Best Barroom Poems
It’s raining in the corner
Stripes upon the floor
Bloody knife in a barroom door
Drinking whiskey
From a hollowed out gourd
Full of wasps
That rage in my core
Old man Mason
Got a smile upon his face
He knows the fire
And now I got a taste
Can’t stand up
Can’t lie down
Spinning room
Going round and round
Lipstick so red and thick
Devils eyes are on my hip
Right hand of the devil
Is a handgun son
I’m shooting dice
I’m shooting everyone
Woke up in a Philippine jail
I’ll sail for Hong Kong
Once I make my bail
They’ll never find me
The only evidence to tell
Is a tattoo of a broken heart
And a rusty nail
heartbeat of the American dream
early settlers escaped tyranny
rode West, used squatters’ rights
claimed land and turned to ranching
nights ‘neath stars and grub by campfires
from nearby hills wolves howling
driving cattle across wide prairies
boomtowns erected when gold was found
ghost towns remain as a symbol of lost wealth
cowboys saw the growth of a nation
encountered tribes that rebelled
met others that passed peace pipes
Tombstone today haunted by sounds
barroom brawls and sultry saloon singers
not an easy life; the strongest survived
few emulated Clint Eastwood or John Wayne
just men who still enjoy freedom to roam the range
but freedom always comes at a price
few riders had family ties
ladies of the night were their comfort
only a handful became rich ranchers
still they ride
still they ride
This time Lord I'm coming home.
Hungry, tired, all alone.
I feel the angels comfort me.
This is where I want to be.
This time Lord I'm coming home.
It's always been where I belong.
I'll do the things I know I should,
'Cause, this time Lord, I'm coming home for good.
How quickly all the years have passed.
It seems like yesterday.
My faith was slipping, fading fast,
And I just walked away.
In search of all the earthly things,
That somehow brought me joy.
I knocked and doors were opening,
Was just the devil's ploy.
My senses lived a blissful life,
With every turn I took.
I left my home, the kids and wife,
Without a second look.
I prayed for good times every night
A new world to explore.
I heard a voice, say, "It's alright."
And then I lost some more.
I drank my way to happiness.
Gave barroom crowds a show.
Was in some woman's sweet caress,
Whenever I would go.
The morning light fell down on me,
A dull consuming weight.
That took away the memory
Of heaven's pearly gate.
Had nothing left, I lost it all.
Was well on my way down.
I swam in tears and alcohol,
Until I thought I'd drown.
Was contemplating suicide.
Had nowhere else to go.
That's when I heard the voice inside...
I'LL ALWAYS LOVE YOU SO!!
This time Lord I'm coming home.
Hungry, tired, all alone.
I feel the angels comfort me.
This is where I want to be.
This time Lord I'm coming home.
It's always been where I belong.
I'll do the things I know I should.
'Cause, this time Lord, I'm coming home for good.
~~~
Tis a gladness found in sadness
mostly pleasure
wince of pain
From an odor round the barroom
none the boys could e'er explain
Like a billowed line of washin'
after gentle fallen rain
Tis the wail of spring befallin'
on a barfly
oh ... the shame
~
Lo
there's homework
I'm the tender
to a list of things that broke
Ere the boss be sharing surely
words no poet ever spoke
Lazy good for nothing boozer
paint the fence and fix the gate
You want a pint ... you must be kidding
Plow the forty ... 'fore it's late
~
Down the misty path of memories
thoughts of Kelsey's brew appears
In a vision almost godly
round a table rests my peers
And no memory tarries longer
forceful
clearer
sweeter
stronger
than ol' Kelsey pouring liquor at the bar
I sheds a tear
~
Summer sadness tans bare shoulders
to replace the winter's shun
And the kids each day
they greet me ... Morning Dad
YOUR IT ... then run
Lord
I never knew that Heaven
'twas the place beyond my wall
Till I heard my children laugh
while toasting mallows in the fall
~
Though breath of Heaven
washed the aftertaste
of Kelsey's from my life
And forever I'll be holding ... dear
new memories
with my wife
I am angered at the sign
that hangs atop ol' Kelsey's door
. . . NO BARFLIES . . .
. . . CASH RESPECTED . . .
~
Sure
His wife now runs the bar
~~~
He waltzed into the barroom
Announcing his name was Jack
He had a peg-leg, three fingers gone
And on his left eye wore a patch
His teeth that weren’t missing
Shined of glimmering gold
He ordered a bottle of whiskey
And then this story he told
He talked with an accent
That sounded really strange
Seems he mined for diamonds
In a South African mountain range
For months he lived alone there
Just him and his two mules
Digging day and night
Looking for them jewels
Says that he hurt his leg
And gangrene did set in
A village doctor amputated
Anesthesia was a case of gin
Thieves cut his fingers off
Stealing his diamond rings
But where the other rocks were hid
They could not make him sing
Now he is a rich man
Living the life of luxury
He bought drinks for everyone
Saying, “The next round is on me”
Then that grizzly old rich man
Waltzed back out the door
And the one-eyed Jack of Diamonds
Was seen never more
For Paula Swanson's, "Pick A Card" contest
A lone desperado rode his lathered cayuse to old Santa Fe.
