Best Bandanas Poems
And when will the tides turn against confident indifference?!
When will humanity cease
To throw cats against curiosity’s silver coated dagger
Another played out song
Another dramatic lyric
Shifting embellished overtones
With deteriorating tact
They spit posthumous awakenings
As divinity laced smiles, wither under a convoluted moon
Shedding retina waterfalls
Misunderstood
Pretentious anger becomes Aphrodite mediocrity
Wisdom, they never “put out”
Crippled tears
Become self-important struts within olive tinted reckonings
Lambasted butterflies
Stirring hornets’ nest
Uninvited
They dream for better days
While double-knotting gang colored bandanas
On eagle’s achromatic foreheads
Another Woody Woodpecker band-aid pulled from condescending hypocrisies
…
And when will the tides turn against pilot light’s mal-intent?
When will the flinty sheep
Stop wondering how these charring, orange fires began
Forgetting the 115 octane gasoline can
They hold quietly in their hands
©Drake J. Eszes
Categories:
bandanas, life, psychological, slam,
Form:
Free verse
How dare you show up
unannounced
Changing the way I live
my best life
Coming all up and thru here
confining me inside the prison
of my own insanity
I want to break from these walls
and defy everything they
say about you
Ignore the demands your presence
has forced me to follow
I curse the day you arrived because
all I can do from the wee hours of the night
to the early morning dawn is
lie in waiting as I make love to
my own boredom
with no one there to hold me
except my own scared loneliness
For weeks I've waited
watch the clock tick tock in sync with
the palpitations of my heart
where my thoughts of your wrath
create the rhythm my anxiety
dances a jig to
I want to walk out in the sun
smell the aroma of life
and touch a dream
but if I take that risk without
protective armor
I'll be kissed with your
deadly nightmare
I attempt to find ways
to distract my resentment for you
as you adamantly succeed at
keeping me away from those
I desperately need the most
I want to feel the thick of my
man's laughter in my ear
See the smiles of my friends
and family that are locked behind
the gates of masks and bandanas
This can't be life
A new normal you've
introduced to me
that has brought on way
too much confusion
far too many lies and half truths
while slanging more conspiracy theories
than a drug dealer slangs dope
I'm afraid and shook while
my fears are quarantined from
my courage
That "S" I have on my chest
is now susceptible to being
contaminated with a scarlet letter
from a pandemic alphabet
I don't know who I am anymore
I don't remember the last time
I remembered
I'm to busy anticipating trying
to forget
If I pray or wish you away
you'd still be here
proving that death becomes you
but I refuse to let you meet me at
the threshold to become the death of me
4-5-2020
Categories:
bandanas, absence, anxiety, black african
Form:
Free verse
Outside a quaint town in fair Vermont,
by my family’s vacation home,
is a small field with fences and sign,
in the warm month’s it’s a place to go.
They have a flea market on weekends,
rows of tents pitched under mountains green,
for most people it is just old junk,
but it is fascinating to me.
There’s a tent that’s selling goat-milk soap,
I did not know that that was a thing,
the man behind it smells of hippie,
but not too much, since he’s still selling.
Next to him are magazines that
were new back in my grandfather's time,
postcards from before the depression,
so many that it boggles my mind.
Across from that, old iron housewares
from a century that is long past,
rough-hewn evoke memories
of a wholesome time that couldn’t last.
Besides that place, hand-turned wooden bowls,
from a shop the next county over,
their pretty, yes, with natural lines,
but at that price, I will say, “No sir!”
Then there’s the tent with all the old books,
dangerous place for men like myself,
it’s foretold I’ll pick up old novels,
but which ones? I can never foretell.
A guy is selling old comics books,
another is hawking baseball cards,
gaudy women’s clothes are over there,
near cheap tools and pieces of old cars.
There’s the guy with army-navy stuff,
yellowed manuals from World War II,
and more knives than you could ever need,
yet I still walk away with a few.
Of course there is the hot dog vendor,
with cheap prices you don’t find these days,
then a tent with essential oils,
I just roll my eyes and stay away.
Buy cheap bandanas for the nephews,
little guys will think that they’re so neat,
the I meander back to my car,
let the wheels take the stress off my feet.
Categories:
bandanas, america, appreciation, fun, imagery,
Form:
Rhyme
Cowboys in the Badlands
The horses need be reined tightly
lest they show better judgment
and head back to the barn. The
cowboys, driven by the dust cloud
of following hoof beats, were less smart.
