Best Las Poems
On the streets of sin city, on the high roller's main drag,
Known as the Las Vegas Strip, a gentlemen phantom
Does stroll dressed in all black attire, striding forth with his golden Cain,
Flipping a silver chip into the air, and mocking at its power.
The devil's agent of deception is he, retaining a list of names
To collect upon, this gentlemen bandit of the forsaken.
He is here on the dark master’s behalf, ready to claim on
The I.O.U's signed by the greedy, and innocence fallen.
Quietly, moving amongst the crowded venues, he waits
Until his lord calls the name of the unlucky, to be reposed.
Dance do the neon lights, flashing towards pleasure dens of iniquity,
As ladies whom belong unto the night itself, offer their
Tokens of favor, for a working man's paycheck.
Black jacks twenty-one, cut those cards, and pass them out
The first timers dumb luck, will deliver him unto evil,
On this walkers dead man's list tonight.
Against the loaded dice, no soul is left unsanctified,
On the sacred green velvet altar, the wheel of fortune
Spins out of control, then hitting the baccarat tables
Wooden wall, someone screams snake eyes.
Then all is lost, faded are the dreams of illusion, melting away
Into the harsh desert soil, along the road side leading to sin city.
Beneath the arid sandy duns, lies the grave yard
Of the unknown unidentified, a missing persons
Smorgasbord of the rich and infamous, lying right
Beside, the unreported poor man corpse.
This is the Grim Reapers play ground, taunting
And tormenting, those begging for redemptions
Last chance to gain a reprieves pardon.
But when tapped by his golden cain of death,
Your life's essence has wagered it's last bet,
To the winner goes the spoils, and now you
Belong unto the devil.
People say what happens in Vegas stays
There, and rightly so will he agree, with his blackened
Heart and soul, for after all is this not
The capital of hell on earth, known as
Sin City, Las Vegas, Nevada.
The populations of the undead just added
Another’s names tally and the gentlemen
Dressed all in black, is sent a wandering
Again amongst the crowed streets, to claim
Another victim in the dark master’s wrath of
Vengeance.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Am Fuße der Berge
Versteckt sich ein enges Tal
Im Schatten der Gipfel
Annemonenblüten im frischen Gras
Erste zarte Boten des Frühlings
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At the foot of the mountains
Hides a narrow valley
In the shadow of the summits
Flowers of anemones on fresh tender grass
The first messengers of spring
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A los pies de las montañas
Se esconde un estrecho valle
En la sombra de los picos
Flores de anémonas en la fresca hierba
Primeros mensajeros de la primavera
Our Las Vegas Wedding ( For My Love)
As our feet finally touch down on safe terra firma
Thoughts of our marriage could not be further
Jet lagged and weary
In a strange foreign land
From our port hole window
Bright lights...rock silhouette,
Darkness disguising its sand.
Overwhelmed and exhausted
Blackpool times a million is the feeling i get
As we step into the terminal,
From our large jumbo jet.
First sound we hear is the jingles of fruit machines
Welcoming you to Vegas
Its not all that it seems!
Just a teaser...a taster...a hint if you will
A fantasy land to the tourists,
A slave to the dollar bill
My comparisons to a large Blackpool
Could not be further from the truth
As we stand dumbfounded and wowed by its majestic proof!
The reason for our visit is our imminent marriage
As we wait nervously for our luxury carriage
Wee Kirk of the Heather Chapel is our quaint destination,
Chosen for Scottish links
To be the venue of our elation!
My mind is awash with mistakes i may make
A dropped ring or a kiss the wrong way
My bride smiles and reassures me....she feels the same way!
Standing at the altar..as chapel door opens
My beautiful bride in blue appears
My heart starts to race as i choke back a tear
Soon we unite at the head of the alter
Its now that i realise this is natural
Im calm, i will not falter!
Preliminary vows are read by the Minister
Uniting our vows
To pronounce us Mrs and Mr
Our evident relief
As we walk from the chapel
Hand in hand to the flash of the camera
We kiss on the boulevard to start a new chapter in our life
So here's to our future,
And did i mention....My beautiful wife!
Copyright
S Rose
With an oxymoron for a title
It would seem my poem should be over
And in fact I guess it nearly is.
City built at Hell’s very door
Sell your future for a thrill ride
‘At least I know where I’m going,’
Some might say,
‘What could be more horrific than Paradise?’
‘Death on a cross, proof of God’s love?’
‘Maybe my dad wasn’t that bad?’
‘I could run away from him!’
God’s Love Equals Martyrdom,
That should sell like hot cakes!
Safe in Las Vegas, how is that again?
What might it be you really are safe from?
Earthquakes seem likely, knees are knocking
Disasters on steroids temporarily on pause.
Losers spend money like water,
But Las Vegas itself has none
Aquifers parched as the desert above.
Dollars pass for toilet paper in this town
Time is such a sad story here
Like life itself having no value,
Wheels always spinning their lies
Really you still feel safe here?
Plastic is the only way to know I AM.
Brian Johnston
June 6, 2015
Oh ...
The flesh and families
That bullets rend ...
