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Both Barrels - Shooting Widows by Kinch , Elizabeth

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Details | Both Barrels Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Inner Chamber

THE INNER CHAMBER

Please.  Stop holding back on me.

Like a child standing at the neighborhood ice cream truck, arm outstretched, eyes huge, mouth watering.

I stand here longing to slip underneath your decades of cold-rolled steel armor and touch the real you.

Your soft underbelly where your greatest fears run amuck through your darkest worlds. 
 
Where you hide the monsters you are sure will send me screaming, 
Stuck deeply with their sharpest swords, 
A trail of blood decorating my getaway.
?Where you go to revisit the smell of your newborn’s head and 
The sound of the thousand “I love you’s” that have decorated 
Your heart, like a high ranking general.

His bright, glistening medals lining his proud Chest
Just as your children’s “I love you’s” decorate your soft, gooey middle core, 
That part of you no one else gets to see.

To open these innermost, secret chambers, 
Would be to allow another warrior into your most private sanctuary.

The space where you lay down your weapons, 
Remove your many layers of armor.

I get that.  It’s a most dangerous proposal.
One you haven’t had much luck with in your past.

I understand that when the elixir of youth’s innocence,
Formed a rosy gauze over your insight, 
And your understanding of how your species really works-

You allowed a few in.
I know what they did,

Betrayals scattered across 
Your sacred sanctuary,
Littering the once pristine floors,
That you initially built.
 
Floors that were not lacking in any way-
From the purest white ideals,
The hopes and impossible delusions,
That a teen bride imbibes as she
Sweetly dreams of her white wedding day.

While your armor may be a suitable deterrent for most, 
I can see it is transparent in some places.
Worn thin from years of overuse.

You should know that.

Through these unintended, accidental windows,
I can see what lies there.
Multiple masses of thick scar tissue where-
The injury of betrayal and the loss of innocence 
Played out like a well-executed horror film,
Leading you to absolute conviction concerning 
The danger such risks can afford.

Should I ever be the very rare, honored guest, 
Chosen to visit you there,
I can’t promise you that I won’t ever
Pull a shank from my pinions and consider
Hacking at your soft underbelly.

I could probably even get a few small
Yet effective weapons past your metal detectors, 
Your multiple teams of soldiers standing guard.
But would I?  Would I pose that danger?

I’ve seen how we can dissolve 
Into tattered, faded copies of ourselves 
Marked with coffee rings and ink spills.

Our most evil versions of ourselves taking over
Like the energy vampires who manipulate 
Every conversation and exhaust all those around them.

I cannot say to you that I have never attacked
With both barrels blazing,
After sustaining a life-threatening blow
From your finest canons.

You know that I have.

While certainly not my proudest moments,
I cannot promise that I, 
In all my medieval humanness and imperfections,
Could rise above my own scars and 
Open wounds and turn to face you,
With my finest intentions displayed proudly 
Like the white feathers of a great owl.

When the salt is still burning through
The wounds that we both knew 
Would probably not ever heal, 
Due to the unexpected, additional attacks 
They have been pummeled with--

When our shadow people join forces to
Show us just how ugly we really can be--
When my own fears and pain from
My own scar tissue turns me into someone
I’d avoid at all costs in a dark alley--

How can I promise you complete safety?
How could I ever be truthful in saying
I could never hurt you,
That I would never consider smuggling in
A small shank intended for your underbelly?

Am I any better, any more kind, less sinister?
Than the black clothed, face painted, stealth ninjas
That snuck in before me?

Littering your inner chamber with blood stains,
Chunks of flesh sliced away with razor sharp swords,
With words that should never have formed
On the lips of anyone who also tumbled forth
“I love you?”

I can’t.  I cannot promise you my visit there, 
Should I ever be permitted into your sacred space,
Will be one of godly like goodness
Devoid of human insecurity, self absorption
And crippling imperfections.

I honestly cannot give you that.
Even as much as I want to.

What I can give you is a broken, imperfect person,
Who at least understands the delicacies of 
?Such an important journey into that sacred space.
A person who recognizes this space of yours,
As truly sacred.

A person who will respectfully take off her shoes,
Not trample the few square feet of soft, 
White carpet that has yet to be stained with your blood.

The lifeblood that the very ones,
You chose to love, and who promised only 
To love and protect you,
Went before me and carelessly, 
Sometimes wits the most frightening and shocking intentions,
Boldly splattered from your tender heart,
Across your white carpet, once so pure and clean. 

I can only promise that my goal here 
Is and never will be to cut you open any deeper.

I can only promise that I will keep this in mind,
Before I go forward and knock once again,
Upon your tightly sealed, inner chamber door.
The one you’ve outfitted with five, impossible deadbolts.

I can only promise that I will bring--
A satchel of tenderness.
A backpack filled with understanding,
Patience and genuine love. 
And hopefully,
If I can fit it in, 
A little, true selflessness.

And should I pack all of this for my journey,
There won’t be any room for my weapons.

