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Long Cowboy Poems | Long Cowboy Poetry

Long Cowboy Poems. Below are the most popular long Cowboy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cowboy poems by poem length and keyword.

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Long Poems
Long poem by Steven Medellin | Details |

The Whiskey Bottle Wish


The Whiskey Bottle Wish

 	One late summer night outside a saloon in the mid-west, an intoxicated Dusty Rogers, stumbles out of the Bar nearly taking one of the revolving doors with him. As he flutters on out, he catches his fall on the walkway hand railing in front of him. Focusing his sight with a loose grip holding the railing, the other hand has tighter grip on a bottle of Whiskey. Hesitantly letting go of the rail he musters up enough hand eye coordination to fix his hat and pull up his pants. As the drunken man walks down the strip of a quiet town... A quiet town after all the rooms in the bathos are vacant, when all the liquor has run dry from every bottle, far after all the lead and gun powder filled the air ... It's then a quiet town. An hour walking and countless chugs of sweet, sweet whiskey; the drunken Rogers, has been taking over with the urge to piss. He sees a hallucination of a building up ahead about ten feet away. He pulls up, face nearly inches from what he thinks to be the wall of the building, but is in fact a towering cliff side standing over fifty feet staring down on him. He starts to piss on the cliff side soaking his pants and boots. He places the bottle down with his left hand as his right hand is stretched out flat on the wall holding himself up. He's leaning forward so much it appears as if he were holding up the mountain. He begins to mumble.

“You drunk. You will always be a drunk... That's all they ever spoked about me. But, why? How did this... How did any of this happen?” His right hand slips and his face crashes into the jagged cliff side in front of him. He groans in agonizing pain while he is lies in his urine. Bludgeon face he shouts up at the stars. 
“Damn you! You tooken everything from me. You left me all alone! Why didn't you take me too! Am I not good enough for death...? I do anything to feel the blaze envelop me. Like they so did... “Wiping his tears he whispers. “You should have tooked me with them. I should have burned on that train with my family... That was my destiny instead I bare the mark of Cain." looking up at the sky as if expecting an answer. “Just sit up their laughing as you strip everything from my hands and fill this void with this damned bottle."
 As he continues to wipe the tears off his face, he gets to his feet zipping up his pants and is about start to walk along the mountain side. In his peripheral he's sees the shimmer behind him. Turning around he Picks up the bottle of whiskey and stops to eye ball the remaining two or three gulps. Looking at the bottle and he starts to rub the side as if where a lamp. “I wish to see my family" holding back the tears forming in the corner of his eyes. "You took everything from me so in return, I'll take all of you!"
 He takes a swig and starts walking along side of the cliff shouting obscenities. In his anguish he stumbles and trips upon a metal beam railing falling flat on his face. Instead of picking himself up, he reaches for the whiskey and goes to take an even bigger hit from the bottle. Franticly shaking the bottle to get out every drop out he chucks the empty bottle in the air. The bottle never breaking hits the ground skipping and flipping along the gravel. Below his feet wooden planks placed about a foot apart from one another lay in a row. Running up the side, adjacent to the planks, runs a solid steel beam. The drunk has no idea he has stumbled onto train tracks leading into a tunnel right through the mountain. He thinks he is walking down a hand railed stairwell leading to a basement. He walks on the tracks towards a tunnel, he loses his balance and reaches for non-existing handrails but the rails are too low to grab so he trips over a plank of wood and falls on his face once more.

“What...What kind of crap is this?" he cries as he lays out on the floor half conscious. Suddenly he starts to laugh the intensity grew as he was trying to get to his feet. He only manages to sit up facing the blackened tunnel ceiling as if it was a starless night sky. “What are you waiting for? Stop toying with me. If you want then come take me. I'm here..." a loud whistling sound comes charging through the tunnel growing louder each passing second. With a shaky voice and a sense of uncertainty he asks.
“Trumpets? Is that roar trumpets I hear? Is that you?" as the ground starts to tremble the sound grows immensely; numbing all senses. Then, a bright light comes ripping through the darkness like a bullet through midair. The light striking his glossy eyes blinds him. The ground rumbles violently as the whistling sound becomes deafening. He chuckles and spreads his arms wide open and says “You finally answered my prayers." he closes his eyes, and black was the last thing he saw.


