"wagering" poems
Clouds cover
the delicate pinks
clear and opalescent
of a blushing sky
Electric light
over avenues
of midnight trees
Wagering
throwing dice
Moving wandering
between themes
of obscure dreams
Passing time
wondering
Waiting
for tender flesh
Barbecued pork
The curve
of a female form.
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 2:20 AM UTC
Last November I said Time Is Dumb
and you said it sounded poetic and
remembering this made me sick to my stomach
because last November you didn’t wear a watch,
the tick of a clock didn’t sound like a dripping faucet
and each turn of a calendar wasn’t an alarm without a snooze.
We had all of us in front of us for the taking
but we threw ourselves into the wind
which took you to warm arms and me to cool kitchen and bathroom floors
and this started the clocks, which haven’t stopped.
I used to count back to everyday in our demise
and when you asked if I still count I said of course
but a second after I realized I don’t
because it doesn’t matter how many days are behind us
or how many are in front of us
because velocity measures distance over time,
it measures the rate at which an object changes it’s position
and as the seasons have changed so have we.
We meet in spring and fell in fall,
went on wandering winter walks as snow lightly fell,
in spring we sprung our clocks ahead to meet our end
summer was sliced in separation and sadness,
fall was truth and clocks so fast they broke
winter will be wagering within ourselves
I don’t know what spring will bring besides swimming in distance
and in thoughts of what to do with our time.
There are all these clichés about love and timing
but what if you were not suppose to be
my first love, we both had lessons to learn
you needed to flesh out that surface love and
I needed to rebuild walls before inviting you in.
Times isn’t dumb, we are foolish for letting it control us
but we may have learned this a year too late
for we’ve had our distance and we’ve had our time
and they’ve canceled each other out to create now
and it may be all we have.
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 12:56 AM UTC
The clock has rolled again,
Time for a new year to begin
Time for change to rearrange
Set a path a new filled with plans to do
The year is finally here, the year I can legally buy beer
Kiss my fake I.D goodbye,
No more will I lie to buy
I'm growing, I'm aging, my future I'm wagering, on myself
I can write, I can sing, play guitar and I can tell you of the stars
I can film, I can draw, I can tell jokes to y'all
When it rains I'm out, when you're in, I'm writing with the howling of the wind
When my pack of buffalos decides to roam
Then I'll leave this home
For when they ride I'll be by their side,
As we journey north we cried,
"If we would have stayed in that town we would have aged our hide and died!"
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 2:29 PM UTC
Emperor patriarch enemy family
encyclopedia room flamboyance
and the minions of civilization bow
creviced foreheads etched
with hieroglyphic concentration
pantomiming the harmony of
banana splits dripping
on fireplace slippers
woven into the stories
your neighbors greeted you with
from the other side of the hedge
on the night the great comet arced
into our living rooms
and we kissed oh so
TV-like with the laugh track
clapping in time with the sprinklers
cha cha change the diaper ditty
after supper over done
under the influence
and in a fix
me another martini
extra olives
the smell of negligence
on her creamy pampered thighs
and the aromatic evidence
of lawn mower trim
on her teddy
bareness slipping away into comfort
the children wagering battle
plans with a mouse clicking
crayons left in box
cars matched tickets scratched
windows latched
onto
hobo toxic shock n awe
to see abandominiums
littering lots in crackopolis
virtual and simulated
between the in laws
and the outlaws
the grand apparentless routine
on display
could I borrow a toaster
or waffle with your wife
over the last stick of butter
backdoor banter about
Soldier of fortune
your last subscription
to the mercenary position of
the cul de sac coup d’état
taking place in spinning
class conscious of the fourth
estate third world second
generation first born zero
down home subdivisions
of the disenchanted
evening news is on excuse
that the whole thing is fixed
mortgages futures the lottery
tuition and everybody wins
army navy air force marines
corpses floating cross culture
reference guides to prescription
medication of futile society
Jonesing with the keeping
ups and out of product till
prime time reminds us
why we’re all here
waiting for the aliens
to excavate us.
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 9:41 PM UTC
Every day of his life spent in evasion,
watching every move of the nation,
In moon glazed eyes, reality sets in,
a tricky situation, enter deathly grin,
He needs the rush, to cure the burn,
He shouts out to the sky,
and as he waits, no answers heard,
to elevate his mind..
