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A Simillacrum Aug 28
Fold for life, unfold for death.
Conscience coming on strong.
What are your regrets?
These bones would be between my
fingers regardless.
All good fun in tow,
but now your ghost knows.
You had a show to live,
and yes you did.
I see my feet fall
within your prints.
All good to blame,
when I'm doing this.
Stephen Moore Jul 17
Greyhounds bolt,
Elastic dogs,
Trapped till the rabbit runs.

A gun fires and punters wave papers,
Smudged smutted hankies,
To wish poor puppies on.

Rabid run,
Rabbit run,
Dogs ‘fun’ done,
Punters wins to spend on ***.

Dogs retire to a night behind wire,
Howling,
Cold,
Whining.

Punters swagger to a night of vice,
Yelling
Warm,
Wining.
Nigdaw Jun 28
Where, oh where has this money been?
It's been up to London to buy me a woman.
When you'd had your pleasure, what else did you there?
Took in a live show, some sights to enjoy.
When you had seen, what did you then?
Went home to the wife, a yarn to spin.
Did you not waste such hard-earned cash?
I need the excitement, the seedy thrill.

Where, oh where has this money been?
Changed hands in a back street for needle and syringe.
What was then done to inject some feeling?
A little ******, just to keep me going.
But what about AIDS and ***?
It's one of those things that won't happen to me.
How do you finance such expensive tastes?
Sell stuff to kids at the going rate.

Where, oh where has this money been?
It bought me a meal and a little something to drink.
How did you earn this financial gain?
Begged it off some geezer down the Embankment.
Why are you out here sleeping so rough?
It's a long tale of women, gambling and drink.
What of these others with whom you share this door?
Just poor bleeding kids with no ******* jobs.

Where, oh where has this money been?
It bought me a contract with a few back handers.
And who did you bribe for their deceit?
Oh, it wasn't bribery, just a little commercial grease.
What will you build to make your mark?
Another block of flats, fully air-conditioned.
On what in the past is your empire built?
Prostitution, gambling, and a few tons of drugs.
Based around the rhythm of ***** Cat, ***** Cat.
Glenn Currier May 27
dings and whistles from the slot alert him escape -
sit before my image enter its wild wolf canyon escape

winding road in lofty forest landscape
beckon her - leave him for my green escape

triple x signs promise writhing bodies
heavy breathing and dark dank escape

the flute lay still of the silent table sparkling
sweet melodic memories of fingered escape

the frothy surging surf traces the seam of the sea -
bathe in my *****, wrap your self in my fluid escape

locked door soft light from below no sounds
inside creative energy sparks a poetic escape

on the placid lake he casts his hopes
awaits the tug - he and his prey escape

she stands eyes closed, smiling face turned upward
feels the breeze in her hair thanks God for this sweet escape

he runs in the field of goldenrod tears stream
and he screams a desperate entreaty for escape

the sylvan spirits flown from the mountain trees
into the green glen whisper as angels - escape!
Author’s Note: This is my first modest attempt at writing in the Ghazal poetic form.  Thanks to poet Rob Kistner whom  I met on HelloPoetry.com for the inspiration for this poem.  Rob is an extraordinary talent who writes with a free yet disciplined artistic brush.  This is the URL for his poetry on that website:  https://hellopoetry.com/Artheo/
there he was
head hanging low
on a totem pole
for all to see
supposedly
their crucification, self imposed
like a bull seeing red
and feeling melancholy
he walked out of the casino
pockets empty, again
and just fresh off the farm
he now wished he stayed home
milking cows
collecting eggs
saving his money
instead of losing his scalp
to the Indians
he looked passed the exit
a door he walked into a few hours ago
with wide open trappings
where the glitz. glamor and neon
caught his eye and addiction
literally
the cling, the clang
the sound of music
Julie Andrew's voice coming to life
reach for the sky, reach for the sky
whirling around in his head
... a cut of cloth
who knows
maybe it was his grandmother's roots
grandma are you watching
yes grandson, I'm crying and praying ...
he looked over at the green mountains
the lost forests of patrons
the felted tables, banks of chips
fjords of  waitresses serving drinks
majestic, scenic and serene
and for a moment
he wished to be a boat in Norway
instead
instead
like always
he took to a splash in the abyss
******* and sadism  
his lost fork in the road
and like a billy goat
teetering on the edge
echo's  from the valleys below
don't do it , don't do it, don't do it
he peeled off all his Benjamin's
and credit
to the depts of the dungeon
beaten and wounded
where if only the next time
he rewinds his entrance
and finds his bouency and oars

Logan Robertson

5/07/2019
To my nephew, godspeed. You have a good job, good looks, especially with those blue eyes that knock women off their feet. Yet you can't stand prosperity. Every so often you get on your high horse and gallop to the nearby Indian Casino and keep falling off. My nephew choose better.
Bella Feb 19
Fire swirls in an empty black galaxy
Take your hand, and keep trying to hold on
Spinning, dancing, and popping ecstasy.
Somehow your goodbye leaves me feeling conned
And angels swoop down and cut out my tongue
Throw down your cards and a few bills and fall
Growing old with you sounds better than young
Every day, playing, just being your doll.
And the thorn you take comes from roses of red.
Eyes are windows, and yours are dark night skies.
Feeling like I'm dying but never dead
Snow is falling, you keep me warm with lies
Jumping off headfirst, crashing on concrete
Running in circles, missing ev'ry beat
A Simillacrum Feb 17
Offer up some of your dollar,
get ready,
to win, to lose
a little bit.

Offer up some of your gusto,
get on down,
to the local
gambling hall.

Offer up some of your love,
baby doll, don't kick me,
kiss me, when I'm down.
One beautiful sunset

Snow sugar dusted streets and homes

Chilled winds that refresh the soul…

As one’s day starts and the alarm clock rings the start of a bet

To enjoy more than “what meets the eye.”

Inventive explorations and Creation of new mapped way-points

Mark the daring explorer as he never settles for the “lesser roll”

A gamble number landed on the tops of “life’s” challenged dice

To win a new way of life

rewriting history…

Not just for the journey man….

However, for the world…….A newer fashion added to an old passion..

A sweet and exciting mixed up “spice.”
Max Jan 26
Some people are like snakes
Or
A poker game with high stakes.
This is by far not my best piece, but I felt this way about some people for a while now.
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