"gambit" poems
He opens his Star Wars: A New Hope lunch box
Inside a hippies dream.
**** in baggies that have the superman symbol
And Batman symbol on them
Tabs of LSD
And molly.
Hunter S. Thompson would have a field day
©Gambit '13
Aug 27, 2013
Aug 27, 2013 at 2:47 PM UTC
First there is the prep.
The roommate.
Wearing salmon colored pants.
He has Shaggy from Scooby Doo
On his left thigh.
The alcoholic.
She has a drinking problem.
She is in denial of her drinking problem.
She hangs out with the loners.
The loners.
Unkempt, unattractive and fat in all the wrong places.
The blond looks like Tom Petty.
The one with dark hair, glasses and braces
They live next door.
Living together but segregated.
Wild cards.
All of us.
©Gambit '13
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 9:10 AM UTC
Lift you up,
hold me down.
Whatever happens,
please stay around.
Life is a chess game,
and I think I'm your pawn
I get the feeling that soon
you'll be gone.
I understand that there are sights to be seen,
but here stands the pawn that wants to be queen.
I thought you were a king, not a knight with no sword.
Now I stand as queen because I crossed the board.
Little did I know that's how you had planned it.
Now comes the suffrage of this queen's gambit.
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 4:47 PM UTC
for Robin
On that frosted January day,
you and I hiked north
along the Mississippi shore
on a trail marked well before us.
Footfall tapestries etched in snow
wove tales of assiduous commerce
of hosts of fur-cloaked cousins:
the playful step-slide gambit of an otter -
rabbit paw tracks by the score.
A bald eagle soared above singing ripples
in quest of a mid-day meal.
The distant staccato cadence
of a pileated woodpecker
echoed off the limestone bluffs
on that January afternoon.
Dusk-light washed the western sky
in pastel gold and crimson hues.
A coal barge heading south
thundered against the floes,
scattering ice across the channel,
then vanished beyond the bend.
And we like bargemen at their tillers,
set our southward course
retracing footprints in the snow -
back to the world of clocks and enterprise.
January, 2011
Nov 13, 2015
Nov 13, 2015 at 6:14 AM UTC
Apeneck Sweeney spreads his knees
Letting his arms hang down to laugh,
The zebra stripes along his jaw
Swelling to maculate giraffe.
The circles of the stormy moon
Slide westward toward the River Plate,
Death and the Raven drift above
And Sweeney guards the hornèd gate.
Gloomy Orion and the Dog
Are veiled; and hushed the shrunken seas;
The person in the Spanish cape
Tries to sit on Sweeney’s knees
Slips and pulls the table cloth
Overturns a coffee-cup,
Reorganised upon the floor
She yawns and draws a stocking up;
The silent man in mocha brown
Sprawls at the window-sill and gapes;
The waiter brings in oranges
Bananas figs and hothouse grapes;
The silent vertebrate in brown
Contracts and concentrates, withdraws;
Rachel née Rabinovitch
Tears at the grapes with murderous paws;
She and the lady in the cape
Are suspect, thought to be in league;
Therefore the man with heavy eyes
Declines the gambit, shows fatigue,
Leaves the room and reappears
Outside the window, leaning in,
Branches of wistaria
Circumscribe a golden grin;
The host with someone indistinct
Converses at the door apart,
The nightingales are singing near
The Convent of the Sacred Heart,
And sang within the ****** wood
When Agamemnon cried aloud,
And let their liquid siftings fall
To stain the stiff dishonoured shroud.