Long poem by Vee Bdosa | Details |

THE SERB DOG

            The Serb Dog by Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
     There was a bunch of soldiers standing around watching
a house burn and somebody said "Was that somebody screaming,
did you hear somebody scream?" 
     "Shut up idiot," said the lieutenant. "You don't want
the Serbs to have anything when they get here do you?" He
was from Dodge City and some of the other guys called him
Cowboy. Most of them had joined the unit in Naples and this
was their first assignment in what used to be Yugoslavia.
Now it was Hell.
     They could hear faint gunshots coming from over the
hill and everyone knew time was running out. Around the
corner a bunch of people was being herded out of town but
not everyone wanted to leave. They could hear some of the
older peoples voices pleading not to be put on a bus, but
nobody knew what else to do. The children only cried and
some of the soldiers tried not to think about the children
crying. Finally they heard the bus door slam shut and the
sound of the engine as it roared into movement then
gradually the sound disappeared behind the distant gunfire.
     "I heard they signed today," said one of the soldiers.
"Did you hear,
lieutenant, about them signing a ceasefire?"
     "Let them sign," replied the lieutenant "I will sign,
too. Torch that house over there. Who cares about another
cease fire?"
     "Why didn't you join the Croats, Cowboy? What ever made
a nicefellow like you sign on with us cut throats?" Everybody
snickered but Cowboy got over being irritated by their
remarks the first week. 
     "They didn't offer enough money," he snapped.
     Suddenly a dog came running down the road and one of the
soldiers said "Get that damned dog!" Everybody started
shooting at the same time and the dog started running and
jumping and yapping all at the same time then disappeared
behind a house. 
     "That's one lucky dog!" somebody said. 
     A captain came running up and said "Why were you guys
shooting at that dog?" 
     One of the soldeirs said "It was a Serb dog." Somebody
else said "It was in heat!" 
     "Well don't shoot no more dogs," said the captain.
Then the dog stuck its head out and a shot came from across
the road, shattering the stone building right next to the
dogs head. The dog let out a yelp and started running down
the road, away from the soldiers. 
      "Look at that dog run!" shouted the captain. "Don't
anybody shoot! I like that dog! Run Dog! Run Dog! Don't
let them shoot you!"
      Just then a volley of gunfire echoed from behind
the buldings and bullets could be seen hitting the ground
all around the running dog, then some bullets struck the
dog and it fell over without a sound. Some other soldiers
came around from behind the buildings across the street
from where the dog had been and they were laughing.
     "That was my dog!" yelled the captain to the other
soldiers.
     "That was your dog?" asked one of the men.
     "Yes, I said so!" repled the captain. "Didn't I just
tell you it was my dog?"
     "You just killed our dog!" snapped the lieutenant. 
     "We thought it was a Serb dog," the soldier said. "How
could we tell it was your dog?"
      "Well, you be careful about shooting dogs from now
on!" snapped the lieutenant. "Good dogs are hard to find
around here."
      "That dog was rabid!" laughed one of the soldiers
who shot the dog.
      "That dog was in heat!" laughed a soldier in the
first group.
      "That dog is dead!" said another guy. Everybody
started laughing.
      "Get back to torching those houses," said the
captain. 
      Suddenly they heard the dog yelping and when they
looked down the road they saw it running again. Everybody
started screaming and shooting at once and the dog
disappeared into a bunch of bushes just as some bullets hit
the dirt all around it.
      "That's the luckiest damned dog I ever saw!" said
the captain.
      "Guess it wasn't a Serb dog after all," laughed
the lieutenant.
      "Guess not," said a soldier. "No Serb dog could be
that lucky."
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet


