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Best Fifty Fifty Poems | Poetry

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Fifty- Fifty At Best by O'Haolin Whalen, David
Fifty Fifty by Alhemaidy, Abdullah
Fifty Fifty Prediction by Schumacker, Earl
Fifty,Fifty by thomas, jada
fifty fifty by Loving III, John

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A Friendly Goodbye

Poem 1: A Boy And His Painted Piano

he used lively greens
tender blues,
touches of plain mauve 
and rainbow trout splatters
to paint music
on the gas fumes 
that inhabited the clean air
that once use to live there.

he made the ugly decaying
neighborhood i lived in
bearable on even the worse of days.

he was the soft harmless rays of a comforting sun
and responsible for the smiles that broke through
the usual dismay on the faces of seven to ten year olds
already sold on the idea their life expectancies  were
somewhere in the low twenties.

life isn't always about the new iPhone being released
he represented hope.
hope that someone could make it out of the sewers and return
to free the whole chain gang presently locked firmly to a large solid steel post.

even in the dingiest basements of the worst streets
somehow, a whiff of hope threads through the tar laden atmosphere 
and children rise above the manhole covers
that would otherwise maim their existence and keep them
buried below the impossible dream. 

luckily there is always a don quixote who sees beyond
the all too real windmill set to blow others away?

Poem 2: A Street Puddle

what story hides
in this street puddle
what do the reflections want to recite.

one broken flower lies on the wet tar.

the wall cracks from the very bottom to the top
sitting there are black boots quivering 
stalked by white boots with their bully badges yelling "comply"
blind to the co-operation to their commands. deaf to pleas of mercy
as black rubbers fall 
as the wall echoes their cries
three boots stand and you wonder where lies that fourth boot.

do the mass boots of all kind even care
black feet walk as their words float
to fill the air drawing on the sky "no justice no peace"!
time passes, deceptive winds clear the atmosphere and...
weeds grow through the concrete to climb the walls
you can see the shadows large against this impromptu screen
and nothing changes. white boots rule.

Poem 3: In The Beginning 

I have always been here.
I was here when you turned the Earth's Stomach.
When it regurgitated your acid tongue
              stripped the land of its roots and nothing grew.

When you thought you could just skate through 
but instead fell through the lake and froze the Planet
from one pole to the next.

When you cheated the Sun of its permanent spot.
Had it not been for romance who placed 
an infinite sparkler in the night sky
who orbited earth barely clad in her white night silk dress
you might of owned time.

I was here
when you flooded the land
but you hadn't counted on 
the amoeba
everything changed and you retreated 
to your original pit of fire.

maybe you could deal in souls
you knew what was coming
when the heavens opened
and released the winged guardians

so here we sit
the best i can hope for is
good and evil
I'll take my chances with those odds.

Poem 4: A Boy And His Wooden Dragon

a detailed wood carving of a dragons bust leads an ancient 
                                                     ship through an unforgiving storm.

if this replica could only breathe fire like the ones in children's tales

         his face is lifelike, ferocious!

one could swear trails of smoke escape from his nostrils,
  i am convinced his eyes are real emeralds.
                          the waves against the metal ship, 
                              the salt that dissolves the rust, 
                                 flows over the dragons neck,
giving one the impression the creature is bleeding.

old wood has no life flow...
                            ...does it?
    no pump to circulate sap
...i'm convinced this inanimate portrayal is leaking vital fluid.

the craftsman's hand has...,
a long shot to say the least...,
given his formation...

can the craftsman's artistic soul be so intense as to breathe 
a half life into his meticulously chiseled creation?
how much power does the real artist?...

on a more practical line of thought,
                                                         will we survive?

"who cares" i think "that decision rests not in my hands."
half cocked 
i foolishly climb the dragons neck.
i remove my shirt to use as a tourniquet.
i apply it to his gushing neck in an attempt to heal him.
the whole time stroking him in a calming manner 

suddenly he releases a breath 
he opens his jaw wide
and exhales fire equal to that of a volcanic eruption.

and just like that 
the storm stops.
the sky flashes his baby blues.

would we make it back to land?
is this just an ironic pause in the inevitable egregious battle yet to come?

time would tell. 
time always tells. 
never trust time with a secret.

