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Iska Aug 2018
Every day the cards were played
Everyday you lost
I won.
Every day you’d come back
With declarations of future success,
And when proved false you’d smile,
All lopsided and sheepish,
With a “next time perhaps”
And now your gone.
And next time won’t come.
I guess I won after all.
You always said
I was a queen of diamonds
But my dear,
You were the Ace of hearts.
To Everett
If there is a place after this life,
I expect to see that lopsided grin
From across the table
May we play cards again
who knows?
I may even let you win...
(Or not)
Mandii Morbid Aug 2017
There lies a rage inside.
Deep within, away it'll hide.
I taste the venom now and then.
The shadows slowly creeping in.
I dare never to let it go.
To turn reality into a hell I so keenly know.
Visions in my head, loop, again and again.
Begging hands to act in both blood and sin.
Just a shift, I can never lose control.
Of this ageless battle within my soul.
Else darkness will descend,
spread itself inside my skin.
Born with a secret from lives long passed.
Every body a vessel not meant to last.
I see it now, a cycle on repeat.
This cursed bond birthed in hunger and deceit.
In the end we always meet, eternal.
Through the burning flames of the infernal..
Black heart white face,
Her mind is full of grace,
She was hanged between two ways ,
Where one is having a love of ace,
While another never wanted to make her love replace.
Mountains are subdued in triumph
Valleys are crossed in glory
Battles are tamed to surrender
Whirlwinds are made still in valor
Faith conquers fear in victory
With discipline, the ace-axe!

I am discipline
The soul of the winning army
The refining army of the inimitable
Procuring success to the weak
Making small numbers formidable
Turning talent to power
Turning disability to ability
I am discipline, the almighty formula!
Jo Dec 2019
Window panes and narrow frames,
light this dwelling place.
Shallow pools, of water, keep it cool
like a hidden ace.
Instead of revealing a knotted ball of
disconnects and fumbles.
Here, there are streams of light that
renew and refresh
those who will remain humble,
while looking for the
next clue.
To read more of my writings go to:
Knit Personality Aug 2015
I wish to be that rarest kind of artist:
The greatest artist of my ilk and age.
I wish to be that one who flies the farthest
The paper airplane made of ink and page.
I do not wish to be this flying ace
For medals or for glory or for fame:
I wish to tell the eons of your grace,
And loop the sky forever with your name.
But I'm no clever paper engineer,
And flawed design will keep my plane aground.
No matter how it's thrown the crash-site's near
Because its whole construction is unsound.
My plane won't fly because it has no wings,
And good intent can't fly the lightest things.
Kevin J Taylor Nov 2015
Pretend a moment that you’re me
and write a poem I might see.
Pretend a moment that you’re me.

Pretend a moment that I’m you.
Pretend I read your poem through.
Pretend what happens when I do.
Are you pretending? Good. Me too.

Pretend the poem tells a tale
of wooden ships with painted sails.
Pretend the sky, the salty breeze,
the creak of decks, the swelling seas,
the cutlass singing past your ear!
Quick! Pretend us out of here!

Pretend the road. Pretend the trees,
the horse between your grasping knees,
the flashing river at your side—
Ride neck and neck with hounds from Hell!
Pretend, at least, we live to tell!

Pretend the West, the dust, the gold.
Pretend the sleeve. The ace it holds.
Pretend the six-guns drawn at noon!
Pretend we’re somewhere else! And soon!

Pretend the sky, the sunset sea.
Pretend the dunes, the grass, a tree.
Pretend you’re walking there with me.
Pretend the gulls that dot the swells.
Pretend the tales tomorrows tell.

Shall we pretend
Shall we pretend
to dream?
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
You didn't intend
To weaponize that word
But my ego's blue and black
With baseball bat bruises

You're still a ******?
"Well it depends" I shrug
"What does virginity mean?"
My usual response

Since dating again
The "****** talk" happens
Every week now it seems
For better or my worse

You were different,
The others opened up
Through prompted doorways I left
Into secret gardens

Your words felt like darts
Thrown haphazardly in
To a minefield of my own
Personal traumas

You asked me a few
Direct questions about
Where my genitals had been
Who had visited them

My diagnosis:
"A ******" defined in
Holy black and white by her
Clear cut as crystal ****

It's just semantics
Not something to cry on
Or feel left out because of
One person's opinion

But when we parted
My rational brain lost
To the tears of a young child
Left out of the cool club
Child abuse
But I still do stuff
Gavin Barnard May 2015
My intrapersonal personality
Is anything but close to reality.
Labeled as an INFP,
Falsified truths are there for me.

