Luck

[Dan Flynn]

They call it night rain; the hushed nocturnal clatter of mahjong tiles being shuffled. At 2am, it’s the final remnants of the cacophony; the muffled sound of souls fishing for luck. It floats in through my window from the surrounding apartment blocks. They’ll need that luck tomorrow when they spill out onto the streets devoid of footpaths. Here you enter the world like you entered life; right smack bang in the middle of all the action. Luck is your armor; a thin force-field of good fortune that can rot, leak and even invite mishap if not charmed by audaciousness. It can’t be cornered or even netted; and a river of woe flows through those who try, for luck is a treacherous bitch of a master that thrives on the bait and switch. Yet thus charmed by those of bold vision, should their minds remain open and their will remain their own, luck turns serendipitous-a left field source of love and discovery with answers to questions not yet asked, a wormhole into the unknown unknowns.   So be brave, daring, intrepid and audacious. Yes, charm that mother madly. Step out into the world of no footpaths. Make your own way. Good luck. 

[zondrae]

mmmm,

May be poetic but where is the rhyme?

[Dan Flynn]

I like rhyme, but not all the time.

[mal_mclean]

Ode to Naught

I once wrote a poem
that I couldn’t get to rhyme
and the meter was all buggered up
so that it looked more like prose.

Yet I persevered.
For perseverance is a fine
quality in a poets heart of hearts
and when I drink scotch

But most important is a good last line
and a jolly excellent slice of luck.

All the best
Mal

[Dan Flynn]

That was great! You captured the whole thing.