So please, when I knock on that door,
Don’t greet me with a long, cold, 
Terrorizing glance down the barrel of one of your biggest guns.

Realize I come in peace, unarmed.
Recognize and acknowledge the white flag
I hold high out in front of me.

Hoping just to know you.
To love you.
To lounge in bliss within your warm, sweet chamber.
Your sanctuary.
And finally get the chance to meet the real you.










































																	












Copyright © Elisa Christensen | Year Posted 2016


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Billy the Kid's Great Escape

*
Sentenced to hang in the town of Lincoln,
Billy made his bold escape.
Both of his guards died from thinking
that a shackled young boy couldn't break away.
*
I've often wondered what thoughts were going through his head
as he stood staring out that window chained to the floor by his bed,
watching the gallows being built that would soon seal his fate.
Was he planning at that very moment his greatest escape?
Did he already know that his hanging would never come to be?
Was he already aware that before night fall, once again he'd be free?
Whatever his thoughts, they were interrupted rudely
by Deputy Bob Ollinger, one of his guards while in custody.
"Word has it you said that if we ever met again 
you'd kill me on the spot. 
Well here I am Kid. Now's your chance. 
Show me what you've got. 
It's a shame that you'll hang in another week or two, 
because I'd love to be the one who gets to kill you. 
I've got silver dimes in the barrells of my shotgun. 
I'd love to try them out on you, but I can't unless you run. 
If I free you from those chains will you run for the door? 
Oh by the way Kid, your Ma was one sweet filthy whore. 
I'll kill you before you hang Kid. That's a sure bet." 
"Be careful Bob," said the Kid, "I'm not hung yet."
Bob thrusted his shotgun hard into Billy's gut. 
The Kid looked up at him in pain and said, "Now what?" 
"Don't do it Bob," Bell screamed angrily, 
"or you'll be the one who'll hang for sure 
for killing an unarmed boy in cold blood 
who was chained helplessly to the floor. 
It's time for the other prisoners 
to be escorted across the street to be fed. 
The Kid's not going anywhere. 
He's chained to the floor by his bed. 
Anyway, I took the prisoners last so now it's your turn. 
Go and have yourself a beer 
and I'll stay here 
and guard the Kid until you return. 
Bob Ollinger placed his shotgun into the gun rack. 
Before he left, he said to Billy, "I'll see you when I get back." 
No one can say for sure if the above scenario ever truly took place,
but one thing's for sure. 
Ollinger tormented Billy at a merciless endless pace. 
They were enemies who fought against each other
during the Lincoln County War. 
Ollinger was in the posse that murdered John Tunstall,
Billy's employer, friend and mentor. 
"I have to use the privy Bell," Billy said to the deputy. 
Bell kept his rifle trained on Billy as he tossed him the key. 
Billy unlocked the chains that kept him bound to the floor. 
Still in handcuffs and leg irons, Bell escorted Billy out the door. 
Billy entered the outhouse closing the door behind him. 
"Let's not take too long in there Kid," Bell said with a friendly grin. 
While in the outhouse, 
Billy managed to slip one of his hands out of his handcuffs. 
"You fall in there Kid?" Bell laughed, 
"You've been in there long enough." 
"I'm coming out now Bell," Billy said opening the door. 
"Sorry I took so long Bell. I must have ate something bad for sure." 
Deputy Bell then escorted Billy back to the jail cell. 
Once inside, Billy spun around and smacked hard Deputy James Bell. 
Bell lost his balance, dropped his rifle and was momentarily stunned. 
"Hands Up Bell!," the Kid yelled. In his hand was a gun. 
"Please don't do it Bell," Billy pleaded, but Bell tried to run. 
The Kid had no choice but to do what had to be done. 
He shot and killed Bell, then went and got Ollinger's shotgun. 
The Kid never found pleasure in killing, 
but Ollinger would indeed be the exception. 
Knowing that Ollinger heard the gunfire, Billy stood by the window 
and waited for Ollinger to appear in the street down below. 
One senior named Godfrey saw Bell fall dead down the stairs. 
The moment probably gave Godfrey a few more gray hairs. 
Ollinger ran out into the street as Godfrey screamed, 
"The Kid's killed Bell!" 
Ollinger looked up into both barrels of his own shotgun 
and whispered, "..and now he's killed me as well."
"Hello Bob!," Billy called out with a song in his heart 
just prior to blowing Bob Ollinger apart. 
He blasted both barrels into Ollinger's chest and face. 
Pieces of old Bob lay scattered all over the place. 
Billy smashed his shotgun in two, threw it at him but missed. 
"You'll never rifle me again," he screamed, "you son of a *****!" 
On the balcony he addressed the crowd whose jaws hung agape. 
"I don't want to hurt anyone, 
but I will kill anybody who tries to prevent my escape." 
In the office he found a sledge hammer
and smashed the chains of his leg irons free. 
He told Godfrey to fetch him a fast horse immediately. 
As he walked down the stairs, he came upon Bell's lifeless body 
and many eyewitnesses admit
that the Kid looked upon him and said somewhat tearfully, 
"I'm sorry I killed you Bell, but couldn't help it." 
As Billy mounted the horse 
the chains of his leg irons startled the beast. 
The horse bucked violently throwing Billy down onto the street. 
He was at this point his most vulnerable laying down on the ground. 
The crowd could have overtaken him easily, 
but none made a move or a sound. 
One might think that they were all too terrified to subdue him immediately,
but the truth is that he was so loved by so many
that they all just let him go free.
Once again Billy mounted the horse
and fled with the sound of his leg iron chains ringing. 
Many claim that as he rode out of Lincoln County 
that they heard the Kid singing. 
Billy had escaped danger so many other times in his past, 
but this was his greatest escape ever. 
It would also be his last.


