Long Slots Poems
Long Slots Poems. Below are the most popular long Slots by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Slots poems by poem length and keyword.
It only made sense to me-
like I only wade in destiny,
like I only drink very dark tea,
on summer mornings when they are scorching...
It only made sense to me,
like it's scoring the dividers detracting O' tall and torry,
at the worried hello sojourning,
...of a next year's encouraged
deuteronomy,
and the slots spell perfectly like I am optionally twerking
tangents and the emotional torpid laughing,
hacking as I complain entrapping this dent upon the distances-
completing me in the persistence, as I know of no more to be finished
and fixed,
this is existence and the amiable confidence.
Before i wrote i knocked on wood.' Maybe an omen? Take
Note we should? Or maybe thousands of pieces of paper'
How many to boil a kettle? Will we find out later? Meanwhile in Spain, were results its plain.' I wager Its due to the move.? Or
The switch? to the 'eco fast lane?' Perhaps a varience in supply.? Maybe the ammunition factory needed more umph.? Is that why a Nation stumbled yesterday like cro-magnons
Around!! Planes were grounded trains stayed in towns.'
With such a network.? That we are being told is going to be stable; sound'
'Save the planet?' Why did such strange scenes unfold.?? Is
This a Nation fit to go to war ? It seems one hiccup and its
On the floor.' I imagine Canada.? Where its can get really
Cold ' was their recent history of sucess?' Built on windmills of old?? Lets face it then (power was intermittant) and donkey power was at its zenith.' Hey but
Lets get in it.!! Imagine the deaths?? Limited medical ops
No heart surgery..no light no power no slots.?? Maybe some men.?? On bikes fed through wires.' Will be needed
To give a dynsmo power.? Or have i got that wrong should
It be 'crews of women?' As we get deep into green.!! Well
Maybe fitness we will be instilling? Yet we'd still have to
Build (those dynamo's) I can see all the calculations.!! Will
That be carried out on fingers and toes.' Will the idealogical
Honymoon soon be over.' When we realise the aim is to kill
To increase the clover.!! To 'save the earth' apparantly billions must die!! And dear reader that means 'you and I'
Meanwhile well fight wars (against some foe?) Probably
One speaking very gutterally.?? I guess we'll never know???
Betrayal My Love
Honor your own cold blackened heart
You filthy dirty whore
Demonic pagan worthless piece of godless wonderment
You stealing thieving thing
Betrayal is the soiled sewer’s game you play
Taking joy at targeting the trust of others
Wasting each and every soul you touch
That touches you with money
You give this world the ugliest thing you can
Your promise in the form of candy and sweet snacks
But give nothing back
Sinister flashing smiles, advertises, pretty wrapped packaging
Is all that you display
But when it comes to paying you
You steal my quarters
Leave me empty
What hurts worse?
Craving for your sweets my love
What is behind the machine you pretend to be?
Betrayal, poverty, as I’m left standing
No more money to enter in your slots
No more quarters in my pockets and no more candies
You worthless vending machine monstrosity
You thieving *****!
Give me back my money or I’ll break the glass!
8/28/14 Any Old Poem Will Do #3 - contest
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.
casino thoughts
Sitting in a casino of the damned
Somewhere on the Las Vegas Strip
Playing the slots
Watching the crowd go wild
Watching the machines watching me
Drinking the free drinks of the damned
20 drinks too sober
And the gamblers on the gaming tables
Gambling away their fortune
Throwing money away
In hopes of the payoff
That somehow never comes
The pure decadent spectacle
The fake this and fake that
Phony this phony that
False New York
Paris in Vegas
Venetian canals, Roman forum
MGM Grand Lions
All fake, all phony
All deliciously decadent
The noise
The scantily clad waitresses
The men ogling the women
The women ogling back at them
The scent of wild decadence
Bad craziness in the air
The music – the lounge music from hell
The constant sound
Of money exchanging hands
It all overwhelms me
And I must sit down
And drink my reality drink
Drink it down and dirty
As I continue
To feed the hungry, greedy machines
Made in a workshop in hell
No doubt with child or slave labor
Imported from the third world
All my money
Is sucked into it
These machines from hell
The beast from revelation appears
Stands revealed in his hideous glorious beauty
Conducting this mad scene
And I am consumed by the greed
And the frenzy takes over me
All I want
All I need
All I desire
Is one more chance
One more shot
I scream
At the utterly unfeeling monsters
That ate my money
And chewed up my soul
And I know
The worst drug of all
Is the gambling fever
The gold bugs
I would sell my soul
If I had one left
For a chance
At the jackpot of life
Instead, I am reduced
To a pathetic broken down loser
Watching the world and Elvis
Pass him by
Viva Las Vegas
Imperial God of the American Dream
Goddess of the American Nightmare
Published in former people journal
"Get it Free!" Cried out to me "Free night! Free flight!" from our t.v.
Before my hubby turned the station, I grabbed a pen in pure elation!
"Call now! Don't Wait!" The voice went on, excitedly, my plans were drawn.
"This is the answer to my prayer! Los Vegas trip, what shall we wear?"
I made that call, and it was planned, about 10:30 night we'd land.