Constipated with imagination
And full of impossible destinations,
Building up my anticipation
For untractable proclamations.

The superstar in my heart
Doesn't know where to start.
They all claim I'm super smart
But I know I'm just a spare part.

Sealed in my room with a single outlet,
Alone with my imagination but no intent.
A poet by choice but human by heart,
Standing on my own, playing my part.

I never had a beginning
But I'm already winning.
An ace in the sky,
The wild card sent to die.

I've already have my piece of the pie,
And it was all just a D.I.Y.
Listen to us, immersed in life:
Feel sensation (wipe away strife),
Know experience (and never desensitize).

Let the breeze amble by
touching clothes, flowing robes drifting over
soft air so quiet. Hold it there.

In the name of the wind
that brushes against our face,
Close contact on delicate skin, so
boldly tempting fate;
The words remained traced in the air:


Emulsified by dark days,
I used the memories to stay awake.
Keep it clean they say,
But my soul had been stained;
The senses had strayed too far away.

Bent to the will of the chems
they had been rendered slaves;
Surreality does slyly misbehave.

Draw simple oxygen into your being
as an empyreal tidal wave rises again;
The air around me speaks psychedelic zen.
Katli Sep 2019
A spark

Warm hands caress my body yet it's the warmth in your eyes that caress my soul...

A contagious smile
I can't help but smile at the thought of it
At the thought of you...

My heart races
My breath catches
My thighs quiver
Chills run down my spine as she creams for you

Neck biting, *** spanking lip bitting and earth shattering  climaxes..
I can't breathe i whispered
Look at me he whispers
Driving me into another ******


I crave you
I crave tasting  you on my lips... My tongue..
I crave seeing the desire in your eyes as moans escape your lips
The aim is to please Master

Fire  burns between my thighs as I am thankful for the blush masked by my chocolate skin
Yet I can not hide how you make me smile
Harriet Cleve Aug 2019
The air raid sirens screamed over the Kent Landscape.
Above  the skies an indifferent Sun gleamed its energy off the Spitfires on the ground. Never did the landscape look so beautiful than when it was realised it could be the last sight of England witnessed by the brave men scrambling to their aircraft.

One of those men, Johnny Icarus, was already in the air. A squadron
leader with tested courage in combat.

Churchill paced the grounds of Bomber Command. He had heard the pre-war exploits of Johnny Icarus and commissioned a plane especially for him.

'Hey Johnny, check out your new spitfire. It's called the 'Daedalus'.
Courtesy of Churchill himself'

This went over the head of most of the men but Johnny saw the irony and even felt it was as if he was favoured by the Gods.

Suddenly the Luftwaffe came into view. A Messerschmitt engaged with the Daedalus and unleashed a barrage of flak.

Johnny dived his Spitfire and looped up and behind the Messerschmitt. The Sun glared his eyes as he was temporarily blinded. Even so, he fired his guns and the Messerschmitt Bf 109 went up in flames and careered to the ground.

His eyes recovered as he regained his bearings and pulled into the open skies. He saw it then as he climbed; a Focke-Wulf Fw 190 gunning for him.Instinctively he fired his machine guns and destroyed the Focke. It seemed as though he was surrounded by enemy aircraft when he noticed a Hawker Hurricane covering his rear. For forty minutes the Daedalus  fought for control of the battle when it was suddenly over. The enemy was routed and sent back to Germany with their tails between their legs.

Johnny Icarus stayed in the airspace above Kent. The countryside was a glorious shade of green. England would stand firm.
The Daedalus turned its back from the Sun.

Back in Westminister, Churchill was informed of the outcome.