Long poem by Kim Morrison | Details |

From Pretty Pink Bows To Baby Bassinets

                             From Pretty Pink Bows To Baby Bassinets  


              Well little girl you are in high water now and the sand is moving swiftly under your feet. You never expected to get pregnant at fifteen and now you are scared, confused, heartbroken, and you are lashing out at everybody because you do not know who to trust at this point in time. You do not know if even those closest to you are offering you wise words of advice, deliberate words of coercion, or self-serving suggestions. Unfortunately, not even the most well intentioned person can answer the intensely personal questions that are in front of you now, but that will not stop them from trying because even the most intelligent people in your life are often too arrogant in their own beliefs to realize that attempting to answer these kinds of questions for you is kind of like a cowboy trying to rope the wind. However, many will still try because they care about you in some way and many out of concern for you will think they have all your best interests at heart. Yes little girl there is a world of folks out there just chock full of good and bad intentions, yet few understand that the road to perdition can be paved just as well with either. You never intended to get pregnant, but you did just the same and now you are at a crossroad in your young life that even adult women have a hard time dealing with. However, despite your tender age, you are going to have to wipe the tears from your big beautiful blue eyes, find some big girl panties to put on, and sit down and render your first real adult decision on an issue that will alter the very course of your life and the lives of others, no matter what you decide. 
                Stop saying to yourself why me, why now because it is you and it is now. Stop thinking that you are too young to make this decision because you thought you were old enough to make the decision that put you into this situation begin with and now you have to deal with the consequences of that choice. Stop wondering what to do and thinking that your prince charming is going to walk back in your life and make this decision easier for you because he is just as worried, scared and confused as you are right now, so chances are real good that there will be no glass slipper in your story Cinderella. You can wish and hope all you want for the fairytale solution to appear in one hand, but it is all but certain that the other hand is going to get full first and you are not going to like the aroma. Some would say that you are a little girl making an adult decision, but the reality is you tossed away the little girl card the moment a real baby with real needs appeared in your dollhouse. No sweetie you are a big girl now whether you like it or not or you are ready for it or not and the situation you are dealing with is as real and emotional as it gets. Do not be over whelmed by all the advice people have offered you, but consider it all when you make your decision and pay no attention to the religious nonsense some folks like to spew because it is designed more to make you feel guilty or to scare you than to help you. The people around you, like it or not, are going to have to support your decision because it is yours to make and yours alone. Nobody can hold your hand on this one because regardless of what others might think, right or wrong, you are the one that is going to have to live with the decision you make here. This is a solitary walk on the beach moment for you and during that walk you are going to have to explore not just what is rattling around in your head, but what is down deep in your little heart because the best decisions you will ever make in your life or for your life must always come from both. One of life’s most challenging tasks is constantly trying to find the harmony between one’s head and one’s heart. Blessed are those rare few times one can turn the chaos and discordance of life into a beautiful symphony.                        


Long poem by Roy Jerden | Details |

Keep It Turnin' to the Right

Oklahoma cowboy, tough coal miner’s son
Born in Henryetta, south of Tulsa some
Raised by daddy’s momma, taught him wrong from right
Daddy taught him ropin’, taught him how to fight
 
Herding made no money, its stock was really down
Mamaw feeling poorly, dad mining at Old Town
Seventeenth of December, in the year of twenty-nine
Dad was shoring timber, 9th west entry of the mine
 
The gas ignited close to him, he never smelt its breath
It belched fire and thunder, and everlasting death
Sixty-one they counted, who wouldn’t see the sun
Twenty-five weren't recognized, they buried them as one
 
On that fatal Tuesday, the boy became a man
Had to make a living, had to have a plan
Heard about the oil patch, got a chance to try it
Drill the earth for all she’s worth; just keep it turnin' to the right

Some they called him weevil, some they called him worm
Some they wouldn't speak to him, figgered he was just short term
They told him "Open up that vee door; go to get the key
It's in the possum belly, in doghouse number three"

Took his turns at floor hand, at first a little green
Became the fastest broke out hand the driller ever seen
Morning tour, evening tour, working day and night
Drilled the earth for all she's worth, kept it turnin' to the right

