Best Wagers Poems
In a horse life.We can play with a burlap feed
bag, an empty milk jug, or chew on the barn stall
door.Just to kill some time, or to kill some every
day bordom.In a horse life.We get names like
Black Beauty, Flicka, Seabiscuit, or Secretariat.
In a horse life.We do tricks like bowing our heads
down, or placing our shoe upon a pedastool.Picking
up the cowboy hat.While tapping our feet rata-tat-tat.
In a horse life.We like a good block of salt.With lots
of minerals, to lick upon.A wholesome bale of hay.To
start off a brand new day.Or a bucket of grain.To keep
us all healthy, fat, and sane.And a fresh bucket of water,
to wash it all down.In a horse life.I could be losing a
horseshoe.While the rider is losing his mind.In a horse
life.We can be a workhorse, a race horse, or a trick pony.
Or maybe a showhorse, or possibly a circus horse.With
out all the phoney baloney.In a horse life.We can run all
day in the open sun, or run the race trak.While the betters
place their wagers.Of course, at the horse racing track
betters window.In a horse life..
"I'm hearing images, I'm seeing songs no poet has ever painted
Voices call out to me, straight to my heart"
Cold, emotionless, and her nature, defiant
Hard to connect with as well as unreliant
A boarding school for outcasts such as Wednesday
Revenge for brother, brings on her sinister way
Dysfunctional families—ivory towers make wagers
Enrolled are lost souls and morbid teenagers
Like Arkham Asylum, a long and brutal history
Medieval mayhem come to life again in her story
Nevermore Island, Romania’s Nevermore Academy
Unconventional practices become their enemy
Designed for students with extreme personalities
Who don’t think their practices convey abnormalities
Is an all American coming-of-age supernatural
Tangled in spider silk or it’s web, which is factual?
And there it is the unscrupulous psycho-therapist
A principal’s shapeshifter and her sorceress rapist
Forcing thoughts back into some semblance of order
Werewolves, vampires, gorgons, and sirens who boarder
Are the architectural texts with applications ubiquitous
And the requisite archaic desperate mass exodus
Dark long tresses, paints it black in gothic dresses
Many who are romantic interests she addresses
Rises to an ovation with a most clever shadow dance
Sanity, reason, balance, rationality, and much arrogance
Behind the smiling facade of normality where lie derelicts
There lurks a psychopathic serial killer, and other convicts
Beyond their control, declined their world of decadence
Insanity, lunacy, madness, the outcasts show no evidence
Highly severe psychological and physical illnesses?
Or real paranormal abominations and alien devises
Guiding her are messages from the beyond with passion
Her lecture combined intellectual lucidity and compassion
All I have to offer is this cigar
and clay cup of whiskey that’s not so bad.
Hides are loaded, sir, thought you would be glad
We’re ready to sail at first evening star.
Rounding the Cape at this late time of year
is dangerous but can be done, no fear.
Hold’s filled with hides, men have done their duty
things are shipshape, sir, hides are thoroughly dried.
no wasters here, we’ll catch the evening’s tide.
They’ll pay good price for California’s pride.
Boston ‘wants prime leather for boots and shoes,
this ship will give them what they want to choose
With scopes they’ll watch for our then arrival
Making wagers what ship will make birth first,
losers with naught but dry and angry thirst.
Owner thankful for his ship’s survival
and happy he’s first to sell at market
With many buys filling his vest pocket
another day gone by
another thirty dead
until we rue the day
"what's exactly wrong with your head?"
please just psychoanalyze
till someone else is gone again
another one in purgatory
another scream to murmur
another fifty murdered
until we can somehow figure
what kind of bliss comes from this
our lives will be spent in belligerence
to the point we're making wagers in
any other lie in this reach for utopia
when do the screams stop
when do we stop dreaming?
i walk right into reality
sit in a seat to the corner
pull up a magazine
read somewhere between the lines
just another thirty dead
what's so wrong with us
what's so wrong with life
why would you want to take it?
why would you ever want to give the cynics any more reasons?
just another day in dystopia
i guess
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.
15 of them begin the emotional ritual attired in silk & sequens,
they maneuver miraculously one after another on burning coals glowing violet,
the dance steps are heartbeats, curved & compassionate, their majesty is inviolate,
their Art is to suffer for Hope wrought from the ribbon of Reality's casualties,
fifteen to infinity the ladies become shooting stars
lazered through a constellation collapsing into a single sphere of suspense,
the crowd claps, cymbals chyme and a sorcerer's symbols
rain in a fury of subconscious superstorm, confusing chaos
and charming candor as relics vouchsafed in this cosmic cavern,
the Eye of Providence appears annonymously, winking with Blessings
on the forehead of a girl crooning for Roman gifts of iron roses & opium doses
as she poses prettily on top of the Arch of the Covenant
where angels scorch alms and demons dine on delirium,
a flame spitter and sword swallower run to the forefront
as the music deepens within the skulls of saints,
they confront each other with pride, mortal misgivings alight in their eyes,
a contest between Altruism & Misanthropy,
which will prevail, fire or steel, which to survive, love or hate,
one gets stabbed, the other burned, wagers wave through the theater,
lots of chatter, banter & bravado, the wounded continue with character,
Innocence tries to exit but is not allowed by Wherewithal
as the two forces seem to be fatally struck
a curtain closes ceremoniously and all that remains,
endangered enlightenment echoes, and echoes like thunder
while a beautiful candle glows, not yet bent or spent
and everyone in attendance calms and knows,
in absence of love, nothing but misery can be achieved -
J.A.B.
