"parlayed" poems
i given nothing
i abandoned
i adopted
i dropout
i garage
i Apple
i NeXT
i Pixar
i Apple
i pilfered i
i invented i
i produced i
i market i
i retail i
i am i
i am
i
i tech beauty
i consumer fetish
i whom you love
i sleekest widgets
i Toy Story
i Macintosh
i macbook
i Lisa
iTunes
iPod
iPhone
iPad
i more
i rebel
i genius
i visionary
i entrepreneur
i world changer
i exceptionalism
i capital market hero
i bigger then business
i cool capitalism
i myth
i "the man"
i worker
i employer
i boss
i thief
i savior
i billionaire
i venerated
i vanity
i Buddhist
i prophet
i redeemed
i 1 in 300 million
i America
i sing the pathos
i am the creed
i define the ethos
i Steve Jobs
i amassed riches
i accolade crowned
i ingratiate world
i virtue
i success
i creativity
i favored
i Midas
i bedeviled
i tested
i afflicted
i retire
i human
i mortal
i succumb
i eulogized
i leave legacy of i
i am an MBA case study
i employed workers
i peddled intrepid product cycles
i subject of amusing anecdotes
i am heroic corporate folklore
i grew pods full of music
i incite kids to thumb phones
i captivate consumer imagination
i built rock solid balance sheet
i erected toxic Chinese factories
i enriched investors
i am the cool corporate brand
i inspired a million unused i apps
i hipster capitalism
i imposed my will
i insisted
i am that i am
i cannot take it with me
i leave blue jeans
i leave NB sneakers
i leave black collarless shirt
i will be asked what
i did with the time
i was given?
i did the best i could
i played the hand dealt
i parlayed it into a royal flush
i filled it up with i
i ask why
i am no more?
i leave the world
i am no more
Godspeed Beloved
Steven Paul "Steve" Jobs
(February 24, 1955 – October 5, 2011)
jbm
Oakland
10/6/11
Nov 4, 2011
Nov 4, 2011 at 10:40 PM UTC
taken back by this inner ***** when i get high
cuz i cant work up the courage to smile
look you in the eye, and say hi
i look down and stare at my screen
pretending not to notice and focus on doing certain things
however all that's in focus is the increasing sound of you getting closer
i hold on tight and try not lose my composure
parlayed, with a stress disorder.
the root cause is probably this raging *****
that ego
that i wont let go
unnoticed.
by being so reclusive
you noticed
im sorry peaches and oranges
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 4:34 PM UTC
Ole Hunchback
Got a right Royal burial;
That smiling villain's bones
Bleached black-blonde
In underground parking.
Exhumed and parlayed
For over two years;
Confirmed to be he
Who caused a Queen
To cry vats of tears
For the Tower boys.
Poor Anne dropped her hankie.
His horse-drawn caisson
Is a subterfuge,
A distraction to veil
Civil dissatisfaction.
He finally got his horse,
And we get the droppings.
And I see Cromwell
Standing beside Churhill
And Charles ouside
Westminster.
Perhaps Manson
Will be busted
In Poet's Corner.
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 9:22 AM UTC
He’s the kind that likes to swindle
He’s always got some deal cooking,
(His bait and switch game doesn’t dwindle,)
When he doesn’t think we’re looking
You went to school with a **** like this,
He always claimed others were cheats.
He showed up early only if and when
They were serving food and sweets.
But never showed up for the work
Or did playground games honestly.
He claimed twice the victories he had
And lied to everyone constantly.
All the deals he makes are scams
He pulls the rug out from under.
(Were his steaks really just spam?)
And leaves giggling at his plunder.
When he got older, he took his dad’s gold
And parlayed it into a lifetime game
Of promises not kept, and half-truths
And, as usual, never once took the blame
He preferred never to pay his bills
And then bragged about how gullible
The creditors were, and how they all
Should really have charged him double.
Hey, ** he thinks we don’t know
Just what kind of game he’s playing.
Just listen to his promises online
It’s the opposite of what he’s saying.
But that’s how snake oil salesmen are;
They cook up a batch of ***** and herbs
And sell it as a cure-all and hurt folks
Then laugh and claim it’s what they deserve.
And, when his books turn out to be cooked
He lies about it way before you start.
When asked how he could be so crooked
He says, “That’s because I’m so smart!”
He’s the kind that likes to swindle
He’s always got some deal cooking.
(His bait and switch game doesn’t dwindle)
When he doesn’t think we’re looking
May 9, 2018
May 9, 2018 at 9:43 PM UTC
so beauty is
measured
not in time worn remembering
but in youthful exuberance
brilliance parlayed
censored
by lack of experience
is young and fades away
wise is the one
best when
seeing true beauty
glow and never fade
by eyes of memory
or genius
that knows beauty
is
ordinary magnificence
lives in the daily rituals
of caring for the
day to day
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 11:25 PM UTC
Just as my physical remains are returned to the soil , my soul is born anew , cast across this very ocean . Be at ease , remain watchful , for as the return of living water at high tide parlayed with everlasting love , patience and fidelity , the seashore remaining vigilant with each breaker for intimacies nurture and embrace . The tearful void of hopelessness and despair fulfilled ! You will find me at the crest of every wave ..