The silence never waits, as the victim never asks,
the music of the scdene dies, focus on his mask,
the wagering of life, as breath wears thin,
no time he can place,
where it all begins..
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 12:50 PM UTC
Unlike Faust, where he gained by wagering his soul for unlimited knowledge,
or Robert Johnson, meeting at midnight, tuning his guitar, becoming the father of blues,
I gave today for tomorrow. Agreed to live in this world
unseen, densely untalented,
in perpetual poverty,
for the sake of a clear conscience.
my conspirator, the Devil, I confused, signed the papers,
consigning me to happiness after I leave this Hell.
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 5:54 PM UTC
If times must be counted for fear of forgetting
Then, my love, the second we're betting
Anything beyond what we can put in a box
I'm wagering a wish in the form of chains and locks
Because if time teaches anything, it's the pain of fear
And if my love is quantified, then I must hold all of it dear.
Apr 12, 2021
Apr 12, 2021 at 4:25 AM UTC
Listening to music,
Surround by its majesty
Embracing the beat in my blood
Freely and joyfully chatting
The three of us, friends Et tu, Brute?
Wagering the night away
Then amongst chaos,
The anomaly wisps away To breathe easy...
And so tension remains
Leaving us alone.
So the spark fires off.
And I ponder upon you... It's just you and I
I miss you
To only stretch out
It doesn't seem right... To touch, to tickle
Wrap my arms around you
Too much... Kiss you on the neck
To revolve you to me
No.. I can't... And kiss you
Let you know I love you
Why must you persist? Is that a crime?
I miss your touch,
The anguish must stop Your ever-loving care
And the silence rules
So without explanation,
I retreat away I love you...
To brood without heart.
Feb 12, 2010
Feb 12, 2010 at 7:29 AM UTC
I'm getting there. I'm getting to my happy place again. You're still always on my mind, but it's beginning to hurt less. It doesn't feel like there's a gaping hole in me, my chest, my life. It doesn't feel as bad as it used to you anymore when someone brings you up, when something reminds me of you or when I have to go to sleep without you by my side. Life is beginning to go back to the way it was before you ****** around with it . It's finally as if you were always a distant memory. Soon you'll fade completely. I won't be constantly wagering the "what if's" and "whys" for they will no longer matter. I will simply be focused on the present, for it is a gift I have yet to open .
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 1:18 AM UTC
Their natural habitats vary widely, as they are an adaptable lot:
Sometimes a sufficiently surreptitious booth in a bar on the main stem,
Poring over a gaggle of Racing Forms,
Perhaps a convenient light stanchion
Just inside the track’s main gate,
Maybe even behind some lectern
Fronting some staid, stately stained glass,
But, in any case, a tout is a tout is a tout,
Their dissertations and dissection of speed ratings and other holy text
Promulgated as gospel truth
(Albeit tinged with a sotto voce touch of the disclaimer,
That nothing can shake its author’s faith
As long as the weather is clear,
The pace not too frantic over the opening quarter)
Though the nuances of sacred writ lead prelate and pundit
To come to quite opposite conclusions as to the race’s outcome
(Indeed, the disagreements can become quite heated)
Leaving the wagering public with little more to do
Than clutch sheaves of pari-mutual tickets
Close to their chests in the manner of rosaries,
Knowing that as their favored mount
Makes its way to the paddock for that final time,
It’s all too likely the tote board will flash “INQUIRY”
In grave and portentous typescripts.
Dec 15, 2016
Dec 15, 2016 at 1:19 PM UTC
To speak truth means over looking the fabrication of lies.
I can't say, I can love you better.
Just love you a little kinder.
I can't say, I can love you deeper.
Just a little sweeter and hope the depth of it is felt.
Remember , before me existed another that spoke words of wonder.
So there's no need for me to be that lighting trying to override their thunder.
I can say, I will place you upon a pedestal to cherish.
To the point you'll have no regrets.
Have all the bookies wagering on that aspect.
Oct 10, 2015
Oct 10, 2015 at 12:47 AM UTC
Stumbling against the will of probability
in the infinite, indefinite, unyielding wait and see.
Wagering the future on a lapse of sanity.
Despite advice, still thinking twice, I brace for what will be.
Apr 29, 2017
Apr 29, 2017 at 5:54 PM UTC