Best Parlayed Poems
a scandalous secret gnaws
at the epicenter of my being
threatening to unearth
score pillars of dirt
upon which my world is built
gilded in reverence,
vaingloriously lauded
and parlayed to ascend sacred rungs
beyond the license of minions,
the legend grows
and grows
and grows
and though I know
my storied steeple,
as all things crooked,
will surely crumble someday,
I pray that it shall stay
erect
an irreverent crown;
a reaming tower of pisa
steeped in piety,
the envy of my faithful throng
preserved
to shatter the innocence of your delicate young…
~ Pablo
Haven’t you had a look?
I am such a flawed character in your book.
My mind goes mad as I sit and wait
Drowning in all this fragmented hate.
Believing the truth
While accepting these lies
I’m parlayed,
Inside I hide
Inside I’ve died.
Suppressed in this test
Knowing I am nothing like the rest.
Crippled by pieces, places and parts
Hope deferred kills the heart.
Banging my head against a stone wall
While fighting the maker on this call.
Breathing air drenched in disorder
This is me, your tattered daughter.
Indifference is worse than any type of anger
For when you don’t care life becomes even stranger.
Trying to muster the strength to go on
It’s been so long, what if I am wrong?
Walls are caving inside of me
Longing to be free from this captivity.
The door is open but I have invisible ties
Breathing in the where, what’s and why’s.
I’m holding on to this mustard seed
Or maybe it’s just been stuck on me.
Dreaming dreams of better days
I’m in a maze or just a haze.
Watching the movie but not a partaker
Somebody see her? Somebody wake her!
Being a visionary is somewhat scary
All these scenes slightly vary.
All are contingent on which way I go
Just like a flower that sideway grows.
Which direction is the light?
Where is this nourishment tonight?
Every day is exactly the same
I’m sick of playing this game.
The war is raging as all are asleep
I am just your cynical black sheep.
By: Sabina Nicole
he parlayed a condom full of nouns
in bold thrusts of the quill
for the para structuralist cadres
many of them freeway orphans
who won't even read a stoplight
on the other hand
there's a lot of other hand
upon hearing the chimes of midnight
I opened the door
another surprise party
that I knew about all along
arranged by my body building therapist
who was a notorious sadist
requiring humiliation ab astra
went in after my scenario gland
in an act of divine pity
sewed me back up real fast
couldn't handle the pixel rate
the audience shrieked and laughed
it was the great awakening
after the Treaty of Lucky Seven
in which all nations pledged
to honor their accidents and idiocies
as though they were instruments of divination
uh oh here comes my chiropractor
a known mob boss
never found the need to knock
cracked his knuckles at the door
and politely asked may I enter
he spoke 7 languages
and several materialist dialects
and could talk without
moving his lips
many were blamed for
things they never said
a hundred times a day
nothing is uncontained
archaeologists in the city dumps
using a subway map with all the stops
snorted and toiled through Winter
at their historico-revisionist comedy
piecing convex to concave
any idea past its prime is stupid
this is the unfortunate fate of all humanity
nobody really likes change
unless it’s more money
oh I know I’ll never work in this town again
but with a bankroll
the size of a chewed pencil
you get the picture
now buckle up kids
mommy's going to drive a little faster
there's a cop on my ass
and I think I can lose him
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
Love Has No Reply
Love has no reply it just waits-
love has no reply - it just prays-
Love understands- as it hopes
that rage will be quelled-
That the core of your heart will
be overwhelmed-
and overruled-Disenchantments
of the venial mind-are allowable
If you never intend to exhale-
then inhalation is inevitable.
Demons seek company -
Presenting illusions to keep misery
side tracked' in sorrowful elegies
The cardinal mentation-
will automatically
tick, when your tocking and;
Tock when you are ticking.
You came here with no instructions--
Love requires no action
Does not have to reply
No matter the jargon
the meaning of "no “is the same.
Whether you wax or wane,
with wagers parlayed
invest in the" WAIT" like the yellow light
"Spread your bet-green light- keep moving
Not always smart- to bet on a sure thing.
Red light stop wait -think about
what you're thinking of doing-
win, win situation.
Prior truth is not necessary for
what is "yet to be believed"
Permanent solutions
should never be applied to a
temporary condition.
The efficaciousness of the syringe as a method in seeking answers to concepts is horribly ineffective.
Love has no reply--- No outside stimuli -
No do's or don'ts ... from the I ...
Strictly and inside Job.
He parlayed his handsome,
Against her soft assets.
He saw her and she raised him.
Both folded, spent.
He, a sure bet.
She, a wild gamble.
Together, a beautiful transaction.
