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Cowboy Brother Poems | Cowboy Poems About Brother

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

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Details | Verse | |

Football, Beer, His Car and Kid

-The Same Old SongS-

That's all he ever talks about 


Copyright © SKAT A

Details | Elegy | |


To see her blog, adorned with pastel tones
Widens the gap that pervades my bones
For now we eat her passing meal of plain white rice
Leaving us all alone, without much needed fashion advice

The red light district has lost an inductee
For I would have love to be involved in her naked party
Yet for now we must all be content 
With the debauched path she hath went.

Sadness invades a binary world
Where tweeters and bloggers hearts have curled
Bringing back memories of Madonna’s ‘Like A Virgin’
Her fashion advice precise like a mastoplexic surgeon

I remember the fervour when you were followed by Kath Kidston
A similar experience when I had my first Jar of Branston
Yet when you found out the intensity with which I was following you
You wanted to change species and become a Gnu

You learnt to accept my frequent outpourings of love
When you finally spoke to me, I felt as free as a pure white dove
But upon your departure I feel pathetic and hollowed
The best I can hope for is the number of one of the hot bloggers you followed

She was always my muse, my intimate inspiration
No-one can cause such an outpouring of personal perspiration
My heart now yearns to see her type a special tweet
One that would make Mr Sexton act like a dog on heat

Now the world mourns the passing of Lily Fulvio-Mason
I can still see her face reflected in my wash basin
With every heart beat, every full blooded pulse
My sadness streaked blood makes my body convulse

But now it’s time to go, my heart says goodbye
The pain eats my nipples like the Syrphid Fly
I can finally see your body laid in an eternal rest
And now I can now finally uncover your breast.

Copyright © Tom Hyam

Details | Couplet | |


Who am I?
Am I defined by what is near in sight?
Am I defined by what I have done,
Or am I defined by what I could become?

Perhaps I'm of no use.
To him, or her, or I, nor you.
Or perhaps I'm too misunderstood to be defined,
And it is something like understanding that comes in time.

And if to the world I'm never shown,
Yet in my own light I've grown and grown,
And so I can know no happiness but my own--
The reason for my smile, to you, will forever be unknown.

I do not pray for the world to know my name.
For it and verse; the letters are the same.
And if a man should find his sorrow in what he reads,
I pray his pain my words to keep. 

Should his eyes rain on my page,
Better tears than storms of rage.
And if a man should find his sorrow in what he reads.
I pray his pain my words to keep.

And if to the world you're never shown,
Yet in your own light you've grown and grown,
And so you know no happiness but your own.
Let the reason for your smile, to you, only be known.

Copyright © Kristopher Higgs

Details | Senryu | |

Tombstone - Like The Four Horsemen

they walked along
weathered, carrying their guns;
like the four horsemen…

down to the O.K.
guns blazing, bullets flying;
smoke clears, the strong stand…

Copyright © Tirzah Conway

Details | Free verse | |

On Eagles Wings

With choice will grasp its fundamental pull

In time we can replace its timely spin of the wheel
In comfort its cup will long to protect the innocents blade
With love comes a pulse with gravitational pull
On Eagles Wings comes a flood of dispensational thought

One hand to hold a heart will mend
No silver spoon nor heart by which to mend
From the cradle to the grave its communicative salve
Through its hungry thought provoking apathy

In chambers of ghosts in sullen degree
A simple grasp at the evenings homily
In caged bars grasped its silver spoon
Shallow promises we used to thrill

On eagles wings the sea does thrill
Out on its fresh scenic brigade a steam train will
In haunting neglect reflect then stay near shore

Frightened by the ambiance drifting a shore

Copyright © Mario Vitale

Details | Cowboy | |

The Confession of Dodge Martin

A lonely rider traversed the sand upon his sturdy mount, 
Beneath a sky so filled with stars that no man might ever count. 

A dangerous dash across open land on a night without a moon, 
A last ditch chance for absolution before his brother hangs at noon. 

He pushed on harder than he should until his pony found a rut, 
A broken leg and a bullet played it seemed fate had punched him in the gut. 

He went on by foot and prayed to God “Please let a stagecoach happen by, 
Or a cowboy with a horse to lend, Dear Lord don’t let my brother die.” 

“It weren’t he at the house that night that poor Lizzy got herself kilt, 
I knowed all too well because it were me, I alone bear up the guilt.” 

“I loved her all to sweetly Lord but my affections were each one spurned, 
So on that night I took her life and waited for her true love to return.” 