'I want to meet Johnny Icarus. In three hours I want him here in my office. Get Barnes Wallis too. The Germans are going to get a taste of their own medicine. We will pay them back in their own coin'

'Yes Sir'

Johnny looked down at England from the cockpit of his Spitfire.
He would give his life if he had too for this magnificent country.

The Sun shone oblivious to his thoughts.

Back in **** Germany a portly figure was pacing Hitlers office.
Goring was grilled by the Fuhrer.
The War was turning against the odious Germans.

Johnny Icarus descended to the ground and lit a cigarette.
Inhaling deeply he touched his precious craft gently.

'Good job Baby! Good job'
Aladdin Aures H Aug 2019
such a lovely bubble rise
bulbs and spark to the heart
i keep watching you with my eyes
I hear your voice awaken art
to pick the words in my poem
i point them on you like apollo's arc
on my eyes desire with aim
reaches jupiter to leave a mark
so i can say it in each verse
with the soft arrow of Anteros
till the endless part of universe
beyond the level of the Erotes
and the sublime blessed grace
i'll describe the beauty of your face
and the perfection in you do the ace
the white on you conquers the lands
astonished while the spirits ascends
pauses the time so it will never ends
to draw it in every potential star
endless feelings! unconquerable grips!
rises and forget who the humans are
as the sun gets closer to touch your lips
once it get's very closer it's pretty far
your care launch the thousand ships
while your innocence nag and glare
an existence of a cosmos it possesses
a galaxy craters the beauty on mercury
drives venus jealous to his very end
then uranus forgot where is his sky
and pluto descibes it to his band
mars can't belive his own eye
while neptune losing his mind
and saturn's ring exceed the fly
earth was the blessed land
and jupiter was the one to tie

Author/ Aladdin Aures H.
Martin Dove Oct 2018
I had no idea how terrible it all was
Until I matured a bit and opened my eyes
It cleared the mist that I often now miss
From the eyes of an unwilling devil
Seeing the tragedy unfold from a first-person level
I remember it all from that god awful view
The bad things I’ve done, over which I had no control
The outcomes I hoped with the manifestation of some
Who am I kidding - I’ve been among a fortunate few
Except for the fact that life dealt me an ace with a ****** *****
Not quite like anyone - an outcasted sole
With depressive thoughts - eating them straight from the bowl
Until euphoria strikes - then I’m a lightning bolt
These emotional storms - they strike me as cold
Who am I to cry and complain about life
Everyone is united by the suffering light
The random subscription to a life with a set rhythm
If only I could command my heart not to wither
Mellow waves Apr 2018
My heart speaks one voice, while my brain another.
My soul lies in a place,
Where no mankind can ace.

Help me, i’m lost..
Lost in a world full of darkness and hope.
guy scutellaro Oct 2018
(picks up after "you 'll produce love and dreams. jack has moved into a room above the bar.)

Jack goes into the room. A place he thought he never end up. He studies it. The light from the unshaded lamp on the nightstand casts a huge shadow of him onto the adjacent wall. There is not much to the small room, a sink with a mirror above it next to the dresser, a bed pushed against the wall, and wooden chair in front of a narrow window.

It is raining.

Jack feels apprehensive. The panic turns to anger. His anger into rage. He rushes towards the white wall, meets his shadow, and explodes with a left hook. He throws the right uppercut , the over hand right, the left hook again. He punches the wall and his knuckles bleed. He punches the wall and when his arms are useless, he begins kicking the wall.

At last exhausted, Jack collapses into the chair in front of the window. Fist size holes in the bloodstained plaster revel the bones of the building. The room has been punched and kicked without mercy. The austere room has won.

Desperately, Jack takes the yellow note pad with the pencil in the binder from the night stand, and although he tries, no words will come.

Exasperated, and with the stub of the pencil he writes, "Insomnia , the absence of all dreams." and then he smiles.

He reaches for the lamp on the night stand, finds the switch, and  turns off the light.

The  Wagon Wheel sign outside the window seems to throb to the cadence of the rock music coming from the bar downstairs. Taking the Quaalude from his shirt pocket, he swallows it and sits back in chair watching the shadows of rain bleed down the door. His thoughts come slower. The darkness around him intensifies . Jack slides toward the darkness.