Copyright © Billy TheKidster | Year Posted 2013


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Asked and Answered - An Echo Poem

HOW I WOULD DESCRIBE MYSELF

People often say to me 
“What can you tell me about yourself” 
guess it’s my duty to explain to them 
and so I look them in the face and reply 

My eyes are deep like two tiny oceans 
just be careful you don’t drown in them 
you’ll never reach the bottom 
and there’s not a beach in sight 

My arms and legs are a library 
ruined by several scars 
each one tells its own story 
of how it came to be 
but none can be bothered to read it 

My mind is a battle field 
full of the tangled wreckage of ancient conflicts 
parts of it are like covered with mines 
each one a painful memory 
every now and then a fresh war will start 
bringing new carnage and suffering 
the remains they leave are left to rot in the sun 
only to be consigned to the past 

My personality is a broadsword 
razor sharp and straight to the point 
it only can be wielded by me 
the blade is often glowing 
letting you know how genuine I am 

My honesty is a radiant beacon 
shining like a miniature sun 
it helps my truth stay pure through this life 
never dimming or even going out 

My truth is a shotgun 
let me give you both barrels 
a useful weapon in this life of deception 
because I have no space for lies or cheating 
no bull trash will ever stand in for it 

My patience is a tranquil lake 
surrounded by many beautiful trees 
every tree is in full bloom in a variety of colours 
yet when the leaves and petals fall 
they make not even a ripple on the water 
there's always time in this peaceful place 
and none of it can be wasted by those who deserve it 

Yet my temper is a volcano 
often smoking as a warning to others 
sometimes it will blow its top for a while 
but its often short lived unless the lava runs 
in which case be somewhere else 

My happiness is a meadow on a summer’s day 
full of millions of flowers 
each one living in harmony 
the stems bowing slightly in the gentle breeze 

My love is like a huge blanket 
soft and comforting to those who feel it 
let me wrap it round your shoulders 
and it will keep you safe and warm 

My loyalty is a lovable dog 
always faithful always there 
as long as you stay true it'll love you 
but it will turn on you if you abuse it 

I have described myself as best I can 
now you know a little about me 
it’s time for the favour to be returned 
what will you tell me about you

John Westlake
April 11, 2014

_________________________________


WHO I AM

I wish I could be clearer too
But when a mirror comes to view
I find reflections blur the tons
Of promises I've yet to keep.
The virtues to which I aspire
Just kindling in God's cleansing fire
A testament to what I've spent
In daytime dreams before I sleep.

At times my eyes are shallower
Than tadpole bog from summer shower
But there’s a depth in self-less mirth
That fathoms ocean’s honesty!
I have my scars and injuries
Reminders that I sometime please
With sad stories and past glories
For which there is no amnesty.

I don’t take pride in vanquished foes
Or stealthy night walks on my toes,
The charges led, the grateful dead,
Aren’t bullet marked on résumé.
Yes, memories of past wars hurt
And new one's benefits seem curt,
The battles won, the killing done
And winning joy's naiveté. 

In personality a spark
Of servanthood, like Noah’s ark,
Yet to serve God, His judgment odd,
World lost to save humanity.
And honestly how can this stand,
This horrifying reprimand
Where saints all fail and demons wail,
Is Justice too insanity?

But Bible’s truth is Parable
And God’s Love not unbearable
Though we may fret, bemoan our debt,
God's Justice earned, but Grace God’s gift.
Though truth may not be found in me
In loving God I can be free,
My sails are full, sin’s lost its pull,
My restless heart no more adrift.

Direction comes with good intent,
And peace the fruit of time well spent,
Green pastures call, demand my all,
My patience ripples on a lake.
For service is a restful noise,
Like one the wind in leaves employs
Ripples caress, service redress
Wounds of a soul lost on the take. 

Sure I’ve a temper, hear me roar,
But keep your gun locked in its drawer
My passions vent, my anger spent,
I’ll soon be sleeping like dead tree.
My happiness the world of Pooh
With flowers that are meant for two,
Or three or four, open the door,
Here friendship has no enemy!

