Best Poker Faced Poems
Part I: Ice
He shines like silver midnight moon -
cool marble statue, this tycoon.
And though he makes the ladies swoon,
of ice he’s hewn; of ice he’s hewn.
He’s poker-faced and can deceive
competitors and can achieve
most anything, but can’t conceive
of Genevieve, of Genevieve.
Like Neptune, distant from the sun -
relationships he chose to shun.
He thought the search for love was done.
He has no one; he has no one.
Now love’s allure has come his way.
What will he do? What will he say?
Will he grab hold, beg love to stay,
or let it stray? Or let it stray?
Part II: Fire
This dragoness disguised in lace -
passion’s flower with angel’s face,
precisely picks the time and place
each dream to chase, each dream to chase.
Like ink the color red, she stains
the hearts of those whose love she drains,
and then she leaves when naught remains
No lust she feigns; no lust she feigns.
And now there’s one who would suffice.
For him alone, she’d sacrifice
her everything, so he of ice
she must entice, she must entice.
So Genevieve now strikes the flame.
Will man of ice his love proclaim?
Beneath her fire and his cold frame,
they’re both the same. They’re both the same.
Categories:
poker faced, dream, fire, love, lust,
Form:
Rhyme
Blindly..
I beseech you
for my eyes won’t adjust
to this shaded maze of despair -
neither the lantern’s flame
nor a compass rose can help me now
in disrepair I need to find you
with fingers outstretched I raise my arms
groping for you like a eyeless babe for her mother
..but you’re not there —
a cunning thief this despair
for stealing my sight for a way out
Why won’t the summer solstice light this darkness
nor warm this anguished atmosphere..
am I to die here where I lie?
my undressed soul exposed to the wind-chill of your loss
naked in biting throes beneath a stony sun
desperate to thaw ice dams lodged in my bloodstream..
the winter sallow of my heart’s shallows a skater’s delight —
a cunning partner this despair..
ice-dancing with my pain
Where is the air I need to breathe..?
it’s evaporated with you and the dreams we used to dream
the weaver a double-dealer stealer..
life no longer lives in my poker-faced lifestyle
nor in fantasies long gone from sleep’s clouds
moth-eaten desires and grit and tears
too holey and harsh to knit a warm reason to swaddle in -
just let me close heavy hope-chest-lids of empty eyes
and take my last shrinking violet breath —
a cunning spy this despair
for infiltrating my will to survive..
Susan Ashley
October 11, 2020
N/A
Premiere Contest: 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 22
Sponsor: Mark Toney
(reformatted)
~ First Place ~
Contest: Will To Survive
Sponsor: Silent One
Categories:
poker faced, dark, depression, grief, loss,
Form:
Free verse
Fated to Love
Best to simply weigh the heart with a poppy seed
Counter balance on granite
All its rhythmical surging
Its expeditious life
Amounts to nothing
Better then, not to believe in its enchantment
For it is fated to love
And do little else but lead
To ruin
Well-worn to stop up your ears
Lest you hear its background murmurings
Brooding upon devotion
Lacking the power to change anything
But weeps constantly for dreams
Do not then, be deceived
For all the hearts will to achieve
It cannot
But burst inside your veins
Only half remembering what once you never held
Though its truth persists
It lays persecutory back against a lie
The heart would try
But cannot defy the world
Beware then my friends
For that muscular aorta pump and valve
Will lay you stark
And rend open beneath your ribs
And grant you no solace
Or escape
For all in the life of steady beats
It knows nothing of fact
And through your nights survival
Will stab at you with yearning
Brooking no compromise
It shall continue
Craving
Damnable heart I say
To leave me no place to rest
If I could but tear it out
For it taints my eyes with longing
Converting my hours for its keeping
Playing poker faced with deliverance
Trying to cheat destiny
With the price it paid to see me
Counting the cost in when’s
And when
When all the loneliness
Will end
Beware of when; then my friends
For that muscular ventricle pump and valve
Will lay you star-dream-gathering
And break open daily beneath your ribs
And yield to you no solace
But only escapism
Damnable heart I say
To leave me no place to rest
If I could but tear it out
Categories:
poker faced, loveheart, heart, me, ,
Form:
Free verse
Jack was sitting poker faced
With bullets backed by bitches.
Neal hunched at the wheel
Puttin everyone in stitches.
He was braggin 'bout
This nurse he'd screwed,
While drivin through Nebraska.
Said that when she came,
She honked the horn,
And Neal just barely
Missed a truck
And then he asked her
If she'd like to cum like that
All the way to CalifornY?
See a redhead in a uniform
Will always make you horny.
With her hair net and her white
Shoes and a name tag and a hat,
She drove like Andy Granatelli
And knew how to fix a flat!
And Jack was at the bottom
Of his second 2020.
