Long Poker Poems
Long Poker Poems. Below are the most popular long Poker by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Poker poems by poem length and keyword.
She was a wily cigar chompin' gambler with the moniker of Poker Alice,
Renowned throughout the west for her skill in many a gamblin' palace!
Poker Alice had a good head for countin' and with her very cunnin' guile,
(Plus her beauty), she mesmerized her opponents, amassin' quite a pile!
Poker Alice worked in saloons across the west as a faro and poker dealer.
She worked in Creede, Colorado for Bob Ford, that notorious stealer!
Because of her pious rearin' as a girl, she refused to work on Sundays,
But she was back smokin' a two-dollar stogie and dealin' cards on Mondays!
She drifted to Deadwood, South Dakota, where her notoriety was well known,
And married a house painter named Tubbs who was a deft gambler on his own!
Later she established a brothel near Fort Mead Army Post with her ill-gotten gain.
The place was small and she needed funds to fix the 'house' on Pleasure Lane!
To expand and recruit 'soiled doves' from Kansas City she applied for a loan.
The banker scratched his skull sayin', "I dunno! That's a risk into the unknown!"
She convinced him notin' that The Grand Old Army had an encampment near,
And for the soldiers' bent for visitin' hog ranches, he had nothin' at all to fear!
Things didn't go well since she plumb forgot The Methodist Preachers' Convention,
Convened each and every year and she hadn't figured on that intervention!
Poker Alice's fame and notoriety followed her well beyond her wanin' years.
She died after a gall bladder operation with her 'house' payments in arrears!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 4 in Don Johnson's " Your Old Ballad Or Rhyme - Best Of All Time" Contest
July 2011
The Balancing Act
It is as though I am constantly in a balancing act
I envy those that seemingly do not go through
This process of weighing things in my mind
Those like poker players that can go “all in”
Shove their chips into the middle of the table
As if there wasn’t even a fore thought involved
No, my mind has to go through “the process”
Is this a good decision or bad
What will be the consequences
Why am I doing this
What are the odds of something bad happening
How will the results affect my life
I look at the homeless who wander my streets
Judgment floods my mind
But is there jealousy at the heart of it
Is theirs a conscious choice
To have no bosses, no one to account to
Are they free from the balancing act
What of the daredevils that navigate Niagara falls
Who leap to peril, do they juggle their decision
Or is there absolute clarity of the mind
Pros and cons
Ins and outs
Good or bad
Happy or sad
Mad or glad
The balancing act
Andreas Simic©
Lovers each parted their ways,
Tears cause misty sprays.
Colder grew them both,
Love amid them was now an old growth.
Lovers wear on their poignant face a pair of abysmal drenched brows,
Each parted brow one crumpled, other rumpled as twinge, sonorous it grows.
Their ways parted but for scores to come both would grieve,
Tears to obscure make believe a poker face for all to deceive.
Cause misty sprays now quench and quell the fervent fires of the raving heart,
Colder grew to icier but a dim flame of passion lies to be kindled although apart.
Them both a score later brought face to face by fate or fortune to meet,
Love amid them, wedged, now flickered and glinted, sneering smiles as they greet.
Was now at hand frozen silence and two tear blubbering faces,
An old growth of love renascence and regenerates.
Now the feelings cold erase and hate displace,
To make way for their searching love to take them to a higher place.
To melt intrepidly into each other’s arms and embrace,
Depose and oust with grace the long worn mask of the poker face.
