Hannah Hippo refused to dress
I worked much longer than the rest
Finally retired at ninety-one
I wear my jammies, and have such fun
I drink my coffee in the night
stay up and play the slots so bright
do it on zoom, a gambler I am now
I do not have to look pretty, no one to wow
In our younger days we met for dinner;
Now it’s mainly lunch.
We needn’t rush; since we’re retired,
Time slots we don’t crunch.
We pack up meals we’ve ordered,
For we’ve barely eaten half
And when waiters ask, “Dessert or wine?”
We shake our heads and laugh.
We stop a stranger, asking if
He’ll snap our photo please.
He sees four senior citizens
So he, of course, agrees.
But what he cannot understand
(No reason that he should)
Is that, though we look old to him,
There is the likelihood
That we’ve lived through so many things
He’s only read about
And though he’ll have his own adventures,
There is little doubt
That we add up to so much more
Than what his pix reveal –
Four smiling alte kakers*
Clutching what’s left of our meal.
*a Yiddish expression meaning old farts
I bought an amazing book and introduced it into my bookshelf,
It was a bit larger in volume so couldn't fit well and cried for immediate help.
Other books were displaced and disturbed due to its sudden appearance,
The books with rigid covers suffered a lot and carried the immense pain.
Those slightly thinners still adapted and won this fitting battle,
Rest of their neighbours which are relatively larger faced structural claim.
At last everything went wrong and some of them were halfway out from their row,
A very few were still attached to their own slots to provide the knowledge to grow.
with our mind trapped in narrow slots
the ink spreads when we clean the blots
we’re called a fool but love’s the tool
since our heart never joins the dots
The deck can be shuffled,
resulting in a new order,
but we all are still
just placeholders.
This one now another one then,
all taking the role
that is given to them.
People move on,
but the slots stay the same,
and as always
they will be filled again.
It can take ages or just a few weeks,
but this will always continue
no matter how you shriek.
If this reality makes you feel unease,
then ponder it more
and you will be pleased.
Because the slots you have been dealt
cannot be changed,
but the placeholder you receive
is always arranged.
ROAST TO THE TOASTER
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
toaster, warmth you bring,
golden crusts greet morning light,
sunrise in my hand.
slots are welcoming
embrace bread with gentleness,
toasting it with ease.
each slice meets your heat,
a transformation occurs,
soft to crisp delight..
you're more than a tool,
symbol of comfort, routine,
part of daily life.
here's to you, toaster.
may your coils always glow bright,
filled with a slice white.
In the casino hall, the reels all turn,
Lights keep flashing, the bright fires burn.
Coins keep ringing, neon signs glow,
The thrill builds higher with every throw.
Roulette spins fast, the bars are alive,
Cigarette smoke in the aisles will dive.
New slot machines shine bold and bright,
Luring with stories, tempting the night.
Players wait, their hands held tight,
The reels spin on in a fevered flight.
But times have changed, the world has grown—
The casino now fits in your home.
Where smoke once curled in the midnight air,
Now glowing screens take you there.
New Online Slots at UnionSlots call out to start,
With the same old rush and a beating heart.
From the shimmer of lights to pixels’ gleam,
From crowded floors to a quiet dream.
Each fresh release feels like Vegas fame,
Without the smoke, but with all the same game.
Waking in the palm of your hand,
A universe of spinning worlds unfolds—
Neon dreams and ancient lore,
From jungle beats to mythic shores.
No app downloads, just instant play,
HTML5 magic on your way—
Free spins dance, multipliers soar,
Jackpots rising, evermore.
Scroll through themes and epic tales,
From glittering gems to pirate sails.
Every tap—a pulse, a thrill,
Responsive beats that never still.
Trust the vault, the licensed gate,
Secure and fair, with healthy restraint.
Set your spin, respect the game—
Responsible fun, the core’s the same.
Play the demo first, feel the spark,
A teaser’s glimpse before you embark.
From mobile slot adventures at UnionSlots with Starburst’s glow
To Rainbow’s gleam where winnings flow.