I laid in wait to bushwhack the varmit whoever the cur might be, 
Along the trail that led to her house behind a big oak tree. 

“It were my intention to shoot him down and lay him at her side, 
I then seen him on the dapple gray that only my brother’d ever ride.” 

“It struck me like a thunder bolt to think that I broke my brother’s heart, 
So I lit clean on outa Texas with my hope of making a brand new start.” 

“Her pa swore to the judge that my brother deprived dear Lizzy of her life, 
Because she told him the night before that she’d never be his wife.” 

“It t’were me that he’d heard talkin’ the night that Lizzy passed away, 
Now I got to get back to that town, Dear Lord, to have my final say.” 

“It seemed that my brother was luckier at love than ever he were at dice, 
But I had dashed his hopes each to the rocks and left him to pay the price.” 

But as he prayed and walked along a rattler took him by surprise, 
And as the poison run it’s course the murderer closed his eyes. 

And in his mind he could see his kin dangling from a rope, 
So as the snakebite did it’s work he took one last stab at hope. 

He drew his buck knife from his boot and opened up his shirt, 
To carve out his confession was his aim so with a cry he went to work. 

And when they found his body in the morning just a half-mile out of town, 
They found the note that he’d carved on his chest, “I shot Lizzy down.”

Copyright © Tony Lane

Details | Free verse | |


To be at odds with your maker when its flame has a disgusted wick
To lust then have not cause you give into your lusts
In broadened arrows were idiots fly away from the one we have to do
Where as others outside really haven't a clue

We each must choose our master before that certain factual date with fate
The haunt in full view meditates on new wine yet
Would never help to defend their brother
Men of corrupt minds that plug with destruction

Those strange voices in my head filled with dread locked away almost dead
Fallen lines drawn in the sand when to understand
That late far away plan filled with lust expensive perfume on the wall
Four walls in their thick shawls the no it alls

Gone are the days I used to frolic in a haze today I'm just stuck inside this maze!

Copyright © Mario Vitale

Details | Lyric | |

Ride The Snake

Thy brother, strong, straight and true,
to the core, his blood flows, fast and through.
I love him dearly, ever since his birth,
what an incredible gift from mother Earth.
Mad as a cut snake, I'd hate to cross.
You did? You C@#T! Ha Ha, your loss.
Boxer and Biker, to the very core, 
F@#$%n crazy Outlaw.
His heart is enormous, as big as Ayres Rock, 
the man is solid, no muppet could knock.
F@#k yeah! 
I love him to death,
till my last rattle of breath.
Not long now to go, 
I will see him in time, 
my brother, my brother,
dear friend of mine.

Copyright © Heydon Bunting

Details | Cowboy | |


Light in the eyes
out at sunrise
it truly is no surprise
riding out to check the lines
my my I do have a sore behind and tired mine
it 's not easy being greasy
so please don't try to understand a cowboys life
it is no wonder why he has no wife of course
all he has to keep him warm is a guitar and a song 
for he is alone
while he sits upon his horse thinking of love loss
and time gone he is old with nothing to show 
all that he is and once was is forgotten 
now all that is left is just tee shirt,jeans with hole and boots that if they could talk
what tales they would tail
of nights spent in jail
kicking up dust
women he couldn't trust
Tricia Bernard

Copyright © Patricia Bernard

Details | Cowboy | |


our,that we have..
these are our tools..weapons..instruments
and we just want to live..
put into a situation in wich we did not choose our roles..
some of us are the fans and the royalty
they watch people like me do what needs to be done...
people like me..we just want to live
so we use our weapons and do what we have to..
we didnt choose for it to be like this..
we watch the fortunate  crowd the seats of this coliseum called life..
and they watch us jump back and forth through shades of color..
they judge us...
but we just want to live

Copyright © angelo pierre louis

Details | Free verse | |


Anguish taunts through a barbed wire fence with edged grasp

Actions in which human beings rebel against a holy God
Miss their purpose for their lives
Surrender to the prince of the power of the air more then God
Cause  all of their deeds were evil!

An eclipse of the sun had tainted my inner vision
Push back the pain with radiant guide
Does this notion in thought come at any big surprise?

Weak willed tyrants from the flood of dispinsation
Shattered fragments loosed in gloom climatic abrasion
Parts unknown from the setting of the sun

Leading gullible women captive under the false cloak of compromise
Abortion on demand
When will they ever understand?

