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Show me once again
Your charm
Your moonlit madness
Drunk underneath
An October sky

Show me that parade
Of smiles
Your indulgence dancing
In Heaven or Las Vegas

Show me the self
You hide at dawn
Those night crawling eyes
That reflect only lunacy

Show me the lies
You celebrate
That jazz energy you loved
In Heaven or Las Vegas

In Heaven or Las Vegas
Inspired by that Cocteau Twins song
Roy Horn always favored big cats.
He put them in all of his acts.
But then Manticore,
who thought Roy was a bore,
said “Enough” and then Roy was just snacks.
Sorry, I think making wild animals do tricks is not entertainment. Someone who witnessed the scene was interviewed on tv and said that Horn tried to get the tiger to do something, the tiger misunderstood, Roy reprimanded it and "the tiger said "Enough of this." It was the best tv quote ever.
Tell me in ways of desperation
She's saying my name name a **** from the raider nation
Under the sun rays of sin city waste land
We could've been made but u had me pacing
Im taking all fades like the time Im facing
Tell me in ways of desperation
She's playing them *****'s Trump in hand never changing
She's looking away but I had her craving
Pmoney my game and I'm never waiting
Could've made you my main but I'm always taken
Tell me in ways of desperation
Tell me in ways of desperation
Hated the fame but the money raked in.
They called u insane throughout your training
They put you in chains until your breaking
Now your stuck in those reins steered by satan
Tell me in ways of desperation
Could've been my brain that's always tainted
The look of shame on his face was painted
Dead I remain cause Im always hated
Was it the pain you retained that keeped u naked
Tell me in ways of desperation
Moments are stainded missery created
Your leaving me to blame and my life was slowly shaded
Were you feeling the same as we became separated
These clouds will rain as our love was faded
Tell me in ways of desperation
Tell me in ways of desperation
Sandra works the slots all day
Smoking cigarettes; taking free drinks
Feeding the bandits instead of her soul…
Knowing it's daylight, somewhere!
Ken throws craps; blackens the Jack
Winks sickly at the cocktail waitress
Imagines doing things way past his prime…
Knowing it's nighttime, somewhere!
Passing hours like their years
Bathed in sticky syrup distraction
Dismount stool, lurch; pin-***** pupils
They meet at the buffet; tepid, bland
As their vacation; their marriage
Mid-life shape shifting sand!

© pofacedpoetry – Billy Reynard-Bowness (2018) – All rights reserved
Mid-life crisis? Dead marriage? Boredom? Life!
Aaron LaLux Feb 2018
The underbelly of our collective psyche,
has been cut open from the gut and gun pokin’,
now the sadness runs rampant,
in the flooded streets of these American dreams,

see in this scene things aren’t always what they seem,
especially when viewed on a screen that’s green,

she says her father doesn’t bother to call her,
says he lives in Vegas where he lost his job,
just another unemployed American off the assembly line,
now he takes care of his mom who’s lost her mind,

gone senile from years of denial that her son is an alcoholic *******,

meanwhile resistance is still futile,

and this son of this mom is the father of the girl I’m with now,
as we lay in bed talking about trivial things instead,
of what really matters which is what we’re doing with this life,
just passing time until we’re all dead I guess,

feeling like an abstract painting of American Commentary,
a dissenting dissertation of this perverse dystopia,
don’t mention most things that are worth mentioning,
which is part of the problem that keeps repeating in amounts that’re copious,

and I’d continue with these verses and get more in depth,
but I’m being rude to the nervous girl in my bed,
so I better get off this laptop and back to that jackpot,
or rather Jill *** whatever that means I’d rather be misunderstood instead,

and that’s why I don’t mind if they don’t understand what I said,

or rather don’t understand the words that I wrote when they’re read,

because,

the underbelly of our collective psyche,
has been cut open from the gut pokin’,
now the sadness runs rampant,
in the flooded streets of this American dream,

see in this scene things aren’t always what they seem,
especially when viewed on a screen that’s green…

∆ LaLux ∆

Free link for new book: www.scribd.com/document/367036005/The-Sydney-Sessions-12-Steps
EmilyBatdorf Oct 2017
33 guns
thousands of bullets rain
58 fall
thousands of bullets fly
500 more wounded
thousands of bullets spent,
one man,
thousands of bullets.
Guns roll out,
family treasures, sport, food, keepsakes
Power and destruction,
life and death.
Thousands of guns out,
now people are out.
Hundreds have fallen:
schools, theaters, clubs, concerts,
malls, stadiums, streets– but don’t take away our rights…
Thousands of bullets, stinging farewell kisses
This poem is not intended to turn things political, it was my intense reaction as I tried to understand how all of this death exists in the world.
Danika Oct 2017
Dreading Sunday --
    and the blurry Monday after
hit for hit
      and blow by blow
one, two punch
     of a broken, shattered world
I dread Sunday
    and though I be not superstitious
I can't help feeling
    the notion of things in threes
murders
      fires
           fill in the blank
what will Sunday bring
           I dare not think
This month has been rough, between the Las Vegas massacre and all the fires in the NorCal and in OC. I grew up in Napa, went to college in Irvine, and now live in Nevada.... this is all hitting much too close to home. Literally.
Arthur Vaso Oct 2017
Thieves in the night
Playing with copyright
Poisoned pens
Vultures in the den
In the Palace of hypocrites
Tea served at ten
If only the winds of the sea
And the rains of the sky
In a massive hurricane
Could sweep the Palace on by
Inspired by the book "The Palace" by Paul Erdman
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