I was minding my business, taking my time,
Ridin’ Ol’ Bess from the West Miller Mine
When all of a sudden, (weren’t nothing’ I did)
Bess started buckin’ and she hit the skids!
I was pitched off her back like a sack of no worth
To land near the meanest dang rattler on earth!
His tounge was a-flickin’, tasting the air,
His eyes clouded over, like a blind man’s that pair.
He was longer than Bess with a full twelve-inch girth,
My mettle dissolved to a pitiful dearth.
His head raised up proud, his tail even prouder
And that buzz just kept getting louder and louder!
His mien was aggressive and I was a wreck
So I pulled out my shooter and aimed for the neck!
Now I hate killing creatures; God’s watchin’ and all,
But he had my number and was dialin’ the call.
His head is still there, by the side of the trail
But I took the rest home, even that tail!
His meat fed me supper, yep, top o’ the line.
His hide and those rattles? A hat-band so fine!
Copyright © Dean Wood | Year Posted 2017
Oh what have you done to me,
A city built in the name of Christ.
When an earthquake struck,
Destroying all my pretty clothing
And shaking the flesh off all my bones.
Leaving only my skeletal frame ,
Half submerged in sewerage raw
And liquefaction adding to my woes,
Threatening to make me completely disappear.
No one with water to spare as I began to choke
On air now so foul.
When you felt safe to come out and see my plight,
You drew lots for my last vestments of dignity,
Before inviting others in to help you pick over my bones.
You even looked the other way when the Vultures started gathering.
You filled my streets with low life's and vermin knee deep.
And patched my broken bones with cheap plaster.
Watching as those who yet stood by me grew weak,
Bled dry by insurance companies and their red tape, con artists,
And Cowboys posing as builders,
Supplied by rip-off merchants of every description,
All overseen by government official with no idea what to do,
Except find ways to spend their money unwisely.
You raised $50 million dollars to build a playground
For children without proper homes and not enough food to eat.
Another ten or so million was found to build a marble wall
In memory of of those who fell beside me as the earthquake struck.
Do you think that will give them eternal rest.
No future do I see worth having here,
Can you not just let me sleep,
So Christ can rebuild his beloved garden city,
Away from this foul swamp,
Filled with indifference and despair,
That the rest of the country has left to rot.
Copyright © David Smith | Year Posted 2016
I'm Your Only Sacrifice
You have me live up to your expectation and provide even more,could this be your own private game?
You call me mean,but I can't be nice when there's nothing nice in front of me.
You call me cold,but I can't be warm when the world iced over.
You call me sad,but I can't be happy when all there's is sadness in your own eye's.
You call me jaded,but I ca't reconnect to emotion that died in me upon your very wish.
You tell me over and over to smile,but what the point if I long forgot to smile.
You tell me over and over to be happy,but isn't the point to be thankful to be alive and live the life given to you.
You tell me over and over release those emotion and let other in,but I've seen the broken spirit of letting other near without a thought of the trouble.
You tell me over and over to be less distance and away from the warmth,but all that matter's is that what taken care of is done.
You tell me over and over to not grieve,but who are you to say such words when your the one grieving the most.
Though these be my own childish whim's,I refuse to let my wounds have salt poured into them and you look over me while they burn and slowly disappear.
I want to let go but for all that it worth these weren't your dreams for me,to build that break wall not only to other's but toward you as well.
I will hold your hand even while you cry,I'll hold on until i can't.For you see I am your backbone your my light the reason for my jaded heart.
This is my own sacrifice,I chose this one for myself and not one given to me.
In ever little thing this is m only true fear.I will lose myself in the end.So call me what you want for it nothing more superficial scandal,That I have no need to control no more even if I be your only Sacrifice
Copyright © Marcedies Rhodes | Year Posted 2012
Two cowboys hungry and exhausted
weren't ready to challenge the canyons ahead;
one complained, " We need water! " The other yelled,
" We must be vigilant and alert,
we need sleep! " Indians are treacherous and wild! "
They wait for us towards sunset! "
" I agree," The one with ginger hair streaked with some gray
said. " It's unwise to ride in the dark! "
And reaching for their bags, they exchanged, " Goodnight "
and laying on large blankets, they snored away.
