"dicey" poems
On days of satisfaction I embrace the lights that illuminate our urban lifestyles
But on days of frustration I am capable of bending that light into fragile
reflections, which shed the truth amongst all creations
Because I'd love to compile a breed of hostile intellectuals
Who, I'd imagine, to fall on their knees begging for mercy from their own knowing
I am an ineffectual
Elitist.
Don't mistake my rage for power, as my power no longer exists
If you can believe it
If that’s how you see it
This environment constructed and was destructive towards the continuation of my ego and I am clawing my way out of a pit
A time ago I was the terrorist of my own self worth, and now I torture the weak- minded to nourish the hole in me to finally be a whole
It's a vicious cycle of how low a being will go to reach a ****** in time
The final stage is to reach self acceptance to show, lo and behold
silence.
where tranquility will obliterate greed
and intelligence will revive the need to be free from everyone else's thinking,
Morality.
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 11:52 PM UTC
I'm covered from head to toe in resin, acrylics and epoxy,
Some pulverized rocks my son gathered from the Chattooga River,
Now reduced to a burnt ember dust.
I added silicone sludge and a little baking powder as well,
And once mixed, this dicey concoction is beautifully toxic,
So I waft the air and inhale it.
Painting a colorful sunset is too easy, I prefer black and white,
So with a wooden board the size of a door,
I get to work with my rubber sledgehammer, blowtorch
A gallon of poison and flammable spray.
The passers by have seen this look in eyes,
From The Shining or possibly their preachers,
You know, the same look that's a sight to behold.
Slamming the hammer down with brute force
And purposed abandonment,
I paint my sunset and wrangle the stars later.
A shower won't do me justice>
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 12:15 AM UTC
as soon as she sees it she wants it is entitled to it while she is stealing it she begins elaborate lie everybody knows if she truly wants it she has means everybody knows she is gorgeous movie actress celebrity starlet awesome accessory genius she convinces herself she did not steal it the darling delicate chain with finely crafted handcuff clasp and accompanying key she wears it effortlessly just another imperial trifle hanging around her exquisite throat she has no idea how it got there she may have a drug problem a little dizzy even careless but she is no thief what with her magnificent beauty idyllic body prominent discography why would anyone accuse her she is submerged in deep denial why with so much to lose and absolutely nothing but tiny shimmering embellishment to gain why do tell would anyone point a finger at her she probably wasn’t even ever there at that dicey store she never tried on the astronomically overpriced bling it may have been her dodgy handlers or stylist’s suspect mismanagement and subsequent loan hypothesis she is positively not a thief it’s too insignificant an item to squabble about a mere gold necklace the whole incident ridiculously overblown cruel in fact she hates the miserable paltry piece of jewelry here take it back she insists it never graced her illustrious neck if anything perhaps a cheap ploy by Venice Beach shop to enhance it’s value oh the genuine necklace that she stole
Feb 9, 2011
Feb 9, 2011 at 12:12 PM UTC
I had a 750 Suzuki Katana, gray machine
learned like a young man 350, then 650 then that 750cc of course
in the mid eighties, paid cash but then my mom expected the worst,
I was in the army, I said Army, military single man
I could handle the motorbike well enough,
I knew my limits,
too slow one day
on a sharp parking lot turn
and I earned a
cracked signal light casing,
too early in the
season an April Easter trek
home, turned
around in Manning Park,
near that summit,
snow and ice made it dicey
and the police wanted me to prove I had
chains and snow tires for this late season
fall of snow is
all, so I turned and went back to the base,
too much competitive spirit one day
and I thread the needle between a moving
car and a parked car, well how to say this,
with the driver's door opened wide,
in that instant I passed by at thirty miles an hour
my Life Cycle almost stopped,
my thoughts were driven to,
maybe I should go back to
bicycles, instead...
but I won the race
back to the base
and both the admiration
and admonition of my peers
whom I beat.
