race track betting poems

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Race track betting poems dr bettinger keene nh dmv

Race track betting poems

Eyes closed, and a prayer on his lips It came as no surprise When his horse refused to jump. It's absolutely free. You can make new friends and get your poetry read. If you're interested;. Memorial Day, Arlington Park , by Slooby. Posted to Flickr, and sourced via WikCommons. To comment on this article, you must sign in or sign up and post using a HubPages Network account.

That sounds like a really fun job. I also had an early brush with the racing world, working as a telephonist in the credit office of a large betting chain. My job was to take down the bets placed by credit clients. That was a real eye-opener. I had no previous knowledge of the racing world, and the amounts that would be wagered were fantasy sums to me. Gambling can be addictive and destructive, but horse-racing itself is great entertainment. Hi Amanda! Great work!

Although I'm not that big of a Horseracing fan any longer, it was a major part of my life for many years. There were OTB parlors all over the city where you could place bets, then later call a number to hear the results of the race and the payouts, and I was the voice. Not exactly calling the race I don't know how those guys do that! We mostly covered Belmont and Aqueduct, but also some evening "Trotters" and some out of town stuff too. You've done a superb job of capturing the feel, texture, and exitement of it.

There is nothing like the atmosphere of the track on a big race day, and you have brought it to life. Racing is always a fantastic spectacle. Although I'm not a gambler, the excitement, the speed and the drama make for great entertainment. Thanks for stopping by and for your kind comments. Very original take on the prompt, 'Colors in Joy. Thank you You have a really colourful and light touch with poetic words Amanda - I was there with you - enjoying the colours, Honest mac's relief, and of courses the drama of the horses I live near Brighton where the race track crosses one of the public roads, and it is easy to stand and watch the horses thunder past without paying to go to the track.

They're a fine sight on a clear fresh day with the hills dropping down to the sea behind them. Amanda - you are amazing! Your poem brings to life those horses, chests heaving, heavy breathing, flanks bathed in sweat. It's captured all the excitement of a race - thumbs up!!

I'm not a gambler myself, Poetryman, but I love to watch horses racing. I'm also a great fan of the artist Alfred Munnings because of his ability to capture the fleeting images of horses in motion. I have been working on something that has that winter canival colors feel to it also! Great minds think alike. It was also a poem that I was first inspired to work on when I lived in horse country--Louisville Kentucky.

Alas, I have never been particularly inspired by the sport of kings but I admire your efforts nonetheless. In in closing let me note: I do not dream actuarial dreams. I have been told that I am not focused enough in my poetry and my thoughts Oh look the word Arial is the in the word Actuarial. Now was Arial a fairy or a woodland nymph I know I will look in my dictionary of fairies, sprites and woodland nymphs Thanks Teresa, I love that word, too. Great voice!

I don't know why, but I just love the word "punter". The conversational tone here makes the poem immediate and engaging, and dramatic, too. Thanks Melissa. I was reading your poem, as you were reading mine. I'm in awe of people who can rhyme as aptly and accurately as you do. Whenever I try it I end up with silly lines that are only there to serve the rhyme scheme! Wow, Amanda! You have such an amazing gift for poetry! I find that without the confines of rhyme, my poems end up like a bowl of sludge, but yours just dance along the page.

Nicely done! Other product and company names shown may be trademarks of their respective owners. HubPages and Hubbers authors may earn revenue on this page based on affiliate relationships and advertisements with partners including Amazon, Google, and others. HubPages Inc, a part of Maven Inc.

As a user in the EEA, your approval is needed on a few things. To provide a better website experience, hubpages. Please choose which areas of our service you consent to our doing so. Amanda Severn more. Hooves paw the ground impatiently Jockeys poised in a riot of colour Carnival colours in a wintry world Punters huddle together for warmth Wrapped up snugly against the chill They stamp their feet and pull up their collars Their ears are pink.