A Gila monster smirks as they pass
knowing what waits ahead is to be
more painful than the rope they flee.
Driven by the torments of a lost war,
a lost home, a lost dream, they had
lashed out at the hunger, fled the
hovels of a shanty town and swore
to exact payment any way possible.
The consequences of the decision
pursued them, consumed them,
as they rested the horses. The horses
must rest, they never would.
They stood overlooking the badlands,
shimmering heat’s forever fallacy,
that somehow you would cross to
safety, find an oasis, escape. Oh,
you may escape the posse, maybe
even the past, but you will not
escape the bitterness of these
bad lands and their unforgiving
demands. Few have come here
willingly, fewer have remained
once tested by the dryness, the
drought, the wind, sand, and
anger of a land seeking to be
left alone. And so they rode into
the abyss of sand and stone
leaving only the hoof prints
of fading memory. Bandanas
covered their faces, hat brims
covered their eyes. They rode
until the horses fell, unable to
continue. Horseless, they staggered
in the shifting sands laughing
as they recalled staggering from
the saloon on that awful night.
The night they gave up, the night
they gave in to the desperate desire
to be free. A desire that was now
to be fulfilled in these Bad Lands.
For Isaiah Zerbst – Cowboys in the Badlands poetry contest
9/15/2014
Categories:
bandanas, culture, life,
Form:
Free verse
Roy Jerden,Roy Jerden
Join me in the stable
Leave that xmas tree
Leave that xmas light
Rider is no parlourmaid
The saddle is yawning
Join me in the stable
Today we shall ride
To mountains and the hills
To rivers and the streams
Now is our season
We are the xmas
They have come to watch
Like royal bride in chariot
We dazzle on our horses
So they stand by the street-sides
waving their gloved hands
Adoring our hats and bandanas
Cow boy watches nil
He is the hero of xmas
We give the gifts
Gold, sliver and bronze
We gaze the star
We welcome the Christ
We don't return to king
We are the Christmas
Join me in the stable
Leave that xmas tree
Leave that xmas light
Hero is no audience
Cow boy watches nil
He is the scene
He is the hero
I have got the gin
I have got the pipes
Roy Jerden,Roy Jerden
Join me in the stable.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The bridle
And saddle;
They dazzle
Join me in the stable...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In jean
And gin;
We win
Join me in the stable...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Cowboy-
The Roy-
My Joy;
Join me in the stable...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
With gun
We run
For fun
Join me in the stable...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The wild
The ride
The pride
Join me in the stable...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Xmas
Climax,climax
And climax
Join in me the stable...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Leave that xmas tree,
Leave that xmas light;
I have got gin,
I have got the pipes;
Join me in the stableeeeeeeeeee...
Kayode.
23/11/15.
Categories:
bandanas, christmas,
Form:
Cowboy Poetry
“THE COLOR OF MY HEART’S BLOOD”
somewhere over the rainbow
skies are blue.
since you’ve been gone
the color of a forgotten
love stays inside the lines
and it isn’t blue.
I’ll run my fingers through
your hair again,
we will laugh again,
we will cry again,
we will love again.
…but until that day,
bandanas will tighten on arms,
alcohol will alter love,
dirty kittens will consume
dirty kittens,
murderers who murder everything
we are, will continue to murder us,
all while you continue to
love me with no love at all.
By: Chicano Eddie
10-3-2016
Categories:
bandanas, boyfriend, future, girlfriend, loneliness,
Form:
Free verse
Aunty, this cancer is just as stubborn as you are.
But I won’t let you go.
I’m gonna pull these
Dark blue sheets
Off your dormant dreams.
I’m gonna trap your worries
In little glass jars, aunty,
And let them light up the room
Like fireflies.
I’ll use up all my savings
To get you colored bandanas
To cover that big stubborn head of yours
Aunty, I love you
I’ll sing you country songs
Put a smile on that beautiful face of yours
Dress up for a tea party in your bed
Kiss you without that wig
Covering your head
Maybe it’s because we share
The same warm brown eyes
But aunty, I won’t let you go.
I’ve got a paper bag with me
Incase you get sick again
But don’t you dare wear it on your head
‘cause this cancer isn’t who you are.
You hear that aunty?
Don’t you cry.
I love you.
Categories:
bandanas, faith, family, love, cancer,
Form:
Free verse
Raindrops on roses weren’t her thing.
