Zuzuni on the badlands
Montana's muddy badlands spread for thirty seven miles
along a cleft of sandstone bed, eroded years before;
the chestnut paced upon the bare of grass and well worn aisles
and I wore two new Navy Colts, of gauging forty four
beneath the noon light that defines but also eyes beguiles.
An anchorite, some years ago, upon the ridge of Grapes
where monasteries in the clouds are reaching out to God,
I learned to draw and shoot amidst the fog's white waving drapes
and prayed til the time was ripe t' abandon this abode,
cause solitude was molding deeds, constringing, thus, escapes.
I saw them waiting on the trail; three bandits stood apart:
Coyote Chit, Cheesecake Labif and Mambo-Jumbo Crock
with cross-tied low their pistols stood, assumptive and upstart
bemocking fools who patented their e'er noetic block
that teachers, tho', could not explain; not even wise Descartes!
My shots intended at their guns, the hoisted hammers broke;
I ordered them to start the dance that turns the clouds to rain
the land was in compelling need, as turf and plants evoked
the sympathy of Heavens that magnanimous ordained
the good ol' boys (and volunteers) to dance the rain's refrain.
Coyote was allowed to dance a prominent gavotte
meanwhile Labif's romantic soul preferred a marigold
but Crock's mazurka had untied the nimbus' Gordian knot
and rain began to pour upon those who the skies extolled
heroic men were meant to be, defining, thus, a blot.
Zuzuni, the Algonquin chief, had noticed this ordeal
and marveled at the outlaws forms, that caused the skies to rain
in order so, to buy the fools he offered a good deal
fourteen strong horses for each man, who danced to ascertain
that rains returned upon the slopes and also on the plains.
© 2014-10-15, G. Venetopoulos, All Rights Reserved
Contest Name: Sketch a Character
Sponsor: Gautami Phookan
On a Sunday in the evening
The old barn becomes a hall
Social place where every weekend
The town folk go for a ball.
The inside is decorated
Lights are lit, the banners sway
By the walls barrels and cartwheels
Wooden stools and bales of hay.
Everybody loves a shindig
Where square dancing is the craze
Violins, guitars and banjos
Hillybilly music plays.
There’s a guy who’s always present
He’s the handsome Cowboy Kurt
On his head a leather Stetson
Dressed in jeans and chequered shirt.
Carol comes in golden pigtails
Gorgeous looking in flared skirt
She stands out; her smile is charming
She is hot and likes to flirt.
Cowboy Kurt looks quite appealing
He taps his feet to the beat
As other couples are reeling
Pretty Carol takes a seat.
Kurt decides to mosey on up
And lay his heart on the line
See if Carol would share some grub
Perhaps a swig of moonshine.
Tiny Carol surprises Kurt
Chugging down half a bottle
She eyes him coyly, looking pert
Then starts to jig full throttle.
Stunned Kurt is reeling to and fro
As wee Carol takes the lead
Dance floor clears; they put on a show
Kurt looks like a tumbleweed.
Music wouldn’t stop fast enough
For Kurt who couldn’t square dance
Carol is made of tougher stuff
And has high hopes for romance.
Totally lit and loving it
Carol trots to the outhouse
But when she returns, Kurt has split
“Where’s my man?” Carol does grouse
In his truck Kurt has hit the trail
Head still spinning from the dance
Carol sits upon a hay bale
Hoping he’ll return to prance
After the hoe down was over
Banjos and fiddles tucked away
Cowboy Kurt was still a rover
Out cold on the hay Carol lay.
Written 6th October, 2014
A collaboration by Paul Callus and Carolyn Devonshire
Written by Maurice Yvonne and Seren
Crack that whip, jerk the line,
Let's start dancing it's no time to dine.
First you holler, then you sing
All join hands and make a ring.
Now if you please circle wide,
spread right out like an old cow hide.
Feed the Hogs, brand the calf,
Swing your honey once and a half
Now you switch on the heel and toe
Come gals and cowboys, don't be slow.
Allemande left with the corner maid,
Meet your own and promenade.
Everybody swing and whirl
Swing 'round and 'round with your pretty little girl.
Do si do don't you know,
You can't grab a rabbit until there's a snow.
Bow to you partner and the corner miss,
To the opposite lady just blow a kiss.
Chicken in the bread pan scratching out gravel,
get your maid & away you travel.
Lassies to your seats and gents you foller
Thank the fiddler and kiss the caller
Dated 11 October 2014
Baby, I see you starin' at him,
But you ought to give me whirl;
'Cause he's a handsome hunk,
But when he gets drunk...
Baby, he likes ugly girls.
Yeah, he still lives with his Momma
Even tho' he's 33.
She starches and irons his jeans and shirts,
And he brings home new recipes.
She's told him he's good lookin',
And there's no doubt it's true;
But when he takes home a pretty woman,
Momma says, "Son, she won't be true."
She says, "Son, if you want good lovin',
A plain and homely gal will provide.
She'll treat you right, mornin' and night;
And keep you satisfied."
So baby, you can stare at him,
But you ought to give me a whirl;
'Cause he's a handsome hunk,
But when he gets drunk....
Baby, he likes ugly girls.
You don't stand a chance.
That boy loves his Momma.
Yeah, he goes for ugly girls.
In a couple of hours
another town we'll be stoppin.
At a big ole country bar
where we can get the people rockin.
At least until two
I know that place will be hoppin.
So I've got tequila in my boot, an a lime in my pocket.
Once those country boys
start drinking shots, their ain't no stoppin.