Pulled Up Galloping down the track He suddenly saw the jump With appalling clarity As though for the first time So high, so solid And coming up so fast He felt the grip of unaccustomed fear Knotting in his belly His mouth as dry as a desert, Sweat trickiling down his spine Horse and rider Communicating silently This unspoken fear A memory of unhorsed riders Covering their faces against an onslaught of flailing hooves Their empty mounts cantering across the finish line Steaming and snorting in puzzlement Eyes closed, and a prayer on his lips It came as no surprise When his horse refused to jump.

If you love writing poetry Why not write here on Hubpages? If you're interested; Click here to learn more. Buy Now. Horse Racing. Inspirational Poetry. Hi Chris That sounds like a really fun job. The bills out of my wallet: they. Were wet and they stank.

Now one minute to post time. I wanted the 9 horse, I had this. Very strong feeling for the 9 horse. I put the bills back in my wallet. Then the announcer said:. I ran around the corner. Found a betting window. Pulled one of the bills out. Of my wallet and hollered:. The seller picked up the bill.

And looked at it. Come on! What the shit! The seller looked at me,. Hit the button and I had. The ticket. Then I went out and watched the. Race and the 9 horse ran. Email This BlogThis! Labels: Fun Stuff , Music and Video. No comments:. Newer Post Older Post Home.

He never tasted a mint julep as the mahogany horses stepped out like carved statues.

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He was an alcoholic who started drinking as a teenager, and celebrated drunkeness and drinking in his writing even as it destroyed his relationships and kept him from being able to pursue traditional employment. He wrote about being poor, lonely, adrift, and rejected by society.

He chronciled and celebrated the world of the downtrodden, from the regulars in bars to streetwalking prostitutes to bookies and hopeless gamblers. Bukowski had developed several systems for betting on horses that he thought could keep him in the black. He spent some time traveling the country, playing the horses at tracks across America and blowing his money in bars getting drunk.

Bukowski would mail Martin hundreds and hundreds of poems, and Martin would choose which ones to publish in collections. Those works flew off of bookshelves and brought Bukowski even larger fame. Along the way Bukowski wrote volumes, and in addition to writing dozens of poems about the race track, he also set many scenes in his novels there. Bukowski was, at heart, a misanthrope. He held most of American society in contempt, and those feelings only subsided a little bit when he was at the track.

In fact, his disdain for other people factored heavily into his handicapping. And luck, my friends. Bukowski died in of leukemia at the age of Despite the fact that his poetry and writing is often crude and borderline obscene, and his writing is sometimes considered unserious by critics and literary scholars, he is one of the highest-selling American poets even to this day.

His books not only sell well, they are often among the most-stolen titles from bookstores. ALL of them lose. One-Eyed Jack showed the highest speed-rating, another crowd draw, but the speed rating was for 6 furlongs and 6 furlong speed ratings are always higher, on a comparative basis, than speed ratings for route races. One-Eyed Jack has now shown a race around in 2 curves in 2 years. While checking in the lady behind the desk asks 'We have two suites available for you, would you like the bridal?

The trainer tells Lester that this is the worst horse he has in training, it has had 23 races and finished last in all of them, if it doesn't win today the milkman will be using it for deliveries in the morning. Lester mounts up and takes the horse down to the start. The race begins and Lester is 30 lengths last after half a furlong, he gives the horse an almighty backhander on the behind, nothing, he then gives him a series of sharp slaps down the shoulder, nothing, he then gives him two wallops right on the bollocks, the horse comes to a sudden stop, turns round to Lester and says "for christ sake will you turn it in with that whip I have to be up at half four in the morning to deliver the milk"!

The jockey replied 'how am going to fit on then? On the trip into London he told the driver he had flown over from Singapore to back one of the horses he owned in a race at Newbury. His trainer told him that this was the big one and he was positive the horse would win at a big price.

Being an obssesive gambler the cabbie couldn't wait from him to tell him the name of the horse. His mate said to him what are you going to do with that, the first man replied 'race it' his mate then said well by the looks of it you will win! Why should you never be rude to a jump jockey? In case he takes offence a fence.