They were okay.
But patchouli and pine
Curry and cloves
Burnt orange dusks fading to midnight blue slumber
Alto strings and reeds weaving symphonic tapestries in minor keys
Woolen ponchos and leather boots and prairie skirts sewn from bandanas line
dried for the hundredth time to soft perfection
These were a few of her favorite things.
Depths of tone and texture
Vast in richness
Intriguing in complexity
The labyrinth of wonder
The land of the Prince.
He sought her out early in the season
Just as the crocus bloomed
In the exuberance that precedes
Any need for discretion.
Innocent, she held his hand
Gladly following as he led her
Spellbound though the sights and scents
And sounds of sadistic nothings sweetly
Whispered in her ear.
So softly did he speak
She didn’t notice when
His voice replaced hers.
So slowly did he dim the lights
She didn’t notice when
The oranges turned umber
The blues went slate.
So slightly did he turn the dials
She didn’t notice when
The harmony of the strings and reeds
Changed to dull, discordant static.
So subtly did he administer his anesthesia
She didn’t notice when
The wool began to scratch, the leather tug
The skirt tatter.
His seduction near completion
Her will half a heartbeat from extinction
With her next breath
Her soul would be his.
Categories:
bandanas, allegory, imagination, introspection,
Form:
Narrative
The industrial hull of the SUV
Sways with the slightest wind taps
And pothole shoves. Popeye’s signs,
Golden shell displays, the lingering smell
Of Premium-grade gasoline.
The prices are Down, but our gas meter still
teeters closely, Dangerously, just inches away
from zero. Still, we push on.
We pass Targets and Walmarts,
advertising last minute holiday sales.
We pass packed churches,
Minute investment banks,
and lush green fields
Of ochre and chamomile.
We love it here, when it's like this,
swaying and moving and existing and living,
traffic lights blinking signaling malfunction,
creaky train tracks rattling under thick rubber tires,
Black faces covered in bandanas,
riding sterling White horses on cobblestone streets,
homes stuffed with joyous presents and family love.
Christmas lights line walls and corners like cobwebs,
bells jingle and chestnuts roast.
A stray dog hurtles through aqua-hued
Alleys, neighborhood convenient stores shut the
Shutters for the night. Randall’s BBQ pit sits
Idle in front of the Dollar General. We almost get
in a wreck near the intersection
outside of the neighborhood.
I cry,
my clothes dampen from stress-induced sweat.
We pass backyards,
homes,
estates.
Wired, wood, corrugated fences,
kids jumping over them,
gaining scarlet scabs on knees,
fences beautifully embroidered,
decorated with ivy from hobby lobby
and signs that read, “beware of dog!”
But still, we push on.
We move through the backyard,
inching slowly on St. Augustine grass,
slithering like scaled snakes past the
Water hose and dog cage.
The pitbull’s mouth foams with slimy goop,
but he pays no mind.
We sway smoothly like wind to the
living room window.
No one here.
We love it here, when it's like this.
We see jewelry, shoes, jackets,
petticoats, purses, monster trucks,
guitars, Barbies. We see a red light
beaming from an alarm on the wall,
meaning “armed.”
But still, we push on.
Categories:
bandanas, night,
Form:
Narrative
there was a girl from Havana
her name was Ms. Quintana
she liked watching men from her cabana
scatily dressed in only bandanas
all those young men in their Speedos
put a rise in her labido
those hot guys made her crazy
then everything just got hazy
when she stood up and almost fainted
a hansome young man got acquainted
as he reached out to catch her fall
she know he was the best one of all
Categories:
bandanas, funnymen,
Form:
Light Verse
Flower Bomb
The smell
of Gunpowder fills the air
with an aroma
Unbearable.
Faces are covered with t-shirts and bandanas,
objects are thrown
and windshields are smashed.
Only one is willing
to forgo violence.
Instead of a rock,
or an empty glass bottle,
a bundle of flowers is clenched
in his hand:
Ready, aim,
Fire.
Categories:
bandanas, war,
Form:
ABC
Refuse to hang the innocent
While your gang acquits the guilty
In a tooth for a tooth pronouncement
You state in collusion with the mighty.
Accuse with the ruse in your news dissidents
Whipped into submission
To the coercion of incidents
Incorporated into a dictatorial diction.
Cruise out of control
With your weapons of avid annihilation
Primed to wiped out any pesky patrol
That surveys the sadness and sickness in your jubilation.