ELDORADO-LIFE IS A JOURNEY
Vijay K Koduri MD
In twilight, as the day takes its bow,
Longer and shorter, dances the shadow.
Living out barely on daily wages!
Loving those daring high stake wagers!
A mere cry in the cradle for one!
A loud shout out for those landing on the moon!
Life is a journey, compete not just compare!
Not how many sights you see!
Love voraciously the byte you view.
Not how many miles you go!
Leave a mark in the mile you be.
Not how much you got!
Be gracious with what you sought.
Life is a journey, live, not just move!
Not how many games you play!
Show your best and do it the right way.
Not how much you read!
Practice well, with what you did.
Not how many friends you gather!
Make them feel, it's you they have rather.
Life is a journey, love, not just have!
Missed a much-awaited promotion!
Focus to behave, not just crave.
You never want to hear!
“Your seat isn't here, and you need to move over.”
Take a seat in a row, that’s lower.
Requests will pour in, for you to come over.
Life is a journey, be humble, not just entitled!
Sore after a rocky relation?
Just leave it and get over it.
Want to own a Silverado,
Yours, it could belong.
In pursuit of Eldorado!
The drive could be way too long!
Life is a journey. live your dream, not just live in them.
Am I to live a poor
man’s life,
to struggle and toil
with hunger and
strife?
Am I to be lowly
kissing the feet of
kings
as they feast at
their tables
and they dance and
they sing?
Will success
continue to be a
stranger
as I fail again and
again with all of my
wagers?
Am I but a peasant
who dreams of
success,
who hopes to one day
be blissfully
blessed?
How long must I
endure this struggle
called life
before I can care
for my children and
wife?
Am I always to be a
footstool or will I
stand in the tower
looking down upon my
endless fortunes for
hour upon hour?
Am I one day to
aspire
or will I continue
to wallow in this
murk and this mire?
Is this hopelessness
just as it seems or
will my labors
deliver riches
beyond my wildest
dreams?
Will I achieve
status, fortune and
fame?
Will the people
cheer at the mention
of my name?
One can only dream.
One can only dream.
(Internal Rhyme)
Dreary was upon the time, as wearily I lived from my mind,
Sad when I was a lad, was mad contrary to current fad!
These are reflections of no relief, as all rejections kick at teeth,
Lad became a teenager, sad though taking many wrong wagers.
Blessings seemed to be curses, distressing with no bible verses,
Lacking tenderness nursing, whacking naught of love’s conversing.
Stealing all of that the hand laid on, sealing a fate from God’s great throne,
As I was alive I did learn, deprived of love… it I spurned.
Despised first half of my life, I was disguised chaffer in strife,
In this school of very hard knocks, this ghoul brushed many chips off blocks.
This my school of mind intentions, makes ghouls of mind inventions,
My school confessing hard knocks, confirms fool’s blessings of past clocks.
My school of this blessed account, I pool fully an assessed amount,
The worth of which I confess, a rebirth of which I have love's rest,
Being turned of Christ this precious fool, turned from spurned bodacious drool.
These blessings I do not discount, the assessing of it’s amount,
Hard knocks are my blessings, every confessing as my love docks.
Concepts embody many a fool, as precept emerges from drools,
Learning to be wise as serpent, churning of love upon advent,
Having learned the art of love, craving to learn all the above,
By school of these very hard knocks, this fool by love safely docks!
Finished precept advice I give, as replenished of love I live,
Mothers that nurse precious babe, covers with love bodacious Gabe,
Tender and loving nursing, render blessings and not cursing.
From a babe laid in the shade, an honest Abe seldom is made,
Though I seek not any glory, as I peak within life's story,
Tough wisdom as been mother, precept’s buff of love like no other,
I could never hard knock mother, nor would I change her for another!
All across an area
Of poising purple peonies
She's silently secretly stalking
beautiful butterflies betrothed bright blue
Wishing with wonder what wagers would want
From ferociously fluttering fabulous faces
Casting closely to colored camouflaging kaleidoscopes
Until the usually utterly untrustworthy upon the unfortunate
Lands lightly on lips, laminating labyrinths
extreme exultations explode.