3k
"Surreal skeptic, cynical cryptic! Licentious lecheries fabulist façade fantasias. Wild eyed spectral serene. Dream of catenary concoctions, ethereal salacious conjugation, bridge the gap in metaphysical mystique. Erotica erectile errantry’s exserted protuberance is a kinesiology kleptomaniac with his embark embargo extraditions and his eventuation evocative execrations, a positive amalgamated anathema android of a terminus thrall. The shadow in the shade of the silhouette sojourn. The bailiff’s rakeness rails incarnate, unicorn railway nails and all. He will paint mirador bartizan panorama tableaus all over your proximity parameter perimeter peripherals. Force the enmity to acquiesce into impunity.” “Why this is not but an ogling ogre of an oligarchy omelet” she shrieked as he continued to tickle her. “Down here at the bizarre bazaar we all believe in the blasphemous farcical fugueness,” he said. “Positive orchestration renditions of transpositional interlude.” “Come here,” she said “let my clambering clamorous clangor write you a wield wile treatise expose’.” “The legions of Chinga da are battling the hoards of Gunga din saying ‘kinetic supremacy temporize tractive fluent’ , it’s sheer genocide. That plasty goop nosed Gumby ****** Gunga doesn’t stand a chance. Coax cacophony clout, catatonic phonics, grizzly grotto grouches all”, She squealed. “Now you’re gumption dreaming”, he chimed. “Chutzpah panache spontaneous generation complicity, gambit alluvium aloof succor.”
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 7:17 PM UTC
There is not much more than lunch of your poor soul's gut. That which has hidden your chase,
Be it the same flurry you face, or the chaste, widowed band of loons
Supplicate snail-movements, while wading through the stiff lagoon.
Everything must, while the fissures grow grumpy.
While the dust settles inwards and the cracks fill with stuffing.
The particle stands stiff, while each nursery cries.
A pitter-patter of rain drops lurch the birds forwards towards flight.
Say the gumption to roost was the dork lit and idling,
Each abortion towards space, kept the rocket from flying,
Like the cannonball sneering, or the whistle of men
The trial and tribulations of the miserly pens.
If be swore the moors, concrete beds shuffle the snores.
Unlike any trumpet of nose notes or horns.
How each curious grumbler failed the ewe of his flock.
Lil' crock lodgers counting sleep of each lot.
Who can practice commands, width that makes up a strake
In the morning the weir-men quaff each tea of their tastes.
Then comes to the rind, the hands each guided by eyes.
Stumps the bard of his nightshade in imported glass vials.
Show whomever the pleasure, the happy hell once began
Because under each gambit is the king of a lamb.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 5:10 AM UTC
Demented bandit
Redundant pundit
Fun time gambit
Screaming "Bomb it!"
Vicious *****
Cannot stand it
Mend it, bend it
Maybe tow it
How it goes
It goes all wrong
It wrongs no more
More than it should
But more it could
I guess it would
But that would hurt
Oh what a ****
The world is burnt
And I feel like a picture blurt
You've censored too much
Ventured too far
Gotten all such
Answers fewer
Violent fever
Violet furor
Volatile gore
Gory tumour
Sep 9, 2019
Sep 9, 2019 at 11:37 AM UTC
Through a tunnel I walk.
Stumbling upon the demons I stalk.
Straining to understand their words.
Yet afraid of what their message may hold.
The walls and path are all ablur.
As further along I do blunder.
Stumbling and falling,
To rise once more.
Searching for a magical door.
To release me from this caliginous gambit.
Then the goblins and trepidation omit,
To deliver me anew to the suns bright glare.
And release me once more from the captivity of despair
May 11, 2023
May 11, 2023 at 9:07 PM UTC
I must readily admit
I am guilty of this deep pleasure
When it suits me to find a justifying reason to do so,
But like a sweaty fat man
Waiting in line at an out door
Restroom,
I must admit that I find it
Quite uncomforting when
I find one written about me,
As good as it may be,
Some lines genius and genuine
Grasping me to a T;
I feel naked as a blank paper
Being written over and told this
Is what I will be, or am,
Or will never achieve,
Archived in a thought,
Popping my bubble of
Existence and letting a stanza
Didctate my life's
Unfortunate,
But very well writ poem
Stake me in the soul,
How well they know me,
Plagiarism of my own
Confessions,
And I realise
They are just peices of poetry
I have pasted in the past
Cleverly put together
In some Rondeau' or
Dickinson flurry,
And wonder what the truth
About a plagiarism's gambit,
Hoping to nail me onto
The front page wall,
Disguised as poetic license
To hang me out in the open,
Yet I have seen these lines,
And no one can expose
Themselves better than I,
Read between the lines
And there is a hint of envy,
The honor becomes mine.
