Chance

Life's a game of chance,

It's a crap shoot from the start.

Snake eyes you win love,

Otherwise a string of broken hearts.

Who knows the games God plays,

Einstein said he didn't play dice.

But he didn't know true reality,

God's a card player who can fuck your life.

Lucky you if he picked an Ace,

But always beware of the joker.

It's a double stitched, stacked deck,

You'll never win a hand of poker.

They say don't stare too long at the sun,

Because you might become blind.

Or chance may make it spin around,

And make you eternally wise n kind.

Drugs n booze can blur out life,

Its chances unlucky card flop.

But forever seeking the next high,

Will leave you begging non stop.

Sipping from the Devils cup,

He whispers promises in the dark of night.

A quick escape from chances reality,

A high that steals your soul's light.

Coz chance is a wicked plan,

It determines your life and means.

Nature and nurture ignore chances role,

And could fill your life with empty dreams.

© 2025 - Robert Reid - All Rights Reserved

This won the Nov 2025 Writing Competition.

Queen

Brooding mare, striking hair, 

Rebellious our Queen, Boadicea,

Red, white and blue,

She was the English overseer.

Her chariot storms the troops, 

Romans shaken with fear,

Arrows fly like sparrows, 

Axe weilded against spear. 

Her hair browny, red and firey, 

Ends plated with blood flares, 

She storms the Latin invaders,

Striking Romes soldiers with dare.

Battling for her home and people, 

Against the Roman legions, 

Smash, blood, and crackle,

She leads the British region. 

Faces painted with blue paint, 

Rolling bales of tar aflame, 

Soldiers run and dive for cover, 

"Holy Zeus", Centurions exclaim. 

Romans sent by Emperor Hadrian, 

Lost became the fate of the 9th legion. 

Due to our killer Queen Boadicea, 

The Romans were eventually beaten. 

© 2025 - Robert Reid - All Rights Reserved

(This won the Facebook Group competition May 2025)

Flash Fiction - Don't

Don't" Laura begged, her lovely long blonde locks flowing in the cool night wind. She wanted me to stay but I knew I couldn’t. 

She'd cheated on me for the last time. I couldn't keep on forgiving her; this was the last time. She had to understand how how much pain she had caused.

"Don't" a teary-eyed Laura pleaded once more, her hand gripped my arm ever more tightly. 

However, I had already decided to let her go, and watched as she faded away into the dark sky, clutching and grabbing frantically at empty air.

© 2024 - All Rights Reserved - Robert Reid

This was my competition entry into a 100 word Flash Competition 

Rocket Star Man

I was in a gang of £20 rocket stars,

Wanted 2 go to the moon, but never got far.

Battered spaceship, like a 2nd hand car,

Werner von Braun R NAZI science Tsar.

Quick sprinkles of ash, from the back of my hand,

Flying off to space, but got no NASA grandstand.

Clever enough to split atoms, like the double slit,

Quantum flux waves, quarks spark a million bits.

I had Einstein's mind, but the sense of a twit,

And 2 wonky legs, both shattered to bits.

Still I checked the box, for Schrödinger's cat,

Whether dead or alive, matters a fact.

Probably starved, should hv thrown him a rat,

But then he's only dead, if you hadn't checked that.

I said I'm gonna sort it out, and I gave God a shout,

Long waited 30 years, but never heard nought.

It's bn a long time, n I've survived many a drought,

Was Wuhan bat crazy, masking, just 2 go out.

My eyes got double bolts, N my minds gone blank,

My tongue got tied up, in a chat that wasn't 2 Frank.

Got the sniffles, and a cough, from the rising damp,

Send U a card from space, if I can afford the stamps.

But still nothing more, than a yellow rocket star man,

Flying 2 the moon, as fast as R wallets say we can.

Rocket fuels cheap bicarb powder, stale like spam,

And electronic wiring, that's as old as your gran.

One day R ships going 2 stop giving NASA's radar blips,

CIA's gonna make sure R boosters explode, in2 a million bits.

Paranoia top mad, too much time floating 2 think a bit,

Before our oxygen runs out, and we all choke 4 shit.

It was an important mission, I was sure we could land,

Neil Armstrong's Lodge, helped draw us a plan.

Shame Kubrick wasn't around, 2 put the film in the can,

Still did R best, on Area 51's banned desert sand.

So did I wish I had changed jobs, N become a man in a suit,

Door to door salesman, briefcase full of scams 2 boot.

College wasn't hard, so I always had time 2 toot,

N every boss was a thief, so I chose a life harder to loot.

© 2024 Robert Reid – All Rights Reserved

Mystery

Are you ready to witness and turn the key, for we are about to glee,

Allow your pupils to let you see, a real man of mystery.

He has crickle cracked skin, and hair slap dashed back,

Simmered red hot tiles, crawled til flesh turned black,

Running down the evil, criminal bent few,

Has a triple sky high, birds eye view.

He secretly caught, the Royal Jack the Ripper,

Princesses thanked him, kisses down trouser zipper.

Always bow tied, clipped chin for the mighty,

Piss alley soaked, wet poor for beggar plighty.

Dark eyed, crooked nose, rugged and black browed,

He slips nip creep crept, like smoke, through many a big crowd.

Simple acts he creates, wonder papers high front page views,

Always fighting crime, for the rights of an oppressed few.

Is he merely just a normal man, short or grandstand?

Truth surprise, alas, but no army sits under his command.

So is he shed hedge bunk or huge mansion slept?

Could it be, one of the cleverest secrets ever kept?

Are you ready, to hunt down, thinly kept whispers of a man unseen?

Following cold alley damp dank info, like a soldiers latrine.

But if you find a clue, follow the thread, pull and strike prey,

Might just find a good man, ready to save your day.