My love a cloud embracing all
Its form envelopes like a shawl,
With scent of earth, infusing worth,
Dew drops condensing on a rose.
I’m loyal like no one you’ve seen,
Like color in an evergreen,
Put doubt aside, embrace the pride
Of emperor without his clothes.

I’ve tried to do sir what you asked
But you did set me quite a task
Hope that you see, something of me,
In my poor effort at this verse.
And now as I am close to done,
I swear it’s been a lot of fun,
Though poetry’s not rocketry,
Well, hell, my friend, it could be worse!

Brian Johnston
March 3, 2015

Poet's Notes:
My poem 'WHO I AM'  is an Echoed response to a popular poem on PoemHunter.com by the poet John Westlake called 'How I Would Describe Me.'


Copyright © Brian Johnston | Year Posted 2015


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Today In Billy the Kid History - April 28, 1881

"Sentenced to hang in the town of Lincoln,
Billy made his bold escape.
Both of his guards died from thinking,
that a shackled young boy couldn't break away."

I've often wondered what thoughts were going through his head
as he stood staring out that window chained to the floor by his bed,
watching the gallows being built that would soon seal his fate.
Was he planning at that very moment his greatest escape?
Did he already know that his hanging would never come to be?
Was he already aware that before night fall, once again he'd be free?
Whatever his thoughts, they were interrupted rudely
by Deputy Bob Ollinger, one of his guards while in custody.
"Word has it you said that if we ever met again you'd kill me on the spot. 
Well here I am Kid. Now's your chance. Show me what you've got. 
It's a shame that you'll hang in another week or two, 
because I'd love to be the one who gets to kill you. 
I've got silver dimes in the barrells of my shotgun. 
I'd love to try them out on you, but I can't unless you run. 
If I free you from those chains will you run for the door? 
Oh by the way Kid, your Ma was one sweet filthy whore. 
I'll kill you before you hang Kid. That's a sure bet." 
"Be careful Bob," said the Kid, "I'm not hung yet."
Bob thrusted his shotgun hard into Billy's gut. 
The Kid looked up at him in pain and said, "Now what?" 
"Don't do it Bob," Bell screamed angrily, "or you'll be the one who'll hang for sure 
for killing an unarmed boy in cold blood who was chained helplessly to the floor. 
It's time for the other prisoners 
to be escorted across the street to be fed. The Kid's not going anywhere. 
He's chained to the floor by his bed. 
Anyway, I took the prisoners last so now it's your turn. 
Go and have yourself a beer 
and I'll stay here 
and guard the Kid until you return. 
Bob Ollinger placed his shotgun into the gun rack. 
Before he left, he said to Billy, "I'll see you when I get back." 
No one can say for sure if the above scenario ever truly took place,
but one thing's for sure. 
Ollinger tormented Billy at a merciless endless pace. 
They were enemies who fought against each other
during the Lincoln County War. 
Ollinger was in the posse that murdered John Tunstall,
Billy's employer, friend and mentor. 
"I have to use the privy Bell," Billy said to the deputy. 
Bell kept his rifle trained on Billy as he tossed him the key. 
Billy unlocked the chains that kept him bound to the floor. 
Still in handcuffs and leg irons, Bell escorted Billy out the door. 
Billy entered the outhouse closing the door behind him. 
"Let's not take too long in there Kid," Bell said with a friendly grin. 
While in the outhouse, 
Billy managed to slip one of his hands out of his handcuffs. 
"You fall in there Kid?" Bell laughed, 
"You've been in there long enough." 
"I'm coming out now Bell," Billy said opening the door. 
"Sorry I took so long Bell. I must have ate something bad for sure." 
Deputy Bell then escorted Billy back to the jail cell. 
Once inside, Billy spun around and smacked hard Deputy James Bell. 
Bell lost his balance, dropped his rifle and was momentarily stunned. 
"Hands Up Bell!," the Kid yelled. In his hand was a gun. 
Please, please don't do it Bell," Billy pleaded, but Bell tried to run. 
The Kid had no choice but to do what had to be done. 
He shot and killed Bell, then quickly got Ollinger's shotgun. 
The Kid never found pleasure in killing, 
but Ollinger would indeed be the exception. 
Knowing that Ollinger heard the gunfire, Billy stood by the window 
and waited for Ollinger to appear in the street down below. 
One senior named Godfrey saw Bell fall dead down the stairs. 
The moment probably gave Godfrey a few more gray hairs. 
Ollinger ran out into the street as Godfrey screamed, 
"The Kid's killed Bell!" 
Ollinger looked up into both barrels of his own shotgun 
and muttered, "..and now he's killed me as well."
"Hello Bob!," Billy called out with a song in his heart 
just prior to blowing Bob Ollinger apart. 
He blasted both barrels into Ollinger's chest and face. 
Pieces of old Bob lay scattered all over the place. 
Billy snapped his shotgun in two, threw it at him but missed. 
"You'll never rifle me again," he screamed, "you son of a *****!" 
On the balcony he addressed the crowd whose jaws hung agape. 
"I do not want to hurt anyone, 
but I will kill anybody who tries to prevent my escape." 
In the office he found a sledge hammer
and smashed the chains of his leg irons free. 
He told Godfrey to fetch him a fast horse immediately. 
As he walked down the stairs, he came upon Bell's lifeless body 
and many eyewitnesses admit
that the Kid looked upon him and said somewhat tearfully, 
"I'm sorry I killed you Bell, but couldn't help it." 
As Billy mounted the horse 
the chains of his leg irons startled the beast. 
The horse bucked violently throwing Billy down onto the street. 
He was at this point his most vulnerable laying down on the ground. 
The crowd could have overtaken him easily, 
but none made a move or a sound. 
One might think that they were all too terrified to subdue him immediately,
but the truth is that he was so loved by so many
that they all just let him go free.
Once again Billy mounted the horse
and fled with the sound of his leg iron chains ringing. 
Many claim that as he rode out of Lincoln County 
that they heard the Kid singing. 
Billy had escaped danger so many other times in his past, 
but this was his greatest escape ever. 
It would also be his last.