Blood shed in our streets
Evil tyrants from elected officials overly prideful taunt & pull!
We each our responsible for our actions before a holy God

Copyright © Mario Vitale

Details | Free verse | |



Shallow pools cloven tide within heightened scale to oblige

Some may choose to run away & hide?
Within its sought manifestation a lethal side will play
Although amidst its horrific grasp in time

Nearer toward the notion of extravagance,
Through tests with divers thoughts in escalating
In deeper shallow pools the timeless conquest of rest

As if a caged rat that was hidden in a tiny hole would vent

The inner change from haste we will wait to end its test

To become transparent amidst ivy briars would grasp;

With thorns pierced to skull to dull its inflated rhyme...

See, I think different then most
A sorted lost seagull flying outside on the coast

Copyright © Mario Vitale

Details | Free verse | |


A dusty old town-so quiet
a man, a traveler
takes off his pack-so heavy
and reclines for a rest.

they dont know his name, they never do
they wont even bother to ask
he troubles them-his mysterious past
leads them to prejudiced views

but were one to ask, for if naught but a name
what would this traveler say- would he speak?
a word, no. a name, he would give them and pass
"Im Wanderer, the world is my street."

Wanderer-what a name
does it signify much of his life
or is it a code- a cypher?
an enigma to his past.

Copyright © Hannah Stiles-Culver

Details | Free verse | |

Kings Queens

Those who claim to be in the know?

These are the one's on sifted sand,
Through days filled with both anger & pain
When will we understand?
When quaint desolation sets in;

Kings & Queens of the Earth...

On a vast pilgrimage in truth;
We then make plans for tomorrow amidst the given sorrow
Yet one can so easily see...
Through a lone blade of grass to flee

To then react in bitter torn silence

In solemn vows yet taken amidst
Shades of grass yet torn asunder
Some even bother to kiss?
That very day they were actually born

Let us continue to be kind today

Amidst a broadened populace that has simply gone astray
To stay attached as fruit is on the vine
A mighty path created by a great design
Through inner pain & misery;

Although amidst divers path drifting as in mockery

Kings & queens of the Earth,
Now is the time to stop lifting up your skirt!

Copyright © Mario Vitale

Details | Free verse | |

The art Of Spring

Bright blue skies on a spring day
Fulfills my horizon
Blue birds and robins pass me by

Mountain, trees, and animals
Priase God Abroad
The frsh air bring forth calmness
A quiet serene a waits my soul

Red orange and violets
Represents God's glory
Flowers slowly rise with the sun
And water crickets sings songs of glory

Fresh water arises with the scent 
Of of sweet savory of God's spices
Beach rolls in the lazy tide
I sit back and enjoy it all

The art of spring is glorification
Of all tings God created
He's the world famous artist


Copyright © Angela Wilson

Details | Alliteration | |


I was born in Babylon
Everyday I want to be alone
I prayed not to get low
Everyday Babylon claim more soul
I just have to go, seek for more show
I grow with no shoes under my foots
Ganger is my food, 
Mosquitoes sing the reggae allover my room 
Webs block my views, killing my crews
What can I do to survive when am buzz

Where is that place to get crazy?
That place you cannot erase,
That camp with more space,
Where you don’t have to get late
That place where you just want to be free from
“Babylon” Babylon” Babylon…I want to be free

If there is a question, it should be about relation
My action will generate your reaction
Is substitution the way to be free from Babylon?
The game is always ON, grow horns like Capricorn
Cut the vegetables; let’s be able to be stable

Copyright © tomiwa simon

Details | Cowboy | |

A Unkown Brother

I stand with you, 
I swear my life upon you, 
I have your back, 
I pull you up, 

We hold strong together, 
We fight our losing battle, 

Our cries can be heard, 
Our blood flows together, 
My comforts help you, 
But my name will never be heard!

Copyright © Eric Lacey

Details | Cowboy | |

The Beach House

I’m building castles in the sand
on the shores of a grey, grey sea.
The clouds have gathered overhead
and the shells are wave-washed clean.
Footprints wander down the shore
of the vast and vacant sea,
the waves are buffing them away
and turning the sand sateen.
Beyond the berm and the waving grass
inked upon the setting sun,
someone sits in a house of glass
as sand through fingers runs.

I’m watching seabirds dodge the stars
when the waves reflect the moon
and pulling seaweeds from the rocks
they drearily festoon.
And the sand’s run out of the fingers now,
and the drink’s run out of the cup;
the house of glass is quiet now,
all the shutters drawn up.