                          time would tell
                                      after all
                      that is all we have 
                                  us humans 
                                               and then..

June 2015

Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2015

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The Lonely

Slowly he opened the drawer and looked inside.  Some time had passed since he last gazed upon the cloth that lay there.  Years perhaps.  Yes definitely years.  The blotched rusty brown stains, yellowing its whiteness, spoke of its age.  He reached in and moved the cloth aside. The chalybeous metal gleamed up at him.  The last time he touched it was when he filled it, six chambers, three full, three empty.  Fifty-fifty, why not fill them all?  It would end it so much more quickly.  The pain would be gone.  The loneliness, the ever present deep, aching loneliness would finally end.  He remembered the last time.  So long ago, he had these same feelings.  Feelings that left him doubting his life, doubting his world.  Nothing could stop these feelings as if he was falling into an abyss.  Never ending falling, deeper and deeper until all hope had left him.  The darkness of his own mind blinding him to the beauty around him.  He knew that beauty intimately, the beauty of a shared sunset, a walk on a beach, holding hands and laughing, making love in the grass in a breeze filled meadow, a single fragrant lavender rose, but what good is beauty that can't be shared?  What good is love that no one wants?  Back then there was time.  He didn't want it to end but he saw no way out. The darkness was too deep, the pain too intense.  The loneliness was simply unbearable.  His decision was to leave it to fate.  A fifty-fifty chance, fate, God, luck, call it what you will.  It was of no concern to him.

Whatever it was he was still here, and up until this moment he was glad.  He had found comfort in a warm caring relationship that lasted for years.  He even found happiness, until life intervened and it was ripped away from him.  He thought he had found it anew for a short while before he saw past their lies and felt the pain they caused.  Now time no longer mattered.  The Lonely haunted him again.  That's how he grew to know it, The Lonely.  Always present, always lurking close at hand.  Watching him.  Waiting for its moment, and its moment had finally come again.  He had but one chance left.

A beautiful person had come into his life.  Gentle and kind and full of the wonder that gave him the desire to try again.  A friend, more than a friend to him she was his saviour.  They talked and laughed and grew to know each other.  She  shared herself with him.  Not her body, nor even her love, they were saved for another, but her intimate inner self.  That part of her that was so difficult to share with anyone, even those who were closest to her.  Her true self that resided deep below the superficial face that she shared with the world.  His feelings grew for her and she enjoyed his attention which made him smile for the first time in a very, very long time, but he knew that it was destined to end when she spoke of her dreams and how they would lead her away from him.  He let himself care anyway.  Then it happened once again.  The Lonely stepped in.  He pushed her away because he was broken and he knew it, but then he had always been broken.  With this sweet, caring person that meant so much to him he found he could no longer share his feelings.  She had too much to bare in her own life to worry about shouldering his weight.

So, now, he was here again.  The Lonely pushing deeper and deeper inside of him until he reached into the drawer and hefted the weight of the metal in his hand.  It was heavier than he remembered.  He slowly walked over to his bed and leaned back against it.  His head pressed into the ornamental trim that created depth in the sleigh styled headboard.  The pain went unnoticed.  Slowly he placed the metal between his teeth.  The taste of old cleaning oil danced on his tongue.  For the briefest moment the thought of chipping a tooth flashed through his mind.  It made him chuckle deep down in his gut.  There was no fear.  There was no hesitation.  He allowed himself only an instant of remorse.  He thought about those people who had been important in his life and the beautiful times they had shared until they disappeared.  Then he wondered if they every really cared at all.  His last thoughts were of his special friend, hoping that he had not hurt her like so many had done to him.  Gently he squeezed.
He thought about squeezing again.  End it now!  But, Fate had spoken.  Feeling mildly disappointed he moved his hand to his lap and stared at the instrument that had let him down.  He heard a low laughter develop within him.
"Not so easy to get rid of me," it said.  The Lonely was still there.
He moved from the bed and carefully wrapped it in the cloth and placed it back in the drawer, knowing it was not the last that he would see of it.
His stomach grumbled.  Picking up his keys from the top of the dresser he turned and walked out of the door, mumbling to himself, "I guess it'll be Chinese tonight."


