Poker Rubaiyat

Come to the Center, for the Game is on: Chip; For a Pot is never lost till won Separate cheerfully; and if you lose, Smile, for another's just behind this one.

Come, take a Hand; Forget your frigid Feet; There's something doing when the Greeks do meet; The Game has but a little while to run And one must sow if he would harvest Wheat.

After the Opener his Blue Chip shied Into the Pot, exultingly he cried: "When all the dead game Sports are trooping in Why lag the little tin horn Boys outside?"

Think! In this pleasant Game that all men play, With Stakes such as they have from Day to Day, How Plunger bold, and Shoestring as well Plays in his little Stack and slips away.

The yellow Chips men set their hearts upon Grow numerous or dwindle, and anon Like Smile upon a Bluffer's foolish Face Giving the Lie to Promises, are gone.

And that small bunch of Pasteboards called The Pack, Wherefrom we hope to draw what most we lack, Swear not at it when disappointed in The Card that you have taken as your Whack.

How long, how long the hopeless Chances take Of fluking out a Win on a big Stake; Better with one Pair sneak a modest Pot Than vainly hope for Hands the Crowd to break.

By thrift the Seeds of Fortune I did sow, And with Pat Hands I nourished them to grow, But, losing on a set of Fours, I learned They come like pulling Stumps, but swift they go.

But much as I have sifted in my swell Assortment of Reds, Blues and Yellows well I often wonder what the Bankers buy One-half so worthless as the Chips they sell.

One time Dame Fortune sorely me did flout; A Jackpot came my deal and every doubt Departed as I scanned four Aces! But My hopes evanished for they passed me out.

Lately I dreamed I held four Hearts and stayed And stood three Raises, not at all dismayed, And then an Angel Shape slipped me a card And smiled; and when I looked it was a Spade.

Oh thou, who did with Kelters and short Straights Make Pitfalls for me at the very Gates Through which I entered to this pleasant Realm Thou'lt not get gay and tell me 'twas The Fates.

ALAS THAT HOPE SHOULD VANISH SURE-THING JOEY IN FROM THE UNWILLING VEST

XIII Alas that Hope should vanish with the Draw! That two big Pairs should dwindle, wane and thaw! That one stout Raise should make them have the look Of a bad Flapjack, underdone and raw.

XIX I sometimes feel that never waxes fat A Pot like where the Old Time Sports have sat; That every Tenderfoot, like Moth to Flame, Comes there and lays his Wad upon the Mat.

XIV I bent my gaze on the insensible Backs in hopes the Faces I could tell, Then played my Hunch out to the end and heard A Voice that sadly whispered "This is Hell."

XX And this delightful Baize, whose tender green Fledges the Table's edge on which we lean Oh lean upon it lightly; it may take Its hue from some who round the Board have been.

XV Ah, Pard, could you and I fix up some Packs, So we could tell the Faces by the Backs, Wouldn't we beat the Game to beat the Band And gather in the red and yellow Stacks?

XXI They say The Piker and his Crew now hold The Seats where erstwhile sat the Sports of old That where the Yellow Discs stood high in Stacks The humble white Chip shivers with the cold.

XVI A Stack of yellow Chips that towers high, A King Full pat, a big jackpot anigh, And Sure-thing Joey in with Aces three! Ah, t'were a Paradise for which to sigh.

XXII Myself when brash did eagerly butt in Jackpots, Cyclones, Whangdoodles - every Sin I sampled without ceasing, but at last, Like Reuben, I emerged without the "tin."

XVII Lo, some we've skinned, the loveliest and best And those in skinning who skinned prettiest, Have played their last Chip in on bob-tail Hands And digged the Long Green from the unwilling Vest.

XXIII Oh Game of my delight that ne'er can wane The rattling chips are Music sweet of strain; How sad to think a Time perforce must come When Chips and Cards will lure me all in vain.

XVIII And we who now make merry in the Chairs Where they long sat and pulled for potent Pairs, Must we too, sometime, dismally go dig In the deep Leather for the Coin that Squares?

XXIV Then, as you sit around the Board - alas - With full intent each other to harass, Deal out a Hand where I was wont to sit And whisper when it comes to me "He'll pass."

OLD TIME SPORT THE PIKER AND HIS CREW