Copyright © Ashley Poort

Details | Ballade | |

Blood - Brothers

I Hear Drum-Beats Across The Land… Can You Hear It?
All Our Homes Are Handed Down by The Highest Spirit
Long-Ago, The Native Peoples of The Land
Knew… The Earth and Us – Go Hand in Hand

I Hear Hoof-Beats Across The Land… Can You Hear It?
Its Not The Buffalo or Antelope – Who Grew To Fear It
Its Battles of Braves and Soldiers – Both Grim Reapers
Can’t Forget… We ‘Are’ Our Brother’s Keeper…

         Blood – Brothers
… We Are Blood-Bound To Love
         Blood – Brothers
We Are Blood – Brothers Of
All Sons and Daughters of Mankind
The Great Spirit Binds…
      … Blood – Brothers

I Heard Hate – Beat Down The Land… Did You Hear It?
Pollution and Persecution… Its Time To Cure It
End Our Journey On The Trail of Tears
With Broken Arrows and Rivers – Running Clear

I Hear Heartbeats Across The Land… Can You Hear It?
If You Turn and Face The Wind… You Are Near It
It Pounds Deeper Than The Skin, Or A Flood
It Echoes To All …  Its In Our Blood !

        Blood – Brothers
… We Are Blood – Bound To Love
        Blood – Brothers
We Are Blood – Brothers Of
All Sons and Daughters Of Mankind
The Great Spirit Binds…
      … Blood – Brothers

              * * * * *
The Eagle Flies On The Breath Of Life
         And So Do You
May The Blue Sky And Your Clear Eye
         See Many More Moons

Keepers Of The Earth… Guard This Turf
        And Each Other
For Every Human Birth… Has Worth
         As A Blood – Brother

For Those Killed and Blood Spilled
         The Ground Cries
Soaks The Dust… And Curses Us
         When A Brother Dies…

          Blood – Brother …

Copyright © MoonBee Canady

Details | Narrative | |

Gunfight in a Frontier Town

Chic Waco was the marshal of our little town.
   Stood near six-two and usually sported a frown.
Never said a lot but what he said, was said mighty clear.
    Most likely if he was talking to you, it was something you wasn't wanting to hear.
Chic was a mighty good marshal and did his job the best he could,
    There were those that gave him problems and he'd let them know just where 
they stood.
This one good for nothing family were as ornery as could be.
    When they got to drinking they'd threaten anybody they would see.
That's when Waco usually always earned his keep.
    Most times them boys didn't want to go quietly, so Waco would just rap them 
on the head, and pile them in a heap.
Them Trusdale boys packed an awful fierce grudge and just wouldn't let it lie.
    When they got sobered up they said reckon that marshals just gonna have to 
Well they thought and they planned for about a month and a half.
    Then the youngest got caught stealing a Circle D calf.
He was brought to town and sentenced to hang.
    Word got out ain't no Trusdale, what would ever swing.
They said marshal if you try to hang our little brother Jack.
    You just painted a bulls eye on the middle of your back.
Well that didn't set well at all with Waco and he told em flat out don't be a 
threatening me.
   If your wantin gunplay just whip em on out, then we'll all get to see.
Chic said Trusdales I'm calling your bluff.
    He said you're backshootin, yellowbellys, and you ain't got the stuff.
Bout that time the oldest I think they called him Will.
    Reached for his iron with intent to kill.
Waco saw him reach and he shot him dead.
    Then he felt the bullet that was fired by Will's brother Red.
It didn't do much damage it was fired in haste.
 Then Waco pointed at Red and let him have a taste.
The only brother left was a shaking like a dog.
   Waco looked at him and said scat on out a here before I unleash this hog.
Little brother Jack they hung him out back.
    The one that ran somebody found dead , snakebit outside their old shack.
Reckon that the moral of this story is don't mess with Chic Waco
    Reckon them Trusdales hadn't heard in Chics younger days he was known as 
Kid Wacko!

Copyright © Ronald Bingham

Details | Free verse | |

A Kiss Of Death

Through various trials in life many tend to give up on the fight

Other have frolic in the ambiance of spite
Still some resist this form of logic & truly live
A vested tendency & need to forgive
We spill our hearts out on the burgeous sea

A kiss of death with noted Judas with Jesus

A sin so costly it ended his fate
With promise of a ressurection far too late
A kiss of death fresh out on the painted canvas
With sweat of brush stroke to quench the desire

A kiss of death in modest apparel
In want of appease through dense torn leaves
In wallow of a forest in a grand chasm
In moments were one can't even fathom
Through lips tied among the chartered course to pull
A regime of strife & reluctant pull

In regards to a promise that was once made in the dark'
It had lit the fullest spark to what it was I have been waiting for
A great gulf fix hence the vast opened door
A given chance to finally explore
The notion in logical persuasion & more!

