Almost sixty years ago, my father
under suspicion, as a cattle rustler
Me a bit surprised
but it could have been as the title of a hustler
One day whilst in the dairy, my father with my brother milking cows
two young cops arrived to ask a leading question
Were you in such and such a paddock on such and such a day
if so what was your purpose, was put as a suggestion
They had evidence to support, that my father he did visit
That his actions in that paddock may be viewed as illicit
One cop from his pocket pulled a docket , that had been found
it was a receipt which displayed my fathers name
It was enough for them to investigate,
that's why to my father's property they came
To their leading question
what was it he was doing
I had a crap was his immediate reply
One young innocent cop asked my father what's a crap
They would have instantly known if my father said he was ........ a word that rhymes with ruing
perhaps my father would have had regrets if he had known what would later be brewing
NO CHARGES LAID
hawk watches him intent
magnetic hustler chases wild ~
bulging eyes fast fade
h IM
a
W ___________atches
k
IN TENT
@ > € £ M agne TIC & **
hustler
ch S
Ase WILd
B
U LG ing
e
YES
FAST
f a d
e • : ..
___________________
coconut-
man gambling his way
walks tightropes
subjugates
gravity, among the fronds
grabbing water seeds
Yes- hustler,
all dressed in his lies.
Slick talking,
devil tongue.
Loves ladies of all ages,
you watch out for him.
Written: June 03, 2025 For Contest SPIN A SHADORMA
Sponsored by: Nette Onclaud
Checked by HMS.com, 3/5/3/3/7/5
********************
hustler's street
throbbing like a vein
guide chore girl
moist air clings
labyrinth shadows converge
show fragmented selves
Sponsored by: Nette Onclaud
Date: June 3, 2025
Contest Title: Spin A Shadorma Poetry Contest
Burning wild,
chaos grips my bones,
grinding sharp,
breaking free—
shards of dreams ignite the dark,
I rise through the storm.
SPIN A SHADORMA Poetry Contest
Nette Onclaud-6/3/2025
A pool shark
Swims with the guppies
Half drowning
Half acting
But full of toy skills at times
He swears he's lucky
Dear hustler, work your way,
Let not others' scorn dismay.
Pray for God's grace, each day,
And your reward will come your way.
But do not kill yourself for gain,
It's not worth the price of pain.
Do not steal or cause another's loss,
Let not your greed bring another's cross.
Take your time, and work your way,
It's not worth it to rush and stray.
Let God's grace be your daily guide,
And you'll find your blessings multiplied.
For He who works with faith and trust,
Shall reap the harvest, He must.
Russell was slim and did like to hustle, but on his arm he packed some serious muscle
Most of the time he liked to gamble, but when things got hot he was quick to scramble
Fraud and deceit is a way to survive, this easy money is what keeps him alive
He hated snitches, but he loved his crew, this is the only life he ever knew
At daytime a hustler, at night a playboy, but Russell was never a rich man’s toy
The people in town knew he was bad, but what happened to Russell was really sad
One morning when Russell was crossing the road, he got bit in the eye by a flying toad
As his vision blurred and day became night, it turns out that poor Russell had lost his sight
Now Russell sits alone flexing his muscle, wishing that he can once more Hustle
Saleh Ben Saleh
He hustled his way to the top
But in an instance, he was stop
Street cops took him down
He lost his street crown
And turn into a beat-up flop
When I discovered marbles can take marbles
I became a hustler
I was a pro
I took marble after marble
Some cried
I rarely gave their marble back
It was a competition
Taken fairly
I feel no guilt
Steps his foot out of the door with granny’s anointed words
if blessings were edible, he’d have been fatter than North America
faces the day’s task with immunity to the heat of the sun
dines with the wild to keep the oil running
the quest for a better tomorrow begs for a step further
a bright mind, a weary heart, a bunch of hard nails
and strained muscles still yet deserving of any praise
one added day and his large hope is a chronic liar
for an upgrade, his life is becoming an outlay.
After the rigorous relay,
the day ends in a sleep commenced through deep thoughts
the alarm rings at dawn, no fresh start, the cycle continues
he’s sunk in this ocean until a miracle sailor comes through.
The greatest hustler we will ever know
Is our wishful thinking
For something holy.
The deal on the table never really changes.
It has long grown old
And curdled.
But we all take it as new.
And
How can I find my balance on the legal apparatus
Of a rat eat rat city
Which will always take the form’
Of a moneyed home.
Those of us who honed our craft
Have become exhibits in
museums of all our spent years
isolated
while the moneyed children
beautiful in their designer skin
and expensive shoes.
But their souls were left behind
On the cutting floor somewhere
Where the rats
The ones mentioned before
are free to collect all scattered things
For their unseen nests.
That is the price of advertising:
To
plant your heart under the floor boards
Like just another roach
Another lost
Or discarded thing
all
To avoid the pain
Knowing what it is
To turn into just another house cat
Peering out the same window
As yesterday
Knowing you will never
truly be part of the world below
Only living just behind
Drawn shades and
Dark clubs.
And me?
I continue to wait for you
To return from finality's
unforgiving sea.
Enter the hustler
With monetary momentary speed
He's rolling
Not a man of need
He's got it squared away
No specific race these days, all races participate
Man of grace, charisma, his needs
On any other day
He's got gold so he knows
The hustle night and day
He's got the glory of the prize
Standing straight and tall
On this side of the ball
He checks it all
Watch the paper trail
Always gets by
Sly slipping out the back way
When no body has
Eyes on him
Turns around with that golden smile
Panther style the cool of charisma
More than you can guess, major
No temporary swag
His mission, stroll the GOAL
GET THE MONEY AT OPPORTUNITY'S DOOR
stay the patrol
He glows
Light the life of jive
Known to thrive customary stride when he goes
Smooth EXIT THE LEGEND STROLLS
The sun is really high and hot;
his three-day shirt is all wet.
He carry academic papers in his file;
every day he walks for more than a mile,
looking for a way to get a decent job,
and save him from political mob.
Sometimes he wonders why he was born;
looking down at his shoes so torn.
Pain and misery is visible on his face,
as he toils hard on the rat race.
His hands are so strong and rough,
adapted to the world so tough.
He lived alone – he’s an orphan;
sometimes he tries out heroin,
to forget his childhood trauma,
and focus on life’s daily drama.
In his heart he carries a song,
which he sings when days are long…..
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