Best Slots Poems
We're Covid free - restrictions lifted
Shop barriers, they have been shifted
But there’s still a queue
For the ladies loo
Weak bladders, us gals have been gifted!
Bars opened for drinking last night
At closing there’s a stupid fight
Folk have drunk too much beer
And they cannot think clear
These drunken brawls are such a fright
We’re finally free to go shopping
Pub’s open, at discos folk bopping
We can meet up with friends
At night time or weekends
No lockdown, but home’s where I’m stopping!
On the Isle of Man we have been covid free for 30 days and many restrictions have been lifted including social distancing but in general we are not doing anything different to how its been over the past 12 weeks - the BEST thing is I can visit mum in her care home once a week for 15 mins but because other people aren't using their slots I've been able to see her twice this week - I was one of few people who used to visit on a daily basis so I've been told if there are free slots I can request to go again. the border is still closed so hopefully we can remain virus free but we cannot be complacent.
6/19/20
Americans are proud people
bringing peace to every steeple
causing wars they will not do
destroying enemies for their due
eating fast foods they will
forgetting all the thrill
God’s a tricky subject for some
having faith but no one will come
Indians have lost their lands
jackpot slots replace their sands
Kamikazes hit us hard
no one held a winning card
military keeps us safe
nuclear threat is unsafe
open arms policy long gone
Policing neighbors? Should be done
quit pollution always a goal
recovery is in my skull
science against religion
we’re better than a pigeon
understanding is the key
I hope we’ll always be free
war should never be the answer
with many falling to Cancer
youngsters keep growing up quickly
with parents becoming sickly
hold on to that American pride
we’ll take on challenges with stride
She pleaded to me with a blushed body,
ready readily for the holiday my maintinance could muster for her pink engine,
the electricity my overtime bedtime love ryhme induces, innerbody outerbody attention,
my woman pled and I fed, her skin smelled like sweet leather, expensive and exotic,
her taste, oh her taste,
a salt infused with inimitable vanilla extract of erotica,
shes my virgin tonight, shes my soul purpose, my handicraft her sole investment,
my rough hands ceaselessly surveying the surface of her vulnerable and vital being,
no flaws are found, because no flaws are sought, no resistense, nothing fought,
upright together, gripping her nape, kissing the pulse on throat,
flaxen hair swiming across my focused face, one arm around lower curve of back,
in unison the slots inbetween my thumb and index sweep upon her breast
cleverly turning & tightning into nipples elevated for enclosing excitment,
eyelashes grazing my cheek and her moist mouth on earlobe
elicit the need for perpendicular laying, for ramming motion ritual,
I unfold her, with fingers lovingly clasped on that nimble neck of hers
as I insert and glide with a job to do, a love to pursue,
the words came latter, instinct inspired now -
J.A.B.
Continued from Part 1
“Upon your knees in golden naves, while peeking through the slots,
You horded thirty silver pieces, downed a whiskey shot,
Then crossed yourself and wrapped yourself in furs of ocelots,
And danced on cleated cloven hoofs in purple polka-dots,
Then drank His blood from chalice cups with pious afterthoughts.
“You’ve treated men like mongrels chained, like little flies to swat,
By doing what you wanted to, instead of what you aught;
You’ve wiped your nose with dollar bills and paid your serfs with snot,
But when you’ve paused to preen your pride, you’ve scrubbed a scarlet blot.
“In ashes of our victories: the diamonds that you sought,
The crock of gold, the Golden fleece of bogus Argonauts -
In mirrors of your lifelessness, the evils you begot.
“The haunted winds strew leaves of time across a shallow plot
Where now, beneath the frozen stones blanched bodies bathe in rot,
Disintegrate, return to dust to feed Forget-Me-Nots
Amidst the bane and pits of pain where broken bones lie caught.
“In fields above the catacombs and tombs of Camelot
The black and withered tree of Death arises from the spot
Where oft beneath a bleeding moon you hid your gold in pots
Embedding doubts neath barren bogs where roots of wormwood squat.
“While waiting at the river Styx, in twisted time untaught,
From branches of the gallows tree, in recollections wrought,
Your soul, a beggar’s blanket, hangs in crazy quilted knots,
With dangling pearls and diamond studs mid dripping crimson clots
And gaping wounds with bulging eyes like fouling apricots,
For wrapped in chains around your throat, the Reaper’s grim garrote.”
Yes, that’s the fate of all your kind, disclosed by Wise Men taught.