Copyright © Mario Vitale

Details | Rhyme | |

The Sheriff and The Brother

Both of their eyes locked hard on one another.
The sheriff needed to talk with this grieving, vengeful brother.
"Have a seat and a drink with me," the sheriff said to him.
"I need to explain to you what actually happened,
but before I reveal anything to you
I need your word that this stays between me and you.
If word of this gets out your brother is as good as dead."
The brother paused for a moment and then he said,
"You killed my brother," he said fighting not to cry.
"No I didn't," responded the sheriff, "He's still alive.
I killed the wrong man and claimed it was him.
Your brother is on the run, but he's still living.
All the residents of Fort Sumner are in compliance with me.
They don't want to see your brother get caught or killed 
so they've sworn themselves to secrecy
and have all signed affidavits certifying that the body
buried at Fort Sumner is your brother. Your brother is deceased officially.
This is your brother's last opportunity
to go underground and live his life more meaningfully.
He has agreed to go
to Old Mexico
and leave his beloved country
where he was loved so
by all who would know 
the company of he.
Before he left though he gave to me
this letter for his brother Joe to read."
The sheriff handed him the letter, shook his hand and left.
Joe opened the letter and this is what it read.
"My Dear Brother Joe,
I am still alive.
Don't believe everything those newspapers write and contrive.
It's so very difficult to let you all go
but I'm starting my life anew in Old Mexico.
Please know that loving thoughts of you will always be with me.
Forever your brother,
William H Bonney"

The above is a fictional write that I did.
Sheriff Pat Garrett did kill Billy The Kid.
Joseph Antrim was Billy the Kid's brother
and both he and Sheriff Pat Garrett did encounter each other.
When Joseph was approached and asked what Garrett said to him,
Joseph would always simply respond, "He explained to me what happened."
This coming from a man who once lost in his grieving plight
swore that if he ever encountered Sheriff Pat Garrett he would unmercifully kill him on sight,
but who knows, a loud mouth coward may have been Joe,
but I prefer the above pure fictional scenario.
In any event, we'll never know.

Copyright © SillyBilly theKidster

Details | ABC | |

the dream wedding story

i remember the long pink gown.
the flower's in her hair.
she had brown wavey hair.
then there was those shiney glass slippers.
her family said she looked like cinderella with  brown hair.
she thought she heard you may kiss the bride.
then she woke up and the sound she heard was just the rain outside her window.
then she laughed and said wait im already married!

Copyright © doris lee

Details | Free verse | |

End Times

To deceive is to believe the lie

The lie that actually claims I am what I do?
To believe is to have faith yet
Faith isn't intellectualized it just is,
In the storms of life amidst the strife we stake our claim
Not to ever play the blame game
Although we must confess,
The angels almost blushed while in a rush
Just suppose?

Painted pony's with strange eskimo's'
Delightful days of getting lost in some purple haze;
The trip is on as we sing our final song
Filtered through its ellusive embrace;
In special reasons while lost in space
End times we claim the mark
The mark of the beast in sullen asps which fright in the night
Having long hanging viscous fangs that bite
We maybe living in the final days of evil

Shades of pine fallen asunder warm to lightning or was it thunder?

Copyright © Mario Vitale

Details | Free verse | |

The Individual

The Individual

One must never harden themselves by its rudimentary purpose

Goals in accomplishing trust & cooperation
Since the old days had Cain;
Let me be the first to explain,
All is shifting sand to equate its timely devisive plan

How does one equate both logic with fear

A deepened sense of inferiority & inadequacy
Interferes with the attainment of your hopes;
But self confidence leads to self realization & successful achievement
The Individual

Through an opened window lies a heavy curtain
Yet not for certain,
A true source of communication;
To look within leaves a reproach without...

The common man so often will bitch & pout

Yet for the individual,
As a high soaring eagle flys overhead through the sky;
Split please to appease in rudimentary disease...
A passing delicate stride to recapture our youth in viable regret

Yet the individual still stands proud;
The individual...
Through variation & solace;
A timely sorted bargain basement deal...

A look back at the sky toward the grand spinning wheel,

The individual,

Standing tall amidst the agony & pain lest I shall refrain a distant scorn to shame!

Copyright © Mario Vitale

Details | Couplet | |

The Fool Kid Named Benny Pence

October had now come again just like it did back since,
The gunfighter Sam Holt had shot the kid named Benny Pence.