Et cetera Poetry Contest
29/2/2012
My lady wife does strange things with the lavatory brush
She stands it in the loo and then she activates the flush
But she’s my girl and not someone that I would want to chasten
Except she leaves the brush there like it’s Guardian of the Basin
I know she pours in loads of bleach in which the brush can soak
I don’t know why she does this for alas I'm just a bloke
So when I walk into the loo that brush is standing proud
Protruding from the lavvy pan as I proclaim out loud…
My darling, I’m so happy that you keep our home hygienic
But that there plastic poker in our loo is hardly scenic
So I don’t have a Labrador but what if I were blind…
You’d find me running out of here while clutching my behind
Little Miss Ruby cannot keep still
Little Miss Ruby is running up the hill
Little Miss Ruby is going around the circle
Little Miss Ruby likes the color purple
Little Miss Ruby is playing smart
Little Miss Ruby is drawing a flow chart
Little Miss Ruby has a bold spirit
Little Miss Ruby is a bigot
Little Miss Ruby keeps changing the tune
Little Miss Ruby love the tycoon
Little Miss Ruby has a big king bed
Little Miss Ruby love the color red
Little Miss Ruby is banging the door
Little Miss Ruby is peeping through the key hole
Little Miss Ruby is looking for a loophole
Little Miss Ruby is out of control
I walked quietly through the back door
Seeking solace for my ripped up soul
I tried to get a sip of whisky
before I join the invigorating dance floor
But something magnetic ushered me away
And took me to the ground floor
unscrupulous men puffing big cigars
gather around a table in the streetcar
Half naked women serving vodka
Big men with big stuff playing poker
Big pocket big hand
Big money big land
Empty chairs, empty bed
Empty house, empty head
The thoroughbred is leaving the shed
And here I am penetrating the letterhead
They kept moving it from pillar to post
until it end up on the ivory coast
I like the shape of that big horn
It was on the wall before I was born
Something spectacular is carved inside
little miss Ruby is full of pride
Little Miss Ruby is coming clean
Little Miss Ruby has spilled the beans
Twas fortnight before inspection 2021...,
Not a human creature stirred, nor seen
throughout Highland Manor,
property carpeted in lush green
gently hilly terrain,
(a deathlike stillness descended un keen
quiet and quite cool April 26th,
deux thousand twenty one).
Vicious rumors circulate wrenching
hammering, and drilling psyche
where mailer demons invade,
that immediate hell fire enfilade
natural hair color made
gray follicular shocks amply pervade
instantaneously turning
Janus faced with Machiavellian
mean streak inlaid
(how word some would say)
"stern", any previous
housewarming aura
experiencing welcome spiel,
nor iota of politesse present,
but Trumpeting her entourage,
asper self important capering escapade
taskmaster known to abrade
even the most stalwart macho,
gung-ho, brave heart appear afraid,
thus oft time tis most
advantageous and optimal
prospective mutineers betrayed
Princess Ja***n Ge***r
harridan de jure ushering tirade
akin to a petit grand mal one
woman banshee masquerade
hoop puts on be preyed
upon switching pretentious airs
dead ringer give
away (immediately
points gnarled finger
sentenced to clinker visage),
non verbal charade
hence unstoppable mounting
anticipatory anxiety manifests
as disabling, impending,
oppressing fate
cannot be delayed
if insubordinate tenants
try with futility to evade
officials with truncheons flayed
doth rarely give surcease
renters passing grade
she, the consummate
de facto grande heiress
of Gr***e & Qu**e
inherited plum deal,
where lifetime employment,
and generously paid
analogous as born
(that way) portrayed
maintaining poker face
into royalty made,
now as single mother
to biracial heir
purportedly inhabits castle
abode with parents,
thus no child
care costs paid
expectant heavy foot
falls getting louder,
(oh...no that jist
my heart pounding
whence approaching raid
so please inform this jade
did troubadour if privy to let
(me and the missus) aid
i.e. a safe and sound
place to call home
with this hole in the poetry wall,
I would immediately
make thee a fair trade
in lieu of living, where
mercilessness doth parade
expenses property upkeep,
teaching (two
door ring) English,
or even employed
as a mister minute maid.
Argh...What Accursed Fate Did Lurk...
Regarding thee 2009 Hyundai Sonata
(50+ shades of gray), a cred
debt tub bull vehicle, that at
this moment finds sinking
feeling akin to led
zeppelin, yes (for almost ten years,
this car manufactured with damn) sped
to countless destinations,
no whomever drove head
ding here, there, or anywhere,
yea without missing a beat said
vehicle dependable, rightly never left
being reliable, thus no question even Fred
Flintstone could corroborate, how red
dilly reliant aforementioned car
stood us in good stead,
aye attribute to quality wed
did craftsmanship in tandem being exam
manned by skilled automotive technicians,
nonetheless majority of cumulative costs
exceed all other expenditures
and asper right finds
me in a severe emotional,
financial, and spiritual jam,
when meager money resources
socked with exorbitant costs
analogous to experiencing bam!
Over today, a six hundred
plus dollars repair, hits mine head
hard (albeit figuratively), I surmise
a worse fate than being dead
agh...please help me survive
this shell shock humongous,
(yet critical) brake system replacement,
cuz trickling optimism fled
leaving me agast
how ongoing expenses,
will be met for me tum tug get fed
now yours truly feels
utterly rife with dread
as his emergency savings
account reserve tapped,
since checking account
hemorrhaged i.e. bled,
whereat monthly social security
deposit cannot be used to feather bed
my inner peace, particularly when
alarming sense of monetary
distress dost dead
din ability to breathe easy,
when faith to remain
financially solvent fled...