©DWE102013
Oct 26, 2013
Oct 26, 2013 at 10:48 PM UTC
Everyone always said she was a sharp girl,
they don't know the meaning of sharp
the paper that her ink soaked emotions slice through every night?
knows the meaning of sharp.
the red, dicey, paintings on her arms, thighs and stomach?
they know the meaning of sharp.
Even the hands on the clock cut like knifes as she starts her fifth hour of tears,
They too are most definitely sharp.
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 12:48 AM UTC
Got 2 fingers for this night
2 bloodshot eyes on the town's small size.
I'll take this walk on shaky toes,
take 1 more bottle for the icy road.
3 years, 3 months and countless ghosts,
some angry friends, a long walk home.
I stumble down Wyoming Street
and ball 2 fists inside my coat.
Stunted
I tripped while running in place,
bit my tongue and cut my nose up--
****** my pretty, spiteful face.
And I'm just
punting
and slurring while I beg for pardons.
Forgive my weak and sour heart--
didn't mean it
when I said "Goodbye and **** this place."
I'm a werewolf on nights like these--
popping joints and twisting knees,
yellow eyes and dagger teeth;
full moon makes my lungs freeze.
When memories claim my mind,
can't see through greyscaled eyes.
Sorry to waste your time
but I seem to have misplaced mine.
Hundred questions for myself.
Emptied 15, placed them on my shelf.
0 answers inside each 1.
Shapeshifter's sorry that I killed your fun.
3 years, 3 months. 1 long walk home.
I gambled with these dicey ghosts.
I spilled some drinks and said some things.
Grab my coat and hope you can forgive me.
Stunted
I zipped my leaking lips up.
Bit my tongue -- I'd made no progress
Hung my petty, spiteful face.
And I'm just
punting,
but could you forget my infractions?
didn't mean it
when I said, "Goodbye and **** this place."
I'm a werewolf on nights like these--
Claws bared and licking teeth.
So, please just don't mind me
as I walk out on unsure feet.
Sorry to waste your time,
but I seem to have misplaced mine.
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 11:56 AM UTC
If we had never done the deed
and soiled the sheets together,
Lesbia we might have had
a love that lasts forever.
Instead, you lay back, wantonly,
inviting me to sin.
Our cries and whispers mingled
as I spent myself within.
Lust comes with an expiration date
and I was cast aside;
Some other noble Roman
now mounts my favorite ride.
Caesar too, will come and go ;
Veni, Vidi, Vici.
Some label you promiscuous
your morals are thought dicey.
Yet you're not indiscriminate
in choosing your next partner;
The distinction is that you lie down
and do not stoop to conquer.
Aug 4, 2012
Aug 4, 2012 at 8:01 AM UTC
I had to leave that stone cold heart so blind,
But I still see her face in the eye of my mind,
Walking down a lonely road on a starlit night
With dust on my shoes ... and love ~
Love out of sight
It's a cheap trick, boy, more than a soul pin-prick;
Dicey to play the game; it always ends the same.
But here I walk on this lonely road so blind,
With dust on my shoes; her face in my mind
But I had to leave that heart as dark as night
With nothing but an image ... and love ~
Love out of sight
It's a cheap trick, boy, more than a soul pin-prick;
Dicey to play the game; it always ends the same
Walking down this lonely road on a starlit night
With dust on your shoes ... and love ~
Love out of sight
It's a cheap trick, boy, more than a soul pin-prick;
Dicey to play the game; it always ends the same.
It always ends the same.
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 10:19 PM UTC
Defective synapse
broken
relapse
In the club
turned all the way up
and nowhere to go that can be called home
Turn a *****
Dab dab draw
Break mirrors
/memories
Icy breath
Dicey left
The corner-boy man-child sweet-teen sensation
Reciprocation of deprecation
Juice twos ***** loose lose the news today
Break mirrors
/realities
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 10:34 AM UTC
I’m falling off this rock
There’s not enough gravity left
I stood on the wrong side, too close to the edge
Now, I’m falling, fare me well
We didn’t pay all our bills to God
Not insured enough, walk and run and trip and fall
So, now. kaput!
