#bluff
I sit here,
Like a beetle on it's back
In a crack of it's own design
Crafted it's own demise
Frantically flailing
Panicking mainly
Legs going every witch way,
Becoming to heavy
To reach out for help
No voice to call out for help
Though it tries
Not knowing it's already dead
Hope is the first thing that dies
Moments from the cruel hand dealt
By life itself
Exposing itself
As deaths right hand man
Still we fall for the bluff
And the universe doesn't listen to
"Enough is enough"
If you don't like it
Tough
©2025
Jan 22, 2025
Jan 22, 2025 at 8:53 PM UTC
And so, there I was in the dark again
What was going to happen now I wondered ?
A moment ago, there had been a nightmare dangerous and threatening
It was like the film "The Magnificent Seven" from the Sixties I thought, the Western
(The one with Yul Brynner, Steve McQueen, Eli Wallach et al, I had always loved that one)
The nightmare was like the bandits descending upon the innocent little village
Looking to terrorise and plunder and pillage
Leaving the people all despairing, the little children and their mothers crying
But this time... this time things they would be different
This time there'd be a welcoming committee (the Seven)
"Ha! Ha!" the Bandit leader had laughed, "I see you've built new walls, you try to keep us out"
"No!" came back the reply, "those walls are there to keep you in...we deal in lead friend"
Now suddenly the tables were turned
It was their turn to feel afraid (the nightmare)
You could see it in them, see their faces drop/fall
All their bravado and bluster suddenly drained out
Yea! we'd called their bluff
And then, just like magic, like a puff of smoke
They were gone, just dissolved into nothing, into the darkness,
And so here I was, all alone again in the dark
What was going to happen now I wondered ?
Suddenly a little light appeared in the very top left hand corner
As I watched it I could see that it was growing larger
Pretty soon I could see what it was
It was a snake, a black headed thing like no snake you'd ever seen before
It was like it was moving at a tremendous speed
It looked agitated, enraged even
It was hissing, it's head going from side to side, its fangs showing,
It brought to my mind a fish we once found in a rock pool as kids after a high tide
A strange fish, it scuttered madly around its pool as if looking for a way out
It had these teeth and this fierce wicked look
So wet and slippery looking, it had an energy that was uncanny
It looked like it might jump out of its pool at any moment
It scared me just watching it.
From only being something tiny, now it had grown into something big, rearing up in front of you
You could see the black scales and the deep dark furrows about its face
The huge yellow eyes, the great fangs and the slithering tongue
It was like a jet black steam engine bearing down on you...hurtling toward you
Now it was nearly taking up the full field of my vision
It had grown huge and towering, threatening to overwhelm
I grew afraid, this was something different I'd never seen anything like this before
I decided it was time to go, I wasn't going to hang around
So I pulled out of the dream and awoke with a start
I thought for a few moments, what had I been through, what had I just seen ?
Then I started to castigate myself, why did you run, why didn't you face it, face it down
They were all bluffs, the whole lot of them
You would have seen what was behind it
I was afraid, was afraid I wouldn't get back, that I wouldn't be able to come back...
"Come back!!" I berated myself "come back to what exactly !!!
This world of pains and slow decay, of anxieties and humiliations...of faint joys...ever decreasing circles
There wasn't a whole lot to come back to, now was there
(Y'know I bet their all just waiting... just expecting to hear
"O! He passed away did he, well he was a strange bloke, wasn't he". That'll be my epitaph)".
Then I remembered... I remembered the wonderful old Irish myth/ legend "The Salmon of Knowledge"
(I don't know why that came into my head),
A magical fish, the Salmon of Knowledge lives in a sacred river,
It's said if anyone catches this fish and eats of its flesh the wisdom of the whole world will be theirs
A wise old poet/sage spends his life looking for the fish
Finally he catches it, he has a servant boy Fionn and has him cook the fish
He warns Fionn, under no circumstances eat of the flesh of this fish
But as the fish cooks on its spit over the fire
A blister forms on the fish and then suddenly bursts
Some oil from the fish spurts out and lands on his hand and burns him
He puts his finger in his mouth to ease the pain
And suddenly his eyes are opened to all the Wisdom of the World
When the wise poet sage returns, he sees straightaway the change in Fionn
The transformation that has occurred, the way Life seems to shine in him... (Fionn goes on to become one of the greatest of warriors
And to have many great adventures).