                                           * **

The rain turns to snow.

With each lunging step he takes the pain throbs in his arm and shoulder socket. His raw throat aches from the great drafts of cold air he ***** through his gaping mouth and although his legs ache, he does not pause to look back. Jack must keep punching holes with his ace axe probing the snow for crevasses.

The pole of the ice axe slips effortlessly into the snow. "**** it, another one.

(continues from "**** it, another one .)
bekka walker Dec 2015
Dangling time in front of my face.
A rythmic ace.
East to west. East to west.
By this chain as it wraps around my chest.
Hexed, dancing towards the edge of a chasm.
C ontorting for you cynicism
               U nvieling for you undived attention.
     R easoning for your recoilation.
    S alivating for your sensuality.
E xcusing your erosion.   ----
D ancing in my delusion. ---
You are the jack of spades.
A master of trades.
Colder than the queen of diamonds you've plucked from my mind and displayed.
I am the rabbit you'll rip from your mad hatter.
Impatiently awaiting my own dismal disaster.
Pounding my fists;
"Make this trick go faster!"
Getting mixed up with an illusionist was hasty and unplanned;
As my courage melts, he strokes my cheek
With his sleight of hand.
eb Jun 2019
i have never been
a hateful person,
but the hate that
i carry for you
will hang over
me for an eter-
nity and more.
like a half-set
sun that will
never allow
the moon to
take her pl-
ace in the
night sky

J Lynne Sep 2018
I am one soul, one body, one mind.
I am consciousness and intuition, knowledge and emotion.

I am sun and moon, light and dark. God and Goddess in one space.
I am Earth. Air. Water. Fire.
I am the Queen of Hearts. King of Clubs. Sage of Diamonds. Ace of Spades.

I am my ancestors. I am my mistakes...and my victories.
I am an artist, a hunter of the truth. I am what I create.

I am Dawn. And I am Dusk. Noon and Twilight.
I am life. And death. And decay. And rebirth.
Autumn. Winter. Spring. Summer.

I am forever changing.
For I Am.
On the second day of class, my ethics teacher posed a question. He wonders out loud "Who are you? Change the question and ask your self 'who am I, what am I?" Seemingly a straightforward question.

Logically, each of us should know who we are. We spend a few quiet moments writing about this question, till he stops us.

He askes one boy what he wrote. It was the predictable and reasonable answers: his name, where he's from, his age, grade, favorite baseball team. Not a wrong answer by any means.

The teacher stops us again. He askes what makes us who we are. No one answers, no one was expected to.

He brings up how, scientifically, each cell of our bodies is gradually replaced over the course of seven years. Meaning every seven years you are a new person. Yet, still the same person. How is this possible? If this is true, then what are we really, what makes us who we are, what decides this for us?

He then tells us what we are not.

We are not our names, our ages, where we live, what are hobbies are, what we have. "But," he questions "you all 'have' bodies. If we are not our bodies what are we? Are we are our souls? Do you have a soul, are you your soul? Where is this soul? Where does it dwell? Your body. And what of your mind. If you can lose it, then you have it. If you have it, then you are not it. So, if you are not your body, or your soul, or your mind, then what are you?"

As it turns out, the question is far more interesting than it seemed when first presented to us.

However, I disagree with the teacher on some points. You are your mind, body, and soul, but you are so so much more.

This is what I am...
Francie Lynch Sep 2018
We stood in a circle in the parlor,
Jim was chatting with his golfing crones;
Her body was there for the viewing,
But we're keen on his hole-in-one.

We gave him our proud approval,
We chorused, Jim, well-done!
Then Jim took his turn on the kneeler,
To ponder before her coffin.

We all know the cold humility,
That an ace needs a load full of luck;
Yet we're pleased to hear all his details,
From the crack off the tee,
To the flag in the cup.