The minutes lunge forward,
the days plunge fast.
Months slip by so quickly,
many years define our past.
Will you remember me?
Soft skin turns a blemish,
tiny wrinkles begin to show.
Our youth violently perishing,
did you recognize or even know?
Will you remember us?
Health, wealth and wagers,
placing all bets on love alone.
With stakes too high to squander,
this constant fear of the unknown.
Will I ever reach you?
Admiration, honor and devotion,
always seems to come in last.
Guilt, fear and destruction,
destroying the finish line fast.
Will you ever put me first?
Be joyful, happy and merry,
how do I find the will to be so?
While years have gone,
and our lives moved on,
an empty void will forever grow.
Did you ever really know?
awkward girls delivering their spoken thoughts
like hand written love notes
perfumed hopes cherished brightly
one of a hundred that stand at the edge of reality
and in the near perfect unison of dropping lovely invitations
to the magazine advertisements man who is supposed to
sweep them off their feet
the manly man who has button down eyes
and a wrinkle-free shirt
to him sex's butter is romance
her temperature dog
haunts her lonely steps
with a eager wag of his ratty tail
his pleasant eye wagers that she will return him for the deposit someday
its for the girl who has everything and a box of candy too
its not in what you have but its measured by how much you reject
sex's butter tastes salty sweet
she has a sidewinder viper gently cradled in her arms
calls it the child of her destiny
sex's butter is her bed and breakfast
an empty conversation
like a small hole in my mind
spilling its useless phrases to be swallowed whole
in the tepid sea of her eye
her hollow laughter two tables away
suddenly as it comes it limply dies away
alarmist by nature
she crafts a tale of woe
to suit her mind
but that tale is an empty eyed charter boat fish
that lay barren and objectified on her dinner plate
basted in sex's butter with a twelve inch whip...
Don't bother counting swallows,
I can tell you it's not summer yet.
Winter after winter follows and
my wager is as safe as wagers get
that speeches will be shallow
at the Tory Party Conference
where wearing bangled images of Frida Kahlo
does not inspire public confidence.
Maybe counting birds isn't such a bad suggestion;
but what season follows next, that is the question.
"The Looped Vision of Futures"
The loop plays non-stop
the needle steps out of time
into the groove of you and me
all of us played for time we are their revelry
hockey pucks struck by
the quiet hidden demons
smiling and licking their lips
already tasting our souls on a vicious ice field
lives matter no matter the colour of political greed
time repeats over the record cracks
verdicts and untruths the bells ringing out
once the song of that king of civil rights now forgotten
the bill players kiss each other with glee
prayers and confessionals are wasted
on all your wise misspent revolutions
wafers dipped into a book of wagers
profits and losses lost in tombs all black sealed
could questioning minds make poetry
from a death's throat opened to sing
fresh air to breathe
evolve some kind truth
for humanity’s last minute a saved dignity
and still the elephants march into the room
slowly holding in their adrenaline trunks the dry bones of doom
swinging low vibes slyly into our world view
in their silent hidden stoic hypocrisy
are we simpletons not alone
wanting some humanity
sanity dies on the detour neck of a road open
when we are down on our knees
praying for some brevity
shortness of time
waves wash over you and me
in that vacant parking lot we wait
when the war has dissolved
what remains of the forgotten beautiful dream
broken sutures misplaced in a corner
no longer no blue nor no green
some bad dream
shelved on parchment hidden
in cracked pots of clay forgotten in caves
some other world's dark gone wrong history
ignored,
ghost wars
crying out
caught and unheard
for some Light and some peace
(LadyLabyrinth / 2021)
His name was Vince
And he liked to mince.
The product there to convince,
There was no equal to Vince who liked to mince.
No matter what people brought to cook
If Vince got a look
Then it would end up as another mince dish,
He would even mince the fish.
There was no longer any peace of mind,
When Vince began to grind.
The people in the village had, had enough,
And decided to get tough.
Enough they said we don't mean to be unkind
But you really must stop this daily grind
My name is Vince and I like to mince
And unless you find something I can't mince
My daily grind you will have to mind.
Was the reply from Vince who liked to mince.
That won't be too hard thought the villagers,
And pretty soon they were making wagers
On how long it would take to stop his daily grind.
On the first day they presented a sack of limes for Vince to mince.
Before he could say I'm Vince and I like to mince they were but another load of mince.
On the second day he even managed to mince bag of coconuts,
Which drove the villagers nuts.
On the third day Vince was all set for another day of grinding.
Out the villagers came and presented him with a box tied up with string.
Vince took the box and cut the string.
Inside was a piece of paper
And on the paper in this order
Was, my name is Vince and I like to mince.
You win he said as he bowed his head,
Although I am Vince and I like to mince
My words I just can never seem to mince.