A leading trainer was given an eye test and was presented with a new pair of glasses. It's too much. He offered one to the steward and had one himself. After the suspicious steward had left the scene the trainer continued with his instructions "Just keep on the rail. You are on a certainty. The only thing that could possibly pass you down the home straight is either the steward or me". A horse was looking over a fence watching a game of cricket. At first the captain was taken aback by the talking horse, but when it insisted it was keen to play the skipper thought it might be a bit of a laugh if he sent the horse out as opening bat.

The horse shaped up to the first ball and slammed it over the boundary for six. He did the same with the second and third, indeed every ball he hit for six until the over ended. He had been partnered by the captain, and when the bowler ran in from the other end and the captain managed his first hit for a meagre single he called for the horse to run.

But the horse just stood there. Frantic calls by the captain to run were ignored and in the confusion the skipper was stumped out. Two disgruntled evidently losing punters had been consoling themselves in the bar at Kempton, and after the meeting were walking it off on the course. A jockey was unsaddling his horse at Huntingdon racecourse after his horse had trailed in at the back of the field says: "That's not his trip, guv'nor, i think he'd get three miles.

Luckily a farmer happened by with his big old horse named Benny. The man asked for help. The farmer said Benny could pull his car out. So he backed Benny up and hitched Benny to the man's car bumper. The man was very appreciative but curious. He asked the farmer why he called his horse by the wrong name three times.

It did, but all the others galloped. I bet on a great horse yesterday! It took seven horses to beat him. The horse I bet on was so slow, the jockey kept a diary of the trip. That was the first time I saw a horse start from a kneeling position! My horse was so late getting home, he tiptoed into the stable.

I don't mind when my horse is left at the post. I don't mind when my horse comes up to me in the stands and asks "Which way do I go? A Preacher wanted to raise money for his church and, being told there were fortunes in race horses, he decided to purchase one and enter it in the races.

However, at the local auction, the going price for horses was so steep he ended up buying a donkey instead. He figured that since he had it, he might as well go ahead and enter it in the races, and to his surprise the donkey came in third. The next day the racing sheets carried the headlines, "Preacher's Ass shows" The Preacher was so pleased with the donkey that he entered it in the races again and this time he won!

The papers said, "Preacher's Ass out in Front" The Bishop was so upset with this kind of publicity that he ordered the Preacher not to enter the donkey in another race. The newspaper printed this headline, "Bishop Scratches Preacher's Ass" This was just too much for the Bishop and he ordered the Preacher to get rid of the animal.

The Preacher decided to give it to a Nun in a nearby convent. Mounting a horse is actually very easy if it is done properly. A rider can only mount a horse from one side because a horse only likes to be mounted from one side. The left side is right and the right side is wrong. You're right to be left and wrong to be right. If you mount from the front, you mount from the right, which is then the left because your right is its left, and the left the right, keeping in mind that the left is right and the right is wrong.

Put your left to your right and step so your right is to the wrong and now your right is opposite its left and left the right. To right right is to the left and to right is wrong is to the right, but backwards, the right is right and the left is wrong only when your right is on its wrong, and the left is on its right.

Switching right to left and left to right is wrong. Right is wrong and left is right only from the front or else the left is right and the right is wrong. Did you hear about the horse that got a job in a watch factory? All he did was stand around making faces. A man's car stalls on a country road.

When he gets out to fix it, a horse in the nearby field comes up along side the fence and leans over by him. Startled, the man jumps back and runs down the road until he meets a farmer. He tells the farmer his story. Providing you do that, you'll be fine". The jockey thinks the trainer is mad but promises to shout the command.

The race begins and they approach the first hurdle. The jockey ignores the trainer's ridiculous advice and the horse crashes straight through the centre of the jump. They carry on and approach the second hurdle. The jockey, somewhat embarrassed, whispers "Aleeee ooop" in the horse's ear.