Copyright © James Inman | Year Posted 2017

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The Wishbone

Listen to poem:
break a wishbone you end up with the small half of the split it's suppose to be fifty - fifty odds still we all know a very few of the people a teeny weeny portion of the population own the lion share of all the wealth like bats without radar we fly blind spend our days dreaming of the larger piece of the wishbone here's the rub the turkey's already been skinned clean Mar. 2 2016 armand

Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2016

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Lest we Forget

I remember those days when just a kid,
the old ten shilling note, and the odd quid.*
Teddy boys in their drain pipes, fur collars
smelling of nicotine, street wise scholars.
Conkers,* glass alleys* and comics as well,
bow and arrows, gat* to ring the school bell.
Electric tram, trolley bus and steam train
holidays in Blackpool, not yet in Spain.
Left over stew, dripping dispersed on bread,
a choice of marg or jam, not both was spread.
Roly-poly pud with custard, oh yes
school dinners, oh the ridicule the stress.
Journey in to space radio drama,
while bathing in a tin bath pure karma.
Medicals at school and nit nurses too
combing for the eggs, washing with shampoo.
No drugs, only cigs in small packs of five,
fifty fifty dance halls, old and new thrive.
Outside loo, oh them freezing winter nights
oil lamps, a candle to enhance one’s lights.
High street fish and chip shop charging nine pence,
potato crisps, tab* of salt to dispense.
Tanners,* hape’ny’s* and those threp’ny* bits,
meccano sets, clockwork trains came in kits.
Motorbikes, British pride on just two wheels,
Triumph, BSA, a nation reveals.
Alas long gone these balmy days of laze,
happy to have played a part in this phase!

*Quid::::                        A one pound note (UK)
*Conkers:;;;                   Game played with the fruit of the horse chest nut tree.
*Glass Alleys:::::           A type of Marble for the game of marbles.
*Gat:::::                          A catapult, or slingshot..
*Tab:::                            One brand of crisps in the UK, place a small blue pack of salt in each packet
*Tanners::::                    A sixpenny coin
*Hape’ny’s:::                 A halfpenny coin
*Threp’ny bit:::::           A  Threepenny 12 sided coin, also called Thrupence depending      where one resided in the North of England 

© Harry J Horsman 2012  

Copyright © harry horsman | Year Posted 2012

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Fifty Fifty

I asked my heart
Do you love her?
He says love, help, and save her.
My mind wonders!
After all that!!
All that were fifty-fifty 
My heart replied.

Copyright © Abdullah Alhemaidy | Year Posted 2016

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Love is Like Porcelain

Love is like porcelain
So perfect and smooth
Two sides giving
With so much to lose

Love is like building blocks
Lived day by day
Words can say
But only true hearts display

Love is like porcelain
When cracked can go wrong
Impurities take over
We never sing the same song

Love is like building blocks
By day they reside
If they crumble and fall
Then grows the divide

Love is like porcelain
It has to be lived
Fifty, fifty
Each has to give

Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2010

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Amoroso told is a natural poetry
a natural flow for a good poesy
never will my pen dare write a P
Or any "spoken" it would be heresy

two foes must share one harmony
like black ad white no other fantasy
grey hue is fake not poetic entity
mind and heart both give verity

fifty fifty is what any must get
a body and a soul should merge
random creation is plainly seen
but God's hand has forcibly been

when a part of nature's being
like wind or rain or like heaven
you melt in nature and be part
you are wind you are rain then

you blow you pour and drift
you stream like a theme
of strings from nature woven
like a spirit,a bit of heaven

Copyright © Poetic Flame | Year Posted 2018

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A man's lot

A man's lot is not for a woman to bear,
A man's lot is not for a woman to replace
A man's lot is not for a woman to excuse,
A man's lot is not for a woman to direct,
A man's lot is not for a woman to belittle.
A man's lot is not for a woman to cling to,
A man's lot is not for a woman to pigeonhole.

A woman's lot is not for a man to own,
A woman's lot is not for a man to decide,
A woman's lot is not for a man to discourage,
A woman's lot is not for a man to define,
A woman's lot is not for a man to pity,
A woman's lot is not for a man to despise,
A woman's lot is not for a man to fear.

