.
in yourn dome
you hear your favorite
cha cha
and your eyne
they see the
1980'z
disco ball
don't be alarmed
the poet relaxes in the lobby
uv
and again
in yourn dome
yourn favorite hotel
and again
within yourn dome's
think
you spy the poet staring
unto hiz left
i'm certain to yournself
the painful
bent
yet
there her'z were
thus
'gain
theirn went
Categories:
bedroll, allegory, beautiful, blessing, sensual,
Form: Carpe Diem
.
She laid poised
'pon mine bedroll
Eyne beaming
lips
displaying
with sweet wide smile
hern pearls
My kneez were buckling
whilst mine eyne slithered
her twisted torso
‘Exposing with relish she wuz
hern hale haunch
Cocksure’
What lover uv write
Would ignore
This share
Uv i
“mine two digits
tap tap
tapping
‘pon this machine
Whilst mine other
duke’s two digits
pulled
Haltingly with excite
her
bikini bottom’s bowed
string”
*Cocksure: overly confident
Hale: sound; free from defect
Categories:
bedroll, beautiful, blessing,
Form: Free verse
I always wanted to be a real cowboy.
A Buck-a-rue with scars on my cheeks and worn boots,
I wanted my spurs to jingle and my saddle to creak and
deep lines and sun burned skin decorating my face,
an ugly galoot and dressing in a suit, Pert-near a disgrace.
I wanted to eat out on the range under the Cottonwoods and smell of woodsmoke and sweat,
clean my plate with the rub of an elbow before putting it in my pack
and throwing what’s left of my coffee on the campfire before
Ole Paint and I trailed back.
I wanted to pitch my bedroll under the moon, gaze
at the stars that cover the sky at night,
go to sleep with the wind rustling cottonwood leaves,
the mournful sound of the cattle lowing
and the gentle words of the night hawk’s song
putting the herd at ease.
I wanted to be a real cowboy, not just to play the part,
a real cowboy living a dream and riding my Quarter Horse.
But could I stand up to the lonely times when nature
turned its back on me and the wind was no longer a breeze
but a cold howling wind, a biting wind and I didn’t have my wife’s arms
to comfort me.
Categories:
bedroll, black african american, career,
Form: Rhyme
"I didn't want to break your heart.
I had no thought of that at all,
When I told you I'd be leaving
Right after roundup time this fall.
A cowboy's life is lonely,
A saddle, bridle and a horse,
Bedroll, just to keep from freezing,
When he wanders off his course.
If I had a stack of money,
I'd settle down, make you my wife.
Until I'm through meandering,
I can't ask you to share my life.
Dry your eyes my little lady
And let me see that pretty smile.
There will be other cowboys
Who will outshine me by a mile.
If you find one with a bankroll,
Who can afford a little spread,
Get your lariat and rope him.
Forget about these tears you've shed.
I'll be thinking of you, Honey
As I travel 'cross the range.
But this cowboy is a rambler,
I expect he'll never change.
Categories:
bedroll, heartbreak, heartbroken, horse,
Form: Rhyme
You Can Run,
But,
You Can't Hide
By: Tom Wright
1/5/02
Neath the brackish waters of life's tossing sea,
where daily perils lurk, and seaweed's bind.
My soul shan't worry, for God is cognizant of me,
also ponderous thoughts, taking rest upon my mind.
Even should my home be some mountainous peak,
or bedroll spread, neath stars, in foothills low.
God's countenance in prayer I can always seek,
for He is nigh, where ere I should dare to go.
Psalm 139 1-14
Categories:
bedroll, god, prayer,
Form: Lyric
Jubilant shoppers scamper down the street
looking for super sales on Christmas Eve.
And holiday smiles greet all friends they meet
feigning they’re in a hurry to leave.
It was snowing to everyone's delight
and the people were friendly and cheerful.
Then I saw something that didn't look right
and my mood changed from jolly to tearful.
A beggar and his dog shared a bedroll
snuggling up close, attempting to stay warm.
And it was plain; cold had taken its toll
yet together, they'll survive this storm.
I've never seen such beautiful sadness
true love, amid this indulgent madness.
(Sonnet)
Dec. 31, 2018
Beautiful sadness Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John Hamilton
Categories:
bedroll, 10th grade, angst, anxiety,
Form: Sonnet
A homeless man shivers as the sun sinks,
while sleep tries to avoid dreams of freezing.