Save this crazy lifetime in a warped bottle
Which soon will crack for all its solar scrutiny
Insulate the bold things you can never have on stained glass fuzzy print
A half eaten apple sitting on a dusty cloud still has that deified eye planted on it
Globes are lit in insolence on mossy beds
Dreams in armour pick up tell tale signs of cooing sounds very far away
An autumn landscape falls upon the face on a knight whose real name is you
A cruciform gift embedded in a rock only the worthy can retrieve
A lump of coal burns in steady flickers within the palm of hand
Hop out bowl and try to fly, yet land four seconds short of truth
Hiding beneath a rude rainbow and peeping out at striker rays
Cells squirm and turn, ready to burst out soma
And a sky stretches on and on, like a dicey waterfall in ******
One photo snap and it’s all gone!
tonight I watch it come alive at ten to midnite
recalled clues illumine yet don't show all
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 10:48 AM UTC
Our temperate country roasts and burns flesh
with Apple devices cheerfully
advising that the temperature is
currently a three dicey digit affair
walk in the 100 degree overheating
atmosphere, where sluggish slugs,
once mobile New Yorkers, search and save shady places that proffer
a handful of degrees relief from the
brutalist sun, who was heard smirking after a wet Juno,
"oh yeah,
I'm back baby with the vengeance
of a squalling and squabbling infant!"
and to harmonize on our lack of immunity from the terrors of weather, and yes, it's still June, the quiet nighttime skies awake us a thunderous slapping of sheeted rain, squalling and squabbling,
rat-a-tat large caliber bullet/droplets drilling holes in our
template temples expecting early
morning serenity;
the Newspaper rags in search of pithy witty declaim:
Rainstorms To Crack The Heat Dome In NYC
neglecting the cracking of tempest tossed tempers,
furthy discombobulated composure
of forced sheltering in place
more, again, uhh,
as if parched thirst or drowning are a choice
ok rant over!
the displeasure was all mine
Jul 15, 2025
Jul 15, 2025 at 4:30 PM UTC
Roses are red,
thinking gets dicey.
Speak to a doctor,
before things get too spicy.
Jul 30, 2020
Jul 30, 2020 at 3:36 PM UTC
As howling
twill sky
that flounder
darken with
clouds to
fester anything
upon the
hill with
a dicey
shrill moment
that this
comradery has
met with
only a
bootstrap by
lot in
a surfboard.
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 6:55 AM UTC
On hwy to hvn.
Dicey spot. The drivr is a sott.
Take a chance on happenstance for.
Furthur up the road..
Pull to the curb.
And toss out cookies.
Peal off aginn.
Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 12:31 PM UTC
OLMEDO
Cortés, I have a new, but nagging, fear.
I sense the premonition of a time
When you might be corrupted by the taint
Of evils lying latent in our task,
That vice, which our assignment permeates,
Will tempt resolve to heinous compromise.
CORTÉS
Our mission is implicit in its vice,
In evils ineradicably steeped,
And our grand charge requires that we submit
To its contamination and decay.
A man who would embrace the human lot,
To do so, must consent to be a sinner.
OLMEDO
Blood has been shed- For what? Lives squandered- Why?
You, having tripped in sin’s attractive trap,
To thus, in fragrant snares so feebly flail,
Through frail and flagrant failings such a way,
How can you say to me you are contrite?
CORTÉS
But father, mercy with my malice mingles.
These dicey circumstances find me now
In both a ruthless and reluctant role.
What seems intolerable of this plight
Is that it simply will not be reduced
To trite antitheses of right and wrong.
My conscience both opposes and demands
A rouse to action.
Enter AGUILAR, ALVARADO, MALINALLI, and a Mayan Girl.
