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Cowboy Metaphor Poems | Cowboy Poems About Metaphor

These Cowboy Metaphor poems are examples of Cowboy poems about Metaphor. These are the best examples of Cowboy Metaphor poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Free verse | |

Groundswell Girl - Named by JB

Enter a storybook tale
Where I can be 
The heroine you hail
Lucid dreams of soft reflection
A touch heated with lust and desired protection
A breathe a gasp as we succeed 
Join the fairytale with me
Valiant night within dark eyes
the right movement and I make them shine
like moonlight on the steamy hot spring
care to follow for a little dip with me
Trailing like the water at my fingertips
Grasp me around my hips
As close as the breeze on my skin 
Whisper lies as I let you in 
Lips mumbling up my thighs
bare heart exposed to the sky 
fire burning in my veins
Am I a mistress of this lust or simply a slave
Trembling with desire
Take me till we've lost count of the hours
enter this storybook tale
Where I can be the heroine you hail

Copyright © Jay Loveless | Year Posted 2012

Details | Sonnet | |

when we Hallucinate our known fear

When you hallucinate our unknown fear, In the act of offsetting the oracles.Therefore Forworning ownself from its sacrosanctity shear, Subsisting off at the expense of the rescissive cycle, & It is risked to be answerably clear of the recidivistion, On our ragout heads would yet behest fairer? In the greegree region, If the unbeknownst boko were only so tinder, Would not its saracenic harem stoke. So they shorn in the allotments of massive  alopecician , As trying tardy in some doubtful spoke, Men left out in its tincture realms, spun in 
the air like a coin to come to face the faced,Grappling with the Hecates seeing an unkingly estranged from what had besought men  engendered.

Copyright © kelechi Emeaba | Year Posted 2012

Details | Cowboy | |

Walk your line

A word to the blind:

From the day of your first ride
	Till the moment you die
Walk your line.
Walk proud and high
	through all die-hard wrecks your feet'll find
Walk your whole heart out, spine upright
	Drinking the whole pint down
		With an appetite	
			As you burn in the stirrups.
Eat up the time.

Walk to wipe away your childish feelings. 
	Quieting them completely,
Whatever thumb sucking pleadings to tye on a tourniquet;
	As if you deserve it
		but you ain't entitled to anything.
	At times a burden, though not completely worthless
unless you're considering leaving
             you can take it from me
Nothin' in this world is worth half the trouble
	unless  for it you're bleeding.

So back to work kid:
	Grinding gears, count on it.
Walk long beyond whatever you thought 
	you'd get into when you first hired in.  
Signed on for what meaning 
	you've near forgot
		whatever crockpot reasons
 			compelled you to chase a living
	 			in what to most is a vacant lot.
Walk to the empty spot, on the map
	just past where mom and dad had given up. 

And then keep walking.
Bypass where bragging rights dropped dead to ash
	and all parts plastic inside you snapped in half.
In fact, be worn so far past the point of no return
	you might well have been born on its welcome doormat.
Walk for more than a paycheck, a pickup, pocketbook, or new stet  
walk to pay your debt to a swirling sea or torment
and you can bet you'll get sick of pouring your heart out
  as one among scores of men 
	Working for the land with whatever he can. 
Some are still out there yet.
Credit can only be stacked 
	through the loops you correctly cast, 
		and wisdom is knowing if and when to turn them back
			or to hang on with all you got to the scruff of their neck 
				 by the skin of your big toe nail
While facing those cold northern winds that'll likely send 
	you clear to rock bottom if they prevail.

The time is now,
	walk high and proud
		and either rest when you're dead
			or get air in town,
But never quit walking this sacred ground

Because you love that gal.

Copyright © Trey Pearson | Year Posted 2016

Details | Cowboy | |

Annies Gun

“Never trust your life behind a cheap gun”
- Annie Oakley

Annie, has a heavy heart.
But also a light heart
	one that shines in the sun.
and regardless light or dark,
Annie’s bright heart will spark
	and spin out a round, whistling like a song being sung. 
With only moments notice, 
	before most prepare to know it
She showcases its essence in one single sentence.
But a statement to render us speechless
Pierced as a whole. 
All of us she reaches.
Standing there alone 
with her gun.

She splits a playing card at 90 yards 
without care.
Plugs a nickle in the middle 
flipping through the air,
and with a single shot, puts out a candle flame
	without disturbing wax a drop.

The hammer and trigger are stock, 
and cherry is the handle. 
Handmade, crafted, shaped
	like herself, to perform in dust and rain. 
Tooled as a saddle and Gold washed in a barrel.
But Annie's gun is a mystery. 
And what's more 
when she points her heart towards anything
or chooses to use it for our amusement
Her targets are always attained.

Somehow by her grit, grip and will,
we're left in awe, and even a little afraid
of Annie's heart of iron and steel.

Afraid of the way, she owns the stage. 
Holds and keeps her gaze on the straight away,
as we ourselves stare down the sight
she'll let fly the first of bullets loaded that day
With five more, soon on the way

“Never trust your life behind a cheap gun”
she'd say.

And each round fired off
takes us back to a younger age.
The image of the dying past, laying to final rest,
The old west
and the way things used to be.

To see those cards split at the neck of the king.
Lit cigarettes gently whisked away
from the lips of her husband, sitting
blindfolded, or asleep
She alone stands with Sitting Bull,
A dying breed.

For us watching those bottles break
Our hearts too, shatter as much as they
having never seen such a scene
as we've seen today 
they scatter 
with the ashes in the breeze.

Copyright © Trey Pearson | Year Posted 2016

Details | Cowboy | |

Out Riding

Out Riding

Having seen time and time again
Our rise and fall
and watched what passes between,
my reflection stays the same
As I ride through brush and the grass
late in the evening.

And as the sun might spill on the sights
while also casting shadows far 
in elongated flight jetting towards night,
high above and below alike
another day is reclaimed by the west.

Within the balance that's struck
High up on a horse's back
lies within that creaking tack 
a way the minutia from many nights and days
can all but fade for the fluid movements connecting them.
And life again is like a lucid dream in passing.

I hadn't noticed it at first,
But the evening brings a subtle breeze
as if a response to the sunset, gleaming
and facing the applause I pause and watch
as the wind runs its fingers trough the hair
of it's beloved.

Caressing with such tenderness
Either on inspiration or plotted action
This moment they share, along with their sadness to part.
Yet, they both know the flower of this coming spring
will not grow alone.
And so, the grass and wind always promise to unite again,
when the time is right.
Heedless of the deepest sleep, most distant dreams,
or faced with the contrasts  
their lives have seen.
To carry on their roles, by all means 
they’ve never let go
of how high hopes can lead to things
far greater than them both.
  -and someday so will I

Copyright © Trey Pearson | Year Posted 2016