*

It was a few days after the Kid's great escape, 
when the following happened to Sheriff Pat Garrett's dismay. 
A stranger rode into the town of Lincoln, 
with the same horse that the Kid stole for his escaping. 
The stranger approached Garrett and said, 'Excuse me partner,
"Billy said that you would return this horse to its rightful owner."
.....just another example of the Kid's unique sense of humor.


Copyright © Billy TheKidster | Year Posted 2016


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Both Barrels - Shooting Widows

My husband is a shooter,
Which isn't always fun,
As every weekend 
He's out somewhere with his gun.
So quality time together 
Can sometimes be quite sparse,
"But I have to have a hobby."
He tells me with a laugh.

Our daughters getting married
To a super guy called Tom,
Has he any faults?
I've discovered just the one.
He also is a shooter,
His hobby is the same,
He can't wait to get out 
And with his gun take aim.

So this week we decided 
To be a shooters WAG
And go along with them,
Maybe hold their bag.
So Lu and I rose early,
Up at the crack of dawn,
To go and watch them shoot 
On this early Sunday morn.

It was then that we discovered,
She's marrying her Dad!
Just a fairer version,
Oh dear could this be bad?
They speak the same language,
Of floppy stuff and rabbits,
They have the same mannerisms,
The very same habits.

They pull out their guns
From gun sleeves in time.
Pick up their bags together 
And up the hill they climb.
They put on identical glasses,
Taken from identical tins,
From behind they could be,
The dark and fair haired twins.

They stand and measure clays,
Arms up in the air,
Give each other
The very same stare.
Their heads move in unison 
As they watch the others shoot,
They both rest their guns
Upon their right boot.

They congratulate each other 
On a job well done,
Share a bit of banter,
Have a lot of fun.
Discuss with other shooters 
The angle of the clay,
"What is your score card
Looking like today?"

So my darling daughter 
Your weekends could be a bore.
When he gets back home again 
He'll sit and analyse the score.
We'll have to get a hobby 
That is just for us two,
'Cause Dad and Tom jointly 
Will stick together like glue!


Copyright © Elizabeth Kinch | Year Posted 2017


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A TOWN CALLED ROTGUT

The hinges of the swing doors creak as Zack Waverley enters the Rotgut bar
He stands in the doorway his huge frame blocking out the daylight
‘Hey Zack’ I cry ‘Is that a pistol in your pocket are you just pleased to see me’
His face lights up with a grin, ‘Hey sugar, have you got room for me’
I wink at him and smile at his subtle innuendo 
Zack was once one of my best customers
Not seen him for years though he left as soon as I fell pregnant
Sparks fly off his silver spurs as he swaggers over to the bar
Double whiskey on the rocks, he downs it in one swig then has another double
Are you read for some action I ask him, are you firing on both barrels?
Zack nods his head and we head for the door to go to the old motel 
Suddenly there is a loud BANG and a pistol is fired
Zack falls to the floor as dead as a dodo
A single bullet wound to his chest
My son stands there with a smirk on his face
The smoking pistol in his hands
‘Sorry it had to end this way dad’ he says stepping over the lifeless body
I fall to my knees and cry
Oh why oh why did I lie
'Zack wasn’t yer Pa' I cried
I just gave his name I should never have lied
He was just a man I could never resist
Guess I better tick his name off my list

Jan Allison
30th July 2014
Written for A Town Called Rotgut Contest Sponsored by Jerry T Curtis


Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2014


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ole' tookie

tookie winfeild was a friend of mine
from way on back down the way
back in my river days
mean old man with a heart of gold
ugly old geezer with a silver tongue
ole tookie could talk a mile a second say nothin at all
ole tookie was as crazy as a jackrabbit in heat and twice as slick

used to see that ole codger strolling on the avenue
with some young honey on his arm
carefree as sin and twice in its debt
yes sir...ole tookie was a friend of mine
back in the day we ran that river
like it was our private playground
mean old man with a heart of gold
ugly old geezer with a silver tongue
both barrels for the lookers
and a bottle of shine for the sippers
yes sir back when i was young that river was ours

they found old tookie winfeild up on the river
frozen to death in the dead of night
took to drinking up there by his lonesome
and shouting at the moon
aint no good ever come from no crazy man
least thats what they say
but old tookie was allright
in his own crazy way
mean old man with a heart of gold
ugly old geezer with a silver tongue
he was a friend to many a poor boy
down the old river way


Copyright © mark junor | Year Posted 2014


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12. BTK Coming Attractions Part 4

Continued From:
11. BTK Coming Attractions Part 3
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=195843

****************************************************************************
Billy the Kid's Great Escape (Continued)
 
Billy entered the outhouse closing the door behind him. 
"Let's not take too long in there Kid," Bell said with a humorous grin. 
While in the outhouse Billy managed to slip one of his hands out of his handcuff. 
"You fall in there Kid," Bell laughed, "You've been in there long enough." 
"I'm coming out now Bell," Billy said opening the door. 
"Sorry I took so long Bell. I must have ate something bad for sure." 
Deputy Bell then escorted Billy back to the jail cell. 
Once inside, Billy spun around and smacked hard Deputy James Bell. 
Bell lost his balance, dropped his rifle and was momentarily stunned. 
"Hands Up Bell!," the Kid yelled. In his hand was a gun. 
"Please don't do it Bell," Billy pleaded, but Bell tried to run. 
The Kid had no choice but to do what had to be done. 
He shot and killed Bell, then went for Ollinger's shotgun. 
The Kid never found pleasure in killing, but Ollinger was indeed the exception. 
Knowing that Ollinger heard the gunfire, Billy stood by the window 
and waited for Ollinger to appear in the street down below. 
One senior named Godfrey saw Bell fall dead down the stairs. 
The moment probably gave Godfrey a few more grey hairs. 
Ollinger ran out into the street as Godfrey screamed, "The Kid's killed Bell!" 
Ollinger looked up into both barrels of his own shotgun and whispered, 
"Now he's killed me as well."
 
****************************************************************************
 
To Continue Go To:
13. BTK Coming Attractions Part 5
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=195839


Copyright © Billy TheKidster | Year Posted 2010


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What's In Your Quiver

I've set my feet aback from running
headlong into the battle
n' made an effort to roll up my tongue
yet as I sit in my fortified compound
I'm somewhat content to whet my pen
Do some feel like a romphoia 
has run them through?
while others a dirk's grazed 'em-
a mere flesh wound?
Would I shrink or rise to the occasion
when fully exposed to the sun
in a field wide open?
The fixed grass sways n' remains indifferent
to the pounding feet n' hoofs
n' crimson drops flung
or joining together to them
in a bloodbath
Is there some deep thing
that still calls to me?
from Bruce n' my fellow clansmen
as we shout out in unison-
Clann Fhearguis gu brath!
Should I stand with the Sioux
n' the Chippewa at Cannonball
that I feel an affinity with?
Or do as I've mostly done in my life
go on the run?
So as your young lad dons a cape
n' fashions a makeshift wooden sword
you might want to rethink before
demonizing n' feminizing him
For quite possibly one day
he'll stand fixed in the gate
knowing the battle is of The Lord-
while greasing both barrels of his gun.
10-28-2016 Duncan R.M Ferguson


Copyright © Duncan R. M. Ferguson | Year Posted 2016


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Count Your Blessings, Or Just Wait

When you’re counting God’s gifts
Do you use just one hand,
Or are both hands not ever enough?
And does life never goad,
Standing there by the road
As your brain whispers “Things are so rough!”

When a head light finds you,
Do you freeze like a deer?
You could use its occasion to run!
New “life” frozen on wall,
Immortality's yours,
Your “points” trophy of narcissist’s gun!

Think you haven’t a choice?
Weren’t you given a voice?
Did you just stay at home and not vote?
Deer can slay hunters too!
Tell me what you will do?
Why not give him both barrels, just quote!

You could poison the roots
Of the buffoon’s beanstalk,
Watch the giant's neck break in the fall.
Or just throw him in jail,
Putin’s boy toy revealed,
A great outcome, endearing to all.


