Short Dices Poems

I don't like 
tight spaces
always winning dices
promises promises
But I don't mind mices
Oh that of course should be mice!
Now I have written this very poem twice...

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Whenever you roll your dices, you get sixes.
You always win at rummy.
You form the most matched sets.
I sometimes feel like a dummy. 

When we collect points,
You quit when I'm leading.
I'm all proud, loud and voiced,
But I think it's you who's winning. 

Thank you for making me smile
In my gloomy time....

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,Center>The streets are ridge-backed and growling.
City lights glare like outflanked samurai.
Your thin hand dices words
into sideswipes.
Whiskey blooms in your orchid mouth.
I am led to where a lust
is armored, and snorting to be free.
Stories groom our hungers.
The night camps
in a small neon room....

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You have to roll a six,
With four dices on the board.

The odds are not in your favor,
Playing a big game of chance.

Critics are saying it’s impossible,
But you still play in the tournament.

Self-discipline increases the luck,
Determination reduces the risk.

Regardless the outcome of the game,
A dream is better pursued than left alone....

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Que Dices, Sarah?

No wooden-cross 
parachute deployment awaits
where we held
not one another
but separate breaths
that lit the candle
which ushered in darkness
the only kept
promise our broken 
home still fixates.

How do we square
this parallelogram,
hmm, Lassie?

Or is it simply a case of 
que sera, sera, Sarah?...

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For whom shall I vote?
There are too many voices
saying come here, don't go there.
If I'm not cold I'm at least lukewarm
to political drones throwing stones;
the demented or the dictator? 

I might look elsewhere.

If I vote for the Prohibition Party 
will I have to give up my vices? 
Perhaps I'll just roll the dices~
if they land on thirteen or the old Jolly Roger,
maybe I'll become the three thousand and first 
member of the primed Pirate Party!


...

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FOES
They pretend to be nice…
Whilst their hatred is buried in ice…
So cold to reveal sarcastic pieces…
That catapulted their prejudice…
Now their conscience is in slices...
Their fate narrow and gamble with dices…
Without facts, quiet like mice…
Whoever honours them deserves it thrice…
Their secrets with no value yet with price…
Extent of their jealousy boomerang twice…

Habitual truth procrastinators to deride themselves, 
their lives are always lies…
				By Willem Pietersen...

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