AGUILAR Captain, by your will,
These endless battles have despoiled your foe,
Who offer you these slave girls as a bribe.
The terrorized Chontal surrender now.
They will be baptized, and befriend our king,
Provided that we leave their country soon.
CORTÉS
Easy to break that promise once we’re gone.
Tell them we shall release all Mayan soil,
And nomadize into the unknown North. Exit Aguilar.
Here, Alvarado, [indicates girl] guide her to your tent.
We’ll see what use for this one we can find.
Exit all but Malinalli.
MALINALLI
Now, silly Malinalli, drop your sights,
You pretty poppet for these bearded frights.
Jan 17, 2017
Jan 17, 2017 at 7:23 PM UTC
If a man is only as good as his word,
then I want to marry a man with a vocabulary like yours.
The way you say dicey and delectable and octogenarian
in the same sentence— that really turns me on.
The way you describe the oranges in your backyard
using anarchistic and intimate in the same breath.
I would follow the legato and staccato of your tongue
wrapping around your diction
until listening become more like dreaming
and dreaming became more like kissing you.
I want to jump off the cliff of your voice
into the suicide of your stream of consciousness.
I want to visit the place in your heart where the wrong words die.
I want to map it out with a dictionary and points
of brilliant light until it looks more like a star chart
than a strategy for communication.
I want to see where your words are born.
I want to find a pattern in the astrology.
I want to memorize the scripts of your seductions.
I want to live in the long-winded epics of your disappointments,
in the haiku of your epiphanies.
I want to know all the names you’ve given your desires.
I want to find my name among them,
‘cause there is nothing more wrecking **** than the right word.
I want to thank whoever told you
there was no such thing as a synonym.
I want to throw a party for the heartbreak
that turned you into a poet.
And if it is true that a man is only as good as his word
then, sweet jesus, let me be there
the first time you are speechless,
and all your explosive wisdom becomes
a burning ball of sun in your throat,
and all you can bring yourself to utter is, oh god, oh god.
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 10:34 PM UTC
flexes
a choke hold
on our icy slice
of the world
tonight's
snowstorm
still a dicey
proposition
at least
some evenings
will be wrapped in
rose colored glasses
as the sun passes
the horizon
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 5:54 PM UTC
A daughter is yours for life.
A son is yours till he gets married.
Dear daughter-in-law,
I very well know,
You are my son's cherished wife,
The LOVE of his life.
You have borne him two beautiful children,
A daughter and son.
You behave dicey,
With his family pricey.
My son,to you I have given away,
That is your right anyway.
In your lives I never want to interfere,
Have not an inch of fear,
With you he is happy,
You,also are a part of the family.
Then why be vindictive,
Jealous and negative?
In my son's presence act the victim,
Pick up a fight at your whim.
Just because for me he cares,
Calling me with affection he dares,
Something cooked by me he expects,
Treats me with love and respect.
Remember, I am his mother,
Not his bother,
Daughter-in-law, let's live amicably on this planet,
Love draw us closer like a magnet.
I want you to be my daughter,
To me relationships matter.
Apr 19, 2018
Apr 19, 2018 at 5:38 AM UTC
*Ever wondered what is the portal
to the mortal soul.*
Jul 25, 2015
Jul 25, 2015 at 4:55 AM UTC
Make a wish
And make it twice
Have I been
The naughty, or nice.
I need a life
I want a life
Spicy, dicey, over the top
I don't want Normal
Normal is shot.
I want different
Something of new
Something not here
I wanted you
But you aren't you
No more!
I am you
Taking your dagger
Taking your swag
You climbed up my throat
Came out into a bag
Your sickness kills me
Downs me in liquor
They say liquor is quicker
But seems your pains injection
Hits fast.
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 3:00 PM UTC
Do we really think they care?