Steam from a sewer grate grants forty winks
as he lies on it, coughing and wheezing.
In his head, drums, the beat of passing feet:
it is almost impossible to sleep.
For that ubiquitous sound is the street,
where those pulsating footsteps echo deep.
Ignored and forgotten, he awaits Day,
as the rats of hunger gnaw at his guts.
And little by little, he wilts away;
while stinging remarks add salt to his cuts.
The morning finds his bedroll soaked in pee:
for had he gotten up, he might have died.
The night air was forty below, you see:
so he held it in, or at least, he tried.
Some shelters provide a warm place to go,
but he's viewed like an annoying splinter.
And that insensitivity is so
pervasive; he barely survives winter.
Categories:
bedroll, 9th grade, angst, anxiety,
Form: Quatrain
Winter winds rattle window panes;
yet no one there ever complains.
And shadows on candlelit walls
flicker as the flame flares and falls.
A blanket with a stitched-up hole;
substitutes for a warm bedroll.
And while it supplies meager heat,
a kerosene heater's a treat.
Money is as scarce as kind words
for two impoverished lovebirds.
And though the hope stored in their hearts
may dwindle, it never departs.
Poverty threatens every breath,
in this saga of life and death.
Hugs that help them escape their pain
are all that is keeping them sane.
Social Security's a joke;
hung around their necks like a yoke.
These folks are hard-pressed to exist;
and yet, no one wants to assist.
Their needs are small, but death lurks near,
living in the shadow of fear.
Yet, their love is what gets them through;
thanking God for each day anew.
When we let the wealthy decide,
those without funds get swept aside.
But the rich vow to fix this wrong;
let us pray that we live that long.
Categories:
bedroll, angst, anxiety, emotions, feelings,
Form: Quatrain
My lids, pierced by splinters of light;
I rub my eyes as I awake.
And though my bedroll kept me warm,
I am hungry, and my bones ache.
Belongings few; I fear their loss,
for they're all that keep me alive.
Yet, they don't get lighter with age;
I may not thrive, but I survive.
A pair of doves serenade the sun,
dispelling the shadows of night.
And I start my day panhandling;
while trying to keep out of sight.
Suddenly, I hear a loud laugh;
with a jeering edge to its pitch.
And some teenagers come running;
being homeless makes me their bi*ch.
As a barrage of fists let loose,
pain radiates with each impact.
My nose is broken and bleeding,
but most of me is still intact.
Wrong place to be; when hate erupts,
for the anger of youth runs deep.
And although time will help me heal,
I have no more tears left to weep.
Categories:
bedroll, abuse, angst, emotions, hurt,
Form: Quatrain
You could see the lone figure in the pale, fading light,
Bedding down the doggies for a restful night.
He had been in the saddle since early morn',
Now feeling the aches of the drive that made him feel "worn".
The three other horses he had taken from the remuda that day,
Were now being tied and fed, as they whinnied and neighed.
"Woh, cattle...Woh, cattle", he sang softly to the steers,
Another six weeks on the trail and he would be filling his night with beers.
When the herd was quiet, the first 'Nighthawks' came,
He sighed with relief, as he tugged on the reins.
In just a few minutes he was putting his saddle and bedroll aright,
the grub made...biscuits, beans, and salt pork for tonight.
Then he unbuckled his gunbelt and laid down in his place,
Knowing full well, he'd be up before dawn to relieve the man on the trace.
It was hard work but he loved it, or so he said,
More of the Chisolm waited for them up ahead.
Yet it was the cows, the horses, the danger, and freedom he dared,
And those few other comrades whose journey he shared.
Yes, it was this "Cowboy Life" full of its highs and lows,
It was all that he needed, and was the life he chose.
Categories:
bedroll, adventure, environment, image, nostalgia,
Form: Couplet
I didn't want to break your heart,
I had no thought of that at all,
When I told you I'd be leaving
Right after roundup time this fall.
A cowboy's life is lonely,
With saddle, bridle and his horse,
A bedroll just to keep from freezing
When he's wandering off his course.
Your own daddy is a rancher.
He should have warned you from the start,
Should have cautioned you to never
Let a cowboy win your heart.
I'll be heading to the south lands
Until some wrangling work I find,
Didn't mean to fool you, Honey.
I didn't mean to be unkind.