Much deeper wounds
To souls, don't mend.
How can we hope
To end the strife ...
If monsters spurn
The worth of life?
How do we solve
A madness sown ...
When evil's face
Is like our own?
How can our kids
Thus reconcile
When closet beasts
Now wear a smile?
Thus once again
we quell their fears,
And wash the blood
With senseless tears.
We went to Las Vegas for the very first time,
My husband, father in law, and I all partners in crime.
Each of us brought $500 to spend.
We hoped it would last through the week's end.
I was itching to try my hand at slots,
While they hit the tables like a couple of hot shots.
My plan was to keep any winnings I won,
And if I lost, I would be done.
We had a grand old time for that week,
Hoping we would hit a lucky streak.
We went to Hoover Dam, casinos, and shows.
Sin City was an exciting place that never closed.
So far my luck on the slots was pretty good,
But nothing earth-shattering like I thought it would.
Not feeling well, one day I stayed behind in our suite,
While they went to a Holyfield fight, a real treat.
Later I decided to go downstairs to get a snack,
And saw a slot machine calling me, “Please come back.”
So I sat down at this double diamond slot to play,
When all hell broke loose, with money hitting the tray.
I had hit the lucky seven double diamonds.
With only two coins, it was auspicious timing.
My eyes were as big as saucers in shock.
My heart was beating loudly, as people gathered to gawk.
The ringing was deafening in my ears,
As I waited for the management to pay me amidst cheers.
My jackpot was $3200 after Uncle Sam’s portion.
I headed back to my room after the stupendous commotion.
I spread the hundred dollar bills all over the bed in anticipation
To see my family’s reaction upon return, and their exclamation.
When Dave and Frank walked into the room, they stopped in flabbergast.
The sight of the money on the bed almost gave them a heart attack.
It was as much fun seeing their shocked expressions,
As it was hitting the lucky sevens in succession.
“I thought you were sick,” my husband said in shock.
I replied, ”Well I had to get something to eat, and I played a slot.”
The rest of the trip I still won a few more bucks.
Even at the airport I won $200 with unexplainable luck.
Dave and Frank played hard, but were going home bust.
But I was going home a winner, which satisfied my wanderlust!
Designed for spending money,
It's devoid of any soul.
Gamble, smoke and guzzle,
For depravity's the goal.
Flash and glitz and dazzle,
Fancy stores with no one buying;
Mothers dragging babies late at night
In strollers, crying.
Eiffel Tower, Pyramid,
Volcano timed to quake;
Flower carousel and Brooklyn Bridge -
And all are fake.
Even the reality's
Designed to blow your mind -
Fountains and flamingos,
Tanks with fish of every kind.
Once a lifetime's quite enough
To take in all the hype.
A million cities beckon -
All, I'm certain, more my type.
Las Vegas, big win. The coins are flying.
Casino is broke. Heart attacks. Someone's dying.
On Power Plant two teenagers were playing.
With buttons and wires, just pushing and cutting ;-D
LAS NAVES DE MEDERA (Wooden Ships)
They wanted ships. What they got
was wooden shells
not a farthing from the Crown
for these floating buckets.
Six thousand corks, hastily riveted
into the keel planking, kept them afloat.
Nina. Santa Maria. Pinta.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained said Isabella.
Ah, muchacho, would she ever cash in.
The navigater shot the course
over the main, visions of tapestry and lace
and all sorts of spices in his head.
Gold? Well--Sí, oro.
But he never dreamed.
The natives appeared naked and restless.
In scatted shades of blues and reds,
artists painted skirts on the girls,
long shirts on the old women,
loincloth on the men,
and a pearl studded gilded robe on the king.
Which Chris promptly stole.
His mistake was trying to hide it
from Isabella.
© ron wilson arbuthnot
aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
McRaccoon had a plan to steal again… He would usurp all the theatrical arts.
No holding back, mind running high on ambition, he’d rule Vegas, from the start.
He would dominate Sigfrid and Roy, with only a plan and his illustrious, smarts.
But he needed our help… Did we dare help out? Or would he break our hearts?
When we heard the plan… We cheered him on…He really was so very amazing!
Riding high on a dream… He could win with his scheme, and the right connections.
So GrandFather Troll, made a quick call… to Norway… and all of his relations!
After a time, deals were struck; contracts were signed…yes, for use of their dragons!
Now, backers were found, financing his show, with first pick on the strip, as a bonus.
We couldn’t believe, what we were about to see, Dragons were coming to Vegas!
For a year and a day, he’d have his own way, but, naturally, we’d monitor his boldness.
After all, they had to get here, without incident, so preparations had to be flawless!
Publicity well known, and security in place, MCRac rode into Vegas on the dragons.
He and the Trolls set the dragons down, amid applause, and yes, jets circling above us.
The President, allowed nothing less, to protect his people, he admitted to being cautious.
Instead of danger, found… the dragons allowed everyone to touch them, in celebration.
The Trolls were there, to make sure everything went well, as Hollywood bowed asunder.
And McRac, signed autographs, with a shortened new name more befitting, his grandeur.