The driller called him partner; the pusher called him son
The other roughnecks shook his hand, and took him in as one
Got up on the monkeyboard; learned to spin the chain
Pumped that mud and shed his blood, and worked right through the pain

On a bitter frosty evening tour, in a cold December snow
He saw derricks lit like Christmas trees in the distance far below
He saw the fairyland of the refinery, shining through the night
He saw Mother Earth and the universe, all turning to the right

The oil patch was a hard life, moving all the time
But he saved a lot of money, didn't waste a dime
Morning tour, evening tour, working day and night
Drilled the earth for all she's worth, kept it turnin' to the right

Sent his kids to college, working through the years
One became a teacher, the others engineers
He hung up his hardhat; he shed his steel-toed shoes
Then one day he passed away; he'd finally paid his dues

Made it to the Pearly Gates; they handed him his wings
Handed 'em right back to them; said "I don't need these things.
I want to do some drilling. That's my heavenly plan."
They said "Go talk to the Devil then, cause he's the company man."

Old Scratch needed hellfire; he always come up short
Too many politicians and others of that sort
When he heard they had a driller, he jumped up with delight
He danced a jig, "You've got your rig. Keep it turnin' to the right."

Now he drills for hellfire; in the derrick he's got Jake
Buck and Sam on the platform; Sonny's on the brake
They all grin like demons; they're all where they belong
Doing what they love to do, they sing their roughneck song

"We all eat caliche and drink the devil's brew
Play dominos with Satan and skunk him at forty-two
Work all day on Sunday and honky-tonk all night
We're oilfield trash and we'll take cash to keep it turnin' to the right

We all love West Texas; it's like the Promised Land
Horny toads and rocky roads, and even dunes of sand
Dust storms every morning, northers every night
We get tans and freeze our cans to keep it turnin' to the right"

The lingo used around the rig you won't hear much in church
It'll curl your hair and make you stare and leave you in the lurch
So close your eyes and realize it's gonna get much worse
Drink your beers and plug your ears; here comes the final verse

"We p*ss longneck Lone Stars; we f*rt Frito pie
Give us ****, and we will spit some Red Man in your eye
Don't **** with us, or we will cuss and bring you to the fight
We're low class, but we kick *** to keep it turning to the right"

8/10/2012
Coal mining, oil drilling and Hell - Doesn't get much darker and deeper...


Long poem by Maurice Yvonne | Details |

For One Pass Of Your Breath


you write your words and they make me cry you write those word and you know i die but i've died so often now i held you in my arms while you smelled my hair i saw that pretty little smile you saved for me we always ran  too wild to walk it takes two to tango only one to pirouette when you did your round about turned over every single  leaf left me out alone in the dead of spring or  was it winter,  it must of been 'cause i know i almost froze you kissed me back when we first met we kissed a lot way back then how you loved my lips the touch of my skin your thick black mane  how you'd whip it back exposing yourself all bare we never turned off the lights or ever said hush do you still own those dice the ones in gold with embedded gems in black you use to love to roll them  rolled those snake eyes that bit i'd swallow the poison like lemonade stripped naked, handcuffed and whipped your ceramic nails tearing at me my flesh on them  the blood on my back i didn't know   wore my white shirt 'till someone screamed from behind it was red i dripped on the floor like a lit candle melted like a witch drenched in Dorothy's water you clicked your ruby heels and you were gone i wasn't in Kansas anymore walked around with a briefcase  in my Armani suit i never shed a tear bedded woman half my age they lined up in droves  to be with this broken man i would yell like a cowboy riding a bucking bronco and i never fell i was the man  everybody told me so i would smile shyly   thank them their praise but i knew who i was make no mistake every rodeo has its clowns  I wasn't the matador even though I spoke fluent bull the only knifes i carried were in my back do you remember my white shirt the whole time i justified me to me by not thinking by not talking by not listening by not wishing  or even dreaming we both knew there was a gun in my briefcase we both knew I would never use it didn't own any bullets still i pulled the trigger some joy in that  pointed to my head click, nothing  and when I saw you yesterday and I held my breath for longer then I ever had i thought the room would never stop spinning i remember we spoke how i saw it in yours eyes as plain as day regret you knew of my success how fine i looked in my silk woven garb you said drinks? but i looked at my watch asked for a raincheck you'd have none of it and i think your teeth fell out when i walked          anyways I didn't understand your look you knew i had a backbone you know i never flinch that's the story of life take it when you got it with some guys there are no be backs my legs were like led as i walked away and i could hear your tears but i don't care much for phonies you threw it all away when you decided  to look the other way it broke me inside i'd never be the same i never turned to look  yesterday slept the same as always four hours tops nothings changed i'd give my right arm for one pass of your breath  against my lips but my soul? never!...i'll live with the pain. and other man stare and other man wish quietly yearning to be me you know i want to laugh success is like a flashy book cover the cover is what sells the book nobody bothers to read it but they know the jacket by heart set up a turnstile in my house watch the ladies come and go never let them get close never invite the nice ones the good ones the real ones never want to hurt anyone never want them to hurt like me to hurt like me hurt like me like me me? i'd give my right arm for one pass of your breath  against my lips... Maurice Yvonne 27~10~2014 Dadirector's Free Style Uncut
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Long poem by Tobias Musyoka | Details |