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 9:17 PM UTC
Wash the sleep from your eyes
Stretch your spine, breathe deep, and rise
I'll hold your warmth and soak in your spirit,
I'm inconsolable, yet you smile at me
I hold you tighter, yet still you resist me
To give the order, to end a life
A burden inhumane, yet our common strife
Sweet Luna my steady, my first and last of the day
It was not just your life I lost on this day
We are unfinished marble, chipped, warped, and parlayed
Joyed life and clean death, these are the sins that we pay
Sweet Luna, catch a mouse for me, obliterate your prey
Sweet Luna claim a chest for me, bring love where you stay
Luna Moonfang
2003-2015
Rest in Peace
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 6:20 AM UTC
Her vision steeped before we crossed
but no more to ignite the eyes
losing track of what was behind, I didn’t bother.
I carried concern on my chest, no boulders on my shoulders.
I parlayed with my self, negotiating control.
A small taste of freedom beckoned,
to feel and smell and crave the fancies I fancied.
Natural impulse, artificial dissolution.
A leading discourse to
dry this saturating boredom
with sponges more righteous than martyrs.
And burn these tears of impassive self pity
in the fires of a desert immolated.
A frozen face on my stone like heart.
Inequity realized and resolved.
Silence is a drug of the lazy and the wise
I am neither, but I despise them both
and too, the darkness with which speaks, my mind.
Slip into a corner, watch the echoes play.
lest luck has its day;
before I bite the cold earth for good;
I will see the martyr walk from the pyre
and witness myself burning with desire.
Jul 1, 2013
Jul 1, 2013 at 1:05 PM UTC
Sometimes we slip through the cracks
fall down a hole or trip into the looking glass
and never manage to find our way back.
Innocence is betrayed as it is parlayed into
the whole growing up thing that
we don’t want to do.
Playmates fade away as we lose yesterday.
Their faces blur then just disintegrate,
along with the games and stories we made.
Time becomes the anchor that weighs us down
as we struggle and drown in deadlines.
Playful pixies dust fantasies are lost to these
important and emerging responsibilities.
Teddy Bear hugs and fairytale love
become the stuff of forgotten hopes,
and with each romantic advance rejected
the dreamer dejected retreats to
the safety of a stale and scheduled reality.
Till the mirror reflects the inner sadness.
Our shoulders slump, skin sags, and wrinkles,
as our eyes lose that sly Peter Pan twinkle.
-2023
Nov 21, 2023
Nov 21, 2023 at 12:34 PM UTC
love her oohs and ahs
music to my ears
her vociferousness
we parlayed and drank several hours away
laughed and smoked a blunt
and her hand was right there
I was expecting her to pull it away
when I reached out and touched it
she was a lady but
let me grasp her
and she was quite a lady
my ears are ringing
Nov 2, 2016
Nov 2, 2016 at 12:14 AM UTC
Where is the grief
that should write your face
leaving no trace
of joy’s expression
only rivers of red depression?
Where is the pain
that should be drawn in
till each line ages you
as it should do?
Where is the wisdom achieved
in feeling such grief
in bending to weep
from the sorrows you see?
Where is the hope and conviction born
from seeing the forlorn,
hearing the horrors that sound inhumanity
then standing to see a whole city
raging against such indignities?
Where is the righteous outrage
that you display
for a symbolic piece of cloth
that represents states that owned slaves
or the red white and blue
that you pledge your allegiance to
when it is torn, burned,
stepped on, or frayed?
Shouldn’t that anger be parlayed
into seeking justice
for those who were betrayed
for the ones who went away
to be kissed by the lips of death
and the ones who stayed
trying to make ends meet
for the human beings
who mean so much more to me?
Seriously, where is your god **** human decency?
Feb 11, 2017
Feb 11, 2017 at 11:48 AM UTC
Who knew why such ruffians
Squandered and squabbled
Dear to me their brutish good looks
Pulling out pockets' linings
Showing how no cent remained
Not a **** dime to their name
Chasing absent dreams called fame
Just deterioration
From what was once
Gleaming teeth
Combed hair
Finer threads
Now cement beds
Lay them down at night
Oh what a sight
My parlayed partners
Still jiving and hustling
Crackling and busting
*** for that quick fix
Sick, I tell you
How glory appears in their eyes
It's a story of addiction's surprise
That grab on you
How it happened to him too
Gleam!