Sep 28, 2017
Sep 28, 2017 at 5:38 PM UTC
Grievous grace, has due yesterday’s blue
Autonomous avarice enigma entity’s hue
Identity crisis guidon guile’s due
Mystic symbiosis’ existential true
Apostrophe sabbat transcendental kitsch
Consortium liaison’s libido’s glitch
Translucent opulence’s lambent’s a *****
Metaphysical mystique is black as pitch
Terrestrial equestrian tellurian's terrene
Adamant tenacity’s obtusely obscene
Obstinate loquacity spiritually serene
Maniacally meticulous dexterity’s preen
Lucid cogent fecund’s maieutic
Incarnate’s manumissional eidetic
Spatiotemporal telemetry’s fanatic
Logistical tactician’s primal ecstatic
Chicanery dynamism’s opulent fealty
Intrinsic innate retrospective cruelty
Indigenous endemic inherent frailty
Corrupt costume counselor subtlety
Gambit alluvium aloof impunity
Immunity is epicurian absurdity
Who are we to us credulity
Nimbus nimiety nihilism’s congruity
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 8:39 AM UTC
From a platform, he was pushed
down onto the ground.
There he landed with a great cry, a lonesome sound,
where the beasts took him with teeth;
molars and canines in the form of sticks and swords for sheaths,
beat him till his lungs gave in, until they no longer heaved for a breath.
Collapsed sacks of skin in a broken body
on a broken roof
somewhere without a name,
just a news channel hook
and gambit,
theme tune and a corpse laying bare on a video screen,
shield your eyes, place a blanket over the body and boy.
Aug 23, 2013
Aug 23, 2013 at 11:41 AM UTC
Specious speculative salacious spectral season
Transmogrify trapezium traverse torsion treason
Erotica errantry erectile endogenic emblazon
Ghastly gnashy grotesque gristly garrison
Larcenous lecherous lascivious latent lesson
Entelechy ethology exsistentialize extant epsilons
Spurious spry squabble subtle specialization
Transient transitive tour de force teleportation
Encephala enunciate endeavor executant emulation
Garish gaudy gambit glitch granulation
Lurid livid liaison limpid laceration
Extravaganza expletives expeditious equilibration emendation
Sly stodgy surreptitious spatiotemporal solicitor
Taciturn tactile transcendent tertiary torpor
Euphoria eminent equivocal exserted emancipator
Garrulous gustatory gung ** gestational gesticulator
Lyricism lilt liberation lambaste levitator
Escutcheon exergonic epaulet exodus extrapolator
Starkness staunch spectacle stolid stultification
Telepathy tantamount tractive tellurian transmutation
Exonerate euthenics exegesis entourage eradication
Groaty gnarly gruesome gristly gastrulation
Licentious lewd lacunar laconic limitation
Extemporaneous exigency embark embargo extradition
Slinky slick sultry stoical snout
Transubstantiate torturous temerarious tumultuous tout
Eucharist extortion enmity epithet eke out
Gross grit groin grove grout
Lentic leister lotic lothario levity lout
Execrating eventuation evocative evitable excerpt bout
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 3:59 PM UTC
I walked a summer day, warm and fair
Thirst my only burden, and lightly so
For all was light before the sun
I found a rabbit upon the ground
He lay on the soil, shivering
Despite the bright he grew cold
Beside him a hemlock plant was cut
I stayed with him till the end.
I sat in the buttercups and poison leaves
And spoke to him.
'I am sorry, wise friend, for you who knew all
Could not make a gambit of this weed.'
I lay him to rest and walked on, the thirst taking hold
And met a fawn, poison creeping through her too
Her legs shook, I held them tight
And spoke to her.