But that was, oh, so long ago, by now you have forgot…
End
The line of people out the door.
The queue that snaked around the floor.
The building's sleek art deco style.
The carpets' faded plush red pile.
The "Coming Soon" in convex frames.
The "Showing Now" and big star names.
The James Bond pose in poster shots.
The tickets from the kiosk slots.
The heavy doors that often creaked.
The seats on springs that always squeaked.
The fan shaped lights along the side.
The screen that stretched up high and wide.
The smoke that swirled inside the beam.
The shapes and sounds of Pearl And Dean.
The adverts that had overrun.
The trailers for the films to come.
The feature that would come on first.
The sudden pangs of extreme thirst.
The usherette's cool ice cream stint.
The fancy names like Midnight Mint.
The expectations in the place.
The action of the opening chase.
The talking scenes that went nowhere.
The plastic cup beneath my chair.
The glance at watches in poor light.
The stunts and guns and final fight.
The seats that sprung as credits rolled.
The exit doors and night time cold.
If I was a boy, not yet a young man
I’d push some paper into your han’.
Lined and folded it would be,
moving words for you to see.
With thumb and fingers you’d hold it tight,
then angle and raise it to the light.
Clouded words, with love as one
All pushed out by a shining sun.
Was it ever meant to be?
Still they wander within me.
That note, those words, they wander in me.
Still they wander, still in me.
Then I was older, yesterday’s young man
and distanced from your remembered han’
Should wooden doors with bronze mail slots
Have been the place to place my thoughts?
Those unwritten words lived in my head,
Never sent and never said.
Politely they sat for so many a day,
nothing to alter their quiet stay
Was it ever meant to be?
Still they wander within me.
That note, those words, they wander in me
Still they wander, still in me
Now older still, tomorrow’s dead man
Rather than paper I’ll move my han’
To you it goes, open and worn
May yours mend my heart that’s torn
Was it ever meant to be?
Still they wander within me.
That note, those words, they wander in me
Still they wander, still in me.
I'll never know if it was meant to be
She left this life ahead of me
I still hold tight that imagined note
The one with words I never wrote
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 9
Mark Toney
10/2017
Like a warm cotton bud used to give inner ears a clean
there is something comforting about routine.
Knowing where you stand and the order of play,
knowing what to expect at every point in your day.
Living to a schedule, everything has it’s time and place -
knowing the slots you have free for any plans you need to make.
Wardrobe colour-coded, in garment order.
Wallpaper with a matching border.
Appointments at ten to, five to, on the dot.
Check, double-check, the doors are locked.
Yellow ball, green ball then pot the brown.
Big box, little box, upside down.
I like to gaze into the sky and dream, of an afternoon.
Relaxing. Like the scent of a chaste tree, when in bloom.
A cold glass of lemonade, a long and foamy bath,
humming along to the radio, a love that warms the heart.
Reading the Sunday paper, and making it an event,
the delightful things the kids say, things only they could invent.
His reputation precedes him: a disruptive, class clown.
Never completes his work, he’s always mucking around.
A big-mouth, show-off with far too much to say:
He asks if I ever considered teaching him in a different way.
‘A physical learner’ - he’s heard about it on the news.
There could be something in it…but I’ve far too much to do.
Cars whiz about, people in a hurry.
“I’ve waited over an hour for my curry.”
Twenty four seven lifestyle, word abbreviation.
Text message becoming the preferred means of communication.
Everybody rushing, to keep on schedule, to maintain status quo.
Everyone a cog in the system: You’re whipped, if you don’t row.
Seamless is the transition between asleep and awake,
when you just let it happen, not worry about being late.
An unrushed project results in a rewarding prize:
taking your time meant you got it right.
So bin the itinerary, flout the rules,
just for once why don‘t you try something new?
Lost time doesn’t circulate
I was having a hard time finding my light switch in the dark
Colorful, temporary
Grey, permanent
Sore calves and heavy head
Tisses and black shoelaces
I’m 18, and I don’t feel well enough to get up before 2pm
One was too familiar with female anatomy
Shrunken embroidery, spilt detergent
A lisp through the walls
You can feel it now, in the side of your neck
I got 5 hours on Wednesday night
Inability to not do tasks thoroughly
My right eye feels like it’s falling down torwards my left
Ear plugs, melatonin, darkness
How far am I from Earth’s core
Have I corrupted anyone?
