Long Gambles Poems
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SWAN SONG OF AN OLD-GUARD TRUE-BLUE TORY
I am one of the last of a dying breed,
I’m an antique true-blue Tory.
I grew up on Super-Mac
And ‘the Land of Hope and Glory.’
In Rab Butler I once found
A man both mild and sane.
Ted Heath I took with a pinch of salt.
Maggie Thatcher caused me pain.
Her politics were tough and right,
But I found her style too brash.
She was less concerned with social need
Than she was with sordid cash.
John Major held his horses.
He was middle-of-the-road.
Perhaps he was a shade too nice
To fit the worldly mode.
When Cameron came, the rot set in.
I mean that referendum.
Why dabble with these dubious things?
There's no reason to defend ‘em.
Theresa May did what she could
To sort out the Brexit shambles
But failed at last to free the land
From the consequence of gambles.
Boris Johnson ends the list
Of Tories hale and hearty,
And, to boot, as I do fear,
What’s left of the Old Tory Party.
To Liz or Richi falls the task
To clear up after Boris.
w=Were not the better place
if he had kept to Horace.
Is the land I loved so well
Now the land of grope and gory?
Woe is me if I must close
With heavy heart this story.
Descending
the rabbit hole
of debt
as he gambles
away his hard-earned
money, his...
life is...
spiraling
downward.
His marriage
turns shaky
as his wife threatens
divorce proceedings if...
he
keeps self-destructing.
(Yalto)
Date written: 09/22/2019
Written: October 19, 2023
Poem in the Fragmented Form Created by Poetess: Constance la France
The good work is done by people with jagged, broken edges because those edges cut things and leave an imprint, a design. By Harry Crews
_______________________________________
Love's blades tear within as a dull scalpel with teeth
Leaving merely a crushed, dead chunk of flesh
It shreds, gouges, and weeps till the heart bequeaths
Offering its heart gambles will be accepted fresh,
Being hugged frowns as it gulps the vile reality
The dagger sinks further, piercing the frailty of sanity
A heart still bleeds while succumbing to sociality
Pathetic, petrous parcel with pebbly peaks
Jagged-toothed dome rising into bespeaks,
Each is engraved, erose, and has surface breaks.
Swallowed by a murky quagmire of an abyss beneath,
Snapping at heels all life, laden with vessel mensch,
Unfathomable evil clings to grief and jagged vitality
Vow to thrive with every word your soul speaks.
God doesn't play parlor games
Nor does he throw the dice
With the future being the corner stone
That is built on Jesus Christ
It is man who gambles for his life
With every slight of hand
And still he has yet to find
The fortune of his demands
God doesn't take and shuffle cards
Like a dealer of Blackjack
He knows where everything is hidden
And where it should be at
Where man so often fumbles
In the playing of his cards
God in all his wisdom
Has a count on all the stars
With no two ways about it
Man will always choose the losing hand
Never should you doubt it
When he deals in the life of sin
Not only does God play dice,
but ...he sometimes throws them where they cannot be seen.
~Stephen Hawking
This is my rebuttal to a quote from Stephen on a photo site I am on.
God does not gamble with dice nor our lives.
STRONG BURSA
COMPLINED ABOUT
THE PRICE OF
BEEF CHILLI
VERSES
PORK CHILLI
AND RELISH.
IF ONE IS TWO FOR SUM-THANG?
AND THE OTHER IS HALF THE PRICE OF BOTH.
IS THE OTHER TWO FOR WHATEVER THEN?
CAUSE I WOULD HAVE
ENOUGH TO GET THE
SPICY HOT NUTS
AND THE FOUR DOGS THE BROCHURE PROMISED.
BAD NOUGH THOSE PUNKS WANT US TO BY ALL THE TICKETS TO GET IN.
BAD ENOUGH WE NEED THE DISK-COUNT VOUCHURE
BUY THE SODAS, MAN DEEZ SUM BADTHYMES WFOR FOOD AND STUFF.
WE SHOULD HAVE GOT, GAMBLES DRUNK, AND GOT HER TO FIX THOSE
TURKEY LEGS AND TATY-SALLY.
WE WOULD'VE SAVED AT LEAST $20.00 DOLLARS.