That glisten and sheen
Then sweat
Soaked in an essence we've set
Of our inner spoiling
Tormented toiling
When we shoot that boot to get
That desperate need never met
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 2:32 PM UTC
Seeking distraction from
dissatisfaction I peek through
the cloven leaves aside the creek
deep in the woods with my best
dearest friend, Chartreusse.
We climb trees together
play with coyotes
run together pet the
squirrels hold birds
in our gentle hands.
We eat on Nature's rewards
fall in love easily
with each other
the creek and the woods.
We move together.
Playfully we parlayed a creek
the sun, and the woods
the wild dearness of hearts together
woven in dreams.
I remember
forever.
Chartreusse.
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 3:19 AM UTC
for looking there common syllables arranged are mine
thy bright wit stealing when legacy
of my heartbeat gets portrayed into a popular rhythm
parlayed into a heart thus mine I only known,
severely conveyed where in ******** says my mind
why, thine is betraying our then our why
doth thine heart betray our seminal schemes
our promises to feel only each others homes and minds.,
for the sun does , every day rise again, anew, for
me and my and you. There is room in this vast universe,
my dear, for you and my differences to coincide
promises or pledges aside, Love at the distance.
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 7:45 AM UTC
Who are these people?
I baked them bread. I made them welcome
And they left **** and ***** on my lovely carpet.
They smiled as they stole my Gramma’s silver teapot
They pulled down the curtain in my dressing room
And mopped the bathroom floor with it
They each got a Jeep in ’59, parlayed it
To a better place to be and live
And perfect superior attitudes that
delegate those with rounded eyes
To the lonely space beneath contempt.
Who are these people?
I learned their songs and sang along
But they stole my record player
And sold it for a dollar ten
And gave me only half the money
Saying that was all they got.
They rob their kids of childhood games
To run the shop and study hard
To be the best at everything
And social mores and etiquette
Are something for the native born.
Who are these people?
I helped them when I saw a need
And never got a thank you
I smiled when they pushed me aside
To reach the goodie table first
And take the biggest piece.
They piously bow heads to pray
On entering a holy place
(That serves as Country Club)
To listen to the words of God
And leave to serve the devil.
Who are these people?
They are the winners in an evil game
A hive that can’t be overcome
I watch myself go down in flame
And wait for justice to be won.
ljm
Dec 17, 2017
Dec 17, 2017 at 1:21 PM UTC
Or Woman, Or Child, Or...
The following elucidated
conjecture actually can
(reed best) be taken with a grain
of salt, and no ban
nah nah split 'ope ya 'ere me
cloud and lear, cuz (Oh my...
heavens to Betsy), ennui
got pulled by Evan -
Jewel Lean, who handed this long fellow
(wads worth to you)
speculation with fan
see prestidigitation legerdemain - tan
ta mount to cheap tricks
re: out of thin air
by this half
fast hue man,
Hill Billy ***** Wonka Nilly,
who blithely doth asseverate
apothegm (poem title) equally applicable
Century21 today Aswan
**** maxim initially
bespoke, when collective
primates begat enfant terrible
foo fighting predetermining anon
metastasizing debacle Yeti
bedeviling civilization
a bajillion years in the future with
Matthew Scott Harris deadpan
words worth less his way
before even an odd iota
of dire straight sultan
of swing didst merely span
spottily scattered amidst
pristine Earth, where
unchanging arboreal
beastie boys to oman,
and flock of sea gulls
continuity elapsed – Ivan
hunch, albeit un
recorded disc contented sow
sow hogtied pan
dum mo' nee ham, or
blessed historical events,
kept (stay'n) alive,
courtesy"FAKE" Trump
petting Dapper Dan,
where he knit pattern,
qua oral tradition, sans clan
destine scattered hot pockets
of sparse **** sapiens,
i.e. humanity LESS preponderant,
primary, and/or prolific,
where superstitions parlayed
(voodoo with no Fran Schwa),
and whirling dervishes fed elan,
which earliest recorded (doctored,
digitized, and demented
oh yea), not
tomb mitt to dimly mentioned
asper "time and tide
wait for no man"
purportedly by one
Saint Marher, circa:
1225 anno domini.
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 3:27 AM UTC
the amount of time, money, and effort you're putting into this is stupid
don't act like you care about us all
you're just full grown men
who can't stand to not be in control
dictating other people's lives
deciding others rights and wrongs
claiming to be the strong arm
of our long lost God
but you're not
maybe you don't know
but i think you do
you're just using the idea
to incite fear inside few
your days are clearly numbered
waves of thunderstorms
have you torn asunder
you're in your last throws
go ahead silence me, it won't be over
I'm just one pawn in the plot
when gone, the Lord'll make more
and more fiery than before
I'll reincarnate in a new form
you may get parlayed for a time
but find that pulled greys grow back in fours.
Aug 8, 2017
Aug 8, 2017 at 9:46 PM UTC