Nor is it a man or a woman's job to to dictate,
What these lots mean to any one man or woman.
The only thing that should define either role,
Is respect for a choice made freely and willingly,
Without coercion or lack of opportunity,
With passion and love the driving force.

Will making fifty fifty calls, 
For women and Men without passion,
Or love of the choice made in their name,
That makes men ashamed to be men and women ashamed to be women, 
Really be the path to a just society.
Can we not look to the great women of the past who let passion and love,
Be their guide when mountains had to be climbed, men had to be convinced
And social norms ignored.
These trail blazers who were not ashamed of their sex, 
Who fought not to take over but to stand alongside on equal footing.

Will we ever understand that equality equals opportunity?
Opportunity equals progress,
Progress equals commitment,
Commitment equals Love, respect, passion, understanding
Understanding equals lack of shame or guilt about a choice
We should all be free to make by and for ourselves.
Only when we have learned the meaning of these words can we
Hope to one day reach the top of the mountain,
And see what grows where Love and Passion alone are the driving force.

Copyright © David Smith | Year Posted 2018

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I’m not a sweetheart or an angel
I could get really rude
I’m not always in a bright mood
I admit I have a attitude problem
I get easily annoyed 
I always listen to people over you 
And I’m always paranoid…
I get very *****y
And you point out all of these…and I can’t understand why
Cause you’re most defiantly not the good guy
You get mad to quick 
You’re the definition of a Hypocrite 
You can’t keep your hands to your self… nor your eyes 
Which knowing you, shouldn’t be a surprise 
You’re controlling,
I can’t even have a boy as a friend without you knowing
Or going in for no reason
And your mos. def. a great actor 
You had me fooled for a quick minute
I’m glad I never let my guard down for a second
I know I lied about ever loving you
But I never went behind you back and talked to your little cousin
Nigga you were bugging
I don’t know but maybe you think I’m dumb or stupid 
But I’m smart enough not to dare go back out with you 
But its not you nor me...its us
We just can’t be
I can be very *****y
And your just plain crazy
So in conclusion
Don’t try to put it all on me 
Cause it was defiantly 50/50……

Copyright © jada thomas | Year Posted 2013

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Tomorrow You're Getting Married

I wrote this yesterday in anticipation of our granddaughter getting married today. she asked that I not publish it until after the wedding at 7:00 PM today. Well, they got married and now I have been given the green light to post this. I am proudly doing so.

Tomorrow You're Getting Married
(with love to granddaughter Bella)
By Franklin Price

Tomorrow you're getting married
A big step in your life
To the one you've chosen and you love
He your husband you his wife

You will become his partner
In everything you do
A fifty fifty proposition
A new family of two

Some may think you're foolish
That it is a big mistake
It is not their decision 
It is your choice to make

You've considered all the reasons
In your heart knows it's true
That this time is the right time
That this marriage is for you

Sorry we can't be there
But when you say I do
We'll be cheering from the breaking waves
And the sand around you too

We wish you both the very best
Sent from our hearts with love
That you have found true happiness
That you're blessed by God above

Copyright © Franklin Price | Year Posted 2015

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I'm as honest as the day is long which means I'm more honest during the longer days of summer So if I tell you something in the winter Take it with a grain of salt There's a good chance I'm hoodwinking you If you ask me directly, of course I will lie In the middle of the summertime I'll be forced to divulge all my past exploits in lurid detail For I am unable to tell a lie In the spring and fall it's a fifty-fifty proposition Maybe I'm lying, maybe I'm not! Have I totally confused you? I need to go lie down! © Jack Ellison 2015

Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2015

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I am a woman

I am a woman

I’m not fragile 
I’m not made of stone either
I may be likened to a rock
Flesh and blood is all I am

I love completely but I’m not a fool
I protect what is mine but I’m not selfish
I am a woman, a pillar to my family
Man don’t value our role 
They ridicule our femininity	

I suffered dominance in their hands
My femininity they used disadvantageously
My feminine is not a frame for my abilities
I am a woman and I can defy the odds  

Rivalries prominent today shadow my novelty
My God given position does not make me diminutive 
Fifty-fifty rule creates awareness of my capabilities	
Corporate roles outline my abilities 

