OctPoWriMo,  OctPoWriMo 2015,  Poetry

The Crook and the Cards: A Story Poem

Day 24 prompt: Write a story poem using a picture from PublicDomanPictures.net.


I decided to re-post the Fourteener I did in April for NaPoWriMo and the A-Z Blogging Challenge inspired by this picture:

NBTD-Front Cover


The Crook and the Cards

By Jessica Scott


I came upon the grave buried among the dying leaves

Underneath the sycamore tree where I had gone to grieve.

A man stood there in front of that grave, hat clutched in his hand,

Face a somber mask of pain, the payment that death demands.


“She was the sweetest little thing that you could ever dream.

She always thought I could be saved, that I could be redeemed.”

He turned to me and held my gaze, his eyes a burning blue,

“No one wins the black-dealed cards, and the devil claims his due.


Be careful, son, when making bets that you may have to pay.

A losing hand and one bad bluff can cost you much dismay.

Never bet with Satan, my friend, no matter how he looks.

He always wins through back door means, with words he is a crook.


Before you know what you have done he’ll take more than your life,

The only thing worth living for, the love of your sweet wife.

He’ll tell her what the darkness brings, her soul he’ll drive insane.

He’ll put the gun into her hand, the bullet in her brain.


Don’t ever play the devil, son, you’ll never win the bet.

He has an evil plan, that one, he wants you in his debt.

But should you choose to call his bluff, to play that game of sin,

Don’t ever hold the better cards, make sure the devil wins.”


Jesi Scott is an aspiring writer of novels, a poet, and blogger. She has guest-blogged over at The Well-Tempered Bards, and has a post featured at For Love Of…. Jesi has two poems published in Memories of Mist, a literary anthology, and one published story in a newsletter. She is currently working on releasing her first poetry collection as well as writing her first novel. When not writing, Jesi can be found getting lost in bookstores, singing and dancing around the house, experiencing culture with friends, and generally having fun with her four sons when they aren’t driving her weeping into her closet, which she calls her Padded Cell. She loves to rescue stray bookmarks, as well as books, and has opened her heart to any and all stories needing a home. Archery is her current favorite thing ever but you might want to stand back a little as she still has a tendency to drop the bow occasionally.


    • Jesi

      Dawn, you are a doll! I hardly think it’s a masterpiece but, by all means, keep saying it and maybe it’ll stick. LOL.
      I’m so glad you liked it, though.

      • Dawn D

        A MASTERPIECE I tell you 😀
        Shall I say it again?
        I’m really humbled every time I read your work Jesi. At least it gives me something to strive for 🙂

        • Jesi

          The irony here is that I read my own work and think, what the hell are they talking about? I’m not that good, really. LOL
          But I’m so glad when I read how I’ve touched someone with something I’ve written. It’s like giving the best present ever to someone who wasn’t expecting it. I love that feeling. And I’m glad I inspire you. That means so much to me. ~HUGS~

  • seanbidd

    Thought I’d disturb you. Here the Ghost Gum leaves fall in the dead of moonless night, while a lone pelican spreads wide its wings on the winds above the sandhill country, trailing the first flows to the wet season and the wealth it brings to life’s worth. The first few lines reminded me of some sad graves that reside in the sandhill country down here, the risks taken, their gamble.

    • Jesi

      This may sound odd but what you said here sounds hauntingly familiar to me. I know I’ve heard something like this before when I was little but I cannot for my life remember where I know this from.
      From what little I know of Australia, it seems to me that everything there required risks and gambles, and there’s respect due those who took the chances no matter what the odds or the consequences.

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