n' rest of us still pondering contracting 
throat cancer from cunnilingus 
'cause it couldn't possibly 
be Douglas' forty year smoking stint
Most all know now Pontiacs've faded
into a page of automobile history 
yet some still hold fast wondering what ever
happened to the Mercury Sable?
Apostle Paul's burning the midnight Oil
putting on the finishing touches 
on 2nd Timothy unless you're discounting 
Apollo as writer of Hebrews epistle 
Wild grapes're running rampant 
taking note of Samson tying torches 
on foxes tails but Philistines 
got an ace in the hole Delilah as a thorn 
to the Jews thistle
Peter's up on the tanner's roof 
gettin' kosher visions 
while the mandate remains to forgo milk 
n' be fed on meat like Bereans 
down to the marrow n' gristle 
But on the slippery sliding slope 
of false doctrine 
how is it they still ponder
who varnished the cable?
6-7-2017 Duncan R.M. Ferguson 

Copyright © Duncan R. M. Ferguson | Year Posted 2017

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Now that you know me;
I am in your life for a reason - 
I am in your life for a season. 
I may be only your happenstance 
your afterthought that comes 
when all your cards are played. 

Maybe I am your Ace in the hole. 
Maybe I am your place to go 
when there's nowhere else to turn...

Better I be burned into your memory
Forged into your lifeline 
Better than being nonexistent, 
like a spirit unavailable. 

Open your hand and read my marks. 
That's the depth of me burrowed I replenish, 
I then branch off at the wrist
fading out of the flesh to watch you trekking 
the short distance.

You are left alone with your maker 
You and he finish strong.
I witness another winner and then I am gone. 
Taking my place again in the back of your mind
You also in mine. Lives entwined for a Season.
imprinted in lifelines.

Copyright © Vicki Acquah | Year Posted 2016

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Just listen will you

I keep trying to tell you;
But you’re just not listening.
I tell you time is running out;
And you tell me you’re just taking care of business.

What I’m doing right now;
This isn’t forever (you say);
And I know what you’re saying is;
Don’t worry I’ll be back.

No woman, that’s an incorrect assumption;
Just like the spring, love is about to bloom all over;
Real soon it might be in full bloom;
And so woman there won’t be nothing left to come back to.

In our last conversation what was it I said?
I told you I might be gone soon didn’t I?
You said I wish you wouldn’t, thinking I meant I was moving.
Moving on sweetie pie and what did you expect no one would want me?

Digest this old friend; she’s everything you never were and more;
She seems more than I ever hoped I could have or dreamed of.
And get this honey; God is the arranger, the producer and director.
If she and I ever become “we” you can bet I won’t be looking back.

It had to happen eventually you know;
What is this the third or fourth time?
How many times you think God was going to let you hurt me?
I’m trying to tell you something; will you please listen.

I know none of this will cause you any mind;
You’ll continue on with him because you think you need him.
Remember I never have asked you to come back though have I?
I’ve been asking you to rid yourself of that obligation you are under.

Time my love; do you remember about it?
You have to see if things will withstand the test of time.
Well I’m tired of trying to tell you;
I guess it’s time for you to live in and pay for your own mistakes.

The crazy thing is I know you’re relying on that weak spot I have for you.
But you can’t touch me this time; I got God on my side.
I don’t bust any of my moves or display my charming ways; I’m running on faith;
And it’s so good; I got you to thank for that, now isn’t life ironic?

Maybe you need to learn to sing the blues;
You have no ace in the hole and no back up.
You that likes to call yourself being miss independent.
You let it all ride on one untested man; shame –shame.