Long Tooth
February 12, 2017


Copyright © Roof Missing | Year Posted 2017


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Wicked's Logic

They wanna pull me from the ladder
They wanna throw me in the gutter
They want me bitten by the adder
They want a whole lot less words
from me to mutter

They wanna yank my linkage chain
They wanna toss me to the heap
They keep giving me heartache n' pain
They'll go to any lengths to disturb
my precious sleep

They're so intent to do any ' lil thing
to get at me
Greasing machine guns to rat a tat tat
at me
Louisville slugger upside the head
that ol' bat for me
They don't realize the curse was lifted
by Him hung on the tree

They're laying in wait
They're setting traps all around
Evildoers nothing can satiate
But they didn't factor in grace for me
does abound

They're letting loose with both barrels
They're casing out my humble pad
Now at the door n' not with Christmas carols 
Going away empty handed'd 
really make 'em mad

Like  moths 'round the bulb
they're getting at me
Last thing'd be hat in hand
coming at me
Astonishing depravity
these sewer rats surrounding me
Unaware the seal of The Only Holy
residing within me.
5-23-2017 Duncan R.M. Ferguson 
(main: Psalm 140, last line Ephesians 4:30) 





Copyright © Duncan R. M. Ferguson | Year Posted 2017


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13. BTK Coming Attractions Part 5

Continued From:
12. BTK Coming Attractions Part 4
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=195841 

****************************************************************************
Billy the Kid's Great Escape (Conclusion)
 
"Hello Bob!," Billy called out with a song in his heart 
just prior to blowing Bob Ollinger apart. 
He blasted both barrels into Ollinger's chest and face. 
Pieces of old Bob lay scattered all over the place. 
Billy smashed his shotgun in two, threw it at him but missed. 
"You'll never rifle me again," he screamed, 
"you son of a female dog that rhymes with witch!" 
 
{Sorry. Poetry Soup's Profanity Policy. Hope I'm not in trouble}
 
On the balcony he addressed the crowd whose jaws hung agape. 
"I don't want to hurt anyone, but I'll kill anybody who tries to prevent my escape." 
In the office he found a sledge hammer and smashed the chains of his leg irons free. 
He told Godfrey to fetch him a fast horse immediately. 
As he walked down the stairs, he came upon Bell's lifeless body 
and many eyewitnesses admit that the Kid looked upon him and said most remorsefully, 
"I'm sorry I killed you Bell, but couldn't help it." 
As Billy mounted the horse the chains of his leg irons startled the beast. 
The horse reared up and threw Billy down onto the street. 
He was at this point his most vulnerable laying down on the ground. 
The crowd could have overtaken him easily, but none made a move or a sound. 
Once again Billy mounted the horse and fled with the sound of his leg iron chains ringing. 
Many say that as he rode out of Lincoln County that they heard the Kid singing. 
Billy had escaped danger so many other times in his past, 
but this was his greatest escape ever. It would also be his last.
 
****************************************************************************
 
To Continue Go To:
14. BTK Coming Attractions Part 6
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=195838


Copyright © Billy TheKidster | Year Posted 2010


Details | Both Barrels Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Escape

"Sentenced to hang in the town of Lincoln,
Billy made his bold escape.
Both of his guards died from thinking,
that a shackled young boy couldn't break away."

