Best Buffalo Bill Poems
Some modern folks, when they hear his name,
will roll their eyes and look ashamed,
thinking the cowboy is uncivilized,
with his hats, and guns, and round-up rides.
That somehow they are beyond the stuff,
to good for the wild, and the rough,
following some unwritten ‘elite’ law,
suppressing the urge to shout ‘yee-haw!’
But I think when it all is said and done,
cowboys are truly made of awesome…
Riding swift across the wide-open plains,
coat flapping behind like your horse’s mane,
maneuvering a large and panicked herd,
turning a stampede with iron nerves,
rough-hewn men cooking by the firelight,
coyote chorus yips through the night,
knowing that for all the wind and grit,
it sure beats sitting in an office.
A battered hat worth more than any pearl,
grabs the attention of the cowgirls,
boots that announce you in any room,
be you a mere hand, or fancy bride-groom.
Leather vests that dress up any shirt,
and somehow can even make fringe"work,
a bandana or a wild rag,
with a thousand uses, not a mere fad.
The tell-tale jangle comes from your spurs,
vast coat made out of buffalo fur.
Square-dance, line-dance, twirl a girl around,
to fiddle and steel guitar’s sound,
campfire songs to entertain the kids,
harmonicas to sing the blues with,
teaching the folks to throw a lasso,
then breaking out tricks with swirling rope.
Living life by a strong honor code,
one that good people would do well to know.
Wyatt Earp and his famous revenge ride,
Masterson cut Dodge City down to size,
Doc Holliday gambling with a death wish,
Billy the Kid, criminal, yet tragic,
Wild Bill holding those aces & eights,
and old Kit Carson, out blazing the way,
Buffalo Bill brought the people a dream,
and who can forget, the legend Bass Reeves?
A six-gun at ready, holster right side,
the lines of a Winchester, ever sublime.
Ranches that sprawl on mountain and prairie,
riding the trails where man can breath free,
rampaging rodeo, those guns are fun,
and damn can those barrel-racers run!
Living out of doors, by both skill and luck,
be it on a horse or a pick-up truck,
It’s clear that when all is said and done,
that cowboys are truly made of awesome.
Hydro bill
Visa bill
Food bill
Toilet paper bill
Heating bill
Wine bill
Car bill
Phone bill
Clothing bill
Duck bill
Buffalo bill
Entertainment bill
Anti acids tablets bill
Insurance bill
Bar bill
House bill
Weed bill
Bakery bill
Starbucks bill
Medical bill
Psychotic drugs bill
Dental bill
Legal bill
( for murdering dentist)
Lawn bill
Maid bill
Sexy maid bill
Super sexy maid bill
Misc hookers bill
Feminists lawsuit bill
Internet bill
Cable bill
Speeding ticket bill
Second speeding ticket bill
(to pay first bill)
Drivers license bill
Tic-Tac bill
Kidney replacement bill
Second wine bill
Netflix bill
Barber bill
Uber bill
Russian translation bill
Predator Bill
Y-Bush bill
Donald Trump
Assassination bill
Legal bill
Alimony bill
Stormy bill
This poem was written after I took a tour of the Little Bighorn Battlefield National Monument in Wyoming, the site of Custer's Last Stand.
It was the year eighteen sixty-eight.
The U.S. government signed the Fort Laramie Treaty.
The Black Hills were to be closed to white settlements,
Preserved for the Lakota Indians
Forever, so long as the buffalo roamed.
'Forever' lasted less than eight years.
The eastern railroads needed meat for their track crews,
So professional hunters followed the rails westward.
Men like 'Buffalo Bill' made their living
Killing the buffalo for meat, hides, and sport.
It was the year eighteen seventy-two.
America celebrated its centennial.
Gold was discovered in the Black Hills,
And people in their thousands rushed to the west
Seeking fortunes and living space.
Most of them were immigrants to America
Fleeing depression and prejudice,
And ready to ignore the letter of the treaty law.
Towns quickly sprung up along the immigrant trails.
Towns like Deadwood - an illegal encampment
In the midst of Indian land.
People like Calamity Jane - an illegal immigrant.
Wild Bill Hickok - another illegal.
In the year eighteen seventy-six
The U.S. government sent the army to remove the Indians
From 'their land'.
Almost half of Custer's troops were immigrants themselves
From seventeen different countries
And two marked down as 'unknown'.
You already know the basic story.
The Lakota won the battle
But lost the war and their sacred Black Hills.
General Custer became a legend,
The Indian culture was 'civilized,
And U.S. history moved on.
History is full of ironies.
Custer, a hero for the North side
Winning battles against slavery in the Civil War,
Won greater fame by dying in a war to enslave the Lakota.
What's the lesson we should learn from all this?
Each of us standing here today is an 'illegal immigrant'.
We need to remember.
