Best Double Crossing Poems
What underhanded monkey business
razzle-dazzle bull is this?
Whose double-crossing, flimflam scam,
debauchery or hocus sham
is wheeling dealing in romance,
putting lovers in a trance?
Antics, capers or witch's brew,
enchanting hymns or shaman's stew,
whose quackery or voodoo drink
made Casanova stop and think
and turned the ancient lovers cold;
poor Romeo and nymphs of old?
Perhaps black magic's potent gel,
or craftiness or wicked spell,
a clever con or master hoax,
or just some trickster playing jokes.
Whatever ruse that works the arts,
mumbo jumbo seduces hearts!
She glides out of the room on tiptoe,
As graceful as a sinuous ballet,
Sliding past sad memories that flow,
Staring, scowling eyes upon her still prey.
As graceful as a sinuous ballet,
Stealthily steadfast, slipping slowly,
Staring, scowling eyes upon her still prey,
She’s ready to strike bloodthirstily.
Stealthily steadfast, slipping slowly,
Marked double-crossing husband might have guessed,
She’s ready to strike bloodthirstily,
As he unwittingly lies down to rest.
Marked double-crossing husband might have guessed,
Slithering snakelike, it’s his scornful wife,
As he unwittingly lies down to rest,
She swoops in silently with sharpened knife.
Like a surgeon’s slash it’s very precise,
Sliding past sad memories that flow,
With bloodied knife in hand, it’s once, twice, thrice,
She glides out of the room on tiptoe.
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.
I Love This!!
From Ghost with Patrick Swazey, Whoopi Goldberg, and Demi Moore
Patrick is a ghost and is after his best friend that had him killed..
Call it just deserts or poetic justice; Patrick figures out how to get revenge on his best friend
turned betrayer, thief and murderer. His best friend's cronies come looking for their money
and he does not have it due to Patrick double crossing him out of the money, earlier. His
murderer is killed and lying dead in the street when hades opens up before Patrick's eyes and
releases demons to take him kicking and screaming to hades.
After hades captures his prey, a bright light from heaven opens the portal to carry Patrick to
his eternal rest on high.
For the best movie scene contest.
The bleached bones of man
Lie upon the lifeless sand
Times immortal sound of silence
In the deep hollow of the multitude of silent screams
Walled between the fable and songs of truth
We find ourselves in dreams that manifest
Sheltering the darkness that hides us
Moving us along in our naked light
Illuminating the path to the meaningless
Isolated in our apathy holding our breath
Unfaithful to the emergence of life
Yet double-crossing the delay of death
Hear my words that I might teach you
Plant the vision of those who dared to be
Speak so that I might reach you
Longing to awaken holding your eyes upward
Striking out above the clouds of neon lights
To touch the sky and feel the rain looking for the words
That rise and soar above the echoed roar
Within the narrow streets of indifference
The bleached bones of man
Lie upon the lifeless sand
Times immortal sound of silence
July 30, 2019
This ain't your depiction of forever
Actions confined by my feelings
Far from foreboding, distemper, fear, and double crossing you know all to well
Unsettled questions wielding a sword of ignorance
Lost dreams lifting your shield protecting
Me from me
You from me
Sorry
A meaningless word attempting to heal deep gashes
You see it regardless of you dismay
Hence your patterened placement of me in your garden laid low
Fighting myself choking on staged complacency.
Ripping up your flowers you place me back only because I equally destroyed your weeds
Sorry
A weak word in attempt to replant.
My pain creating naivness ignorantly asking you to be a superhuman driven by self hatred and a future unseen
Hoggish
My pain asking you to cherish my highs as repite for the dirtiest darkest lows
Sorry
and a weak thank you means nothing.
Only a sad acknowledgment to imprisioning you as my mortal soldier.
smiling from within the waters
compassionate
undertow
my faceless energy free from
physical form...
i make music with the universe
one verse after another...
my instrument (illuminated)
just so happens to be Caramelized Sunbows
spraying origami orchestrated laughter
like mint-chocolate confetti...
swaying so sweetly
merging with the insight
from the Great Pastel Owl
donning butterscotch blues
swirled in powder greygreens
he resides on the 7th Ring of Saturn
which has taken a sad turn
setting in motion emotions candlestick
to be lit upon stigmas wick
protruding out of the flowering ocean
blooming on peddaling petals of purification...
reuniting my Soul with my Spirit
amongst the Autumn's animated driftwood narration
read by death and every double-crossing decision
consuming infinities enchanted eternity...
embracing the rest
covered and kept safe under a layer of Wisdom's Blanket
learning...
dancing to the rhythym of the Crimson Cromlech Tapestry
of duct-taped waves
crashing
against the ululating glimpses that
Reflect
Reflections Reflecting
Reflectively Reflected
breaths
breathing
in inkchiseled messages
with Poetically Penned Piercing Points...
POINTING * TO THE TRUTH...
now
the fact of the matter
as a matter of fact
it's a matter of right and wrong
heard through the lies is a herd of hummingbirdsongs
singing in soft sneezes spreading seeds
growing into symphonies of supernovas
any Solar System would be awestruck by
shedding tears that can buy
every single good-bye
pleasent dreams...
because a brave dog once said "Good-byes don't last forever"
HOWEVER forever is clever beyond starscorched weather
NOW
whether or not
this knot gets untied (which it will)
for it's the Creators Will
AYE
I am the Eye of the Storm
sent to warn us with a scent worn
in the waxed seal...
written from the isle of Paradise...