MY BEAUTIFUL FRIEND

My beautiful friend
Hey. You daughter of beautiful Zion
Brighter than the city of Jerusalem
Yet I find no pleasure i you
O daughter of Jerusalem
Beautiful than the summer stars

Through the tender nights ahead
Illuminated with candles of life and laughter
Precious memories reserved in deep within
Where the greatest treasures dwell
The purest of all darkest places

And the adventure of finding the oracles
Believed to shine deep in the seas
Far in the islands of hope
Where the current and storms roars so loud
And ruthless because they rule
Wow. Have seen her walk like a gazelle
Down the stairs her stare appealing
Long hair tail brushing her shoulders
A sweet glance but bitter experience
O daughter of Jerusalem

Oh. The view of her sleep
Is the utmost morning by the ocean
Her full lips are saccharine blended
Have seen a great treasure hidden beneath ego
Slyness in her priceless exquisite iris
Mmmh. My hands have exploited her heart
All over from the outside
The lovely taste of the beautiful ovals
But she is a deceiving cunning beauty
You daughter of beautiful Zion

Pride. Something have never fathomed
For it resides where only gods know
All in the name of finding the truth
Mostly hurting to the core of my humanity
Wails of lies decorating my trust
Yet I don’t learn because I treasure my friendship
Hoping one day someone will
For promises are oaths we not break
I live this life because of people like you
O daughter of Jerusalem

Lies. You jab my heart with a hot piercing needle
The pain so much I can’t bear
To you is only a good joke
To me is another worse day
Worse because I trust you with my life!
But what I got in return was the middle finger
Rising up to the heavens
I don’t know why
My beloved friends always hurt me most
I don’t know why
I never let them go
Help me understand why, my beautiful friend 
Know I will treasure our friendship no matter what


From there above all mankind
Far in the heavens of no return
Where beings pay homage to he supreme
The creator of the universe and stars
The potter of our form and thoughts
He stood
Knowing not of his lonely venture
In finding the astray mortality and truth
His heart thirsty of knowledge
He believes in writing he can beat the gods
And uncover their vow of silence and secrecy
O daughter of Jerusalem

Smiling they force their way
Through the labyrinths greened path
Dew and leaves brushing their heads
For mortality is more vital
Oh. The oceans that’s are very far
Full of killer animals and breads
Full of dangerous thoughts and bliss
Full of mendacious tongues and eyes
Full of full moon and smiles of hope
The simple symmetric opposite of oneness
The unshakable law of the universe
O daughter of Jerusalem

How could I forget?
A cowboy never forgets his boots
Horses he can always find in the desert
Boots only in certain stores
O how could I possibly forget?
My position is so well painted
In the darkest of all inks that even blind can see
You daughter of beautiful Zion
With your fathoming tales of war
Yet I can find the words for you
Because I tread in the rough terrains
Covered with mud
And venomous snakes
But after every bite I smile
For am following my way
You daughter of beautiful Zion

Why do people lie?
To those be worthy of truth
Why do people hold to lies?
When the ropes are too short
Their eyes so beautiful when they do so
For they hold the key to your next move
I will never like lies
In this life or the next
Truth hurts less than lies
For I don’t know who to trust anymore
My beautiful friend


Long poem by Stephen Kilmer | Details |

Reflections of Cold Wars

Dad is that you?    What are you doing there in the mirror?