It’s still the same but I can control myself
We have a thousand starting points
Everything loses its purity
Everything loses its purity
I don’t water what I’ve already grown
I own acres of land, filled with barely sprouted crop
What is it, if not the individual
Wait for yourself and it won’t go backwards
I’m still here and haven’t gotten much done
I find comfort in discomfort
I will choose to be alone
It’s hard to grasp enthusiasm
I’m angry because I’m foggy headed
Pulse fixation
I don’t think it’s an issue
1,851 on the 17th, 1,740 on the 18th
Fixation on the non-existent or previously existing
Ignorance torwards the currently existing
An ongoing cycle of desire and watered-down hate
Ego, rising and falling
There’s some races you don’t need to restart
Being seen makes me feel vunerable
But I’d rather not direct a world of my own
I dread making decisions
The bad, embarassing thing
Static surrounded shadows
Craved only when reminded
I wish I was a force of some sort
I don’t know if that was part of the reason then, and I don’t know if it is now
It invariably shifted at all hours
There were time slots
Parts of my mind fall asleep so that others can awaken
As along our long life journey we sail
We all do encounter belied expectations
Feeling of deep hurt results from betrayal
Our shrivelled heart writhing in contractions
The hurt needs healing so we go to a healer
Who examines blotches in our aura field
Looking grave is this wheeler dealer
As his magic wand he does wield
Half who visit healed, the others not
For he simply invokes the placebo effect
Opening up our mind beyond its fearful slots
The faith healer does nothing yet no one suspects
With this comic interlude over with let us examine
The root cause of our pain needing healing
We negate not potency of toxic poison
Simply look at origin of so feeling
The aspect of us hurt is our identity
Plunged into dark gloom owing to its loss
Recognising not that in world of ephemerality
Attachment to fleeting images of pain is the cause
In monk mode detached thus free from pain and sorrow
Lower mind vaporised, we abide in blissful joy
No expectations or desires for the morrow
Mind illumined we recognise ego ploys
Acceptance of others just as they are
Knowing that maya oft causes misalignment
Acts of others be as they may leaves then no scar
We empathise with one and all resting in blissful contentment
We then are our own best faith healer having faith in love divine
Offering no niche within for rancour to anchor onto our being
Knowing that in timeless time with love all souls will align
We nonchalantly breeze through life ever celebrating
29-November-2020
Widder Woman
hate boxes and neat little slots
pigeon holes burn my behind
all those safe-making creations
that pacify the peeps.
stuff an unknown quantity
into a bag of mundane
catch me first.
if I must be widow then a merry one
will I be and
as soon as my sciatica clears up
I streak the whole damn street.
1. It's been years, months, weeks have gone by.
I've grown so much I can barely recognize my reflection. No lie.
Each day more, I've seen you star in less of my dreams and it made me glad.
I wrote a poem or two about the feeling of finally letting go of the best of me—you. My bad.
2. Mom drew the curtains today, I need some vitamin D.
She shut them back when she walked out, watching you ski.
My heart,
it beats,
When you're far and stops when you're near.
3. I thought I would have forgotten about your laugh, silly and cute.
Your eyes were ordinary but canvas worthy. Bullets of memories it shoots.
Your hands were soft as daisies, pretty as lilies. You'd stare at me as if I were a movie. Oh my.
Waves through my hair and entangle with mine under the moonlit sky.
4. I tried hard not to sound cheesy when I say you are my loophole, a bad habit,
A complete *****,
Force of nature, like the earth round its orbit,
Three hundred sixty-five days a year.
5. On a cloudy fall sky, I sat down in our favorite trees, penning down my thoughts.
Ink dries ahead of every word. Would you think I were cool if you saw me now?
Like a green leaf in a rainforest, a canvas stuck in a gallery, did I run out of slots?
Or am I like the river we bathe in when we were young, long gone and replaced. Do I still have a shot?
6. With you?
All through?
7. If not, let me go. I've got other dramas to star in. I won't be a second lead to none.
Can I
Go away, leave me alone in the cold dark forest, barefooted while she warms your sheets.
Hold me, let go, shunned.
8. Is she your forever?
Your seahorse?
Dancing to your favorite tune?
When I only need the source?
9. Your heart,
It beats,
Thump, thump, thump.
It's all for me, she feels.