Trump voters that is,
about shady Russian ties to dark oligarchs
& billion ruble deals,
conflicts of interest,
ties made in China,
family business entanglements?
day after day of golf,
Mar A Largo Winter White House hustle,
enormous Secret Service bills as the
Trumps are scattered here, there
and it seems everywhere,
dicey handshakes,
White Supremacists in the White House,
the American Constitution,
Legal niceties such as checks
& balances,
day after day
lies about this,
& lies about that?
hypocrisies & shallow
empty throw-aways
at the African American
Museum,
Sean 'Fool me two times' Spicer,
media bans,
EPA anti-science,
utterly insane
nuclear pronouncements?
a huge, very huge
military budget,
some backtracking
on the wall,
word salad Muslim ban
justifications?
an overweight, ignorant
orange-faced hustler
just counting those
dollar bills as
he rakes
them in?
Do we really think
they care?
I think not because
well first off
at least now there isn't
a black, Kenyan, Islamist
Marxist running things,
we can all be so thankful
for that,
& all the other stuff
just seems by the way
in comparison.
Mar 9, 2017
Mar 9, 2017 at 9:03 PM UTC
well at the rumpus rolled
round, an eight ball in
an empty pocket, sunk as
what sought what lit its
bald *** for tat.
stalled in a shade's fine shave.
eclipsed by that slipped curve
comely as what pushed shove,
hope found its private animal.
tried its belly in a perfectly
fit laugh...smiley as jelly in
jabby color.
a placenta's snappy reel to
reel: dicey, crazy, dreamy.
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 1:03 AM UTC
In the fast lane,
life goes by too quickly;
the landscape blurs.
I gaze till I feel sickly.
I used to get that way,
on the circular merry-go-round;
I'd get off and fall to earth,
back then, it was, soft ground.
Now the earth's grown hard,
I bend, but seldom give;
the body is more rigid,
each year that I do live.
I walk with caution, on
ground that's cold and icy,
my footsteps planted firmly,
they know each step is dicey.
I take no unknown risks,
I like my life too much;
to throw caution to the wind,
wouldn't help me much.
Oct 18, 2017
Oct 18, 2017 at 5:47 PM UTC
It feels like, I’m waiting on something,
But I don’t know what that “something” is
All the comfort that was I used to in the past,
Now, it seems to cease
Suddenly, it feels as if I’ve lost everything,
The next moment it feels as if I’m yet to earn it1
One thought makes me wanna let go of everything,
The other makes me wanna catch everything that is gone
One thought makes me wanna lose myself,
The other makes me wanna love myself
One thought makes me feel deserted2,
The other makes me wanna feel the bliss
One thought makes me wanna feel sad3,
The other makes me wanna rush to the happiness I want4
One thought makes me wanna die,
The other makes me wanna live my bestest life
One thought makes me feel alone,
The other thought makes me feel so lively
One thought makes me wanna bark it out,
The other makes me wanna duck in it
How could I go with what I feel?
This time, I look around, there’s nothing to heal,
All this time I feel like running away,
But, I swear, I no more want to conceal
My brain is filled with something,
When I ask, it seems to be nothing
Apparently, there’s nothing in there,
But what I see with my closed eyes5 haunts me more than the reality
Seeing myself, crawling on blood
One thought makes me brave enough to endure
The other makes me coward enough to leave
“what’s all that?!” I always think,
I know these thoughts of mine will never sink
Seeing myself like that, the whole time makes me wanna wake up,
But the reality seems to be no different
It’s just the thorns which convert to words
The torture converts to action
The evil becomes mortal6
And the lucid7 becomes reality
1 feeling of losing something I never had; 2 feeling of having nothing left; 3 choose what the others want/make the wrong choice and be sad for the rest of my life; 4 choose what I want and be happy; 5 dreaming; 6 humans are the evil in reality and are mortal; 7 not real/imaginary
Apr 21, 2021
Apr 21, 2021 at 1:45 PM UTC