*Quote from "All Dogs Go To Heaven"*
This husband is double-crossing his wife and she is suspicious
That her ‘for better, for worse’ trusted husband is promiscuous
He is called before the gods of verdict and fate: some court session
To make him affirm before these gods: indeed a serious procession
She made him say that she was the only woman he was seeing
And only and only her, the suspicious wife, was that human being
The suspicious wife asked: “Am I the only woman you are seeing?”
The cheating man said: “Yes. You are the only woman I am seeing.”
“And swear by your soul that I am the only woman you are seeing”
“And I swear by my soul that you are the only woman I am seeing”
“And say I hope to die if you’re not the only woman I am seeing”
“And I hope to die if you are not the only woman I am seeing”
The woman lets out a sigh of relief and content for her bold attempt
The man chuckles ‘how many women am I seeing here?’ with contempt
And the gods of verdict and fate look at each other, powerlessly
For the promiscuous husband has answered so fine and faultlessly.
The stories they wrote are long gone.
Some hearts will never call to mind the rules,
while others know nothing of their existence.
Twelve, the chosen,
but few told the story of redemption;
they forfeited common lives for the sacrifice.
In the place of the devil’s seat …
some device deceptions
and think to change the principles,
as Daniel predicted.
He sits as God, the holy father,
with endowed permission
to pardon transgression
and chastise the guilty;
the son of perdition he is, her chosen.
A woman riding high on the back of a beast;
a wife, double-crossing her husband.
Solemn voices seek her guidance.
She is a mother, a mother of gods.
She makes war with the blameless,
and wore-out the people.
Her path is an illusion of peace.
A child was born of her;
he claimed himself a prophet,
making Gabriel a liar and an accomplice.
In his spirit, they destroy the people
and the rules of the book.
He took their God, and makes him demented.
He offered rewards in God’s new name saying,
“Hunt for the infidels the world over;
make war with them,
be relentless”
Don’t pardon those demockratory quips,
them dishonest mistakes
Unless you love
walking thru a field of verbal cow chips
Beware! Aye lips very often halitosis snip
Here is a rue unpardonable exit tip:
Brown nose aroma
is blew gaslight, pig methane lit lisp
Klepto kaboom air be a dung hole whiny dip
Oink noise travels so muddy morals quick —
Laundered money echoes
radar register as a bat crazy, bombast blip
Motives contraire is err bound on a paper ego trip
‘Nocchio utterances are devious windbag equipped
These long nostril tones
fill vacuous space ‘tween the ears with jingle plastic
Pirate gasp fares exorbitantly moves the coin traffic
Oval thought bubbles have a carny bark grip:
Pilfer adorn pox troubles
will make you covid yourself
Verbal Bent ain’t nothing but a Fraudian slip
Rublecon double crossing share of blowback scrip
Usual Suspects don’t racket give a rap sheet rip
Plunder cover blown,
toothy alibis and enamel lies on a tear telly drip
Mice despair got toilet sold for crooked flush catnip
Cheshire cries steal boo hearts trending fear obit
As the covetous pleas
of pickpocket thieves
Take the vault temple with moneychanger surfeit
Esther sings
Through an overbite smile
Each quivering note
Cut
Into precious stones
That ripple the audible calm
Staccato stones
Skipping in the wake
Of
The coarsing passage
Those double crossing blues
Did lay
Pauper to grave
But her quivering stones
Ripple through ardent ears
Double crossing
The passage
Of time.
like the spokes of a wheel
giving
an illusion
of reverse movement,
playing wicked tricks
on sound minds,
telling blatant white lies
to eyes wide open,
nothing Is what It seems...
in this nihilistically dark,
violent, cynical world
of immoral men, dames
and double-crossing femme-fatales.
a gloomy underbelly where
all are lost in a blinding fog
of bewildering mystery
and treachery;
where a plethora of vices
and corruption hold sway,
where danger and pessimism
lurk in the shadows...
and nothing
is what it seems;
this cold, dark world,
seen in film noir.
Your Selection Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
Date written: 01/23/23
You would understand,
if you could see through my eyes,
why I have the fact
of hate and despise.
Through the days of time,
praying to God instead of shrines.
Deep, dark secrets going through my mind
so dreadful, I wish I could leave them behind.
From time to time
wishing I was never here;
Watching my back
from all these double-crossing peers.
Always smiling
in someone's face,
while underneath
I look with disgrace.
All this pressure placed upon me
like the great walls of the sea;
Please, Lord, lift my soul
so I can be with thee.
And if I could save myself from this hurtful state,
I would fly away to a much safer place.
A place like the heavenly gates,
where all God's love would erase my hate.
And please, Lord, don't let it be too late--
because all I want is to be
without hate in my heart--
for goodness sake.
Inspired by "Double Crossing Time" sung by Joe Bonamassa
Some think they can cheat time.
They’re crazy as can be.
For in this world it’s only time
practicing equality.
The minutes and the hours
in everybody’s day
cannot be added or subtracted.
Time you can’t betray.
Perhaps you might extend it
and even have long life,
but death still comes and takes you,
and life still brings you strife.
Some might cut their own life short,
but time goes on….. tick tock
There is no kindness in the face
of a ticking clock.
I’ll just sit and sing the blues
as time moves ever on.
One day I will be here,
but the next day I’ll be gone.
May 28, 2023
For Joe Bonamassa British Blues Explosion Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Robert James Liguori
poets are the world's best
the best writers of good dreams
dream good for the world
highest lies' tellers
politicians of the world
play double crossing