After all I am a woman
Respect me for what I am
Don’t be intimidated by my achievements
They are not me but my ways to earns meat 

I am a woman

Copyright © Bongani Zungu | Year Posted 2013

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Things Fifty

Fifty Cent, the rapper, sang “Get Rich or Die Tryin’.” Fifty-fifty: half a chance. Over fifty: dyin’! Golden is one's fiftieth anniversary. Soft ****: the "Fifty Shades of Grey" Trilogy. “Fifty Ways to Leave Your Lover,” “Fifty Dead Men Walking,” Fifty stars for fifty nifty states. Time to stop talking! For Shaz Cheesman's "50 Words" Poetry Contest

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2012

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                               >>1111>>MATRIX HIT<<1111<<

                       Simulations within Simulations in a Simulator, 
                                Seem like now rather than later,
                     Listen up to this futuristic narrator, with no flaws
                               He saw the past and future, at last
                                Far out worshiping, no nurturing,
                            Just church flings, with demonic things,
                           Alarms need to ring and bring something!

                                Wrote to her when she was weak, 
                                      On my journey as I seek,
                                    Speaking to her every week,
                                     On a journey, On a journey,
                             Up turning her world into a fake reality, 
                                    Thirty Three is their window,
                                   Take Artillery in this Instance,
                          Having persistence, since witnessed activity,
                                        On the fifty fifty grind, 
                                       Switch it up and rewind,
                                         A switched on mind,
                                         Sound story rhymes!

                           Near the time, the mind, rhyme, you find,
                             Where the blind hide in fear, But Dear
                              Sir with a blur who can’t find a cure,
                           I’m furious in this! It’s been this, Twisted!
                                      But now word Notorious, 
                                Shout outs to the Glorious Advice,
                                             I roll the dice,
                                               I’m Tricks,
                                            With Morpheus,
                                         I’m that MATRIX HIT.

                               >>1111>>Quincy Mac<<1111<<

date written: 26.11.2015

Copyright © Quincy Mac | Year Posted 2015

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Quietly the disease crept into the family. Away from home for the first time and far from her mother’s cautioning words, she fell in love with and married her college sweetheart. He had told her of the mysterious disease from which his mother had died when he and his twin brother were very young. Alarmed, the bride’s mother researched the disease once know as Huntington’s Chorea, now simply as Huntington’s. What she read terrified her. Their little girl weighed a mere three pounds at birth and after reaching five pounds went home to their loving and tender care. She was a beautiful and strong child until after her sixth birthday when she started exhibiting disturbing symptoms. The doctors denied their fears. This inherited disease does not show its dreaded presence until adulthood. She was an exception. By this time, her father’s sister had been diagnosed with the disease. He also had a twin brother and along with a sister who died at birth, that made four children born to this unlucky carrier. The chances are fifty/fifty that a child of a parent with the disease will inherit it. In this case eventually, every sibling succumbed to the horror. The only good thing about this terrible affliction is that if a child of a Huntington patient escapes, all of his descendants are safe. It does not skip generations and it cannot be passed on by anyone but a parent. This child’s disease progressed rapidly. She went from a bright, articulate, happy youngster to a voiceless, chair-bound invalid in a few short years. At eleven and some months she died in her sleep. Her lungs had simply forgotten to function and she stopped breathing. ------December 10, 2011 Won No. 4 Huntington's is one of those fairly rare genetic diseases that is not well funded and researched as are the the more prevalent diseases. It should be. This is one of the most terrible afflictions known to man and its victims are helpless. There was one other granchild in the family. He too died of Huntington's in early adulthood. It had rampaged through the family and had now destroyed itself. Both the family and the disease had come to an end.

Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2011

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fifty fifty

touching someone 
that is the key
touching someone
is the key to me
to lean on my shoulder
as you did yesterday
yes, i am sure
that this is the way
for me to reach 
for your hand
and you to grasp mine
to me that is to have
a little more of you
it is more than your hand
but part of your soul
i hold it as if it were pure gold
the story that is told
is poetry in motion
as lovers unfold
and enclose their notions
anytime anywhere
you know i'll be there
kind of devotion
each one knowing 
what the other would do
run to me as i run to you
be with me as i am with you
reach for me as i reach back
nothing on this earth
can ever beat that

Copyright © John Loving III | Year Posted 2012

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Amoroso told is a natural poetry
a natural flow for a good poesy
never will my pen dare write a P
Or any "spoken" it would be heresy

two foes must share one harmony
like black ad white no other fantasy
grey hue is fake not poetic entity
mind and heart both give verity

fifty fifty is what any must get
a body and a soul should merge
random creation is plainly seen
but God's hand has forcibly been

when a part of nature's being
like wind or rain or like heaven
you melt in nature and be part
you are wind you are rain then

you blow you pour and drift
you stream like a theme
of strings from nature woven
like a spirit,a bit of heaven

Copyright © Poetic Flame | Year Posted 2015

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Turnabout is Fair Play - Getting Away with Murder

The guy she hired to do me in,
unbeknownst to her,
was one of the blokes on Friday nights
with whom I played poker.

All this time she thought I lied
and was having a sordid affair,
because I didn’t tell her with whom I played
or even let her know where.

My secret was, they were all convicts
from an earlier part of my life;
back when I was a different sort
than the one now known by my wife.

He said he ‘bout laughed when first he learned
the identity of the guy she wanted to kill;
“Imagine”, he said, “She thought a turd like you,
could even find another dumb girl!”

“Well, if she wants me dead
who am I, to stop her from getting her wish?
Just tell her that you did me in 
and now I sleep with the fish.”

I gave him my wallet and my wrist watch
to give to her as proof;
Then I laid low and stayed out of sight
not telling anyone the truth.

The police case closed; the insurance settled –
a service was held for me;
The would be killer collected his fee
and we split it fifty-fifty.

Then late one night I snuck in her room
to even up the score;
a noise woke her up; she caught a glimpse of me
and fainted to the floor.

The suicide note was full of pain
and sorrow for her husband who died;
I swear I wrote it so passionately 
it nearly made me cry.

You can’t be murdered by a man who is dead
so no one suspected my crime;
and now I live in the Florida Keys
having a wonderful time.

by Joe Flach, written and posted on 10/6/11 for the "Getting Away With Murder" contest.

Copyright © Joe Flach | Year Posted 2011

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One Out of Six

Who among you is brave enough
(or dumb enough)
to take the challenge
Bet your life to beat the odds ...
One out of six
Load the chamber with one bullet,
spin the cylinder, 
spin it good
Place the wager with a reputable bookie
Everybody’s dying to see you lose,
so take your pick ...
One out of six
The odds just got narrowed five fold
Are you still in,
how bad do you wanna win?
Up the ante,
you tell the gore seekers looking in ...
One out of five
Again you made it out alive,
but the odds just got shaved that much more
Now the empty chambers are down past four
Any stout souls still wanna place another bet,
up the vig ... get the payoff set
You don’t care much about living or dying right now
The only thing you wanna see is the chambers spin,
you got a death wish to win ...
One out of four
Everybody’s now getting spooked,
they think you got the devil on your side
They are so afraid of you:
after you slammed the gun down,
and said let the money ride
Wager board says the odds are now cut in half,
there’s so much cash in the pot
The whole crowd is wondering,
are you insane enough to take another shot
Thick suspense is suffocating them ...
One out of three
You’re walking past the graveyard 
with a wicked smile now
Sheer luck that you still got 
your brains intact somehow
Now it’s a fifty fifty
hot spin of the chamber wheel
There are only two open holes,
two more chances to seal the deal
So many done cut their losses
and got out of the game
Russian roulette makes mice out of men,
thus it was given a most death-defying name
Somebody still wanna see you die,
and are willing to walk away flat broke
You raise the stakes so high,
as you take a final cigarette smoke
Light is the gun in your hand,
heavy is the tension in the room
The spinning cylinder seems to 
turn forever
When it stops, you press the gun to your head ...
One out of two
Everybody thinks you’re dead
But there’s a fluke chamber backfire,
and you’re still alive instead
You can’t hear yourself think
from the raucous roar of the din
Everybody’s looking at you like you’re Lazarus 
coming back from the dead again
Quickly there’s a hush
as the house does an inspect reset
You gather your courage once more,
and greatly up the bet
Only one person wants to challenge you,
to put their money where their mouth is
You down a couple of whiskey shots,
and give a nod to a wide-eyed teenage kid
As the spinning chambers come to a revolving stop,
you see dark visions of your gamble plagued life
You see everything you ever did that wasn’t right,
as you squeeze the trigger, 
you look into the bright ceiling light ...
One out of two
There’s one final spin left to take,
but nobody got enough money to make you quake
Nobody can make you put that gun to your head again,
nobody can force you to take that final, fatal spin
You breathe a sobering sigh of relief;
and collect your earnings,
giving an unaccustomed heavenly thank you 
While everyone leaves out,
some muttering: lucky bastard, who knew?
You start your new life on borrowed time,
vowing that your gambling days are through
It would appear the odds are now favoring you 