" John, wake up! I hear noises! " Billy whispered
with trembling in his young voice,
but He replied," A cowboy shouldn't be afraid
of anything but of those crazy Sioux with painted, red faces! "
" There are canyons ahead of us, danger
won't stalk our journey to California and it is a long ride indeed! "
" Billy, forget all the fright, get some sleep! "
He nodded, but with a doubtful look, he wished something on a star.
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2014
There were many outlaws in the old west.
But one outlaw stood out more than the rest.
And his name was Billy the kid.
He was a very fierce gun fighter, that showed no fear, or remorse on who he killed.
Billy was quick at the draw with his colt 45.
So whoever went up against billy the kid, was surely to die.
So the next time you think of a outlaw from the old west, Think about
Billy the kid because that outlaw was one tuff cowboy.
Copyright © cindy leon | Year Posted 2012
or tired love?
and weak games
Look at you!
Your such a lame!
Me cry?! Ha! Not no more!
Five point five years
What a joke?!
All you do is lie
Keep smoking your life away!
Wake up before its too late!
Before this love turns into hate!
Your too old to act this way!
Your too comfortable
You cant stay!
In my life!
In my way!
Goodbye to you!!!
Copyright © MARGARITA VERA | Year Posted 2012
This poem came about by a discussion at work describing a memphis burger and a classic one. I told someone they flowed together and they didn't believe me so I wrote this:
I went down to memphis
There was this, classic chick
With them hips, and red lipstick
A kiss so delicious that
I promised to this miss I would not dissapear
But I was dishonest, I thought I made it clear
That this situation between the two of us
Was not serious But she was delrious
Became so furious that
That month she had two periods
It only takes one to end my sentence
25 to life, Im not doin the time on that sentence
Doesn't matter if she gets me presents
Don't care if she gets madder that I am not present,
yet she gets sadder cause she still feels my presence
It wont be pleasant, if she doesnt let me leave peacefully
So I packed my things in the middle of the night
Took off asap so she couldn't pick a fight
Flew right back to my little house on the right
Split so fast like Kim Kardash was my wife
Realized that I just dodged a couple of knifes
It seems whack, But I just had to run and hide
This commital thing isnt for me
I am brittle, I crack too easily
Got to be careful cause I need Room to wiggle cant be
Strangled or tied down, I know It'll come back around
Hurt triple the times when karma
Shoots me down from the sky
So for right now, sayonara, beddy bye
Nice to know ya, good night
Copyright © Mike Conway | Year Posted 2012
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
In an Old West Town of no repute
Came a rider on a horse as if in hot pursuit.
Into the saloon he ran and shouted aloud
"BIG RED'S COMIN' "...which brought down a shroud.
Out the doors and windows they were flying
Even some sturdy men were seen leaving crying.
So now there was dead silence to be heard
With only a small man behind the bar, shivering and scared.
The huge figure came riding on the back of a Buffalo
No saddle needed, for this gunfighting pro.
A thick stubble covered most of his face
And the oversized sombrero keeping the sun in its place.
Double bandoliers crisscrossed his chest
Which was so swollen, you could not see his vest.
Two big revolvers hung at his hips
While the scowl spelled doom as he pursed his lips.
The big spurs clanged "KA-CHING", "KA-CHING" as he crossed the wood
Then stopped abruptly as before the saloon doors he stood.
With one fell swoop they came unhinged
As he came through and the barkeep cringed.
"Gimme a Whiskey" he said to the guy
Who was afraid to move, let alone try.
The big man reached across the bar and grabbed his throat
Bouncing him off the walls and ceiling as if he were a coat.
He threw him back behind the bar to his dismay
And repeated himself, "I said Gimme a Whiskey"!
With shaking hands the barkeep put a bottle up
Watching and cowering like a poor little pup.
Grabbing the bottle with little more than a frown
He broke it open on the bar and "GULP", "GULP", "GULP", the contents went down.
A big slurp could be heard as he wiped his face on the sleeve of his shirt
Quiet at last, and no one really got hurt.
In his frail little voice you could hear the barkeep say
"DDOOO YYYOOOU WWAANT ANNNOTTHERR?"
The Big Man answered, "Nah, I Gotta Go...I Heard 'BIG RED'S' Comin' This Way"!