“Chasing Ghosts in Cars”
Like automata
we walk inside
winding up the stairs
it’s all mechanical
the romance
programmed
by steep degrees
in the
well-routined
we can walk
through walls
anywhere
to look out
our windows
towards the better view
each cell in the body
and mind renewed
we expurgate
the misplaced
misconceptions
of others, of ourselves
it’s fair-weather sailing
out there,
the transparent come and go
best to turn
a blind eye
a swift kiss on the cheek
make it brief
then close all
your doors
to their artful dodger hauntings
friendships and felicitations
their joyful gleaming commiserations
whole oceans
full of souls
walking and swimming
treading water
all the floating
poesies planted
mindfully fragrant
fresh bits thrown
parlayed introspection
deliciously blooded with the sharks
such hungry poets
with a well-adjusted
deep knowing
and a quiet
unthorough
understanding
of another
unknown equation
in the real world
never making
premature
judgements
outside is a risk
we all take
we write what we know
we know what we write
ghost written
in the Daily Phantom
in the gloaming fantasy
there still exist
real ghouls calling us in
hungry for kindness
burying pity for
the honesty it lacks
inside we are listing
the volume we turn up
to hear messages better
we are
listening
to cars
lyrics
we wish you
to know
to be understood
when you are
chasing ghosts
some say
they’ve gone too far
they’re too far gone away
forget-me-knots
hanging loose
chasing ghosts in cars
Machiavellians
gone astray
the naked minds
of
undressed nuns
and
sanctimonious preachers
oiling their guns
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
“Here in my car
I feel safest of all
I can lock all my doors
It's the only way to live in cars
Here in my car
I can only receive
I can listen to you
It keeps me stable for days in cars”
listing/nautical.
“Listing” is a nautical term to describe when a vessel takes on water and tilts to one side. A ship can list either to port (left) or starboard (right). By contrast, a ship is said to be “trimming” when she tips forward or backward.
Art thou the wicked deceiver who cometh dawn or dusk
Once a dweller in the heavens who wrought scorn unto thy Creator
In the ancient of days did he cast thee a loft
Thus becoming caddish as cag-mag
A drab locked away in Bridewell’s gaole
Whilst thou parlayed the garden’s bouquet as the Grinder Seeker
Who stood a midst the knowledge tree and offered nary but one
One bite will make thee greater than He
One taste shall wit thy mind
Maker of gray betwixt black and white a savory eater of men’s souls
Doth thou cometh this blackish hour to carry my wicked soul home
Sheath thy forkth tongue
Shake down thee to ever more hell
Henceforth to dwell ever the more ye will
In mere of fiery waters
Waiter of the wittle of rotten and Evil- Forsooth! Forsooth! Thy dream
Dost not the coddish fear and tremble while thou holdth Bilbo high
Hearth lay thy saber- blood stained pudhly with the souls of mankind
Thou monstrous shadowed deceiver
Mankind no longer doth the grave bind
Get thee behind me Satan
For thy Kingdom is no more
A son of David hath beautifully bequeath a love for all mankind
Resist not the righteousness this judge of Adam
Who doth sit at the Creator’s right side
I stand in judgment as my soul is the bounty
For now thy claim for my-self is thus been denied
You made a lot of money
selling lewd photos of nude
Then you parlayed your profits
into cyber surfing —
triple X cinema ***** crude
Nasty video sex business you were so into
Your vested interest was
a skin flick portfolio bankroll ...
Dirty money bottom line
Letting curious customers
put their cyber bit coins into the virtual pay slot
So they can take a ride on the carnal carousel
Then make them get off ...
Have them taste naked flesh boiling hot
in an abominable lascivious pot
You are so proud of yourself,
Mr. Sleazy bit coin billionaire
You make it so easy —
sex suckers love to lick poisoned lollipop sticks
Getting minds addicted to wicked desires,
those tempting tokens are gonna take ‘em there
You’re so filthy rich cavalier ...
crushing souls, you really don’t care
What those turned-out cyber tramps,
hopefully, will come to one day understand,
those grimy bit coins
is greasing somebody’s dirty hand
And that palm is on a beach somewhere
getting a penthouse triple X suntan
Bit coin billionaire,
you’re a dirty old man
with a Howard Weinstein leer
Bit coin billionaire,
you got sticky floor hands
and semen oil slick hair
Spreading your cyber surfing
triple X flotsam everywhere
You’re just a devilish voyeur,
a nickel-and-dime fleshpot billionaire
Your trashy ways smells like
a STD flea-bitten garbage can
And your infectious craves are a
CDC health hazard quarantine
Bit coin billionaire,
you’re a dirty money man
with semen snake oily hands
Bit coin billionaire,
with filthy green scaly skin
In need of some brimstone lotion
Bit coin billionaire,
you’re a dirty money man
with sticky floor hands
Bit coin billionaire,
with filthy lucre ashy skin
In need of a brimstone suntan
This poem was inspired by the
talented Richard Lamoureux’s poem,
“Church Perfect Surface.”
