Folks avoid that spooky place 'specially on dark and stormy nights!
Heard are eerie moans and shrieks and seen are mysterious lights!
A driftin' hoss thief by the unlikely name of One-Eyed Buck LaHore,
Was strung up on the 'hangin' tree' way back in '72, accordin' to local lore!
Now, ol' Jedge Stern, renowned as the 'hangin' jedge' in them there parts,
Owned the hoss that Buck stole, showin' no respect and lack of smarts!
Buck vanished in the night a-high-tailin' it fer the Mexican border,
Trailed by a posse to bring 'im back dead er alive upon the jedge's order!
He was found carousin' in an El Paso cantina havin' a grand ol' spree!
The sheriff said, "Son, come with me! You've got a date with the 'hangin' tree'!"
There was little Buck could do with a dozen forty-fours starin' 'im in the face!
"Boys, you got me! Don't make a scene! Let's git outta this here place!"
Hauled before the jedge, Buck admitted he'd been a hell-raiser all his life.
"But, jedge" he pled, "I didn't cause no harm like molestin' a feller's wife!"
Judge Stern saw things diff'runt 'specially since 'twas his hoss he stole!
"Son, you're to be strung up on a tree and may God save yer rotten soul!"
To this very day on moonlit nights Buck can be seen swingin' in the breeze,
Clawin' at the noose about his neck yellin', "Jedge, have mercy on me please!"
That stern ol' jedge has shown no mercy as is evident from all indications.
Alas, the ghost of that wily thief will haunt local folks for many generations!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Up in Colorado, in the forests of Pikes Peak
A cranky critters conference was held just this week
It was led by a mouse, 3 legs, whiskerless & without tail
"Against a common foe!" He said "We must Unite! We must prevail!"
He hobbled out to the edge of the woods & pointed toward a house
In that house, I once lived a good life, a young & healthy mouse
Then one day the rancher's wife decided she'd had enough
I will say she is a worthy adversary, Mercy she was tough!
He looked around at all the critters, weasel, skunk & squirrel
& said "I hate to admit it but I was bested by a girl!"
Its true, I escaped alive but she got her trophies, too
For I left my tail, paws & whiskers stuck there in her glue
The squirrel spoke up in a streetwise Brando voice
I'll accept the challenge! For this mission, I am the best choice!
I know this lady well, having enjoyed seeds & nuts out on her deck
I am not afraid of her & will show her we deserve respect
So the squirrel plotted & waited until the time was right
He saw his chance & took it while in the birds she took delight
He scampered up a pine tree & scurried out on to a branch
While she was distracted with a phone call & a pretty bird, he seized his chance
He took a flying leap, landing square on her blond head
Taking great delight in her squeals of surprise & dread
He then let loose with a torrent of the defecation sort
"That's for all the dead & walking wounded!" was his parting retort
The moral of this story, for one there must be
Is be mindful of avenging squirrels when you sit beneath a tree
The pain I put in the ground.
For such a precious thing.
The family enjoys their meal.
They plant their leftover kernels.
And wait for me to tend to them.
An endless cycle in which happiness is born.
21 February 2013
I do not know?
The Blazing Guns
Seemed like fate never saw kind, on that drifter called Stone.
Riding the dusty trail, over the Rockies, alone.
With winter behind him, on that warm, spring day.
He was planning for Calgary, by the mid-month of May.
Winter was hard for him, fending off the bitter cold.
Was many a nights, the devil had wanted his soul sold.
But despite those hard months, he had managed to stave.
Enough strength to keep both feet, out of his own, self-dug grave.
When the folk of the town had found their loot gone.
Was then when Stone just happened, to come rambling on.
The truth of the matter, was not plain to see.
Because when Stone rode to town, it was all contrary.
With the real culprit gone, so no one else to answer for thieving.
Left Stone all alone with nowhere to run leaving.
Stone heard the bells of the small town church sound.
With guns blazing, the town folk shot the thief they had done found.
And because they were all, as mad as can be.
They hung poor old Stone, from an old hanging tree.
The hanging tree the hanging tree,
A great big cottonwood that waits for me.
Just out of town by Old Boot Hill
Where they’ll take my body and a grave they’ll fill
Now, I don't know, but I was told,
They’ll use a slow horse and a rope that's old.
Lord, have mercy on a sinner's soul;
To end up in heaven was always my goal.
It's true; I’ve stole a horse or two,
Even after pledging to you.
I've drank to much and loved to many
Became plain stupid and spent every penny.
Come first light I’ll greet my fate
For the hangman and I have a early date.
I'll mumble and stumble then hold my breath
As I pray for God's grace after my death.
The Arizona Kidd
The Path Of The Wind
The Arizona Kidd hung up his spurs the day the tree split into crosses from the
lightning bolt surmising that his LORD was not well pleased with him that day
the Sherriff made his play. The Kidd wears a Jean Vest and spurs his boots are
always black and shiny his Hat is leather with a nickel band no feather his Indian
friends one day took his Rodeo hat and stuck a feather in it and laughed so now
he avoids his Indian friends. The Holsters on his web belt are reversed for his
quick draws the one on the left is his Silver plater hanggun. The holster on the
right has a Gold Plated thumb gun the trigger is tied back to shoot the bullits one
by one in a quick lethal manner he is shooting at the son of man to warn them to
be left alone at sunrise come. He used to use the silver bullits but the leaded
ones are nicer and the cost is so much cheaper and the Golden bullits on the
belt are costly and not cheep palaver is not his forte. Listen as this tale is
fabeled. He was drinking whiskey the Sherriff swore he would arrest him or die
with his boots on trying to uphold the lawman looked like he had never missed a
meal his bald headed visage in a grimace climbing up that hill to get a look down
on that killer's camped out near the tree was tall and filled with wormwood and
on that fatefull day the wind made a mourning noise and came near to watch the
Sheriffs' play with the Arizona Kidd. He could not see into the sun. This was the
Sherriff's thinking some people call it cheating.
I do not know?
In the Old West, when a man stole a horse
There was one lesson taught, no judges bought, problem solved
There were no singers of sad songs, guilty were hung by the neck