It was high noon, sweltering hot and dusty on that fateful day.
The handsome young outlaw wore deadly forty-fours on each hip,
And there were multiple notches etched on each pistol grip!
He dismounted and brushed men aside as he strode to the saloon.
By the look on his face, someone faced doom that sultry afternoon!
He ordered up a bottle of whiskey to wet his sun-parched throat,
Downed a couple of shots and gazed around taking note!
For days he had ridden to find his roving sweetheart LeNore.
Now, he spotted her with a cowpoke in a dark corner near the door.
Their eyes locked briefly and she quickly turned away.
Knowing what was to happen, she sensibly got out of the way!
The enraged desperado fingered his forty-fours and lit a big cigar,
Roaring, "You stole my woman and you know damn well who you are!"
Men scattered, chairs toppled and the two men fired their rod!
When the billowing smoke had settled, one had met his God!
Alas, the lifeless young outlaw lay sprawled upon the barroom floor!
Clutching him to her breast with tearful supplications, knelt LeNore.
They buried him in a lonely grave atop a knoll in Old Boot Hill!
Lenore placed petunias upon his grave, declaring her true love still!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
WHERE OPPORTUNITY ABOUNDS
She sat all alone in the dimly lit, smoky barroom
Nursing a gin and tonic that the ice had melted in
Her countenance was that of someone jilted
With a look that showed disdain for men
Two stools down there sat a stranger
Whose face had the same look as hers
It had a veritable blank stare look
That takes place when jilting occurs
Suddenly the bartender said rather loudly
Last call for the lonely hearts club
And at that moment their eyes met
The dim glow from the dimly lit bulb
Seemed brighter than ever before
He approached her ever so slowly
And offered to take her home
Her thoughts were he is so lowly
But the opportunity seemed quite harmless
So she accepted his generous offer
After all, they both were so lonely
And such a chance may have much to proffer
1 November 2019
Last Call For The Lonely Hearts contest - collaboration sponsored by Line Gauthier
Welcome friends, I know you will be most excited
with tonight's special guest that we have invited.
So, let's give a round of applause and a cheer.
Punctuation's star, Exclamation Point, is here.
Welcome. It's good to see you, Exclamation Point.
Yes! Let's do it, Johnny! I just got out of the joint!
My goodness, I was going to say, you're looking trim.
Tell your fans what kind of mess you got yourself in.
I guess I got too excited, opened my yap,
and told Comma he's lost, falling in the wrong gap.
I impetuously started a barroom fight,
my sentences struck him, with raw power and might.
I'm innocent, but somehow, I stir up commotion.
I'm just excellent at expressing emotion!
Hmm, tell us about the emotions you can express.
For example, what about happiness?
What a great question! Glad you asked it! I'm ecstatic!
What was I saying? Whatever, I'm emphatic!
But was it anger that landed you in the can?
Shut up, Johnny, I'll rip your bloody face off, man!
I guess subtlety is really not your ball of wax.
Do you do sadness? Yes, I weep and do my income tax!
Exclamation Point, it sure has been a pleasure.
Thanks, Johnny, I've enjoyed myself without measure!
and remember, Question Mark asks, and Comma will pause,
but an Exclamation Point thanks you for your applause!
Beyond bright garish flashes of neon lights,
blaring music and drunken barroom fights,
it's my wish to find tranquility and solitude
within a realm where the moon is red-hued.
I'd gladly wander a crimson moonlit path,
far away from this world's uncivilized wrath.
Where warblers sing lullabies to me at night
while I watch a hungry owl take wing in flight.
Myriads of stars will be shimmering in the sky,
and in complete contentment I will peacefully lie.
As a red moon rising hovers far above my head,
I'll be sheltered without need of worry or dread.
In a quiet sanctuary of tall evergreen trees
I'd welcome the evening's cool flowing breeze.
With a blanket spread on meadowed grounds,
I'd revel with joy at Nature's awesome sounds,
like the trills of doves giving their mating call
and the muffled rumble of a distant waterfall.
There are no bastions here, nor fortified fences.
In this meditative place I can liberate my senses.
I'll be one with my surroundings, totally at ease,
as if I'm floating on calm waves of unruffled seas.
Far from cacophony that offends an idyllic repose,
beneath a sanguine moon, where no one else goes.
Life Weary, So Hungry I Could Eat A Dry Bone
Trekking through fire breathing desert, yes all alone
Mouth full of sand, shattered heart so heavy too
Life weary, so hungry I could eat a dry bone
Looking back at this life, where were the breaks my due
I recall all hellacious bad times that came
The motorcycle wreck when I was but fifteen!
All those shots that should have given me greater fame
Those barroom brawls, man that one dude was so damn mean
I laughed, I ran full amok, a bit crazy
I cried like a baby when they shot down Dean
I raised hell doing farmwork but was not lazy
School was a blast but math work I wasnt too keen.
