Here we are, a mixed deck
of old and new, kings and deuces,
dog eared, crisp; some marked by sharks.
Here we are to play this deck,
doing the dealings,
one to one.
10 Oct 08
Rated 8 (4.5) by 1 users.
Inactive (1): 1, 8
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poetry critical at its best.
I tear. thank you. I try and fail and now I am succeeding,
by your leave, as I leave, and must. I am happy.
the diction is kind of good -- doing the dealings -- and then 'one to one' -- and there is a sort of poetry/epigram possibility in this. it reads like tooled leather ok, and possibly this is supposed to be 20-something haircut scene talk, but the grammar is mixed up in this, like an indie movie that can't help talking about how cool the director is. there's something so souless and empty in this, and that's the point, but the author's saying this seems more pointless than what's being said.
humm... i'm surprised to see this is yours. maybe it's just experimental and you're doing a character part. if it's movie, then the film 'house of games' might interest you. it's one of my favs.
Thank you for your input, joey above.
no relevance to poetry, this is just pap but at least the obscenities have been kept to a minimum.
This is relevant to the current circumstances of our little society of lonesome folks, wearing socks instead of their souls, innit?
I will not explain it. Let it soak instead in your heads?
it certainly is, Stanley.
I am the first unknown. I take your comment of happiness as verification that I was, in fact, correct about this being of poetry critical?
Btw, I didn't mean to post as unknown in the beginning...lately PC's been logging me off randomly.
I've never heard of such an excuse.
too bad. it's been happening. probably just my internet freaking out...
Thank you, 1994. ABOUT THE LOGGING IN problem: my computer, too, lately has quit auto-logging me into PC, but probably for other reasons than PC software, because my computer has "forgotten how" to log me into my other many accounts at other sites. SO, the accidental "unk" posting by 1994 IS legit, and it would happen to me too if I am not ever-so-careful now to be sure I've logged into PC. Every visit now, I must remember to manually log in, and so I do.
As for snipe comments: those are OK. If you don't "get it", then you are no poet.
If you do get it, I don't need any "kudos Reid", but yes, congrats feel good.
But I am a poet and this poem is another proof of that, and I say this without diminishing anyone's work here. Self inflated? Well, I just dealt myself a good hand of cards.
I MADE THE DAMNED THING WORK (derived from a famous Edison quote).
Thanks for all inputs and ratings, high or low. Attention feeds ALL artists' senses of being wanted,
or even, alive. Thank you all, Reid
Every challenge or seeming-trite send off is a poem.
Did you see the last line? I did not realized when I wrote, I did not -consciously- realize,
"...or even, alive. Thank you all, Reid"
or even alive. Thank you all, Reid
See: the poem? The seed? YOU KNOW this world owes you nothing. You feel beaten upon, cheated, hurt, lost. But there is the truth: you are already "even" with the cru-el world. You are even because you are, for now only, alive. You are
and dead? nothing at all.
Hola, Liliana! Mi nombre es Roberto. Como estas usted?
(and that's all I remember of Spanish I, 1961, and I am your fan,
Robert Reid Welch, con gracias para tu.
second thought: that I did not -even know- that was you, 1994, and yours was the first and kindest input, but I did not know it was from a soul-mate poet friend, make it all the more poignant; how I reacted to that first comment to a just-minted poem. So it is your poem, I give it to you, keep me in your heart forever? I am not crying now, only happy, that by mistake, your input was posted as "unknown" Playing Cards is dedicated to and given to Teresa/1994. Now I can tear again. And love it!
after reading the comments....why does this have to be about pc? it can just be applied to life... i enjoy it. very simple and clear.
THANK YOU for the rating, you whoever just gave an --- (I won't mention the number, it was not a ten, but it was a very kindly gesture to rate at all. I got a good rating for this poem. And I need no ratings at all, but to get your kind and honest opinion, meant a lot.
Thank you. This was still at the top so I am not re-floating Playing Cards to anyone's loss of prominence at the "recently commented" section. Any rating, even were it a "one", and it wasn't, is appreciated here. Thank you for the cooke.
Right, bear, it should be understood that it has NOTHING to do with PC.
It is UNIVERSAL (thanks, bear).
Now, this past week of my first real week of feeling strong enough to be seen in public (and I look perfectly healthy, just about like my last profile picture, may have given me the ooomp, the ability to make this poem. Seeing John C again (Circus Maximus, corigliaano, google) and he was my other first choice for life partner, and then last night, the performance, and re-meeting so many old time friends, I had not seen since 1995,,,,,, old and young, wise and brilliant-beautiful, all in concert, all knowing exactly how to play their cards, figuratively and perhaps, literally, if blowing a trumpet in tune at tempo, whilst marching an aisle, makes sense? So we have a poem. I will send a copy to John Corigliano in a few days after he has rested and say, "thank you, my forever-love. You made my life complete".
it hasn't anything to do with anything but roleplaying. that's ok, but this is so cliche' as you've written it -- so mis-said that it comes off like blurb in an ad for some haircut-band CD. it's that prairie-home-companion.
thank you joey.
Either one of us should be happy to reach
even a thousandth of the success of Garrison Keilor. thanks
for your thoughts,
you're rating 'success' in some leona helmsley way.
Do you know, joey, you mention names and then I always seem to come back with a story. Tad Distler, long dead now of AIDS, was my friend and also the ONLY advertising executive of Beber Silverstein who could be entrusted to "work with" the slightly-particular Leona. He used to regale us here in Miami with live, first person accountings of Leona's latest Queen of The Palace movements. I was then, the top rated piano technician in this area. I was also trained by the respective concert piano departments, in NYC, of Baldwin, Steinway, and Yamaha. But I lived here.
Scene: Leona at yet another advert publicity shoot: She is posed, fingers stuffing her ears. In the background of the private room (hotel room with a baby grand), is a "piano tuner" whacking away. Leona, in faked but funny grimmace. The "tuner" was my grey haired buddy, Tad, pressed into service. The caption of this photo-ad went something very roughly like this, because I don't recall the wording exactly, "At The Palace, the Queen is NOT Amused by workmen, and so YOU will not be hearing workmen at The Palace".
I note with sadness, that my pome above has been dealt only two cards: an 8 of hearts, and a Joker. Such is life and pinochle and Old Maid. Boo hoo for my best...
.....Leona Helmsley story. You can read more of this wonderfully vicious woman in "The Queen of Mean", a book made possible by Tad Distler, who provided much of the dirt on the old dust bag named, aptly enough, for a female lion. Rrrrrrroar! and laugh.
'tis only a game, and I never lie excerpt to jerk off; typo intended.
Your poem is so close to life, it is painful. Excellent writing.
In that vein, I too knew Tad Distler, with both cats Rolls and Bentley. I was very young back then and before his death left Florida.....and the USA. I am back now, only to find everyone gone. I was unaware of Tad's Death due to AIDS. This makes me sad. His accent is one that NOBODY would ever forget.
One of his close advertising friends was Tom Jones. Is he around, or has he also passed?