Hence psyche feels like
being pitched to and fro
with no recourse to buttress
legal tender woe
full despair spurs philanthropic
largesse (I hate to beg), though
an upended employment track record
(most recent job held...oye vey
maybe two decades ago)
severe bouts of anxiety/
panic undermined emo
shin null (psychological) confidence
nsync with sweaty palms, this this bro
kin metaphor, which in part
contributes to lifetime mein kampf
of a bajillion times ho...ho...
humbug mood possessed mind
fiendish poker face spirit in hell
worse off than a hobo living on skidrow!
They met a few years ago
On a Texas Hold'em site
Cautious to exchange info
Wanted a few hours of fun
Play cards, laughter and flirting
Profiles had lives of their own
Elderly Jack and Lucille
At night young Zac and Camille
Sexy pics no way were real
They soon fell for each other
Poker players saw it all
She was baby, he lover
Zac and Camille by day now
Texted and talked hours on end
Reality blurred somehow
There were bumps along the way
Players witnessed the drama
Jealousy problem they say
Life plans were made together
Generous fake gifts were bought
A house, jewelry, whatever
The worst that could happen did
Camille noticed Zac straying
Uncovered things he had hid
How could he do this to them
Her heart was broken in two
For real now a fake victm
My question to you would be
Who was catfish... catfisher
It started so innocently
May 20, 2018
*True story...
Catfish Contest by Catie Lindsey
N/A
The day Mitchell Malden became a hero
he had only meant to go for a drink,
paced slowly into Slimbed’s only saloon,
where he noticed an unpleasant stink.
He saw Delaney Hannigan at cards
and figured that explained the bad smell,
that rustler spent his days out in the bush,
scum like him never did come off well.
He only came to town to spend stolen loot,
and for some reason the man liked to play,
Mitch himself could not understand why,
the fool just lost all his cash in the games.
So Mitch ignored him, enjoyed his drink,
tasted fine after a day running cows,
then came a loud roar, and angry howl:
“You damned cheats, throw those guns down right now!”
The poker table then crashed, upended,
Mitch look back, saw Delaney with a gun,
“I’m tired of this bar stealing my coin,
so y’all put your hands up, everyone!”
For a moment nobody dared a move,
Al knew Delany was the type to kill,
Nobody else had a pistol drawn
So they coolly acquiesced to his will.
Delaney stalked closer, saw Mitch’s old colt,
said,”Listen close and you’ll suffer no harm.
You take that iron out of that gunbelt
and you lay it down real nice on the bar.”
Mitchel did what the bandit desired,
there was no other way he could figure,
but Mitch’s hand shook, and when he put it down
his finger brushed back against the trigger.
The gun fired as it touched the bar-top,
the slug pierced Delaney’s big forehead,
he pitched backwards, the folks looking on,
when he hit the ground he was stone dead.
A moment of stunned silence fell on them,
then came a storn of folk shaking his hand.
“Making that cool think you would go alone…
Now that there’s the play of a clever man!”
Mitch was stunned, but he said not a word,
just let the procession bring him to the street,
soon all of the town knew of his brave deed
and heralded this heroic feet.
The newspapers even picked up the tale,
earning Mitch a good measure of fame,
soon enough he found himself the mayor,
and got a pretty girl to take his name.
All though he was the smartest gunfighter,
and all his life he was a sensation,
the bar where this happened still stands today,
visited by folk across the whole nation.
It’s only I, his great-great-great grandson,
who knows the truth of what happened back then,
but who am I to tell it like it was
when everybody does so love the legend?
backyard helicopters create
ass-sending noises that...
disturb whole neighborhoods
so...threats of disturbance are policed...
america blocked 'russian missiles to cuba'
there was a stench to their presence...
that would keep u.s. citizens awake
now...threat's of disturbance get policed again and...
the russians blocked nato nukes from their backyard
missiles carry a stench that scream their presence...
with such disturbing constant political threats
that...the media has replaced tiring virus reports with...
a cowboy style political saloon poker-game stand-off
with excessive soundings of hollow overblown threats...
all because the ukraine leader is a former comic
thinking...his nato and missile talk would be taken lightly...
stans sand