A game of several halves, a tiny penny rolling up the walls inside, “As beautiful as the chance encounter of a sewing machine and an umbrella on an operating table.”, Fickle tickle of Fate, Heads will roll, Only time will tail, poem, Poetry, Prosetry, sleight of hand command, The Devil is in the Detail
The accumulator calumniator:
A spender in dark mottled splendour
Which has coined a thousand phrases
Drops — never has it fallen so far.
Caught, it tic-tacs forwards
On crenulated tipster toes
Blind clothed in well-groped garb,
Seemingly heaven cent,
Dimed if it don’t
And dimmed if it does
It plucks from thin air a dare
That pays as it plays —
You have to be in it to win it.
The thoughtful sleight-of-handed
Celestial performer holds it close,
Tucked tight in hermetic fisted fingers;
Then undulates the opposite metacarpus
— In for one, in for one and all —
And so begins a slow unfolding
Of perfectly oiled, slick digits.
A dark-veined nail brings its bad-odds goods
To the tableau and . . . flicks
Pure pertinent luck,
Felicity spun from day to night
As up, up, up she goes and where she lands
Is a bluff of the prose.
Like Amy’s Back To Black, Jack,
Tiny grooves of torment roll up the walls
Whilst sparking and a-glowing;
And you wait for your fate
Hearing the birches scrape across panes
Whilst the wind milks cruel the moon.
‘Spare me one’ you cry in case
It’s a bad’un that marauds this chilly eve
Culled from the eyes of the lost,
Begged, mugged, borrowed, no matter matters,
For it may still leave you sickeningly short.
Hold the paper notes — there’s a chance of change,
A trick of favour that could break chains . . .
Or wreak havoc,
A maddening wise-crack —
Who can possibly sway the say-so?
Now, when pinched
On the downwards journey we see
In its lee a tail that snaps from side to side,
Then a palm slaps buckled knuckles,
A head rolls and pivots . . . falls flat on its face.
Its mark is now made.
So billow a wish, eyes smashed tight
Sending love day and night until
Another new one spins your way.
For life’s a lottery
Hope just another ageing day;
This dreadful copper burnished bright,
It’s a hands down celestial steal
Prised from some personal hell’s wheel.
Your thoughts on this bilateral gamble
I am keen to glean;
So come, meet your maker of books,
Here to account for countless
Tossed and star-crossed coins.
A penny for them?
Place your bet Sincerely,