I've often wondered what thoughts were going through his head
as he stood staring out that window chained to the floor by his bed,
watching the gallows being built that would soon seal his fate.
Was he planning at that very moment his greatest escape?
Did he already know that his hanging would never come to be?
Was he already aware that before night fall, once again he'd be free?
Whatever his thoughts, they were interrupted rudely
by Deputy Bob Ollinger, one of his guards while in custody.
"Word has it you said that if we ever met again you'd kill me on the spot. 
Well here I am Kid. Now's your chance. Show me what you've got. 
It's a shame that you'll hang in another week or two, 
because I'd love to be the one who gets to kill you. 
I've got silver dimes in the barrells of my shotgun. 
I'd love to try them out on you, but I can't unless you run. 
If I free you from those chains will you run for the door? 
Oh by the way Kid, your Ma was one sweet filthy whore. 
I'll kill you before you hang Kid. That's a sure bet." 
"Be careful Bob," said the Kid, "I'm not hung yet."
Bob thrusted his shotgun hard into Billy's gut. 
The Kid fell over in pain and said, "Now what?" 
"Don't do it Bob," Bell screamed angrily, 
"or you'll be the one who'll hang for sure 
for killing an unarmed boy in cold blood 
who was chained helplessly to the floor. 
It's time for the other prisoners to be escorted across the street to be fed. 
The Kid's not going anywhere. He's chained to the floor by his bed. 
Anyway, I took the prisoners last so now it's your turn. 
Go and have yourself a beer and I'll stay here 
and guard the Kid until you return. 
Bob Ollinger placed his shotgun into the gun rack. 
Before he left, he said to Billy, "I'll see you when I get back." 
No one can say for sure if the above scenario ever truly took place,
but one thing's for sure. Ollinger tormented Billy at a merciless endless pace. 
They were enemies who fought against each other
during the Lincoln County War. 
Ollinger was in the posse that murdered John Tunstall,
Billy's employer, friend and mentor. 
"I have to use the privy Bell," Billy said to the deputy. 
Bell kept his rifle trained on Billy as he tossed him the key. 
Billy unlocked the chains that kept him bound to the floor. 
Still in handcuffs and leg irons, Bell escorted Billy out the door. 
Billy entered the outhouse closing the door behind him. 
"Let's not take too long in there Kid," Bell said with a friendly grin. 
While in the outhouse, 
Billy managed to slip one of his hands out of his handcuffs. 
"You fall in there Kid?" Bell laughed, "You've been in there long enough." 
"I'm coming out now Bell," Billy said opening the door. 
"Sorry I took so long Bell. I must have ate something bad for sure." 
Deputy Bell then escorted Billy back to the jail cell. 
Once inside, Billy spun around and smacked hard Deputy James Bell. 
Bell lost his balance, dropped his rifle and was momentarily stunned. 
"Hands Up Bell!," the Kid yelled. In his hand was a gun. 
"Please, please don't do it Bell," Billy pleaded, but Bell tried to run. 
The Kid had no choice but to do what had to be done. 
He shot and killed Bell, then quickly got Ollinger's shotgun. 
The Kid never found pleasure in killing, 
but Ollinger would indeed be the exception. 
Knowing that Ollinger heard the gunfire, Billy stood by the window 
and waited for Ollinger to appear in the street down below. 
One senior named Godfrey saw Bell fall dead down the stairs. 
The moment probably gave Godfrey a few more gray hairs. 
Ollinger ran out into the street as Godfrey screamed, 
"The Kid's killed Bell!" 
Ollinger looked up into both barrels of his own shotgun 
and muttered, "..and now he's killed me as well."
"Hello Bob!," Billy called out with a song in his heart 
just prior to blowing Bob Ollinger apart. 
He blasted both barrels into Ollinger's chest and face. 
Pieces of old Bob lay scattered all over the place. 
Billy snapped his shotgun in two, threw it at him but missed. 
"You'll never rifle me again," he screamed, "you son of a *****!" 
On the balcony he addressed the crowd whose jaws hung agape. 
"I do not want to hurt anyone, 
but I will kill anybody who tries to prevent my escape." 
In the office he found a sledge hammer 
and smashed the chains of his leg irons free. 
He told Godfrey to fetch him a fast horse immediately. 
As he walked down the stairs, he came upon Bell's lifeless body, 
and many eyewitnesses admit,
that the Kid looked upon him and said tearfully, 
"I'm sorry I killed you Bell, but couldn't help it." 
As Billy mounted the horse the chains of his leg irons startled the beast. 
The horse bucked violently throwing Billy down onto the street. 
He was at this point his most vulnerable laying down on the ground. 
The crowd could have overtaken him easily, 
but none made a move or a sound. 
Many claimed that they were all too terrified to subdue him immediately,
but the truth is that he was so loved by so many
that they all just let him go free.
Some even approached to help him back on his feet.
Once again Billy mounted the horse
and fled with the sound of his leg iron chains ringing. 
Many said that as he rode out of Lincoln County 
that they heard the Kid singing. 
Billy had escaped danger so many other times in his past, 
but this was his greatest escape ever. It would also be his last.
*
It was a few days after the Kid's great escape, 
when the following happened to Sheriff Pat Garrett's dismay. 
A stranger rode into the town of Lincoln, 
with the same horse that the Kid stole for his escaping. 
The stranger approached Garrett and said, 'Excuse me partner,
Billy said that you would return this horse to its rightful owner."
.....just another example of the Kid's unique sense of humor.
*


Copyright © Billy TheKidster | Year Posted 2018


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THE DRY HEAT

stars slowly diminish darkness completes still we feel the suffers of heat the fever suspends in the thick a velvet’s texture mix clinging to skin as if drowned dawn flexes, stretches and surrounds as the last of struggling stars obscound sunlight strikes without a sound grabbing and stabbing clusters loyal fray guarding reaches of dark the sun rises content and goes to work dawn's temper dares and flares leading mobs to the extreme a simple day can claim 120 degrees misery keeps no company here lust begins with fear and the hunt for shade any hue of obscurity a rare breed creatures scurry free stalking unseen gila monsters are a venoms lounge despite the screams to leave this forsaken oasis sits ringside to hazards door bright by right a rising star a blazing sunmade world rendering addicts galore jonesing for a breeze or more bent backs slave to the hustle and flo fiends circling to numb a mad core the hole dug deeper wind indeed She seldom has a show a quandry rolls in a circling wall of dust a curtain of rain she comes riding in on a Kicked up Beast of sand a lasso in hand wrangling hounds and the force of nature hitting the ground blow to blow these animals defend her round after round the elements are primed coming out in breakaway swing a punch and a weave dust of demons bend a knee this is the end of the line hell is just past the next sign devils play here long into limbo’s curfew escape by any means regrettable here the heat plays for keeps the dead man’s hand the sun aims again with both barrels the sound comes undone another round just for fun the sun reaches down closes the man's eyes and crosses his arms embrace the heat or R I P Terry D'Arcy-Ryan


Copyright © Sheer Terror | Year Posted 2018