Copyright © Freddie Robinson Jr. | Year Posted 2017

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Hail to the Dragon Slayers

We know we are right and we will fight
If you dare appose us we will bite
When good doers think they have a chance
We take their idea and we do the dance
We are the law that makes the choice
And no one can keep their face in a good poise
Because we will smack them with a hammer
As we see them we will make them stammer
Just because we are justice
And we try to do some odd practice
Now we will get back on track
We the people take charge and attack
Wait, what are we attacking? the people that are not right
Oh! thats just my brothers and sisters oh! they are a sight
Now look here, we, we the people makes laws
It doesn't matter how many people open their jaws
I'm all confused, we are the people, did we not choose?
We are, but certain people are just to loose

Fine, this is what the new law we want to appose
Why? because we are confused about what we chose
Using we as a word is to many
It takes all of us even granny
So this is what we want to do, is put I and you separate
And the other that we are to choose to elaborate
I am going to say this, we are to many individuals
So we separate the ones who are good doers
That does not make sense
To put all the yous and I's in a group, it's just dense
Are you with me? no I am with myself in this
I am going to rub it in your face and be in a bliss
So I will do the justice myself, and you has decide to disobey
This is what I mean to do, and it will be O.K.
Debating myself is some what kinda weird
You need to be by my side because we make choices better
So this time you and I will just make justice a letter

The clue is what we do that is some what true
It's funny when words play a game to argue the virtue
When I mean I, I mean I, and when I say you, it is you
When I say we, it is us, and that is what my argument is all about, too.
Fifty, fifty is what the Dragon Slayer is saying, it becomes no greater nor smaller
We are all at fault and our decisions that we have made is for all of us to stand taller
Even when it is wrong and we do things to put down the strong
And our arguments become pointless and long
Our justice is when we started to put it on paper and making it a law that stand
So all of us, in the long run will simply decide to band

Copyright © Reynaldo Mast | Year Posted 2013

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Keep Walking

One two three four
Skip through the  door
Five six seven eight
Chin up keep that  back   straight
Nine ten eleven twelve
Go on you’ll feel  good about yourself 
Thirteen fourteen fifteen sixteen
Breathe in deeply pace your steps
Seventeen eighteen nineteen twenty
Brisk walk inhale deeply
Twenty-one twenty-two twenty-three twenty four
Straighten that back a little more
Twenty-five twenty-six twenty-seven twenty-eight
Come on hold that back up straight
Twenty-nine thirty thirty-one thirty-two
The legs are aching what to do
 thirty- three thirty-four thirty-five thirty-six
now  you feel a little stiff
thirty-seven thirty-eight thirty-nine forty
girl you sure look rather sporty
forty-one forty-two forty-three forty-four
think you can do a wee bit more
forty-five forty-six forty-seven forty-eight
boy  you’re  sure bent out of shape
forty-nine .fifty fifty-one fifty-two
 Sorry folks... but that’s  all  I can do at  sixty-two.