I waited for my turn behind Jim,
I overheard his solemn words:
... an eight iron... bounced once, then straight in...
Oh, and may you rest in peace too, Mrs. Hobin
RIP Mrs. Hobin. She was the mother of one of the lads in my foursome. Lived a long life, raised a great bunch of kids.
Rose  in dust
a rose is nice
Petals are healthy
red dark arch
sun shines hot
Leaves seem (up)right
gazing the height
green emerald
From land to ace
Ace of the sky march.
Rose is nice
Roots in dust
Feature is rouge
Of the shame love trust
Blossoms of the yard.
Yard is land
Land is grand
vast soil of the hand
light crimson band
Wind blows harsh
Fences move hard
Trees far behind
Shake each side
Men come down
The first one talk
The last one mock
Both of whom walk
Touch the soft land
Soil is empty
Land full of soil
Soil full of worm
Worm is sick
Nasty nabid pick
Become lot... lot ...lot
Every day and night
Wind blows harsh
Spring moves fast.
Man is running
Worm is cunning
man in hurry
rose is worry.
worm moves straight
man runs far
seeking new boudoir.
rose is alone
poisonous thing around
soil is shaking
grand land kicking
man sing a song
man, wine, wrong
happy, happy long
wind blows harsh
autumn seize the yard.
rose is sick
petal withered down
no leaves green
gazing to the sun
rose is nice
rose is kind
death moves around
happy stands behind.
Under the inspiration of "The Sick Rose" by William Blake.

Alice and I down the rabbit hole,
To a world of big and small.
Fat were skinny, short were tall,
Sky all colors we could know.
People there of every size,
Most were crazy, all  were wise.
Trees were soft foam cud-del-yee,
Dandelions bright and free,
Taste like sweet drops, red toffee.
Walk on any wall you please,
Upside down with simple ease.
Fly with birds, sync symphonies.
Words hang from chimeneys,
Hives for kissing wasps and bees.
When we went to sleep at night,
Feather beds tickled us just right.
No money or gold in sight,
No loud noises give us fright
Light was heavy, heavy light.
Right was left, Left a knight,
Kept his sword stuck in his head,
Called his mother uncle Fred.
Freeway was a merry go round,
Children sang with cooing sounds,
Never sick, went old to young,
Crabby apples full of fun.
Stories busy writing selves,
Poems painting doors and shelves.
Reindeer looked like little elves,
Santa was four silver bells.
Christmas came every day,
Calendars were thrown away,
Turned into corn and hay.
Deck of cards all the same,
Chickens played a poker game,
Losers won, no one could tell,
Which was ace when it fell.
Rules were simple write or wrung,
All returned that was undone.
Awkward seen as ballet grace.
Slowest won every race.
Fastest got there first you see,
Ribbon holder, wanna bees.
No direction north or south,
Bravest men meek as mouse.
Food is free at every bar,
Get into a nowhere car,
Think I'll have another beer,
No plan of leaving here.
Evan Stephens Apr 2019
In the dream
I'm a child
in a car
waiting for
someone to
come back.

I wait for
some time.
I climb the
seats, feel
the leather
between my
roll down
the windows,
play with
the orange
float of the

But no one
comes. I realize
that it's raining
leaves and bits
of brick.
The world is
vacant. I'm not
even sure who
I'm waiting for.
I curl up into my
favorite jacket.

I know it's about
My veins fill with
my eyes with
the ace of clubs.
I can feel my
breath blowing out
like a chandelier
of pain for just
a moment.

Then I pull it
together under
the dangling
jellyfish of stars,
to see what else
sleep has up
its sleeve.
K Balachandran Apr 2019
He was lost in the spirited flow of a river,
Later  found himself in this lady's boudoir,
The circumstances to onlookers are little unclar,
But suffice to tell, in water things were quite  fluid,
The boudoir was hectic, he was more or less stuck.

Don't think he had any serious complaint about it,
Only hoped, this strange fact  be better explained.
Her kind of explanation was rather queer, he felt!

"There is nothing to be astonished, my dear
I'm an ace swimmer, and was present there
At the time of the incident, nothing more"
She mysteriously smiled, adding a dainty twist.

Well, a rescue mission, as we know is higly humanitarian,
There are more than what meets the eyes, in this situation.
He was of two minds, to remain there and to break loose,
Life in her boudoir, he feared would make him a libertine!
Kai Apr 2019
Black eyes look with sorrow
Grey eyes glance back
White smile gleams in the dark
Purple hearts reach out
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