I am trying to shave and I don’t need any help.

Do they shave in heaven or is it just cribbage and puzzles?

Do you like it there? 

 Does it matter?

Yes of course it does.
  
As long as you feel better that’s all that matters.

*
Inside the monkey smiles and knows you want it to be better you don’t to have to sweat it. The guilt would kill you. After everything he did for you…….. Shutting down your dreams of college and trying to force you into the military . Making sure you never had enough money to get out of the hood and for Christ’s sake take care of your sister’s virginity. I survived only to look and be just like him.
*
And now what are you going to do? Dig the same hole. To late some asshole out on the peninsula has already started. He claims it cures cancer. All I know it that he stands in it for hours without moving and chants some mumbo jumbo. Too many years in special ops with the Air Cav can cause that to happen to a man. Hot LZ’s and medevac’s can make a man plum crazy- the things he sees.
*
They are everywhere and nowhere. Kill them all and let God sort them out was my mantra. If it can’t shoot and it ain’t breathing then it can’t hurt me. Stay low and keep moving cause if you stand still you become a target and if you get hit you become as statistic on a chart going round the world while they zip you up in body bag. And for what the CBS evening news with Dan Rather? Was it worth it; is it ever worth it to save freedom? What are we saving it from? Common belief would have us think that within every gook there was an American dying to get out. That ain’t the truth. For every gook there was a man and wife and a family and at the least they wanted peace. The question is who didn’t want peace? Was it the war machine in America? The Soviets do not want Americas to have a foothold in their territory. Is the domino theory still in effect or are there men that just never forget? I think when it comes to safety money wins out every time.
*
Wars leave people lonely; waiting and wondering what happened to the people they love. Some times they find each other and share the pure joy that only a human can fathom. Other times it never comes when we are left to wonder why we lost someone in the first World War. He was young and full of spirit. The old men egged him on trying to remember if they were peeling potatoes or sitting in a forward area shooting at Germans.
*
The cicada’s are out tonight and they are busting my balls. I can’t get that noise out of my head. I saw my head Doc today and they did an CAT scan but from preliminary sources it appears to be A OK. I don’t care what they say I still hear the Cicada’s and they aren’t waiting around for the next 17-year cycle. They are here now and they are in my head. No amount of drugs or alcohol seems to be able to drive them away. My Doctor chalks it up to my rock-roll-days and basically says that I am all but screwed and will never get better. I guess he's betting the odds that I will be dead before they find a fix. I am good with that. I am always up for a good wager. One day he will hear the choppers. And as old Willie Nelson once said, “There’s more old drunk’s than there are all doctors so I guess I will have another beer.” But if this buzzing doesn’t stop there’s going to be a momma with one less cowboy to have to have worry about. War kills people in the strangest and most mysterious ways.