— Romantic Warrior
Or Woman, Or Child, Or...
The following elucidated
conjecture actually can
(reed best) be taken with a grain
of salt, and no re ban
nah nah split 'ope ya 'ere me
cloud and lear, cuz (Oh my...
heavens to Betsy), ennui
got pulled by Evan -
Jewel Lean, who handed this long fellow
(wads worth to you)
speculation with fan
see prestidigitation legerdemain - tan
ta mount to cheap tricks
re: out of thin air
by this half
fast hue man,
Hill Billy Willy Wonka Nilly,
who blithely doth asseverate
apothegm (poem title) equally applicable
Century21 today Aswan
damn maxim initially
bespoke, when collective
primates begat enfant terrible
foo fighting predetermining anon
metastasizing debacle Yeti
bedeviling civilization
a bajillion years in the future with
Matthew Scott Harris deadpan
words worth less his way
before even an odd iota
of dire straight sultan
of swing didst merely span
spottily scattered amidst
pristine Earth, where
unchanging arboreal
beastie boys to oman,
and flock of sea gulls
continuity elapsed – Ivan
hunch, albeit un
recorded disc contented sow
sow hogtied pan
dum mo' nee ham, or
blessed historical events,
kept (stay'n) alive,
courtesy"FAKE" Trump
petting Dapper Dan,
where he knit pattern,
qua oral tradition, sans clan
destine scattered hot pockets
of sparse *****sapiens,
i.e. humanity LESS preponderant,
primary, and/or prolific,
where superstitions parlayed
(voodoo with no Fran Schwa),
and whirling dervishes fed elan,
which earliest recorded (doctored,
digitized, and demented
oh yea), not
tomb mitt to dimly mentioned
asper "time and tide
wait for no man"
purportedly by one
Saint Marher, circa:
1225 anno domini.
PARALLEL ARE THE RAILS
(PRE-VERSE 1)
Feeling all alone
Cast away like a stone
Few friends what I got
True friends can’t be bought.
(VERSE 1)
Living is a joke
Think I’m about to choke.
Lookin’ at you
Lookin’ at me
Mirror is true (but the reflection is cracked)
False truths won’t set you free.
(Pre-Chorus)
I got my time
I got my rhyme
Beggin’ for a dime
Beggin’ for your time
(Chorus)
Bittersweet is the love (Sweeter than the lime)
Smellin’ like a clove
Burnt up in a stove
Rotting in a grove
Shrapnel of hardened nails
Pouring down like the rain
Storing away the parlayed pain
Parallel are the rails
Parallel are the rails
Parallel are the rails
Parallel are the rails
Parallel are the rails
(PRE-VERSE 2)
Heavy is the stone
When you’re all alone
Many friends were not what I thought
False friends are easily bought
(VERSE 2)
Drowning in the smoke
Deception is no joke
Reflection of you
Reflection of me
Mirror is true (but the reflection is cracked)
False truths won’t set you free.
(BRIDGE)
Dreaded are my locs
Dreadful are my thoughts
Locked away in my cerebral box
Cast away like abandoned lots
Got dreadlocks down below my needs
Beatles in the sound
Help me get around
Got hair like my ancestral Swedes
Brain damaged by Floyd
Brain examined by Freud
(PRE-VERSE 3)
Can I get a fix
Feelin’ a little sick
Like when I was six
Trippin’ over a stick
People like to stare
Like I’m some disease
But, I don’t care
I do as I please
(VERSE 3)
Ridin’ on a train
Lookin’ for a change
Freedom from the chain
Leaves me feeling strange
Lookin’ a little strange
Beaten by the chain
No time for change
Ridin’ on a train
(Pre-Chorus)
I got my time
I got my rhyme
Beggin’ for a dime
Beggin’ for your time
(Chorus)
Bittersweet is the love (Sweeter than the lime)
Smellin’ like a clove
Burnt up in a stove
Rotting in a grove
Shrapnel of hardened nails
Pouring down like the rain
Storing away the parlayed pain
Parallel are the rails
Parallel are the rails
Parallel are the rails
Parallel are the rails
Parallel are the rails
Lyricists Inc.
D.A.P. / Digital Analog Productions.
David A. Porter 3/??/18
1799 c.e.
Invading the privacy of Egypt’s estate,
Napolean and troops on their tippy toes,
Sweetly snatching the Rosetta Stone.
Turning it over cartouche style,
Lusting to surround Josephine, in battle.
Their royal names forevermore, amore…
Jean-Francois Champollion joined the duo in bed.