My oldest possession is a spittoon
My spittoon goes back a ways into history
Where it originated is a bit of a mystery
It has a bullet hole right aboutOhere
I’m told that Buffalo Bill Cody put it there
From over across the street to impress his girl
The Lass who went by the name of Annie Oakley
She could ride and shoot with the very best of all men
She would beat all of them at their very own game
Riding and roping, trick shots gathering fame
She out shot Frank Butler who fell for her
and he was forever happy as her lover.
In Cody’s wild west show she pleased a lot
of people who loved her as “Little Sure Shot”
May 11 2010 For Amy's "Complete Concrete" contest
Out here in "Colo-rah-dee"
It's dry as dry can be
Dustbowls do get rowdy
As far as you can see
Ranchers cook upon the fire
Some coffee and some beans,
There something to admire
Have been many movie themes
Buffalo Bill did travel here
Many years ago
Drive up to see, have no fear
There's lots they have to show
Travel up to the plains
Where buffalo and antelope roam
You will never be the same
It may become your home
For out here we live simply
Our clothes and boots are worn
Our middles may be dimply
Our shirts they may be torn
Mountains may surround us
And blaze in summers sun
Gold has caused many to fuss
That's how the west was won.
So come on out to see
The country at its best
I chose to live here for me
Because I love the West.
Buffalo Bill
Stood in the rain and caught a chill
Was very ill and in some pain
He moaned and groaned…"This is a calamity, Jane!!"
This is the story of Buffalo Bill
An ordinary buffalo was he - until
A beautiful flower he saw on a hill
Instead of grazing
He just stood gazing
With joy the flower did him fill
Soon left behind was Buffalo Bill
The herd thinking he might be ill
Not knowing why he stood so still
The flower - swaying
To Bill was saying
Stay here forever Do say you will
Everyone heard about Buffalo Bill
First from Jack and then from Jill
They all went running up the hill
To see this flower
That had such power
To discover an ordinary daffodil
X
marked
the spot-
when sawbucks
were riding the range.
Few now look back on those times that are gone
When Hoodoo and Rudebaugh rode rough stock;
When Clantons and Cowboys carved out Tombstone
And the West was legend with Wyatt and Doc.
There's Jesse amd Frank and Youngers of course--
Daltons and Wild Bunch and many forgot;
Billy the Kid and that Wild Bill Hickok--
John Wesley Hardin: another hard lot.
Too few now know of old Buffalo Bill--
Cowboys are just jokes and those to be feared;
Good western movies are rare and too few--
Ranch land is shrinking and too often cleared.
The Old West is fading and few give a damn--
Long gone are Bat Masterson and Luke Short;
There's no more Blackjack Ketchem or Black Bart--
Belle Starr's forgotten and Judge Roy Bean's court.
Few now look back on those times that are gone
When Hoodoo and Rudebaugh rode rough stock;
When Clantons and cowboys carved out Tombstone
And the West was legend with Wyatt and Doc.
Pretty funny name for a girl—her name traveled ‘round the world,
“little Miss Sure=Shot” they called her everywhere.
She sure shootin’ earned her fame—“Annie Oakley” was her other name—
She blasted those little glass balls right out of the air…
And a Winchester rifle became that girl’s best friend!
Little Miss Sure-Shot, you shot through our hearts back then;
And the likes of your marksmanship won’t be seen again.
Little Miss Sure-Shot you shot through our hearts back then…
In your cowgirl costume you rode through our Western dream.
Her Daddy died when she was ten—she picked up a rifle and then
She filled up the table with rabbits and quail to eat.
At fifteen she met her man—good lookin’ with a gun in his hand;
He tried to outshoot her but that hero, he got beat.
So he married little Annie—they hit the bull’s eve with their love!
She done pretty good for a girl Her boss he took her ‘round the world—
Buffalo Bill on that Wild West show-biz trail.
From Memphis to Cheyenne—she shook Queen Victoria’s hand,
Little Miss sure-Shot, her aim it never failed….
And she shot a cigarette out of Kaiser Wilhelm’s mouth!
There is no Sunday west of St. Louis
And no God that’s west of Ft. Smith—
So says the frontier adage that’s truest
And confirms the last Old West myth.
Wild Bill Hickok had him a dead man’s hand—
They found John Ringo ‘neath a tree.
Billy the Kid was shot where he did stand—
They never found Butch Cassidy.
Jesse was shot unarmed by a young creep,
Belle Starr was shot-gunned in the back—
Wyatt Earp died years later in his sleep
And the Dalton boys all got whacked.
Dirty Dave Rutabaugh did lose his head,
Doc Holliday died of TB—
And Wyatt Earp shot Curly Bill stone dead,
But what became of “Buckskin” Leslie?
John Wesley Hardin was shot in a bar—
Frank James lived to a ripe old age.