Neal was yellin out the window
Tryin to buy some beannies
From a Lincoln, full of Mexicans
Whose left rear tire blew
And the son's of bitches
Prit near ran us off the road!
Well the nurse had
Spilled the Manischewitz
All up and down her dress,
Then she lit the map on fire
And Neal just had to guess.
Should we try to find
A bootleg route
Or a fillin station open?
The nurse was dumping
Out her purse looking for a kiss.
Jack was out of cigarettes,
When we crossed the yellow line.
The gas pumps looked
Like tombstones from then on.
It felt lonelier than a parking lot
When the last car pulls away.
And the moonlight dressed
The double breasted foot hills
In the mirror, weaving out
A negligee and black brassiere.
The mercury was running hot
And we were almost out a gas,
Just then Florence Nightingale
Dropped her draws and stuck
Her fat ass out the window
To a Wilson Picket tune
And she shouted "get a load of this! "
And give the finger to the moon.
Counting one eyed jacks
And whistlin Dixie in the car,
Neal was doin least a hundred
When we saw a shootin star.
Florence wished that Neal
Would hold her 'stead of chewin his cigar.
Jack was noddin out and dreamin
That he was in a bar,
With Charlie Parker on the bandstand
And not a worry in the world,
And a glass of beer in one hand
And his arm around a girl.
And Neal was singin to the nurse
Underneath a Harken moon
And somehow you could tell
We'd be in CalifornY pretty soon.
Categories:
poker faced, america, time, travel,
Form:
Free verse
I can turn up that street any time I wish;
I pass that post box frequently enough,
But there is no returning, that’s the twist,
Time’s poker faced, you cannot call his bluff.
The deepest yearning only meets rebuff,
These houses do not greet me, I’m not missed
And the old school where I seldom did enough
To satisfy my teachers has forgot
The bully and the joker and the swot
The cigarettes, the Three Card Brag, the fights,
The wondering how to talk to girls, and what
Might be waiting round the corner out of sight.
To come so far and barely move at all;
To not escape the gravity of things beyond recall.
Categories:
poker faced, nostalgia,
Form:
Sonnet
Once again, you’re putting out your blinds
It’s this wicked game you play at minds
With the chiseled pot concealed,
My heart’s cards are now revealed.
I’m getting broken down again.
You’ve locked me up into this stain,
And as I try to raise heart’s chase
You lay there still, poker faced.
You force me into this blinding bet
Where no one is allowed to check,
Still you show me all your faces
As your wretched cards take their places.
‘Guess I have to get a grip,
Your words are dealing against my lip.
For they’re begging me to call
And see if I’ve lost my heart at all.
I’m no longer your full (fool) of hearts,
Letting you invade my private parts.
I’ve beseeched for long enough
For you to fall from your discomfited bluff.
You stand as an immortal Ace,
Wounded through my composed face.
Though I never knew it could,
My heart is now lost for good.
© 2009 Stefania Carmen Misaila
Categories:
poker faced, loss, lost love, love,
Form:
Rhyme
The lost doll was soon replaced
by the kind stranger, poker faced,
who said the doll looks not the same,
having changed both face and name
but may yet be by the child recognised,
by its touch tender and smile undisguised
and so by this well intentioned tale spun,
the lost doll and child again became one,
for what was relevant was spirit, not form,
embrace of innocence, beauteous and warm.
Categories:
poker faced, deep,
Form:
Rhyme
I only learned one thing in school
And that was how to fight
The teachers were always so good at it
And they were always right.
One teacher was nicknamed spitfire
Because she'd spit as she spoke
All the teachers wore mortar board hats
And wore long black cloaks.
Always late for lessons
Always got the cane.
School books hidden in your trousers never worked
You had to feel the pain.
One teachers face got so red when he got mad
We only had a riot in class nothing unusual
Didn't think we were that bad.
Our sports teacher used to whack us hard
When we forgot our P,E kir
And make us run through nettles
In bare feet the hurt more than a bit.
In science we always tried to make a bomb
And leave the gas taps on
We'd make pea shooters from biro pens
And when the teachers were facing the blackboard
We'd shoot at them then sit poker faced wasn't me Sir.
We'd hide around building corners
To gamble and smoke a crafty cigarette
Until one day a teacher came around suddenly
With a water jet.
One teacher had an affair with an other teacher
With a very pretty one with nice legs and blonde hair
I used to dream about
In my fantasies she was mine
It just wasn't fair.
I was convinced they were not human
But came from some other planet one day in spaceships
And not cars
Maybe they were from Mars.
We'd put condoms on door handles
Let the teachers tyres down on their car
Sneak into the girls changing room for an eye full
And steal their knickers and their bras
Sing rude words to songs at morning assembly
Throw stink bombs in the teachers lounge
Draw funny pictures in our books of our teachers with their trousers down.