Trekking through fire breathing desert, yes all alone.
Life weary, so hungry I could eat a dry bone one.
Mouth full of sand, shattered heart so heavy too
Looking back at this life, where were the breaks my due.
Robert J. Lindley, 6-08-2023
16 VERSE SONNET , WITH 12 SYLLABLES
EACH VERSE
Note_
My life in my youth was anything but dull.
I worked as a club bouncer, farmhand, factory working manager 4 times, carpenter, roofer, bricklayer, metal fabricator, even worked at a car repair once.
When cowboys sprawl 'round the camp fire after the days work is done,
They strum guitars and tootle harmonicas and sing to have fun.
Real cowboys don't sing Honky-Tonk or She Done Me Wrong stuff.
They leave that to rhinestone cowboys, considerin' it to be so much fluff!
Real wranglers sing about ropin' dogies and fixin' barbed wire fences,
Roundups, brandin' time and the magnificence of God's grand expanses.
They sing of home on the range, rodeos and dinin' on bacon and beans,
Cattle stampedes on stormy nights, the old corral and dance hall queens.
They harmonize about ghost riders in the sky who've met their fates,
Tumblin' tumbleweeds, cool water, tin cups and eatin' from tin plates.
They sing about bein' back in the saddle again and the streets of Laredo,
And belt out songs about horses named Old Paint, Ol' Dan and Tornado.
They yodel the cattle call and sing about when the bloom's on the sages,
And croon about their yellow rose of Texas and their pitiful wages.
Real buckaroos sing about Christmas in the bunk house and rye whiskey,
Cattle drives on the Lone Star and Abilene trails and a life so very risky.
They sing of the grumpy foreman and when the works all done this fall,
And tweedle about ragtime cowboy Joe and many a barroom brawl.
Real cowboys sing about ridin' the range, the chaparral and dusty trail,
And leave Hank Snow to warble about lost love, honky-tonks and landin' in jail!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
Hank had cowboyed and rodeoed fer nigh on forty years,
Ridin' in sleet, rain and snow a-herdin' cantankerous steers.
His hide was tough as leather and his legs was slightly bowed,
But brandin' dogies and fixin' fences was all he ever knowed!
His gut was made of iron from a diet of taters, beans and bacon.
Many times he was throwed from his hoss but his will remained unshaken.
He'd been bit by rattlesnakes and scarred from many barroom brawls,
And kicked by many a skittish bronc while muckin' out their stalls!
When tryin' to halt stampedes, Hank was often gravely gored,
And was hoarse from yellin' and cussin' at that riotous horde.
When shoein' hosses they often left an imprint on his chest,
Where flyin' hoofs landed leavin' him angry and depressed!
He didn't git rich and couldn't hoard money fer a rainy day;
Not much chance of accumulatin' such on a cowpokes meager pay.
His bed was usually 'neath the stars with his saddle fer a pillow,
Sharin' space with his old dog Spike and an occasional armadillo!
One day he up and told the boss, "I've had my fill of a cowboy's life.
I'm a-quittin' as of now. My old bones is weary from all this strife.
I'm saddle sore and tired of bunkhouse livin' and all yer stingin' slurs.
You kin take this job and shove it 'cause I'm a-hangin' up my spurs!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
Oh! She said she'd never done this before,
then she went at him like a barroom whore!
A virgin, she was not,
but so soon he forgot.
Turns out, experience pleases him more!
We are going on a trip to the British Isles
and Channel Island of Guernsey and Normandy.
This sure should be quite a cruise. Here is my
first poem I am writing about it even though I
have not been there yet. Here goes.
Crabby Walking Though the Abbey
by James Thomas Horn before we
go bye.
Can't leave London without having fish and chips
Which originated from slick, sailing ships;
Could ride by restaurant in horse drawn coach
See beautiful women while wearing a broach.
Many smiling people everywhere we shall see;
Some may even be from upper high society
Who all have much money they can spare
Yet, still can seed noses held high in the air.
While we were looking did see a lovely doll,
And ended up having a big barroom brawl;
After we left and what soon was a little later
Americans were accused of being an instigator.
From it all we started having terrible cough
Maybe it was from riding get on and get off;
Over pages of those punished started to skim;
No wonder Tower of London looks so grim.
But, at last, lovely parade now had begun;
Women had fun wearing hair in a big bun;
After seeing hats and hearing all of the hype,
Wanted to hear band who played a bagpipe.
Saw some important people in front of a manor
And out in front of it could find a big banner,
But you could see me starting to get crabby;
Wife said we will walk though entire abbey.
James Thomas (Out of Breath) Horn
www.poetrysoup.com
www.story-telling-around-the-world.com
Jane was renown for her very short fuse
'Specially when she was sozzled with booze
She relished a barroom brawl
And took on any and all
With whomever she had divergent views
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 5 in John Freeman's "Slapstick Limerick" Contest - March 2011