Well, granted, that was pretty late, we'd still have fun, I couldn't wait!
In my heart I felt a warning and couldn't sleep till early morning.
I had to buy us some new clothes, we'd need some luggage I supposed,
I had to shop, it wasn't hard, to get good deals with the credit card.
The day was dawned hopeful and bright, we flew out on a Tuesday night.
Coach was ok, hey, it was free, a wonderful date for him and me.
Leaving the luggage in our room, stayed up playing slots like goons.
We were tired without doubt, but now it was time to check out.
We learned that trip was paid one way, the ticket home? We had to pay!
At home again, I was in tears, that debt was paid within two years.
We suffer some PTSD when hearing buzzwords "Get it Free!!"
A fictitious poem (thank goodness!!)
Written for the
Buzzwords Poetry Contest
Sponsored By
Kim Rodriguez
Can somebody tell me about love,
Who is love and where does she lives?
Tell me while my heart stays awake,
I need to know otherwise my heart will not stay a rest.
Tell me why I always rule out in the journey of love
Am I a coward or a dreamer who does not go for his resemblance.
I have replete with all manner of information,
But am cautious when it come to love.
I know the journey of love
I know it embarks by chivalrous, gallant matured people.
But am not exempted from them
I know the journey attracts caring driver, efficient fuel, reliable engine.
As I sat on my bed with a pain in my heart
My brain can not omit how my aimless neighbors have double their slots.
Can someone tell me why women like flashy chaps with narrow visions
How can we the courageous, daring visionary ones are always rule out in the journey of love
As I sat with my widow lay awake.
I could see fireflies darting in disarray like a heart break,
I could hear the frogs croaking in the mid of moonlight with their fondness.
How long would I be treated like a scrap in the journey of love?
I have even lost taste,
I am waiting for my completion in the journey of love where there will be no heartache.
Seek a calm spot,
Sit still with ease;
Now close eye slots,
Stillness funds peace.
Abide here now,
Breathe wholesome cheer;
Yes you know how,
Purge away fear.
No need to rush,
Sip your calm poise;
Feel a light brush,
Watch your soul voice.
Watch and wait here,
Each moment tells;
Discern deep cheer,
Feel how soul dwells.
Heed that fine hint,
A still small voice;
Feel grace now mint,
Forge a clear choice.
Rest just a while,
In silence still;
Glimpse a grand style,
Sync fond goodwill.
Go on your way,
Aware of love’s proof;
Create your play,
Grace anchors truth.
Soul mellows heart,
Bring words that heal;
Mind fashions start,
Watch love reveal.
Leon Enriquez
02 January 2018
Singapore
Be still my soul and listen well,
Stillness makes whole just where you dwell.
Steep silence lifts what grace now shows,
A certain gift where calm soul knows.
Be conscious then of poise that comes,
Aware of when a still voice sums.
This now right here is where you see,
Let a deep cheer prompt pulse to be.
This moment can reveal truth plain,
So seize touch grand in profound strains.
Mind raptures thought as feelings squeeze,
Consciousness slots act like a cool breeze.
Be still my heart for soul knows peace,
Love mellows start in journey ease.
Leon Enriquez
15 November 2017
Singapore
Répéter Depuis le Début
The Pink Studio, by Henri Matisse, 1911.
Perception fuses like melted rose quartz,
fuses on the lens of Matisse’s puzzled eyes
like the naiveté of childhood returned to age.
Melted images rose in two dimensions,
rose in repetition, mothering the pieces.
Quartz, genteel rosé, shown in transcendence,
fuses on the lens of Matisse’s puzzled eyes
on naysayers & followers, his morphosis reigns.
The stimulus silent, light’s effect returned, burned
lens now open to the madness of pattern, pieces
of left brain obliterated; right reinforced; art,
Matisse’s obsession oozed from his pores
puzzled synapses explored and explored,
eyes dry as a bone, from sleepless nights, sigh.
Like the naiveté of childhood returned to age,
the Madonna appears, or the muse Aphrodite reborn,
naiveté sexless tasted clean, pure, purged in white.
Of the patterns outside, he’d reproduce those within
childhood wide-eyed he approached & there he
returned again & again paying homage to the core,
to reiterate images in pieces of two dimensions
age left the left brain obliterated – reinforced the right.
Melted images rose in two dimensions.
Images, giving meaning to negative space,
rose ground beneath the pestle of repetition
in loops, sockets, knobs, holes, tabs, slots & keys
two halves male-female, left-right, up-down
dimensions all an idiocracy depicted his fright,
rose in repetition, mothering pieces,
in loops, sockets, knobs, holes, tabs, slots & keys
repetition reiterated, quartz ground beneath the pestle
mothering the pieces of two dimensions,
pieces of puzzles conjoining parts triangularly staged.
Quartz, genteel rosé, shown in transcendence.
Genteel, childlike, Matisse adored illumination, art
rose with repetition, a mothering of the pieces,
shown in the dance, in stance, in transfigured delight,
in loops, sockets, knobs, holes, tabs, slots & keys,
transcendence an illusion, of optics, of light.
First Published in Ekphrastic: writing and art on art and writing 2016