Sometimes I'd be madly in love with a teacher or a girl pupil
And do nothing but day dream all day long
Skipping through fields of sunflowers hand in hand
Kissing like to clams under a tree all day long
Oh I was always in love with someone
And would often burst out in song.
I got good at forging homework diary signatures
Explaining why my homework wasn't done
It was always some far fetched story
Like I was chased by Atilla the Hun.
Ahh school days yes we were nothing more than savages
But the teachers were savages too
They should have changed the name school
To Human Zoo.
''I was a good boy I was''.
Peter Dome. Copyright.2015. June.
Categories:
poker faced, humor, school, planet,
Form:
Free verse
As drops from the clouds cease,
I stroll to meet a friend of mine
a paper boat in hand, a local boy
runs from the PDS shop queue,
looks for water to sail his boat,
tried in a small dirty puddle,
embarrassed to see,the boat stay still!
tried in the nearby ditch, already choked!
Cursed heavens, a way out of embarrassment!
Looked around little boy, my gaze, he dislikes!
fellow doesn’t want others follow his passion!
I started walking away poker faced,
Fellow jumped with a smile believing
I know not his embarrassment, got into
his fantasy world to try another fun….
Categories:
poker faced, boat, fun, rain,
Form:
Free verse
ENJOY WHILE IT LASTS………
Sparkling like sparkles,
Sunny like mine sunshine,
Bubbly like bubbles in beer,
And frisky like a fizzy drink,
Enjoy while it lasts………….
Gloomy like a cavern,
Morose like a hungry dog,
Poker faced like a poke-weed,
Melancholic like a rejected child,
Enjoy while it lasts……..
The emblems of life,
The sweet-bitter taste of life,
Embrace when sweet and kiss when bitter,
No condition is permanent,
Enjoy while it lasts……….
Sometimes we tumble, plunge, keel and topple over,
At other times we hoist, haul, propel and zoom,
Life is unstable,
Life has got different branches, alleys, tracks, lanes and pathways,
Enjoy while it lasts………….
We run in circles and don’t even realize it,
With so many questions on our minds, surrounded with problems but never solutions,
Always asking but why but not how,
Enjoy while it lasts……..
Enjoy while it lasts…..the twist and turns, the whirls and twirls…..
Life is short…..
As the clock tickles, so does your lifespan,
Sooner or later your life will be dilapidated…..
Enjoy while it lasts……
Categories:
poker faced, desire, life,
Form:
Rhyme
The signs of passion are poker faced.
I spend my nights in deathly ardor
Digging deep into the muffled dreams
That cry for forgiveness..
I take a puff of the cigar,
And pant quietly, with tears in my eyes
The sullen kisses and the fake good-byes…
The roses dried with my breath,
I fancied love, but God forbade:
The smiles that played hide-and-seek,
Bore my frowns away..
From every stranger who touched my hand,
Promised the plight to neverland;
I mocked my pain and lived to die
In the arms of pity..
The sounds of passion were tricked to silence.
I spend my hours in muted rhythms
Searching more for the truth that lied..
And warned to conquer forgiveness
I take a sip from the liquor’s trench
And let myself go astray
Wished I had died that day..
The violins cry with my voice
I seek to change the devil’s choice
The tears that stoked my conscience
Have found its place in mystery dens
They wander to deliver the day’s omens
I mocked my pain and lived to die
In the arms of serenity
~~Thank You for the reviews and comments~~
Categories:
poker faced, recovery from..., sad, pain,
Form:
Romanticism
The undertaker prepped him voguishly
Like there was a party six feet below
The earth where anosmic maggots
Were tamed by steep fragrance
He is dead, he is dead
Of what use is a tinseling treasure
To the naively rich sands?
The gold plated casket glitters
In the mourner's eyes
How classy is death in its house?
A gang of aggrieved groupies
Hallowed to a one time
Shylock-baron unleashes its ruckuses
At the swanky funeral
They teemed tiny shell
At the casket and in a tick
The casket transmuted into
A gold plated basket
He is dead, he is dead
The bullets ran its errands
Through and through
But death was poker faced
The deceased wife face streamed
Down tears...The triumphant groupies
Prod the remains for mockery
Until wee in the day
When the police came for a sweep
The shylock-baron was in a feast-
Romance with the houseflies...
Until the groupies dispersed
He is dead, he is dead
He who dies once is lucky
But he who dies again has lost his soul
And would be damned
What was his crime?
That he was having
More than he needs.
Categories:
poker faced, farewell, strength, violence,
Form:
Free verse
I'm squirming in a chair of oak,
with narrow arms. My buttocks numb,
and all the while the clock ticks on.