It was on All Hallows’ night with the moon high and blood red—
When Benny came lookin’ for him before he shot him dead.

Why would a fool farm boy try to draw on that gun slinger?
When he had no chance on God’s earth if he raised a finger?

But sure enough on that night, that’s what all the town then saw—
When Benny Pence raised his gun and said the fatal word: “Draw!”

But that had been a year ago come this All Hallows’ Eve,
And Sam Holt felt a cold wind blow that made him want to leave.

The harvest moon now hung above as Sam walked down the street—
He stopped for one brief moment at the place where they did meet.

Then like a dream that voice came back that meekly called him out—
Sam’s cold, sweaty hand then trembled as he began to shout:

“Don’t call me Ben! I’ll shoot you dead, and this time I’ll make good!”
Then Sam wildly drew and fired at the pale moon where he stood.

Somewhere a hoot owl screamed and Sam’s loud shots rang out on high,
As he fired and fired again at Ben’s shadow so he’d die.

But when the gun smoke cleared and that dim vision was not there,
Sam Holt now stood just a dyin’ in the dusty street square.

There were no gunshots in Sam’s body, no marks found at all—
His hair now white, his once ruddy flesh now a deathly pall. 

Yet when the town folk buried Sam, they noticed at Boot Hill,
Two other graves marked Pence by the one they had come to fill.

Benny Pence and his brother Bud, had died a year apart—
Both shot down by Sam Holt that feared gunslinger with no heart.

And so the three now rested within gun fire of the others—
Holt now dead of fright from those two departed Pence brothers.

And so each year it happened: other slingers would meet fate—
And die of fright All Hallows’ night when the hour was late.

So now folk knew the story of that fool kid Benny Pence—
Come back to revenge his brother each All Hallows’ night since. 

Copyright © Glen Enloe

Details | Prose Poetry | |


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. 

Copyright © charles hice

Details | Prose Poetry | |


Real Name: David "Davy" Laramee 
Identity/Class: Normal human 
Occupation: Captain in the Texas Rangers 
Enemies: Sherriff 
Known Relatives: None 
Aliases: None 
Base of Operations: Texas, c.1830s 
The Whiskey made the Kidd fighting mad and he swore he would gun the Sherriff 
And then a funny thing began to happen to the Kidd he frowned for at that 
moment when the Sheriff neared to him the wind began to howl and all along the 
watchtower for a mile or more the people howled like Indians always do. Then 
the lightening came out of a clear blue sky and split the tree in two making the 
Sheriff cry and holler and dance on one foot like fat people always do. The Kidd 
tossed both his guns into the dust at the Sherriff's feet. Eye am threw he said 
with yew. The whiskey may have addled him is what the Sherriff always thought 
but the Kidd knew that it was a sign from his Lord the GOD the JESUS up above. 

Copyright © charles hice

Details | Free verse | |



My Brother 
as you are 
I am half-dead 
Blind in one eye I can`t see out of the other 
I must not hate my brother 
but how can i love you 
as you are 
beating me on my face 
leaving no trace of love 
as you erase me 
as you are 
smiling death heads grin 
enjoying your power 
life over life 
life over death 
leather gloves tatooeing 
enjoying.......these words 
should never be linked to fighting 
what a monster 

Copyright © charles hice

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The Brothers Shirt

 The Brothers Shirt     
Author Message 

Age : 53
Joined : 13 Jun 2007
Posts : 590

 Subject: The Brothers Shirt   Today at 10:38      

The Brothers Shirt 
The Brothers Shirt 

Long sleeve wool with working buttons clean not a mustard stain on it multi-
colored autumn hue lines not squares working buttons everywhere He said 
[without looking directly at it] “what what is it?” 
Just like a brother would no want is needed. Eye reported “is this yours?” Yes he 
said “what is it?” Eye did not wait for more certain that he was a lie become. He 
finally said “OH that is a jacket but eye already had it in my hand, convinced now 
the thing was not his at all. 
He said it does not fit me well it is too small for me you may have it my little man. 
And eye recall his every word and gesture sure now deep inside of me he never 
had the shirt at all. Now eye am not a thief the shirt is on my back and justice has 
prevailed the rain will make it smell. We both were incorrected. But eye at least 
am not in need of jails correctness. The shirt will look so fine in places that eye 
visit in my mind. The Brother eye am sure he smells in his tee shirt divine. 
 The Brothers Shirt 

Copyright © charles hice