Finally, everyone won, McRac was set for years, and our worries, had been unfounded.
The dragons, you know, are now publicity hogs, and frolicking, so don’t miss the shows.
Our actor Trolls, who flew in with McRac, are the hit of the strip, in their very own show.
And guess who’s got the best seats in both the theatres?
To Sigfrid and Roy: your show must go on. But, if you can’t beat us… come… join us!
And to all else, I’ll be home, at Troll Lake… as will the rest… sooner or later.
Endless Indian summers were spent in his embrace,
the only time as a child that I remember feeling safe
though the danger lurked mere bottles away.
I have only seen the sea with a child's eyes, but
I remember the waves that hit the tawny Corpus sand
and washed over us as we ran to shore.
This was where he took us
to escape from the heat of Dallas,
to escape the demons in his mind,
and I haven't once returned. Perhaps it is
fear holding me back, or knowing that I
can never re-visit a memory.
I often picture him, our footsteps etched
into the earth, the way the light
hit the water and reflected off
my tiny pink bathing suit,
the way his arms carried me to the surface,
arms that held me, strong.
Perhaps this was why Grandma saw something in me,
and she would beg me to beg him.
Maybe I could be the toughest of them all,
me, tiny as a thought.
She wanted me to swallow his addiction whole,
be his saving grace,
be more important than the bourbon.
Leave the bourbon on the shelf,
I was supposed to say,
pick us over your war-time ghosts.
I'd only ask it now if I thought that he would stop
and listen to an eight-year-old's desperate pleas.
And he left a part of me in the ocean,
in sand dollars and singing sea shells,
in the mermaids' eyes that he claimed
to have resembled my mother's.
He left me with my own ghosts that I often dance with
to the sound of Tejano and a mariachi's haunting croon.
I fight to remember the
goodness of my grandfather because
he is still my endless Navajo summer;
He flows through me,
unstoppable, and unreachable,
in the memory of tears.
Walking about las ramblas at night you can see the desperation with a constant feeling of trepidation
People that never got much of an education not one qualification
Prostitutes selling their body to feed a habit and pay for their accommodation as Dealers sell to addicts who want that pleasurable sensation to forget about their life situation
You can buy heroin or crack or if you want a combination while the police and big gangsters are actually in communication giving them money so they don't launch a single criminal investigation so they can smoothly run their operation and there is no threat to their illegal money making organisation
You can even see people sleeping on the ground that had left their home nation in search of a better life but only found poverty and social devastation
Aus weiter Ferne
Ertönt der Ruf der Kraniche
Am späten Mittag
Über den Wiesen am Wald
Liegt noch milchig der Nebel
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From a far distance
Sounds the call of the cranes
Late at midday
Over the meadows near the woods
Still lingers the milky fog
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Suena de lejanía
El grito de las grúas
Por tarde mediodía
Sobre prados del bosque
Aún queda lechoso niebla
Las Boricuas Latinas bailan
Dance your Salsa
Dance your Merenque
Dance your history
Of conquest and survival
Las Boricuas Latinas bailan
Debajo de las Palmas
En sue colored brillantes
Against the clear white sand
In broad flowing skirts
Filled with freedom and life
Singing loud, Musica de mi
Proud people
Lifting up the sorrow soul
From depths of despair
Let the Congas rap and the
Trumpets scream;
Timbales, get out of control
Ivory keys chime along
Cantan una cancion Latina
De la Isla del Encanto
Cantamos con el Coqui'
My people, humble people,
Happy people, make your
Sound loud!
Bailan Oh! Chicas
No dejan de bailar
Cantan las historias de
Mi jente - no callan mas!
Excerpt from my book "The Big Apple Turns Briwn
When You Slice It" selected poems and shirt
strokes of my Nuyorican Culture. Published 2002
www.authorhouse.com
My Poems
Are but only and unto me
An inner source of both shuttling
and chastening my day dreams
My very own fantastical imagination
galaxy and far off universe
Inside my head rallying me to discover
what may well just reside beyond the
setting stellar sun or dark side of the moon
Because I would far rather be alone and
searching for something more significant
other than this out there than here
Than awaken again tomorrow with a
sore neck from staring up at a sky full
of shooting stars
Constantly wishing and waiting for the quickening crash of thunder and lightning
to strike
And with such levity and brevity of
clarified thought and sadly devoid of
any means of leaving this world's earths atmosphere behind
I instead have no other option left but
to try and imagine it's splendor in my
mind's eye
And even if I was to take this journey
on my own alone with not another
single soul or anyone to tell
How would that be any different
but rather so much better than being
surrounded by people but nobody
willing to listen
I think at least much like the 1st Apollo
crew taking 1 small step for mankind
who returned
I would rather happily live out the rest
of my life as a Giant
Jettisoned as a castaway just me myself
and Wilson
Gazing out a porthole both utterly bemused
and blown away taking in an ever increasing
impressive interplanetary firework display
Thankful for the fact this ethereal majesty
has thus far been spared from humankind
Otherwise this would probably by now
have been turned into a ride on an
amusement park complete with hotel
casino fast food chains and shopping mall