While folks are grim, with furrowed brows,
'We're all lined up in two long rows
of growing thirst, and restless legs
and hunger for a breath of air
Like sardines in a can of worms,
we are strange, unlikely shipmates, torn
between one lawyer's limped plea --
the other shark who disagrees
Gray flannel suit, the stiff white shirt.
with slicked down hair, accusing words
persuades a few with his hot air
The penguin in the cheap black suit
has spewed a lengthy declaration,
(a quite contrary explanation)).
Until my mind is torn in two
and in a room we must decide
Confined inside, a dozen votes
where six say yay, six more say nope!
We're hanging by thin rope for days
and word has spread, the judge has spoken
He has finally coped with deadlocked folks
But sternly looks a bit provoked
We sit there like a row of stones
of wounded souls. We are excused!
Declares a mistrial........what a joke!
The accused is sitting, poker faced
I think I saw a guilty trace?
(Or innocence,....a tell-tale trace?)
We grope for keys, and leave our thrones
And as I'm walking out the door
No longer needed any more
The task was more than I could gnaw
A stale-mate! Since the case was flawed!
As we file out, our task is done
I spy the guy...., Should I be blunt?
The one accused, lights up a smoke.
Am I a nut, to simply ask ?
I'll just be frank, my last hurrah.....
"Pardon me, did you break the law????"
______________________________________________________________________
Contest: "Pardon me, but did you just.....??"
Categories:
poker faced, confusion, innocence, judgement,
Form:
Free verse
Way back before this baby boomer waz astute
countless decades before aye became long in the tooth,
and also prior tomb ma sporting dentures to boot
fond memories rush more than so far back
envisioning illusory wind blown steppes
(wait...this visage belongs to thine
long since deceased maternal grandfather
hub hill eave didst hail from Kiev,
or some place thereabouts) within the mind
of this prevaricating aging
"FAKE" barnstorming ole coot
preserved records (those times b'fore cds or dvds)
and now rewinds tape when family of origin
celebrated Xmas secular Harris
house style rendition of Magic Flute,
though genealogy steeped in Judaism
recollections abound of boyhood mirth
devoid of rubric asper orthodox and/or reformed
Judeo-Christian religion,
which essentially means,
I did not give or take a hoot
nonetheless cherish fond memories,
when ma late mum
relished making a hoo ha,
and got tickled and pickled pink
rousing a hullabaloo wrapping presents
and jamming three knee high stockings
with healthy goodies such as fruit
cuz, as a devotee of Carleton Fredericks,
she frowned on giving out sweets
particularly to three children she begat,
and iced hill easily recall her poker faced
feigning complete ignorance and surprise
sheep played “dumb” as did father
convincingly not giving a hoot
puzzled asper neatly wrapped and
stacked gifts under decorated tree
while distorted reflections of stockings
fractal shimmers from metallic gewgaws
in tandem of nostalgic magic
worth mo' than any amount of loot,
perhaps Christmas festivities a flash point,
when some jolly codger (papa)
dressed up, sans Santa Claus suit
and petsmart dogs doubled up as reindeer,
whose canine barking, cavorting, and dashing
haphazardly set them on a direct route
to pandemonium as crashing trimmed tree
cacophony elicited laughter, punctuated
with irrepressible escaped bursts of flatulence
(ah wont mention hoof from)
that emulated a toot.
Categories:
poker faced, age, angel, childhood, christmas,
Form:
Light Verse
I was young
But old enough to know better
We were rounded up
Determined to weed out the culprit
I sat quietly and poker faced
Holding my breath and dying inside
I wanted this inquisition
To be over but it dragged on forever
If I could hold on long enough
It would end at a standstill
And eventually be forgotten
I could never imagine
A scenario where someone
Might be wrongly punished
After all there was no evidence
But before I knew it
It had happened in front of my eyes
Accused and brutally spanked in an instant
Though blatantly innocent
In shock and utter disbelief
Convinced my belated admission of guilt
Would now be pointless
Too young to truly appreciate
The true value of
Clearing a person’s reputation
I ran up to my room and
Gasped for my first breath of stupor
I got away that moment
But have been paying ever since
I never admitted or asked for forgiveness
Seemed pointless through the years
Decades later
My brother
Would have said
It wasn’t important
It’s long forgotten
I know this because in some wimpy blurry recollection
I vaguely remember admitting it to him some fifty years later
Knowing full well it was too little too late
And his response was exactly as expected
Confirming my high opinion of his virtuous generosity
But fifty years later
My pointless admission seemed surreal
As though to amplify rather than to lighten that old regret
I didn’t deserve or want to ever forget
My very first true act of cowardice
AP: 1st place 2020
Posted on April 22, 2018
Categories:
poker faced, betrayal, family, forgiveness, hurt,
Form:
Free verse