rolled Durham smoke

Written by: Giorgio A. V.

rolled Durham smoke

It stayed with me, my bequest's constrain;
the ghostly harbor - my sixth sense,
I knew the mowing death sequence,
- this notion haunted me again.

Had sent the mail - my filed advice -
the ghosts of gunmen who have died,
upon the moors they stood with pride,
- the Rider asked his deathly price.

In air he thumped, his rhythmic waves;
demanding cruel his death tolls;
in town the women wore black stoles,
the 'killed in duel' dwell in graves;

The Rider hummed - our vessel moored
inside this port on Nueces' edge,
much red was shed on cypress sedge
- my instincts sharpened and inured.

Tall stood he on the wharf - I knew
the wind whipped ropes upon the mast,
- we drew the guns; he lifted fast;
my two guns bucked debt-law to ensue.

I felt the slug - he moved across,
already a ghost, on moors he stood;
I tasted blood - got up - I should,
with red drops staining grass and moss.

( I saw her standing on the field
amid red poppies and tall trees,
her thought became my holy shield,
bestowed, thenceforth, her grace in breeze.

She spread her arms and called me eft,
above the clouds to Astral Halls
athwart stood gunman - fast and deft
in Tombstone, Mobile and Sioux Falls.)

I rolled and lit a Durham smoke
with children watching me round-eyed;
that March, (I thought), a gunman died,
I heard bells' knell and two crows croak.

©  07-18-2013?3 G. Venetopoulos, All rights reserved
(Iambic tetrameter)

(I do not smoke)