Long poem by Briana Lynn Minard-Adler | Details |

Armin Babic

I cannot believe that I used to have a crush on you,
You are cold, heartless, and MEAN!
I never talked about you, never did anything to you,
I never deserved that, you had no need to be so mean.
You stooped so low, never had I seen someone do that,
People told me you were like this, I just didn't believe them.
I didn't believe her when she said you were a womanizer,
Didn't believe you were a Cowboy Casanova, well you showed me,
And never will I do that again, you made me believe,
Believe her, snf you made me believe you liked me, you led me,
Led me on, and then you were like, "I don't like you."
Well guess what I didn't care then, and I sure don't care now,
Cause I loved my hubby all along,
Love him more than anyone and anything, I love him and only him!
I cannot believe I used to have a crush on someone like you,
I swear you are the spawn of Satan himself,
And I feel sorry for girls who date you or fall in love with you,
I do, because all you do is play them like a game.
I don't hate you, but I don't like you like that anymore.
You led me to believe you liked me, and then you said it was all a joke,
Yeah well you were a joke.
You were a pill, I was willing to take,
I am glad I didn't take you,
You are an unmistakeable , unidentified drug.
I am a good-bad girl, I can tell a bad boy,
But even I didn't see this, didn't see that you like this,
The boy with beautiful brown eyes,
Are now dull, no longer do they shine,
That brown hair, that I loved, is now just a memory,
The boy born on February 18th,
The one that I thought was perfect,
God what the hell was I thinking??
Don't ask if I'm alright,
I don't have the answer,
But if you ask me if I want to hurt you badly, I will say,
Say yes without hesitation.
You have no idea how bad I want to hurt you,
But then again I don't.
Half of me hates you,
The other half can't bear to see you,
The game you played on me,
It was cleaver, but it was also cruel and hurtful!
I want to hurt you like you hurt me, but I could never that mean.
I could be as mean as you,
The person who doesn't know how much what he does hurts people,
I bet you don't care either,
Because that's just the kind of person you are.
They tried to warn me, those two girls, M&H,
But I didn't listen to them.
I didn't listen to them, because I am not the kind of person,
The kind of person, to believe what other people say, without,
Without knowing about you, getting to know what you're like, 
Until you do that to me.
Until I learn on my own, that's the kinda person I am,
I take the time to figure people out, instead of judging them,
Judging them by how they look like, and what people say,
That's the kinda person I am, I am a strong Redneck Woman.
And I will never change who I am, change myself for anyone,
I will not change for anyone.
If you don't like me for myself, then you don't deserve my time, or my words, 
Or my anything.
This is officially the end of me and my poem, 
Goodbye.

					Always~N~Forever,
					       Briana
						Lynn
						Palmer


Long poem by Roy Jerden | Details |

Call Me Tex

When I was just a teenage lad, and growing up out West
I never wore a cowboy hat or fancy leather vest
Never put on cowboy boots or western shirts with snaps
Never wore tooled leather belts, much less a pair of chaps

To be in style the Ivy League was what one wore to school
A skinny tie and button-down was how you dressed up cool
We wore Weejun penny loafers and tapered chino slacks
The boys all sported flattops, kept up straight with wax

Rock and roll and sock hops, my dance was then the twist
Cotton-eyed Joe and two-step didn't even make the list
Good ol' Willie Nelson could hardly make a sound
'Cause the King and Frank Sinatra were the coolest guys around

But when I joined the service, and moved outside the state
It didn't matter where I went or if I spoke my name out straight
For a while I thought I had some kind of omnipresent hex
'Cause anywhere outside Texas, they'd always call me Tex
 
When I said over yonder, they'd all say “Over... Where?”
When I talked about a horny toad, I'd get a funny stare
It didn't matter if my name was Buck or Roy or Rex
'Cause anywhere outside Texas, they'd always call me Tex

When they shipped me overseas, I thought that I would die
Couldn't get a Dr. Pepper there, or any Frito pie
When I wanted longneck Lone Stars, all they had was Beck's
And all those Europeans would always call me Tex
 
Any label kind of burned me, so right then I made the call
I'd learn to talk just like those guys, to hide my Texas drawl
I practiced on my diction, with elocution persevered
And soon the sideways looks and grins had finally disappeared

I traveled all around the world, got married overseas
Learned myself a few more tongues and got a few degrees
Now if I talk to British lords or English-speaking Czechs
When I masticate the lingo, they never call me Tex

Finally made it home one day, after way too many years
Came back to salute old pals and maybe share some beers
I wondered how the touch of time had treated all those lads
To my surprise, those preppy guys had all turned into their dads