His hands glided, over three parallel scripts –
Hyroglyphic, demotic, and Greek; translation exotic
1978 c.e.
Princess Leia, a 3-D hero hologram
Parlayed with charming communication
She held a saint and a rogue in her sultry hands
Present Day in the bedroom of his royal highness
Egyptian tomb exhumed, enlightened, laser projected -
No protection from the spirit of matrimonial melee.
Dutifully terrified, damsel in distress; holographic mistake.
You walk around,
felling like you're above the law
Shielded by family immunity
Get disorderly when you paint the town,
brawling, hitting people in the jaw
Yet you're called a pillar of the community
You lack basic people skills,
heredity always handed everything to you
A silver spoon fed spoiled brat
Never had to pay your own bills,
you said that's what little people like us do
Society traps don't catch aristocratic rats
Tapped into the trust fund
when you turned twenty one
Such is the privileged life of a senator's son
Picked up three DUI's,
and a couple of solicitation violations
Even got caught with an unregistered gun
No charges ever stuck with you,
a Teflon man through and through
Parlayed your inheritance into racketeering too
But you don't care, you're ruthless like your pa ...
taking other people's money is what excites you
Extorting at every opportunity
You sneer at judges with impunity,
'cause you own more suits and uniforms colored blue
And you love being called Big Daddy's little outlaw
What chance does a feller have to make it these days?
With so much temptation offered in so many ways.
My spirit was weak and I had a will to commit.
To a Hell raising life free from backbone and grit.
I was using cocaine and whiskey to play silly games.
And had found me some friends to share in the pain.
But I woke up one mornin' doused in chaos and sin.
And looked around sadly at the mess I was in.
When a shimmering light from the window answered my plea.
I threw my beer at the mirror and fell to my knees.
I lowered my head and desperately prayed to the One.
Who may forgive my behavior and the shame I have done.
I should be walkin' with Jesus for the rest of my life.
And turn away from evil and put a stop to my strife.
I should hope to atone for the wrongs I've parlayed.
And become a much better person until the end of my days.
I cleaned myself up the best that I could.
And headed south on I-40 to my place in the woods.
I threw out my whiskey in an attempt to go straight.
Knowing the following days would determine my fate.
The tremors were awful and the sweat ran on down.
From a face that was healing to turn things around.
But the time slowly moved on until the hurtin' ran dry.
As I prayed everyday with tears of joy in my eyes.
After a couple of weeks my true spirit returned.
Which I thought I had lost to the sad life I had earned.
I went home to dear Mother to show the progress I'd made.
And we both were so thankful for the path my Savior has laid.
Now I'm walkin' with Jesus for the rest of my life.
I've turned away from evil and put a stop to my strife.
As I plan to atone for the wrongs I've parlayed.
And be a much better person to the end of my days.
The End
*For those who might be interested. I will be posting my cartoon 'Bob's your Uncle' on my homepage. A new one will appear every second day.
devastatingly, grievously, inconsolably,
got hexed, issued jilted livingsocial, a less
son learned to late, how maddeningly mess
say yon nick lee infuriated, not accepting press
sing ill fate, nor countenancing fatal injustice,
refusing to curtsy fiendish inxs did piss
her off (poisoned scorpion sting) remiss
cheekily peppering psyche as if Swiss
cheese, a once spunky Arthur Murray shored
dance instructor, who scored
door prize in the guise of thee less torte sured
near nonagenarian papa, where meanness poured
from grim mortal outlook parlayed moored
deadly reaper, quashed, ruined as lord
stole, sacred maternal tribal nurse, unfairly did hoard
final precious seconds unexpectedly meant un explored
positive rapport forever undergirded "door"
closed to resolve ambivalence with venerable bead
did association between
kith and kin, unfairly
dead poet society lettered deed
wrested a vibrant life despite zest that freed
a vibrant gal to coast along dialed up esprit
de corps spirit to live, yet greed
of metastatic cancer upended lead,
where mind over matter, sans power
in positive thinking rubric and plead
ding didst kill last ditch homeopathic screed
ambitions trumped, thus giving up the ghost
wracking sadness, sinking sorrow spilling most
lee tears of loss, among family, fellow Unitarians
of the Thomas Paine Fellowship
included with your obituary post.
I was dead laid out buried in my sins
O' paramount the burden take out the thorn in my side
And do so my Lord my God take also the boulder there in my eye
Mercies ever please My God and gifted me thine devine mercies Grace
Forgiven you me of all my mistakes
Yet and yet there you were Jesus you have forgiven me of all my sins
Relevance is the evidence for the position that I've made those sins I parlayed and now and forever forgiven a confess my mess I have come through the test
Mercy's ever please my God and gifted me by Divine Mercy's Grace
Father thank you for giving me for I just want to see your name and peace
9/13/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021