'Alas, many of you, wise friends have fallen to this evil,
On this wonderful day I feel nothing but remorse
A fear of what has befallen you,
Why did you not run?'
The fawn, sharp of eye and tongue, yet deep of heart
Said nothing, though her eyes were full of words
I lay with her and read her pity
'Til the very end.
Lastly, taking my throat in dry anguish
I walked on, the heat now unbearable,
The path lay ahead
With broken souls of wise thinkers
I heard, in my anguish
A hoot, and looked up
An owl on a branch who did not cry
But could not fly for torment
'Why have all these great beings fallen?'
I asked him, sour of tongue
He could not speak, but pointed
At the old forest, which was no more
In its place, fields of hemlock stood
Before it I could not, and wept.
'You see, dear human, our forest is gone
And with it our world and our souls
Your kind has committed what we would call wrong,
But you would call reaching your goals.
With nothing to eat, they fed on the stalks,
With nothing to drink, they drank of the sap
Great thinkers and knowers these walkers of walks
Are fallen at the claws of your trap.'
And with his words in my mind he flew from his tree
And fled the fields for the sky
Above me the mountains, below me the sea
My thirst was such that my eye
Sought out some water, but such was there none
Just hemlock, and that I did take
I drank of the sap and like them I was done
Like my own kind my life was forsake'.
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 11:56 AM UTC
Peter got a sandwich for you.
mama went shopping ,
Gabriel needs a carwash,
Cristen choked on his ***** ,
Iris sailed the oceans,
Blake died of ennui.
Martha blew her neighbour,
Adrian stole her *******
Beth went out of liquor,
Walter cooked a new batch.
Marla is a ******
Gambit dealt a new pack.
And so and so they pass by
All these million names.
Who cares to blink twice
At a facecless face?
And then came eh...! wry dry, Dont **** Me, " ... " I can't even
Say his name.
It's like this name
Blew my heart out with a shotgun
right through my rib cage.
And these are the names
Which pierce your heart
And make you breathless
Because they hold stories
That you always hid in darkness.
And
You have skeletons In your
Closet
Like thats not enough
To give you the brain flu!
But the salt on the wound
Is that-
so does your wife,
Your mistress,
And everyone around you.
(gunshot)
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 7:00 AM UTC
One hundred and thirteen days since my last sip.
And it only took me one day to finally jump ship.
No matter how long I'm sober, nor how much I drink.
Will ever allow me the clarity to see the way that you think.
So here's to relapse, and the misery inbound.
Because girl I'll never stop you from runnin' around.
Oct 8, 2016
Oct 8, 2016 at 4:16 PM UTC
As shadows begin to engulf,
The hues that come from a well lit day.
From the multicolored palette,
Pastels turn to gray.
Shadows are forming ,
It's near the end of day.
But still,
In the eve's half light,
I spy the glimmering ,
A floret of white.
The first to catch the new mornings rays,
And the last to show through the darkening haze.
And so it cycles from light to dark.
The familar becomes unknown,
And place's of refuge,
Are now a gambit to run.
The darkness seems to lessen the gap,
That the dawn had once split wide.
But all's the same
'Cept the loss of light.
And maybe just a tiny fright
From the circuition,
This will pass.
To convert the obscurity to comprehension.
And so reveal,
It's all a trick of the mind's eye.
Nov 27, 2020
Nov 27, 2020 at 10:41 PM UTC
Modern life is killing me
Yawn, yawn, block out the TV
Pictures of bears, wales and lion
Dial the number, save the newest extinction
Money wanted for the latest charity
Save the children, comes the plea
It’s all too much for the heart to take
So it’s numbed in ice, to prevent the break
I am now part of the world’s population
Where denial is guaranteed self-preservation
But here we go with another newsbreak
Money needed after a recent earthquake
So I will travel upon my merry way
Living in ignorance every day
Paddle in an ocean where plastic rules
Ignoring the singing of dolphin blues
Don’t want to hear about what’s at stake
I can’t make a change, put in the firebreak
But to the next generation, what can be said?