If you're ever stuck, nicked, nuck rucked, or ever miss viewed,

He'll fight might, all right til peeps are unconfused.

He'll never bow down, cry, accuse or even plea,

Cos he's a true stories hero, a real man of mystery.

© 2024 - All Rights Reserved Robert Reid

This won The Creative Writing Groups bi-monthly Competition for Best Poem Jan/Feb 2024.

Imagine

I say this as a historian n a British Man,

We sure set light a Middle East frying pan.

Post Great War we swapped victory for land,

Made up countries with rulers, drawn in sand.

Imagine a Palestinian boy causing no trouble,

Then an F16 jet turns his home to rubble.

His father screams, a man with month long stuble,

Friends all dig, their hands deep in concrete crumble.

I see nightmares, as all the Palestinians cry,

Having 2 ignore ignorant fools, n news ppl asking why?

Going on, as barrel bombs dropped daily from the sky,

Tally up, another 100 innocent ppl die.

Don't forget, Israel is an occupying state,

They hold the ppl of Gaza's, lives n fate.

Stopping water n fuel is a war crime great,

So dishoused Palestinians, just sit n wait.

Their calories r managed down 2 the decimal point,

N IDF soldiers, kill nurses n docs with hollow points.

They humiliate Palestinians at every checkpoint,

Coz they believe the land they stole was Gods appoint.

Thank God n Allah, Israeli survivors told the truth,

October 7th lies sell like a horror show ticket booth.

No need for them, to watch out for a bomb through the roof,

Coz if your Kosher, your magic book is all u need as proof.

Imagine there was no religion, and people could get along,

No arguments had, about which holy book or scripture was wrong.

The Palestinians should be allowed, to live their lives happy n strong.

So why not let both kids from both sides, play together happy in song.

© 2023 – Robert Reid All Rights Reserved

Whether....

Whether you're wise or clever, is a problem not,

The problem is inside your head, dumb bloodclot.

You're anchored to bondage, for time non-stop,

And only the devil can free your soul, head rot.

The sun hurts your eyes in the morning, red raw,

And you don't get off your back too much, bed sore.

Whether you can break free is a debate, no more,

You've been chained to the pain for too long, get hacksaw.

It will take time and effort and what's left is thin,

Any plans you had will change with the weather, head spin.

Whether it rains or snows is not in your power, wet skin,

That empty feeling in your gut may get filled, from within.

Your life has been one long film script, Oscars no doubt,

And the demons that haunt your brain will linger, break out.

So get off your arse and let the pain begin, without,

That teddy bear womb feeling you've held on to for so long, check out.

Because without a change you're doomed for the bin, recycled no,

And that pain will seep through your skin, from deep below.

So you've tried and failed many times before, with sorrow,

But before you die from lack of spirit why not give it one more last go.

© 2022 All Rights Reserved Robert Reid

This won The Creative Writing Groups bi-monthly Competition for Best Poem July 2022.

Time..

Time was always too short to do my best,

Time is too hectic, now my head is a mess.

Time is almost gone, I can only do less,

Time, I think is coming, to have that long rest.

The clock ticks quick, and my heart sweats blood darts.

When is now or the future, and when was the past?

The time I spent was wasted, I wished it hadn't passed,

Time was a cruel mistress, its hand full of crushed glass.

Because time is shorter than a piece of string,

And time is longer than a child’s bike ring.

Time goes quick when my head is in a spin,

My time on earth were scribbles, its history too thin.

Time, I thought was always going to be a blast,

Time, I now know that my best hours have passed.

Time, I try to savour, but it always flies too fast,

Time, the passing of is quick, only my reactions last.

See time is nothing but a human conception,

And time is naught but different human perceptions.

See time is the cruellest, and the most evil deception,

My time's nearly all gone, God, please can I be the exception?

© 2022 – All Rights Reserved Rob Reid - Competition Winner

This won The Creative Writing Groups bi-monthly Competition for Best Poem Feb 2022

Flash Fiction - Three Fat Men

Three fat man came up the stairs. 

I got a bat wrapped around my head. 

Taekwondo kicked in, and I saved my life, but didn't bubble up so the police ruined my life. 

To be a grass, or to not be a grass, that was the question.

© 2021 - All Rights Reserved - Robert Reid

This was published in a Flash Fiction Book "50 Short Stories Of 2021" After Winning Their Flash Fiction Competition For one entry of the year.

Finally They Come....

They finally come out to my homeless park BBQ, 

Get to the back jack, be quiet, and just queue queue queue,

Burned meat and charcoal but at least it aint your Mum's chunky stale stew.

So just stick it in your mouth peeps, and just chew chew chew.

It's a summer time rhyme with plenty of nonsensical lines,

Plenty of time, so we pack the bongs nice, fat and tight.

We pass the tube round and round til the moon fades at night.

Staring at the birds looking so so fine, getting a smile if you glance just right.

Summer time crew and we all say “Fuck the boys in blue”,

Put four cops together and get the brains of just two.

Let them run round, fining unmasked devils in shops and queues,

Sticking our fingers up as they pass, coz we all hate hypocrites in blue.

Coz we're all here lying out in the shinning, beaming hot sun,

And its double hard now trying to get some real fun for some.

Boys n girls are raving to the max, all popping molly one by one,

And that blonde in the thong has got my dong throbbing like a drum, bom bom.

We're out all night til the moon comes up, and then it leaves and goes,

Lying on the grass letting weeds grow through my ten duff toes.

Night changes to light and the crew whittles, as peeps start to go off home,

But I wake up on my own, with no home to go back to, all alone.

© 2020 – All Rights Reserved - Rob Reid - Competition Winner

This won The Creative Writing Groups bi-monthly Competition for Best Poem August 2020