Posted in Art Scene, Current Affairs, Literature, Memoirs, Poetry, Relationships, Society, tagged against, arch, blank, bleed, broken, curve, days, faint, fragile, graphite, grey, heart, leave, left, line, lonely, long, loop, note, page, pencil, poem, poetry, scribbling, shake, slip, slow, smudge, stab, still, teardrop, thoughts, thread, unsharpen, unspoken, unsure, unwritten, white, words on May 3, 2010| 19 Comments »
Still.
There are unspoken
words left unwritten.
Thread of thoughts
broken. Unsure loops.
Scribbling faint lines.
Curving, arching,
shaking. Unsharpened
slow and slipping.
This pencil stabs
a heart. Fragile bleeding
through teardrops
and graphite smudges
leaving grey notes.
To long lonely days
against whiteness
of a blank page.
Still.
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Thirteen Reasons Why by Jay Asher
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The Gambler
Posted in Current Affairs, Literature, Memoirs, Philosophy, Poetry, Politics, Relationships, Social Commentary, Society, Sports/ Leisure, tagged ace, analysis, another, back, bailout, bargain, belief, big, bone, break, brothers, cards, chance, chase, come, conceal, conquest, control, day, deck, escape, eventuality, fate. slim, fixation, gambler, game, glory, greatest, hands, hide, hours, isolation, jack, king, know, live, loser, losses, lost, luck, make, mathematics, move, need, night, notice, number, owe, pair, pass, pawn, play, poem, poetry, potent, pre-occupation, probability, recovery, repeat, risk, shrewdness, speed, squeeze, stab, stop, streak, survival, table, time, tolerance, traitor, trick, try, way, weapon, win, without, world on September 14, 2012| 2 Comments »
The gambler lost that day on his deck of cards.
He lost to fate by slim chance for survival.
They say, speed and luck are brothers
to a pair of hands knowing the trick. To hide
and conceal a loser’s streak while
at the bargaining table. The game goes on
and there’s no other way but win.
He need to come back for another try.
It’s another night playing jack against
the king. He will have to pawn his aces.
And he owes the world of the hours
he let passing by without noticing.
Isolated by fixation to win his conquests
by which probability of mathematics
and shrewdness, his potent weapon.
Pre-occupation. He tries to recover his losses
by the number of risks and repeats. He stabs
on chances and chases even more. It’ll never stop
until he is squeezed to the bone analyzing
his moves to that glorious escape. Big time.
And he believed- eventually he will make or break.
For him, to live is to win the game by the numbers.
The gambler lost that day on his deck of cards.
No bailout. No tolerance. Just lost his control,
when speed and luck became his greatest traitor.
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