If I had a stack of money,
I'd settle down, make you my wife.
Until I'm through meandering
I can't ask you to share my life.
Dry your eyes my little lady
And let me see that pretty smile.
There will be another cowboy
Who will outshine me by a mile.
If you find one with a bankroll
Who can afford a little spread,
Get your lariat and rope him,
Forget about these tears you've shed.
I'll be thinking of you, Honey
As I travel across the range,
But this cowboy is a rambler
And I expect I'll never change.
Placed 2nd in Ballad contest
Categories:
bedroll, adventure, cowboy-western, lost love,
Form: Ballad
When night came, the cattle bedded down
And the night riders making their rounds
Samuel would take a strole to the chuck wagon
And Cookie would hand him his cup of coffee
As he savored it's taste
He'd check with Cookie to see
If his supplies were holding out
Then find ol' Jack crawl aboard and make another round
The nights of stary bliss
Or winds a blowin strong
The drovers were right there
To keep things from going wrong
The rivers they did cross,
Sometimes took their tole
Little Zeke was lucky to be on hand
He threw Luke a lasso and drug him to dry land
Some cattle were lost
Due to the heat
Some they had to nurse maid
If they got snake bit
The prairie dog towns were dangerous grounds
For horses, cattle or cowboys
Their holes were the cause of many a fall
With broken legs you can't ride a saddle
Nights in the bedroll
Days in the saddle
Day after day
They trailed the cattle
Categories:
bedroll, adventurenight, night, drug,
Form: Verse
He must sit back and just smile at sunsets;
The colors and quiet must give him great joy—
As do the sweet sage and morning violets;
God must be a cowboy.
He breathes life in the wind on the prairie
And sustains the green earth with the soft rain;
And he grows all the fish in the vast sea;
It is an unbroken chain.
Oh, you can hear him creak that old saddle
As he rounds up the skies and the whole earth range;
His eyes are on us and he’s not idle.
The only constant is change.
Yes, He rides beside us in gold grasses
And He watches our bedroll every night;
He helps us over all the high passes
And teaches us to do right.
And meekly we speak of Him by His name
As we take great pains to please and not annoy;
Knowing when we ride off back where we came:
God must be a cowboy.
Categories:
bedroll, cowboy-western, faith, inspirational, introspection,
Form: Cowboy Poetry
As the sun starts to rise,
This cowboy opens his eyes,
Dew trapped in the mornin' frost.
I thank God for my freedom,
All the times I need 'im,
I tend to forget the cost.
I ride o'er this prairie,
Durin' this season to be merry,
Ponderin' the year that has past.
Often times were good,
More than there should,
Occasionally my luck didn't last.
Now it's deep in December,
Ah, the prairie 'n its splendor,
A hawk as it circles the sky.
A cowboy could get soft,
On new hay in a loft,
'N a roof to keep his bedroll dry.
My leg draped o'er the tree,
The horn in the bend of my knee,
I look out across these vast plains.
I heave a big sigh,
Swipe a tear from my eye,
Sat up 'n take hold the reins.
We've been drivin' this herd,
For a week 'n a third,
I figure one week more.
If the weather holds out,
We'll make it no doubt,
But nature could even the score.
Tomorrow they say,
Will be Christmas Day,
I thank God for the Miracle Birth.
Jesus 'as sent here to save us,
That's the gift God gave us,
Certainly more than this cowboy's worth.
By Jim "Ish" Fellers
Copyright ©: December 11, 2003 ~ Thursday
Categories:
bedroll, cowboy-westerngod, god,
Form: Cowboy Poetry
The Warder
The old man spine was bent his head was hanging at an awkward angle he
searched the ground while he was walking for what he could not have stopped
and picked anything up. The cane was fancy one with a hook for a handle his hat
was piled up high to keep the sun and wind away his coat so thick to keep the
rain away he did not just walk he warded the elements away the warder walked
in boots of rubber so oversize but on this man they did not seem clownish or
childish they fit him to his size a large and gentle man his bedroll hung on a
strap beside him hanging down swinging while he walked the most important
part of all his gear for winter come. The thing eye noticed most was this survivor
walked in hope and quiet solitude not moping or depressed he gave me hope
this warder perhaps he even knoes who GOD is?
The Warder
Categories:
bedroll, people, sad, science fiction,
Form: Free verse
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