"Next time" I thought to myself, "next time I'll know what to expect, next time it'll be different". Next time I'll be ready. Next time....
Oct 29, 2021
Oct 29, 2021 at 5:08 PM UTC
Play the waiting game,
scan each other silently:
brainstorming session?
Jul 11, 2019
Jul 11, 2019 at 9:53 AM UTC
That's the funny thing about falling in love though.
It's like playing poker.
The lesser you show emotions,
the more effective your bluff will be.
And the bet?
YOUR HEART.
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 2:23 AM UTC
Don't trust him.
His game is to play you; showmanship winning over the room.
Capability and knowledge cunningly imitated with sleight of hand.
Promises, their empty conclusion yet to unfold, and the nod of a mask.
Bluff and deceit form the paint on his mask,
and I see the cracks forming.
Jul 4, 2017
Jul 4, 2017 at 1:39 PM UTC
There once was a lingering Almost
That followed you like a ghost.
She's haunted your past
Leaves you downcast
and both lifeless and comatose
She decided to stay for a while
So long that she had a child
His name is Regret
who will make you forget
Exactly how to reconcile
But one day you decide you've had enough
And demand that they pack up their stuff
They were so close to leaving
And almost believing
Until they called your bluff.
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 10:51 AM UTC
Sifting through the ashes of my life
Trying hard to find something thats went right
I search and look, **** and poke
It's begaining to look like my life was a joke
How could this be
I tried so hard just to be me
I look back on my time line
On me was committed many a crime
It changed me to a sad little being
But I still managed to keep on singing
But it didn't seem to be enough
Now life is calling my bluff
I'm sitting here with so much rust
Feeling mighty hollow, nothing but crust
So I'm just gonna sit right down
And in the ashes of my life I'll just drown
Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 4:54 PM UTC
*On misty recalled mornings
'pon a haze of vindication's wake
you can still hear their whispers
echoing through distressed treetops,
they were lovingly planted midst
meadow's wildflower embrace
gazing into the depths of surmise,
planning their rendezvous to forever*
**when her husband abruptly surprised them
with a double blunderbuss shotgun blast,
right between their cheating hearts**
~ *if you listen intently, their spirits
linger still amid bluff's bluster*
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 1:22 PM UTC
In this world run by lies
Learn to be wise;
Some may look nice
But they may be otherwise.
Sounds innocent when they speak
But it may just be all part of the trick;
Dare not to believe
Coz their inner motive is to deceive.
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 5:46 AM UTC
*You're playing a hand
But I never dealt myself in*
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 10:52 PM UTC
You promised me forever
Take me to wherever
Stay with me whenever
Such words, oh, so clever
Still making me shiver.
But why did you have to waver?
Our always turned to never
Say you have something to rediscover
How will I get this over?
Oh well, whatever.
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 11:49 AM UTC
You always looked good in dark suits with golden buttons on your cuff. Those were always a nice touch, to stand side your perfect figurine.
You were everything I once wanted. But now, you really aren't.
I see the rushing of the real truths of you, swell into your own hands, dropping a ball, losing your own special touch of sportsmanship with not much of a fuss. You're letting yourself lose the game.
Just letting ***** of truth squirt out through your veins.
You're losing your grip right out from your own polished finger tips and dripping red of blood.
You constantly try to pull white handkerchiefs of innocence from the wrists of your cuffs. But, those handkerchiefs are all just red...
Don't try and gamble a bad hand if you can't keep up. You never could keep a good bluff.
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 3:04 AM UTC