When they look at oceans a long time dead
And a lion’s roar can only be seen
In a cartoon film shown on the big screen
The only animals in the world are biped
Trying to survive on this floating sickbed
I am not one to name and shame
Or make judgement, place the blame
But don’t want to leave the world as I found it
Hand it on, like it’s a gambit
So I will make one change, I hereby claim
I leave it up to you to do the same
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 2:32 PM UTC
A runaway
ducking landlords
just back from timbuktu
containing
wild
wild
and some rite of
some protective voodoo
dialing for
d
o
l
l
a
r
s
I don't have
I just gotta get through
Beggars call collect and the alms are anyone's ears,
anyone
will do
The receiver,
eternity's choir
Singing
soggy
sorry
gloom
The preacher man's a liar
Just tell God to let me through
My tongue
becomes
a sublimated jazz singer spitting
my soul impromptu
some
R a p i d f i r e
c o n f e t t i
At a party where everyone is mute
Their silence unsettling
the space between rings, music
I'm going to
lose it
stop
traffic has gone bebop
Outside the booth
While the rain is trying at the blues
But I know that song
and I know me
it's way
out
of
tune
Singing, Hey mama!
I'm so sorry I flew the coop
I should of changed from my pajamas
But I still had some furious flu
So I got
down
with
the
sickness
Because the cure won't
fit in a tablespoon
Even still,
I hope to get through
the kind of hope thats put me
At the
bottom of the
booth
Bi t i n g
ankles
moon
Howling
at the
Giving
up
to
a
gambit.
Who am I even talking to?
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 2:24 PM UTC
"Surreal skeptic, cynical cryptic! Licentious lecheries fabulist façade fantasias. Wild eyed spectral serene. Dream of catenary concoctions, ethereal salacious conjugation, bridge the gap in metaphysical mystique. Erotica erectile errantry’s exserted protuberance is a kinesiology kleptomaniac with his embark embargo extraditions and his eventuation evocative execrations, a positive amalgamated anathema android of a terminus thrall. The shadow in the shade of the silhouette sojourn. The bailiff’s rakeness rails incarnate, unicorn railway nails and all. He will paint mirador bartizan panorama tableaus all over your proximity parameter perimeter peripherals. Force the enmity to acquiesce into impunity.” “Why this is not but an ogling ogre of an oligarchy omelet” she shrieked as he continued to tickle her. “Down here at the bizarre bazaar we all believe in the blasphemous farcical fugueness,” he said. “Positive orchestration renditions of transpositional interlude.” “Come here,” she said “let my clambering clamorous clangor write you a wield wile treatise expose’. The legions of Chinga da are battling the hoards of Gunga din saying", "kinetic supremacy temporize tractive fluent" , "it’s sheer genocide. That plasty goop nosed porker of a Gumby ******* ***** monger Gunga doesn’t stand a chance. Coax cacophony clout, catatonic phonics, grizzly grotto grouches all”, She squealed. “Now you’re gumption dreaming”, he chimed. “Chutzpah panache spontaneous generation complicity, gambit alluvium aloof succor.”
Dec 14, 2017
Dec 14, 2017 at 1:26 AM UTC
Sometimes, I’ll open with the King’s Gambit
Because I’m feeling bold
Or saucy
Or generally suicidal
Since I know you’ll just countergambit.
I’ll move my pawn and you’ll move yours.
I’ll take your rook
With a sly move you never saw coming
Only to wave goodbye
To that brave knight of mine
Who gave his life
For my ongoing crusade
To capture you.
Move after move
Feeling victory in a capture
And dejection at a loss
Until we’ve suddenly found
We’ve been playing this game
For years.
I’ll give a little bit
And let you take something
That belongs to me.
And you’ll rejoice and be glad
For the whole world to see.
But darling?
Don’t you know
The number one rule of this game?
You always have to be
One move ahead.
Checkmate, *******
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 1:08 PM UTC
I am back yet again
in Tripoli, reading
Arabic street signs and
on an evening look
to find that special fish
restaurant of old.