SHE SAID ALL SHE NEEDED WAS THEM FRESH HOCK MEDALLIONS FROM GISTER GRAB, AND SOME GINGEROOT GARLIC AND BEER, AND WE'D HAVE SUPPER REAL CHEAP.
they had piled up tinder wood and firecrackers
under the cauldron ready for the feast as they
shelled out wisdom and claimed justice
after all humanity was at stake
and doomsayers were to be pleased
camouflaged for everyone was weary
of four apocalyptic riders up to no good
greed on a pig saddled its grip
pride kicked spurs on a bloody cockerel
lust dribbled down from the rat’s fangs
wrath whipped cockroach’s panzer
no need for envy because
gluttony had feasted on bone meal
and sloth had been given the day off
as they had the dealer on speed dial
soon the globe was on fire once again
shrapnel land mines and bombs delighted
as collateral damage took centre stage
on the playing field of tactical weapons
and strategic gambles with redundant lives
the machine was well oiled
and the vat split open
arms could be had without extra tax
a fat controller counted their profits
stock markets soared
and another proxy war reaped immeasurable benefits
piggy cockerel rat and cockroach
never tired off the onslaught
on the unending supply of cannon fodder
and were only too happy to send
a bit of humanitarian aid to hotspots
and built a few cemeteries for free
we must respect the dead
because they are the foundation
of our wealth and reason for being
Plentiful clover carpet compresses
Set up, sat on, months of manuals
Scripted mouth emits, put to practical test
Three leaf varieties finally defeated
Select among smutty monotonous menu
Virtuous entry through untainted eyes
Coveting customer jumps at his chance
Increased green providence giving
In response to her simplistic pitch
From a patch of debauchery, needing more
While desperate to escape, proposal hatched
Parched plucked stem becomes framed image
Portrait four concedes its feature
Velour wrapped, museum artefact
Standing on verbal agreement alone
From her newborn forty year old soul
Sighs, exclamations, ancient albums emerge
Butterfly Marilyn Munroe emolument ascends
Nectar injector helicopter hopeful clover hoverers
Pick three leaved generic green challenges -
Platter of arrangement layers sensation
Sweets tweased by fingers allergic to trauma
Avoiding at all cost chaos of civil gambles
Defence of dollars steps boldly, saves them
Delivers love instant pizza piping pineapple
Peppers boundaries between enamour and business
Eaten with gusto of negotiations fixed
Good luck grabs devoid of caution
Displays desired quatro leaf, ego inflation
Sprite ties his Tinkerbell in tacit consent
20th August
Renting Return Lust
I was there standing talking to you
A boldness to a new world of confidence and will
Gently pulling the secret strings of my heart
Each minute she speaks
Its as if with an angel s voice
She guards her disguise
Notes fall down like snowflakes
Melting on my nose ,cheeks and brow
Ill sleep well tonight
Hoping to dream of your playful ways
It may be love
Or just a bridge over a feeling
To get to a special place
Like a beautiful spot to picnic in nature
It rediscovers me as a kid
When I was happy to be alone
In a World I made up to explore
By now,the interest of attraction has become an art
Spent my money on gambles of loneliness and moments that smile back
Notes fall down like snowflakes
Melting on my nose,cheeks and brow
Ill sleep well tonight ,hoping to dream of your playful ways
It may be love or a bridge over a feeling
To get to a special place
All I have is my thanks
Even just to be my friend
Love And Other Gambles
There is no gambling hall to fill that hole
That giant vacant vacuum you call your soul
There are no lotto tickets or tricks to mend your heart
Cold blood and venom make you what you are
Luck follows you in the dark
Where you call Jesus your best friend and then
Quick as lightning to step on Him
Crush His face while praying
And tell me to my face that Jesus is your savior
But behavior shows not the holy girl portrayed
Sin is your real favor and flavor of the day
I hope your luck holds out, with pretty face
And social graces in the lost and found
Where hooks and lures and smells of rotted fish and flesh abound
It is not nice or right or kind to use Christ as your favorite bait
I pray you find another fishing hole
Another gambling place to hang around
One that fills you up when you burn out
Perhaps a soul lurks there somewhere about
The genuine of simplicity is the wishing will,
arouses the splendor in content of still.
The scattering stories are matter of a baggage,
becomes the chant proclaiming the stage in savage.
Those torn loose ends to know by the breathe,
finding pleasure in the cruelest advice beneath.
The act of harsh or sweet in shallow warm,
tormented insecurities latching to reform.
That trying again, and once again, to rise,
smoking, drinking, manipulation in disguise.
When moody blinded self-absorption is out on bail,
becoming the shadows trapped in a flapping sail.
By the antiquity to proof with intellectual sight,
every heartbeat trebled to change heavens might.
That most rare conception of all nothing,
and its consequences with its swinging sting.
The cry for righteous freedom in darkening eclipse,
the haunted space by nemesis in grips.
Bearing witness to the poor admitted heart,
in social convention is the holy phony art.
The delicate web of human trust,
emphatic rapture in airy fabrication and its dust.
The lying gambles played every day,
holding and keeping what is not have anyway.
The embodiment of all that despise,
the puppeteer and its disguise.
Pegasus flight thru the storm looses some feather,
mythology is the living breath altogether.