Cole Younger wrote down most of his memoir,
Buffalo Bill soon was the range.
Now west of St. Louis Sundays do thrive
And west of Ft. Smith they’ve found God—
But the frontier is no longer alive
And the Old West is a smile and a nod.
Pretty funny name for a girl—her name traveled ‘round the world,
“little Miss Sure-Shot” they called her everywhere.
She sure shootin’ earned her fame—“Annie Oakley” was her other name—
She blasted those little glass balls right out of the air…
And a Winchester rifle became that girl’s best friend!
Little Miss Sure-Shot, you shot through our hearts back then;
And the likes of your marksmanship won’t be seen again.
Little Miss Sure-Shot you shot through our hearts back then…
In your cowgirl costume you rode through our Western dream.
Her Daddy died when she was ten—she picked up a rifle and then
She filled up the table with rabbits and quail to eat.
At fifteen she met her man—good lookin’ with a gun in his hand;
He tried to outshoot her but that hero, he got beat.
So he married little Annie—they hit the bull’s eve with their love!
She done pretty good for a girl Her boss he took her ‘round the world—
Buffalo Bill on that Wild West show-biz trail.
From Memphis to Cheyenne—she shook Queen Victoria’s hand,
Little Miss sure-Shot, her aim it never failed….
And she shot a cigarette out of Kaiser Wilhelm’s mouth!
It doesn’t seem like that long ago I was heading to the park
Meet some friends and play until well after dark
It was a special time being young and free
Riding the sliding board or climbing a tree
An innocence searching for a pot of gold
Never dreaming of growing old
I was king of the mountain, on top of the hill
I was Robin Hood and Buffalo Bill
Pony tails and freckles were in style
My heart would race when I’d see her smile
We’d light up a lucky because we were men
Filters were for girls way back then
In the pavilion we’d meet the rest of the crowd
While a transistor radio played music out loud
Sometimes we’d lie in the grass and count the stars
Or look at taillights and identify cars
We’d ride our bicycles home at night
On the handlebars we’d tie a flashlight
We shared our happiness, joys and sorrow
Living for today, not worrying about tomorrow
I’m still king of the mountain and there I’ll stay
Enjoying each moment with each passing day
If it’s possible to close my eyes
Then by clicking my heels
I could go back in time anywhere
The Wild West, that’s my deal
Back in time to the gun slinging days
A big iron on my hip
The beer so cheap it’s almost free
A nickel’s a big tip
I want to ride a horse named Sugar
Meet old Buffalo Bill
Walk the streets with Wyatt Earp
Stroll around on Boot Hill
I want to be at OK corral
When the shooting begins
Just be there as part of the crowd
See if the Earp’s will win
I want to belly up to the bar
Put my boot on the rail
Spit into one of brass spittoons
Ask the bar keep for ale
Just experience the Wild West life
Not sure what lies ahead
But when I wake up, I hope to be
Nice and safe in my bed
"Close your eyes and click your heels" Contest
Charles Sides
Hannibal L.
It was during a time I was visiting,
in a cell that felt like hell,
a doctor and killer most riveting.
I shall call him Hannibal L.
This psychiatrist - he had feelings for me,
and he treated me very well!
I was whip smart and HE was whip smart.
In this cell that felt like hell,
I’d question him this. He’d riddle me that -
I and this Hannibal L.
Then I grew in respect from the things that to me
Hannibal L. would tell.
So this is the reason that when he escaped
from his cell that felt like hell,
no fear did I have of the chilling
fled cannibal Hannibal L.
So when he fled, his clues about
a killer that he knew well
would help me shut up a murderer
in a cell that felt like hell.
This devil I tracked, known as “Buffalo Bill”
was eluding me so well.
But Hannibal (as you already know
from the cell that felt like hell)
had given me clues that helped me to catch
this killer chilling as Hannibal L.
Doctor L., how he knew me! Our bond was no ruse,
for he’d gotten to know me well.
Yes, that killer knew me so well,
for "Death's-head Moth" killer I caught from his clues
(demon “Bill” who's now locked in a cell).
And cured I am too of trauma because
of cannibal Hannibal L.
For I no longer dream of poor lambs as they scream
thanks to cannibal Hannibal L.
And his eyes saw my soul, so I now feel I’m whole
thanks to cannibal Hannibal L.
In the sequel, part 2, played by somebody new,
I’m Clarice, and that cannibal I will pursue
on a pathway that leads to a hell -
like a "tale from Poe" kind of hell.
Dec. 27, 2020
for L MILTON HANKINS' "Parody of a Famous Poem" Contest
No apologies to Poe because I think he would have really enjoyed the
novel on which "Silence of the Lambs" was based, but sorry for any meter
that was "off." If not for my trying to match the meter of this poem to Poe's in "Annabel Lee," I would have called this poem Hannibal Lecter instead of Hannibal L!