An those nice ole country girls
get out an dance, we'll be hoppin.
I know at least until two
That this big ole bar will be rocking.
So I've got tequila in my boot, an a lime in my pocket.
It's been a couple of hours
an no one wants the music stoppin.
At this big ole country bar
everybody wants to keep a rockin.
But it's almost now two
an everybody is still a hoppin.
Going to have to get more tequila for my boot, an another lime for my pocket.
Soon the bar will be closin
cause after this song we'll be stoppin.
We had ourselves a good time
as we kept the people rockin.
With all the tequila that I drank
I don't know if I, can continue hoppin.
I guess that's what is due, when ya putting tequila your boot, an a lime in your pocket.
Danny Boy:9-27-13 ©
Contest Name: Another Song Lyric Contest
By Anne Currin
Getting rowdy--really loud
Hanging with your country crowd
Having fun with lots of laughter
Nothing seems to really matter
Watching sports and swigging bears
All your troubles disappear
Jukebox playing favorite songs
You can dance to all night long
Cowboy hats--Tight fitting jeans
This is such a sexy scene
Hearing yee-haw and y'all
In a southern country drawl
Dresses twirling on the floor
Dancing like never before
Bull riding and betting on
Who will fall off--just for fun
Red solo cups across the bar
Drunken voices yell yee-haw
Some workdays---every weekend
This enjoyment never ends
Through the warm, cold and hot weather
Family and friends get together
For some harmless fun that lasts
Always having such a blast
An adventure I went
Full of laughter,
cheer and fun
A country themed day
that I will
Talk about, secrets
First dressing like
Tight fitting jeans
Next a shirt with
Snaps, not buttons,
A belt buckle so
cute and shiny
Not big, a little
A cowgirl hat on top
No brown, pretty
boots to wear
Fringe and spurs put
on with care
All decked out to
have a night
That will be a pure
My first country
Filled with care
Music gets my feet a
Not knowing how this
Somehow over the
course of time
I was in a dancing
Not drunk, but
losing all my
I was doing moves so
Soon I was sitting
on a bull
Hanging on tightly
Someone cranked it
up to high
I shot off into the
My singing is way to
To do any karaoke
Now I'm on stage out
Surprised I haven't
cleared the room
Hours go by and I
I can not leave this
Making a promise to
Everybody loved my
Of a first timer at
I never left a
My secret is safe of
That I am really a
I wanna go shoot some beer cans,
light up the night,and drink the moon’s shine.
I wanna see you twirl, in that summer dress
kiss your neck, while headlights burn through my heart.
Fireflies’ll get dizzy when we dance between their flurry,
We’ll fall on grandma’s quilt and stare at the stars.
It can be so bright in a country field,
when it’s not so lonely…
And your smile, is bringin’ me home.
Those muddy tracks were worth it;
got us stuck in each other’s arms.
You’ve got me thinkin’…
That a city girl, with a country heart
ain’t so bad..
You got me thinkin’..
that the sun might rise…
and I won’t even notice..
cos’ your starlight is just
as bright, as any blue eyed country
sky, I’ve ever seen.
So, lets pour a little more
moonshine in these cups,
and dance til’ tomorrow.
We’ll worry bout’ gettin’ home
when the day comes a-knockin’..
but I don’t wanna think about anything else,
but the smile pressed against my cheek.
This country field is heaven,
and you’re the Angel ridin’ shotgun.
Holdin’ me still, on this buck-wild
makin’ me feel like bein a cowboy
ain’t bein’ lost..
Like bein’ in this field,
is bein’ at home,
the rest that I’ve been looking for.
This field, the home, I’ve always had…
but never thought, I was searchin’ for..
-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.
A BAND AND A DANCER SO GRAND
“Shall we dance?” the lady asked ever so politely
And oh how the lady danced ever so lightly
It was as if she \hovered an inch above the floor
And I never enjoyed dancing with a partner more
I begged the band to belabor the point
For it was the music the woman would anoint
She baptized the band as sanctified oil
And to the lady my soul became loyal
She took to the tile, a temptress, my muse
And when she asked for more no man could refuse
The brass played with class and the flute wasn’t mute
And her elegance was a fact God Himself could not refute
Mine eyes beheld the majestic majesty of grace
And simply holding her caused my heart to race
She dance me into a dream of loveliness and lace
Whilst the band grew jealous of what was in my embrace
Her gracefulness begot beauty and grandeur so bright
While the vocalist sang a song about undying delight
But then I heard four words that dimmed every light
When the M.C. announced the final dance of the night
DOES THIS MAKE ANYONE BESIDES ME WANT TO PUKE?
© 2011.…..Phreepoetree ~free cee!~
It's the girls night out
at the local country bar.
This time we'll have to try
not to go too far.
We'll have no more
than seven shooters each,
And no more standing on the table
giving a slightly slurred speech.
On with our cowboy boots
and skirts a bit too short
To entice a dance partner,
a cowboy is a good sport.
We'll try and talk the band
into playing our favourite tune
And sing along like coyotes
howling at the moon.
We'll dance a few, and sing a few,
then maybe a few more.
We won't start a fight like Friday night
and get escorted to the door.
It's all in fun, we're just kids at heart,
going out to play.
It's time to unwind and let down our hair,
after all we've worked all day.
There's karaoke and two-stepping
and flirting with the guys
And telling stories, some of them true,
most of them little white lies.
We don't do this nearly enough,
at least that's what we think.
So here's to us, the local cowgirls,
now would someone buy us a drink.