Each one wore a cowboy hat and dandy leather vest
Some sported a bandana, some with bola ties were dressed
Some shod those M.L. Leddy boots with fancy pull-on straps
Each had a set of bootcut jeans and western shirts with snaps

Something then came over me, something that felt right
I heard my voice inside me say "Well boys, ain't y'all a sight!”
That educated accent that I'd worked so hard to gain
Had evaporated quicker than a light West Texas rain

I guess that you can travel, and learn lots of fancy stuff
But with friends who knew you when, there's no way that you can bluff
They might be polite with you, and humor you no doubt 
But you're better off to cut it loose and let it all hang out

They all let out a holler, yelling “Waitress bring the checks!
Give 'em to that ugly hombre yonder with the handle Tex.”
Now if I were any other place, I'd likely wring their necks
But when I'm home in Texas, then you can call me Tex


Long poem by andrew delapruch | Details |

the last of the funerals

“the last of the funerals”

today “the last of the funerals”
takes place &
the killings in CT get placed on the
shelf,
alongside the deaths at Columbine,
Virginia Tech...

those were the “big ones” right?

well, now, Aurora was a “big one,” right?
but it didn’t happen in a school, hmmm…but
12 died & 59 were injured---
still, everybody can attribute that to the
fact that the kid had orange hair, liked the
Joker & since he did it at the opening of a film,
it made the whole bloodbath almost cinematic
for those in the nation who didn’t die there
or weren’t affected personally by the dead &
injured, right?

sure seemed like a dvd extra to the new
Batman film, the way the media flashed his
picture in that courtroom over & over & over
& over & over & over & over & over,
every hour on the hour.
 
still, isn’t it true that 3 kids were killed
on 2/27/12 at Chardon High School in Ohio
when Thomas Lane blew them away?
(but he was caught & he only used a 
.22 in doing so, in some rural town…so it
must not have been dramatic enough? 
yeah,
he must not have packed enough hardware.)
&
what about One L. Goh’s killing of 7 
in April at Oikos University in Cali,
where he shot nursing students 
“execution style” up against a wall?
(but he was 43 years old & ended up
surrendering later at a Safeway, having
used a .45 semi-auto handgun, so…
still must not have been dramatic 
enough?  he was 43, over the hill, definitely
not sexy enough.)

do you remember hearing about those?
were those killings media-buzz-clip-newsworthy?
&
how about the killings on 2/22/12
in Norcross, Georgia (5 dead), or 
2/26/12 in Jackson, Tenn. (1 dead, 20 inj.),
or 3/8/12 in Pittsburgh, Penn. (2 dead, 7 inj.).
or 3/31/12 in North Miami, FL (2 dead, 12 inj.),
or 4/6/12 in Tulsa, OK (3 dead, 2 inj.), or 
5/29/12 in Seattle, WA (5 dead), or 7/9/12
in Wilmington, DE (3 dead), or 8/5/12 in 
Milwaukee, WI (6 dead), or 8/14/12 in Texas
near A&M (3 dead), or 9/27/12 in Minn., MN 
(5 dead, 3 inj.), or 10/21/12 in Brookfield, WI
(3 dead, 4 inj.), or 12/11/12 in Portland, OR
(2 dead)?

hmmm…maybe the body count wasn’t big enough
to catch the eye of the six o’clock & the 
eleven o’clock as well?  

SO, AMERICA, DO YOU THINK MORE GUNS
IS THE ANSWER?
(think this will be “the last of the funerals?”)
SO, AMERICA, DO YOU THINK “GOOD GUYS 
WITH GUNS IS THE ANSWER?
(just who exactly are the “good guys?”)

blame it on video games.
blame it on music videos.
blame it on horror movies.

right, mr. NRA? mr. cowboy-gotta-hard-on-whenever-there’s-
a-pistol-around?

just like those who see the 
increasing tropical storms &
increasing mass drought &
then say there is no such thing as global warming,
this america watches the wave of violence growing within
the belly of its empire &
then says that there is nothing wrong with the increasing
tension, stress, oppression & struggle,
brought on by the preference of profit over people,
giving rise to it all.


Long Poems