Al-Jameheriyyah
al-Arabeiyyah is and
has always been for me
the land of surprises in
this storied life.
Already, I have been
kidnapped into a long
adventure, taking me across
the Sahara into the rarest
of lands, filled with ponds
and fertile green beauty!
Today, I accompany
contacts from the fishing
fleet into the port.
On the far side of which,
below the British Embassy
is an old black submarine!?
My main contact is
handing me on board a
vessel, when he ages
slack and shakes.
Then, I am pulled back
to be led away.
Hot and held firmly,
we don't waste words.
My jacketed guards walk me
briskly into the harbour,
towards a squat building.
Each alert and thinking - I,
that I'm in the arms of the
Libyan Secret Police,
as each jacket conceals
my confirmation!
On entering their blockhouse,
I am led and followed up the
stairs to confront a facing cell,
wallpapered entirely in
the heavy folding scissor-ed
steel closure of the Souq,
jewelled in locks!
The first jacket stoops to unlock
my cage. Likely, sharing my confidence
that once in, I'm here to stay - I
drift slightly left. Thence, to roll
left, behind and around a second jacket,
to swiftly enter the office to my
rear. A man stands, surprised!
Shaking hands, I greet him warmly.
I am asked to take a seat and
the audience at the door
to give explanation!
I am now the honoured guest
and have no intention of
leaving my seat! Afraid,
the chairman and his shocked
staff are invited also. Four
hours later my past involvement
in supplying the Libyan Tunisian
Fishing Cooperative with eighty
eight marine propulsion engines
is confirmed.
I leave them last, as
one might part from friends.
.
Jun 6, 2010
Jun 6, 2010 at 11:54 AM UTC
by: T.S. Eliot (1888-1965)
PENECK Sweeney spreads his knees
Letting his arms hang down to laugh,
The zebra stripes along his jaw
Swelling to maculate giraffe.
The circles of the stormy moon
Slide westward toward the River Plate,
Death and the Raven drift above
And Sweeney guards the horned gate.
Gloomy Orion and the Dog
Are veiled; and hushed the shrunken seas;
The person in the Spanish cape
Tries to sit on Sweeney's knees
Slips and pulls the table cloth
Overturns a coffee-cup,
Reorganized upon the floor
She yawns and draws a stocking up;
The silent man in mocha brown
Sprawls at the window-sill and gapes;
The waiter brings in oranges
Bananas figs and hothouse grapes;
The silent vertebrate in brown
Contracts and concentrates, withdraws;
Rachel née Rabinovitch
Tears at the grapes with murderous paws;
She and the lady in the cape
Are suspect, thought to be in league;
Therefore the man with heavy eyes
Declines the gambit, shows fatigue,
Leaves the room and reappears
Outside the window, leaning in,
Branches of wistaria
Circumscribe a golden grin;
The host with someone indistinct
Converses at the door apart,
The nightingales are singing near
The Convent of the Sacred Heart,
And sang within the ****** wood
When Agamemnon cried aloud,
And let their liquid droppings fall
To stain the stiff dishonoured shroud
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 3:25 PM UTC
I posted an invite to my wedding on gaiaonline on forums.
I got you stupid, he wants *** he will cheat on you the whole gambit.
Beats the heck out of getting hitched in the real and he cheats.
He says he loves me and I love him so we try marriage online.
If it don't work wtfu did I lose? Losing virginity on the net don't count.
Or does describing *** count as real ***
Guys who want to do me say no and they tell me I will love it.
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 6:22 AM UTC
Is it weird that my hero
Is found in actual comics?
Gambit, the raging cajun is my hero
Much like a mathematicians is Zero
He's operated on both sides of the law
And he had caused horrible catastrophes
And owned up to his flaws
That and come on, The Kinetic Cards are just outright cool
And I can never get tired of the character, even when he's being a tool
So Gambit is my hero
I'm a comic Geek I'm proud to admit
At least I owned up to my nerdy habits
That as a kid made my mom's wallet split
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 7:28 PM UTC