Copyright © Margaret Okubo | Year Posted 2007

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Society Cherished Child

When does a child become society’s child?
Some children are forced out of being children
Some are put back into children mode which is hard 
The fact that this happens is because of parents not thinking
The parents either separated, divorce, or worst case died
When a child is faced with this it is hardship it can’t recognize
When a child either lost or got separated from parents, why?
That’s when society takes the child and moves them
But at that moment of time the child does not understand
Children are forced to rely on their own thoughts and Idea
Which is very young and not as factual, but they still know
The child has to grow up fast, its just nature its protection
The growth of emotion excels beyond a child that has parents
The point that I am making is that the child needs the adult
The symbolic of guardian, safe, reliable, kind, lovable, informational
The problem I am going to explain is that it is not always there
Children that grow fast, has fifty, fifty chance of growing normal
But adults are to blame after taking this chance of mentoring
Sometimes the adult belief is that they are too young to know
But it’s not that, the problem is growth of emotion and idea
Without limitation that they can see in front of them
Children out grow their physical body in mentality
Parents is the key to limiting the emotional growth of a child
There is no doubt that fostering and adoption has been great
But this does not solve all the pain and sorrow that the child has
It is bottled in there soul, I do not know how to heal that yet
But in theory loving them and showing them gentleness 
Is what they need, but Society does not have room some times
Because of this children that has parents still have problem
It’s needs to be known that parents should even go to classes
To have a child is to have knowledge of the child expectations
Society gives lots to parents that need it, but they need education
If a person wants a child they should at least go to class 
Once or twice a year to see what motivates them to have the child
It is not always money; it is friendship, love, care, and the need
 Humanity is always looking to get closer to each other
This includes children who do not have parents, singled out 
Society is made of people and people who do not have a child
Well, they should be able to foster one or adopt. 

Copyright © Reynaldo Mast | Year Posted 2015

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Bullet For My Valentine ~Russian Roulette~

Love is a fifty fifty chance
A coin toss
Either we make it
Or we don’t.

It’s a game of Russian roulette
There will be a time when one of us will get hurt
Someone will eventually be burned
With a fire that can’t be extinguished.

It’s a game of luck
And luck does not fall on my side
This will not end well
So it might as well end for me
To save you from the pain.

I’ll fake a smile
So you won’t be worried
Although you should be relieved
I’m the one who should be crying
I’m the one…
Who deserves to die.

Everything else fades away into the black
Leaving only you and I
Oh how I wish this moment could last for a lifetime
But even this, my dear, even this will fade
And I will fall from this heavenly cloud
Without anyone to catch me.

I’d rather it be me instead
I cringe at the thought of you
I’m of little importance
No one would cry
No one would think much of it
Just go on with their lives
Yes I’m glad it was me instead of you
Because watching you die
Now that’s one thing I couldn’t do.

I told you “I love you”
Now I must eat those words
They are a poison
Killing you so
I must suck this poison out in order to keep you alive
These words are bitter
They are hard to swallow
The taste won’t soon leave my tongue
But better me than you.

I won’t forget you
I couldn’t if I tried
I’ll remember you to eternity
My only wish
Is that you could forget me
Forget the pain
Forget the tears
Forget the love
My dear please forget me.

I don’t regret anything
I don’t regret falling in love with you
And I don’t regret taking love’s bullet for you
I’m glad it was me instead of you
Because watching you die
Now that’s one thing I couldn’t do

Copyright © Amanda Sullivan | Year Posted 2010

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Is It Just Me

think that
the chances of 
putting in a USB the
wrong way round would be
fifty-fifty; but it rarely ever is,
my research says easily ninety-ten

Copyright © Bill Lindsay | Year Posted 2015

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Big ol Billy

Big ol Billy Near old Dirran, on the river, an old time pub had its day. .. Billy Richards was the owner, had a rupture so they say. .. There he sold the watered whisky and the rum to all who'd pay... Earned a quid and made a nest egg till the Murrays' came his way. .. Sitting on his front verandah chanting calling laughing low, .."Big ol Billy, Big ol Billy," soon the rum began to flow. .. So enlarged was Billy's rupture, so apparent his dismay, .. every time the chanting started, fiery rum, he'd have to pay... In the early nineteen hundreds medicine was touch and go, ... poisons nasty, drugs so deadly, all were used by the medico... Not the knife for Big ol Billy, fifty fifty die that way. .. Better get another keg, stop the Murray's chanting, hey? ... The Murray's were Aboriginal people living on the Murray river.near the south west Queensland town of Dirranbandi. Sponsor Brian Strand Contest Name 1-14 any theme /form max 14 LINES

Copyright © DON JOHNSON | Year Posted 2011