Copyright © Dan Cwiak | Year Posted 2015
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 | Year Posted 2012
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 | Year Posted 2012
I am an invisible man.
Try and see me if you can.
Shy and quiet I remain alone.
Silent is my voice’s tone
No one can feel my pain and sorrow
As I hide inside of my burrow.
Shadows consume my body and soul
As I embrace the misty cold.
The reason for my unseen being
Lies in the fact I hate being seen.
This life and existence’s of my own choice
And I choose not to have a voice.
I am silent. Invisible. Inexistent.
Yet I am invincible, an immortal being
Copyright © Granny Face | Year Posted 2012
I do not know?
You can see them comin over the ridge,
The sun at their back.
The outline of their steeds they ride,
The dust they are kicking up as they blaze their trail.
The cowboys ride into town without fear in their eyes.
Years of trails wear on their skin,
Making their hands look like the leather of their gun belts.
They dismount and you can hear the leather of their saddles crackle.
The walk they have is of a gunslinger on the run,
The look of a cowboy that has no trust.
The squint in their eyes from the noon sun,
So many days of sitting in the saddle wearing on the pants they wear,
The horses drinking as though it's their last taste of water.
Trouble brewing in the air,
You can almost smell the gun powder.
Other horse men ride in with a thunderous ride,
Gun shots are heard,
They ring out like echoes of balls of a canon.
All is quiet once more,
Three lay dead.
The badlands make no sound,
Until the next possy rides to town.
Copyright © Charles Ruble | Year Posted 2012
A Will For Power Is Nothing More
A twisted ivy briars in desolate vague response
Deep inside the reality is we are all the same
To the caged barbarian to the hero's gain
Power was the same as Satan in his pride
Like some illusion we will often run away & hide
Yet still deep inside the valley high ramification
Sought through the exchange in viable haze;
Lukewarm modesty in some purple chase
Instead, I visualize power as in an illusion;
Fought back the tears with a smile,
A heart fixed in warm hysteria
Copyright © Mario Vitale | Year Posted 2012
Staggering through red rocks,
hot to the touch in sun,
desperately scanning the
far, muttered, desert horizon.
Looking for anybody,
amidst the baking dirt,
desperate for a drink,
to slake an endless thirst.
My wide-brimmed hat is soaked
by and endless, grimy sweat.
I wish to god my horse
Wasn’t lying dead.
He fell back on a slope,
sliding sideways down.
I clung atop his body
to avoid the jagged ground.
My boot heels hurt my back,
not made for long walking.
My mind can’t take silence,
no noise, clamor, or talking…
Just a hot wind blowing,
background music to pain,
my ribs ache and throb,
can’t focus my brain…
But wait! A glint out there,
distant, but repeating!
Something out there, mile off,
a faster path I’m limping.
Seems to take forever,
but I stagger on and on,
to the back street, paved,
a highway rolling broad.
An SUV stops and sees me
and they empty out.
“My god, you need help!"
Of that, have no doubt.
We drive on to Vegas,
to big hospitals there,
have to call the trail-ride place,
tell them about their mare.
Copyright © David Welch | Year Posted 2017
I do not know?
yyou will adhere to me with a little less pain;you will see me write the greatest
pors;ever writtened;i will quote the lesser poets dream,i will rise for what they
never settle for,i will speak where you adverate writers refused;to accept;finually
closed the very acceptance and doors,i will make new prephrencies,i will
personally tackle the old laws not to justify the newwer folklore;yes america i
norma jay bertrand the writer4386/homeless international poet of the usa/07 can
make you wish and long for;me;you will fear me;i will have prejudice toward all
hypricratical oathes;of all ores,for they re full of vein repitushas and spoofs of
hells luring defamatories;yes ameica i will rewrite your own history books thats
what i came here for?you will fear me!i'm in your frontal room
fantasies;dreams;darkened indowendels;of revolving shadows of deep woods
where you live at;late at night;like a real reality boogie man;i might appear;make
you scared;i'll be only there hanging out with freinds you knew;when you couldnt
sleep no more tho i will be lurking around under your bed;in your own bedroom
floor;you will fear me will continue;
Copyright © norma bertrand | Year Posted 2006