Copyright © Leonard Taormina | Year Posted 2008

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the misery index

add inflation & unemployment stats,
(its highest level in 28 years)
an absence of universal healthcare,
(its highest level in 28 years)
foreclosures, lost pensions, dead 401K’s, etc.
(its highest level in 28 years)
(its highest level in 28 years)
you get a whole lot of angry people
(its highest level in 28 years)
waiting for something to happen---
(its highest level in 28 years)
are you ready for this?
(its highest level in 28 years)
are you gonna save up all your strife &
(its highest level in 28 years)
pretend that it matters when you walk into
(its highest level in 28 years)
the ballot booth on 11/2/12?
(its highest level in 28 years)
gonna try & make yourself believe that
(its highest level in 28 years)
those in power are gonna save you?
(its highest level in 28 years)
that they are going to have a sudden change of
(its highest level in 28 years)
(its highest level in 28 years)
and suddenly they will just feel sorry for the rest of
(its highest level in 28 years)
us &
(its highest level in 28 years)
wash us all over with their cash
(its highest level in 28 years)
allowing for the 99% to get
(its highest level in 28 years)
just an
(its highest level in 28 years)
(its highest level in 28 years)
(its highest level in 28 years)
piece of what the other 1% has?
what does it take to wake you up from your slumber?
gonna go to your priest,
(its highest level in 28 years)
when he’s not raping little boys &
(its highest level in 28 years)
beg him for help from your big imaginary friend in the sky?
(its highest level in 28 years)
is he gonna help you?
(its highest level in 28 years)
you think you have an ace in the hole,
(its highest level in 28 years)
something that can be drawn upon at the last minute---
(its highest level in 28 years)
(its highest level in 28 years)
the clock is ticking &
(its highest level in 28 years)
the index is rising.

Copyright © andrew delapruch | Year Posted 2011

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Crunch, crackle, crackle, crackle, crunch

Crunch, crackle, crackle, crackle, crunch
The leaves under my heavy footfalls
Those nor easterly winds sure pack a punch
Onward it is, my freedom calls

Nothing worth having seems to come easy
Another bridge to cross, just another bridge
From my past now I must break free
Will I see my future if I climb up on that ridge

Okay okay my future is in God's hand
It's so hard to give up control
I believe that his plan for me is Grand
But it never hurts to have an Ace in the Hole

So I'll leave my future in the hands of God
But I'll set my foot where no man has trod

Copyright © Jolene Cheyney | Year Posted 2016

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Tempus Fugit - Part two

   speaking severe nasal sounds, 
   when exhalation boyhood memory draws
obvious twang – another ace in the hole for bullies – 
   gnashing identityguard where gauze
superfluous, and those hurtful ingrates lobbed words, 

   when they may as well swang fists at me upper and lower jaws,
though decades in the past, the imprimatur indeibly etched, 
   yet stinging rebukes from maws
and faux paws trigger remembrance of things past 
   (analogous to Post Traumatic Stress Disorder -

in my case countless acromonious, denigrating, execrable names
contributed to Schizoid Personality Disorder – 
though predisposition for sundry mental illness 
most likely incsribed within mom and pop sic cull genes), 
now greater  enlightenment reacting/responding to stress 

comprehending my biology, chronology, ecology, geneaolgy 
(fyi – Amelie paid consultant at for blueprint 
denoting fabric housing jumbled, linkedin, nested past – 
results surprisingly showed 1% Neanderthal 
   comprise inherited) psychology, 
thus explaining insatiable hunger for bananas, 
and intermittant urge to swing from tree to tree,

whereby I willingly accept arboreal, corporeal, 
   generallly less than ideal traits
which pro active overtures arrest 
   (without a warrant), contest, assent everest
(albeit metaphorically) satisfactorily 
   extending virtual olive branch (pitted)
recognize immutable imposibility to confront 
   excrutciating bygone feelings, 
this endeavor, a quest to test mine kempf zone, and endure 

current flow of uneasiness (clammy 
   and sweaty hands fostered by andiety),
yet exorcizing mailer demons critical 
   to experience mindfullness, and requisite 
to fast tract expeditious deliverence, 
   whereat ye ought not be deprived 

   (on account of dentures) DIDST OFTEN BESPEAK!