The same thing happens-the horse crashes straight through the centre of the jump. Sure enough, the horse sails over the jump with no problems. This continues for the rest of the race, but due to the earlier problems the horse only finishes third.

The trainer is fuming and asks the jockey what went wrong. The jockey replies, "Nothing is wrong with me. It's this bloody horse. What is he -- deaf or something? He's not deaf - he' blind!!! A Kentucky horse breeder had a filly that won every race in which she was entered. But as she got older she became very temperamental. He soon found that when he raced her in the evening, she would win handily, but when she raced during the day she would come in dead last.

He consulted the top veterinarians and horse psychologists but to no avail. He finally had to give up because it had become What's the difference between praying in church and at the track? At the track you really mean it! Joe Palmer, the late racing expert, told about a man from Idaho who breezed into Kentucky with a six-year-old horse that had never raced before, but which he entered for a race.

The horse won easily and paid a whopping price. The racing stewards did not like the look of the thing and questioned the owner. A woman went to a psychiatrist and said she was in great distress over her husband. He sleeps standing up and he neighs instead of speaking. He even insists on being fed oats in a bag. He turns on his TV to channel 5. He gets up and it is May 5th.

He heads to work and his car has 55, He gets to work goes to the 5th floor. He has five messages. He rushes to the race track. In the fifth race is a horse called, "Double Nickels". He understands fate as spoken.

DR MED STEFAN BETTING

National Poetry Month. Materials for Teachers Teach This Poem. Poems for Kids. Poetry for Teens. Lesson Plans. Resources for Teachers. Academy of American Poets. American Poets Magazine. Poems Find and share the perfect poems.

Basket of Figs Bring me your pain, love. Spread it out like fine rugs, silk sashes, warm eggs, cinnamon and cloves in burlap sacks. Show me the detail, the intricate embroidery on the collar, tiny shell buttons, the hem stitched the way you were taught, pricking just a thread, almost invisible.

Unclasp it like jewels, the gold still hot from your body. Empty your basket of figs. Spill your wine. That hard nugget of pain, I would suck it, cradling it on my tongue like the slick seed of pomegranate. I would lift it tenderly, as a great animal might carry a small one in the private cave of the mouth.

Ellen Bass Eating the Bones The women in my family strip the succulent flesh from broiled chicken, scrape the drumstick clean; bite off the cartilage chew the gristle, crush the porous swellings at the ends of each slender baton. With strong molars they split the tibia, sucking out the dense marrow. They use up love, they swallow every dark grain, so at the end there's nothing left, a scant pile of splinters on the empty white plate.

Waiting for Rain Finally, morning. Academy of American Poets Educator Newsletter. Teach This Poem. Follow Us. Find Poets. Poetry Near You. Jobs for Poets. Bukowski was one of the rare horseplayers that frequented tracks day and night. He was a true fanatic of pari-mutuels play and he loved the triptych of breeds--Thoroughbreds, Quarter Horses and standardbreds—-offered to the California public. He used racetracks in his writing, as settings, metaphors and in simple matters of how his character dealt with the game.

Even among those that frequented tracks offering one of the breeds day and night, Bukowski genuinely loved harness racing. He specified elements of harness racing in poems and books. There are other Bukowski poems about harness racing sprinkled in his books, but to my knowledge, poetry itself has eluded harness racing.

Advanced searches at major search engines and all of my literary connections come up empty. Knowing his work very well, which emphasized how dearly he demanded privacy, I never approached him for any possible reason. However, I was with a friend one balmy night at Los Alamitos and he had no problem approaching Bukowski, even though the author was doing all he could to stay under the celebrity radar. I waited while my friend walked to the far side of the grandstand, where Bukowski sat surrounded by empty seats, drinking coffee and reading his racing program.

Not too long later, my friend found me standing behind the box-seat area. He was all smiles. I looked over to where Bukowski was sitting and he was still there. I thought he might find another spot to sit since a fan invaded his space, so to speak.