Freeze the breeze trees in infancy
Stunted when you hunt down their xylem
In a show of tethered truancy
Boosted by a nihilist anthem.
Use distorted dialogues
Conducted at cross purposes
In muted prologues and monologues
With enfeebled and emaciated faces bereft of choices.
Save knaves and staves
Slaves struggle to free from the tyranny
Perpetrated in war veteran graves
To whom you dished out a cashless cacophony.
Wave flaccid flags flown at half mast
As conflict casualties mount
When baskets of mourning cast
A dark pall on leadership lists of skills to discount.
Despair not. Repair the flare
No longer impotent, no longer content
As venom fangs bare
Death diadems an bother bandanas for the discontent.
Categories:
bandanas, poems,
Form:
Free verse
FabelFortySix
PrinterBlood
CharlaXFabel
A Dragnet RippOFF
DUM de DUM DUM de DUM da DUM
“SGT FrYdaY the man came in the office and eye told him to wait there is that
right?”
“That's right Bill.”
“Captain Gannon to you son.”
“The ink was red?” This was FrYdaY.
“The color was the same for blood. We think it was the Crops who done that.”
Gannon
“Crips. Its Crips not crops.” FrYdaY
“Yeah. Yeah.” Gannon
Frank Smith “it could have been the bloods it's the same thing ain’t it the red ink
supposed to look like blood see eh???”
Reminds me of the time Tillie my wife she spilled some black ink from the printer
all over my?” “What JOE what was that?”
“ just the facts Frank Tillie is a fine woman.”FrYdaY
THE MAN: “They came in two at a time.”
“How’s that” Frank said.
“Let me handle this one Frank,”FrYdaY
“What was that MAN?”
“Two Two at a time you said?”
"Just the facts ma'am"eye meant
OH SIR I’m sorry I’m so used to saying that on my investigations” FrYdaY
Colored. “How do you knoe that” ma’am
Sorry sir did it again
Sorry” FrYdaY
This is not going so well let’s start over.
Eye am Detective FrYdaY this is my partner Frank Smith.
The Captain is Bill Gannon my old Partner he carries a cannon.
“Really?” This was the man wide awake now
FrYdaY “Yes really it’s in the trunk of his patrol car the sign on the door says
LAPD Captain it's a FORD.”
Sometimes we drive down the boulevard and stick the cannon out the windows.
NO one seems to notice us
The MAN turned White and blanched.
“The printer ink was changed to red the Bloods were out of town we think it was
the crips go around and round them up” This was Gannon to Frank and Joe.
Frank was talking now “Ain’t they the ones with the blue bandanas and the
tattoos of the Gay sailors?”
“Yeah Yeah that's it” FrYdaY said.
“The Bloods have red bandanas and tattoos of Gay Marines” Frank almost
smiled.
Joe smiled it looked like a flat fish going south.
Frank and Bill both stopped at the door and smiled at Joe.
“You coming Joe?” they laughed in unison.
Episode One Printer Blood is over. Come back later for the results the finding of
the Los Angeles courts. DUM DE DUM DUM.
Categories:
bandanas, imagination, parody, people, satire,
Form:
Prose Poetry
When Scorpions Come Out
Scorpions chase me in my head
Across continents, through rain forests black
Large and small bodies, brown appendages attack
Wear red bandanas around their necks for luck
They carry knives, pop tunes and sing
Like Madonna and dance like Brittany Spears
That scares me half to death
Scorpions have USA etched on their heads
It is not the poisoned stingers that frighten me
But the singing and dancing and perhaps their bite
Red bandanas are not my favorite either
When scorpions come out at night
Categories:
bandanas, adventure, animal, celebrity, conflict,
Form:
Free verse
Sitting in a cave
on a hot dirty day
an outlaw hide away.
They laughed and carried on
about the bounty they taken away.
Watching the horizon so carefully
as to be not taken away.
Polishing
and loading
they preparing
for another raiding.
Jumping on their steeds
and riding ahead
to some town down the road.
Bandanas over their face as they arrived
guns a blazing loud.
They take their plunder
and ride away
back to their hideaway.
On their heels they hear
horses coming hard.
The law men
and posse in tow
galloping hard to their dismay
Pistol's firing loud
as they surround.
One down the two
as the guns a blaze.
Categories:
bandanas,
Form:
Cowboy Poetry