Three Jacks

Ace High
And three Jacks wide
Mark the colors
In my hand.
From tainted spades to
Puppy feet,
My diamond's
Out of land;
It seeks a calmer
Quiet heart
And the peace of age
And Grace.

But I reward with poker eyes
So wide, inspired, true.
With heavy limbs I play
My deck...
I shuffle;
Search for you.

But King, you are
My troubled sort,
My catching pair of twos.

For you I stay
And play this sport,
Half happy to oblige
But I dream of fairer felt
On which our cards
May Thrive.

Am I meant to play alone?
To toil with these suits?
To empty handed
Face the deal
And wallow in its pursuit?

Nay,
It is of red and black
In this game
There is no blue
No dulling of
A heart so fair
No anty
Without a pool.



Just an offhanded poem.  I was driving home from work today, after a long overdue dinner with some of my parents (who I rarely see often enough anymore), and I began to tinker with the thought of my past, present, and future represented in the form of a hand of poker.  Certainly that's self explanatory in reading the poem, but it was a good glimpse into where I'm at right now.

This isn't a hugely long entry...I'm about to head to bed.  Tavi and a few of our friends and I are going to the Bristol Ren Faire and Great America this weekend, so some good sleep beforehand will probably do me a world of good.  I'll attempt to post some worthwhile pictures if any are taken.  More or less I'm looking forward to a last summer fling of sorts...an overall weekend of merriment, adventure, and relaxation in the last of the bold, heartwarming (though greatly less determined, this year) sunshine.

Cheerio & Merry Met!


-Jen