So spin the night on mobile beams,
Let bonus rounds fuel your schemes.
In shrinking screens, vast worlds reside—
Mobile slots in the UK where fortune and fun collide.
Written: July 24 for contest, Sponsored by: Miranda Hawley
***********
A toaster is the wise old sage of the kitchen,
Fire's bread with "Plato" steadfast position.
Chrome reflects light from the cosmos' gaze,
Like "Nietzsche" on a morning haze.
The bagel slots are so deep and vital,
A metaphor for insight that is softly incisal.
It dings!—a discovery in real life,
"Kant" just sits about and talks on strife.
Toast pops! I gathered it! Fate's browned bit,
Socrates proved late in comparison to it.
So here's to logical thinking, cut and clear,
Truth provided hot, with a sputter so dear.
though our form decays
bliss borne rapture stays
current magnetic ~
our heart’s ecstatic
mind connects the dots
in narrow thought slots
but being aware
we do not dwell there
soma nectar flows
luminescence grows
simply being still
bending to God’s will
there’s nothing we do
as bliss beats renew
transmuting our soul
that thus we feel whole
Fragmented thought strives to join all the dots,
attempting to make sense of what appears
but analysis partitioned in slots,
can define not pathways bliss rapture spears.
Calling upon a fish to climb a tree,
dog to work out square root of minus one,
the sunken to tell us how to be free,
doomed to failure, thus we must come undone.
In silence, employing mind of the heart,
consciousness aligned with the universe,
wisdom imbibed even before thoughts start,
we pen a verse with no need to rehearse.
Simply by relinquishing all doership,
God does all doings through our heart’s worship.
He blinks in and out in a wingchair,
overhears what visitors say
when patients
can be talked about
as if not there.
People speak well of the dying,
even of dying strangers,
to him their words
prematurely shovel earth.
The terminally sick
must be accommodated,
penciled into time slots,
eased gently into oblivion.
He listens as he slips downstream
on a raft of morphine.
These last trips are scenes taken
from childhood books.
His own life story has become
absurd, it is almost as if
he is a character in someone else's life,
a Huckleberry Finn
whistling through Dantes Inferno.
What he really wants
is a rocking horse and ice-cream.
A nurse brings him ice-cream,
but it's the wrong flavor.
He wonders if anyone can see
the horse he rides upon,
his ten-gallon hat is as white
as a flying nun's Cornette.
The occasional visitors
watch the dying in dreadful relief.
Hypnotic minds drone like trapped bee's.
Frank Sinatra jets in from wonderland,
hands him a coloring book.
If only he had crayons
to fill in the blanks.
From blue collar workers
tool and dye filling the
slots more jobs more
job awesome tower
city the flats the docks
Cleveland rock and roll
hall of fame the Browns
the beaches no more
fake news finally on
board with the best
of the best Donald
Trump wins you know it
you’re hired best poet
gossip in the velvet declares my surrender
to strip club excess, where fantasies unfold
a g-string serenata that stains the linger
a slow-mo ride through motels of the bold
the DJ's drumbeat dares me to surrender
to tangled trysts and transactions unclear
a haze of haze, a burden to calamity
the echoes of excess, lingering near
i lose myself in slots of satin thigh
where flickering lights ignite an inner fire
a champagne toast to incense my disease
a random selection to drive me to the mire
inflatable unicorns and hydraulic rifts
dances of desire, offering cuts to strife
backroom tales and fresh neglect of reason
adult playground bunny, passions steal the scene
Everything seems to fit
into this morning's
vast mosaic as if each
piece has been shaped
to occupy a given place.
Even the broken sea shells
that first appeared redundant,
strewn haphazardly
along the beach
now give pause and interest
to the sands otherwise
featureless reach.
Trees occupy their allotted
space, the rotunda claims
its usual ground and clouds drift
the wide freedom of the sky.
Silence cups like an ear
to receive the days
waking sounds and in a corner
where the pier slots so neatly
into the sea, small boats bob
about in their moorings
overlooked by a hollow made
in air that seems to fit
my contours just perfectly.
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