Copyright © MATTHEW harris | Year Posted 2017

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It`s necessary for men to be alert,
And Wrong for the entire universe to be swayed,
Your last goal can even be achieved only when you revert,
What will be the reply to questions about your earthly character played,
After being in a world known to make you a pervert?
Yeah, I mean you my special listener who is totally made,
We would meet ourselves in truth,
Only when those lost find their steps on strong route,
Knowing nothing about this world`s doctrine concerning the genesis and doomsday of humanity,
The suggestions suggest we mend our reasoning of beliefs on the principles of the HIGHEST GOD,
Rather than enticing our precious breath and potency on so called,” hopeful philosophy”,
It`s sad, how the ignorant minds are swindled to take strong trust in compiled self-analyses by religionists concerning the creator and his kingdom,
Whereby their leadership had won for them members who perceive no intricacy laid in their personal referendum,

All this comes in pictures assented by journeyers who had lost their salvation map,
And their parade on the globe is likened to goats walking toward a trap,
I mean that statement, since the eyes of many are closed for so long,
A quantum of the world now believes in words exaggerated to maneuver them to wrong,
I don’t believe nor trust in religionism,
Neither am I a fanatic or tied to rationalism,
“When will everyone be in someone’s wheelhouse?”,
That`s what they say to grab the innocents like missing fowls,

“Today is born from the belly of yesterday`s teachings”,
They say to correspond to the relevancies of their power,
Yet they feel no regret after losing their vainglorious tower,
How clear I see the fall of their transient throne,
Those renowned corrupted preachers of religion are now cast down,
And the scientist’s knowledge is melting after he came out with a clone,
Pathetic it is seeing them in death gown,

But it`s not a choice, rather a must to tell you that,
“TRUTH” is an ace in the hole,
Now on the pinnacle of Mount Zion do I see the father of Sweet JESUS,
And the lamb; the way, the truth and the life, 
His power fulfiller being the HOLY SPIRIT,
I`m blessed to know the reality on pro bono,
Though lives are lost every day just to discover the truth…oh No!
However, the circle keeps going round them, but they don`t strive to know,
If you fall part, come to that city of salvation before you lose that your precious soul!






Copyright © Anderson Walkingshoes | Year Posted 2018

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Gambler's Romance

                         Gambler's Romance
Down in the Big Easy playing cards in a house of chance
she’ll lay you down a losing hand…with her bluffed romance.
Her cards have many faces but few can win her hand
and a hard hand bet can break a heart, you'd better understand.
When you play the cards in New Orleans, she cuts them with a knife.
When you bet the house on a Cajun Queen, you could lose your life.

I try to find an angle, she gives a little glance.
She deals down on the table with a little dance.
With an ace in the hole do I double-down or should I let it ride?
Her eyes will give away her edge… it's something she can’t hide.
When you play the cards in New Orleans she cuts them with a knife.
When you bet the house on a Cajun Queen you could lose your life.

She holds the Queen of Diamonds in the palm of her right hand
and my ace’s heart is broken when she deals to another man.
She lays her card down easy… the winner stakes his claim
but the winning hand doesn’t understand to her it’s just a game.
When you play the cards in New Orleans she cuts them with a knife.
When you bet the house on the Cajun Queen you could lose your life.

Copyright © Mark Massey | Year Posted 2018

Details | Ace In The Hole Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Soda Spot King

sift through the wind
set of course as the Albatross tread
look at the mountains breathless
the sign in the field evokes fear
try to stop the parting tear
all hellos sport a hello or goodbye
clever notion of a soft reply

the wind blows freely upon my face
to behold the nectar smile
the smile of a child
mistakenly kind

the soda spot king
let freedom ring
the passing value
a challenge to be free

burgers and briefs
withstand a brand new leak
the refrigeration wears skin briefs
shallow from each parting eyes

down by the river
I stand as a forgiver
lay low on the acid
shattered dreams captured

love to share through a nursery rhyme
to barricade the mass beholder
just call me late for dinner
Jerry Garcia and an ace in the hole

take you to far off places you need to go
its a hunt between goodness and by
a shortness o breath
trapped through meadows that give hold of its meaning

Barren in fragrance the toast within
hearken on its rush
to parade again with its mockery
I exist as a vapor then I am no more

Copyright © Mario Vitale | Year Posted 2018