10. About the poems I lied
Over a hundred, for each I cried
Thump thump thump
It beats
For you
The Fairground
I remember the fairground when I was a child, there
was the candy Fairy Floss machines, and you could
See them spinning the spider webs of sugar which
Made up the sweet delight, that children loved to eat
Then There was Sideshow Alleys with its clown stall
With the moving heads and popping the balls into it's
Mouth, there was the shooting galleries and penny
Toss events and many other things to play, there was a
Ghost Train and the Dodgem Cars and Boats, where
Bumping deliberately was not allowed, the Penny Arcade
With Pinball games and the Claw Crane where you tried
To grab a prize If you where lucky, penny slots which
Could give you a free ball and your penny back by flicking
A lever, and now the main events, the Big Dipper or
Roller Coaster, it would leave you going back for your
Stomach, the large Slippery Dips, Hall of Mirrors and
The Tunnel of Love river caves, Ferris Wheel and the
Helter Skelter where you rode down a spiral on a mat
But the one thing that stands out in the Fairground
Was the giant Carousel, a beautiful hand crafted
Turntable loaded with beautifully crafted wooden
Horses, which where all hand painted, children would
Always want to ride this iconic ride and if you where
Able to grab the brass ring, you would get another
Ride absolutely free, yes the Fairground was an event
In itself, as children would always want to go there
All of the time and even the adults would ask their
Children to go, because inside every adult lived
Another little child, they all loved the Fairground.
Sometimes words skillfully spoken
To play the slots insert the tokens
Pull the handle and play the dare
You really believe the game is fair?
You believe all is fair in love and war?
You believe in what you’re fighting for?
Lets take philosophy just a little deeper
Climb the mountain that is a little steeper
As you’re playing this game of win and lose
How comfortable do you feel in your shoes?
Do they fit your feet just like a glove?
As you walk in them are you full of love?
Do you offer your heart to your neighbor?
Is friendship the thing you truly savior?
Each question is another roll of the dice
Before you answer ponder them twice
The game is as fair as you choose to believe
Is not war something that we all should grieve?
If we fight for right what more can we do?
The longer you wear it the comfortable the shoe
May our shoes fit our feet like our souls fit our skin?
Let us all meet each stranger with a heartfelt grin
Let us show our neighbors the beauty of our love
Let our lives represent the good Lord above
What you believe is real is what’s on the platter
For all is an illusion when dealing with matter
Bridge cards aren't for everyone
just those who have real need
Not meant for all those college "kids"
that party and smoke "weed"
Not meant for all those shacking up
with a "daddy" in the house
His room and board? It's on our dime
he's a government sponsored louse
Not meant for all those gambling addicts
ponies, cards and slots
Nor tires and wheels for pimp mobiles
making haves, out of (have nots)
Not meant for big screen TV sets
oops that's right, they are
X-box set with all the games
you're treated like a star
It's all measured, by the masses
and how we live, (I guess)
Even cars just ten years old
are causing too much stress
Not knocking those that really need
just those that "win and play"
making us, taxpayer fools
while they enjoy their day
When the wage, hits fifteen plus
they won't give up their checks
That "nagging injury" that they have
has made their life complex.....
THE FIRST DAY AT SCHOOL
I was three and half
Enjoying my smile and my laugh
But then my father came
Telling me to play a game
A game in which i should hide
Inside a building that was beside
I asked him hide and seek
He told me no and not to sneak
I was excited to play it along
I was dressed up for so long
In White shirt and blue shorts
Hanging hanky and a bag on slots
I was jumping to play that game
So excited I never became
took out bicycle to drove me there
Hundreds in the same dress crying every where
I asked him scared how will you find me
He said I need to plan and see
I went in with a smiling face
Not knowing the future phase
One hour was easy to survive
When I saw some people arrive
Same one's I saw them at the gate
Some were early and some coming late
My heart started to pump
And my tears coming in lump
I thought the game is over
my father to find me a little slower
I started crying they won't be able to find
And I will be stuck here to grind
I cried and cried , for the whole day
Everybody trying to make me quite in their own way
At last when a strange bell was out
Teachers in the room gave a shout
To go the gate where we came
Then I thought now it's the end of the game
I saw my father standing
Outside to look for me constantly bending
I ran up to him to hug him tight
And kept hitting him like it was a fight
I said crying I don't wanna play this game of yours
It's better we play you as the horse
He took me into his arms
And I was back to the calms
At night he was lying beside me
I was asleep to see
He saw me weeping
And then he started his speaking
He said the game we played is called schooling
I said it as a game, I was fooling
The building you went in is a school
And there I made you another fool
The rooms you sat in are classes
This is an important phase that passes
It's a game of learning
Which all values you should be earning
He caressed his hand on my hair
And told me to sleep with a care
First day at school I still recall
This was the most important day in my life after all