Best Chaps Poems
When hard times come they sit a spell,
Like kin folk come to stay
A-packin' troubles, pets an' kids
That always get ‘n your way.
It's drought an' flood, an' flood an' drought,
There ain't much in-between.
You work like hell to make ’em good,
But still they’re sorta lean.
The ranch went under late last year,
The drought got mighty tough.
The boss held-out a long, long time,
But finally said, "enough!"
So here I am dispatchin’ cops
An’ watchin’ felons sleep,
In Junction, at the county jail,
A job I’ll prob’ly keep.
The wife, she works at Leisure Lodge,
Where older people stay,
A-makin’ beds an’ moppin’ floors
To earn some ‘extra’ pay.
Though “extra pay‘s” the term I used,
It goes to payin’ rent,
An’ after all the bills are paid,
We wonder where it went.
We hocked my saddle, guns an' chaps,
An' then our weddin' rings;
Then when we couldn't pay the loan,
They sold the 'dad-blamed' things.
We felt real bad a day or two
But then we let it go,
Cause it got Christmas for the kids
When money got real slow.
When hard times come they sit a spell,
Don't matter who you are;
They'll cost ya things you've set aside,
An' clean your cookie jar.
You'll loose some sleep an' worry some,
Won't pay to moan an' groan;
But hang on to your happiness,
They'll finally leave ya 'lone.
Categories:
chaps, cowboy-western, family, funny, life,
Form:
Cowboy Poetry
*The feline Texan way*
A clean coat of paint - on my nails
Red shade of lips - on my smile
Solid oak charms - on my wrist
Country music - around my core
Flattering eyes - a rustic shell.
Join me in a "Country Girls Tale"
~~
Every day I draw near the morning dawn,
Abide by the landscape towards the new Texas sun
A track of yellow roses and cactus galore
I brand my name everywhere I travel
Allowing you near the bounds of my Wild West soul
I maintain it above the snake level everywhere I roll
Got my head up like a cowgirl,
Men around my black leather chaps
I tilt my bull hide hat leaving behind a sweet Texas Trail
Driving down a midnight Texan storm
It takes more than raindrops to knock me from my- “2-Steppin’ world.”
A windy ride, bruises under the hide taking it in like- “A Real Cowgirl!”
I got a tight hold on my saddle, holding on to a brighter morrow
Enjoying the voices and the sound
Tex-Mex lingo, round and round
Ropers and Wranglers are how I dress
I'm all covered, except for the top of my chest.
Living’ it up^, down here in the south.
Erin’ the lungs, shooting up the sport
Long necks’ and kissing under a rodeo’ moon.
Honky-Tonk, tattooing the mockingbird.
Down here:
You will see me sitting on the Country ground,
Peacefully staring into the optics of the "Alamo Stars."
Falling with the art found in the flag I hold.
I am The Wild!
I am The West!
“— A little dotty, but civilized!”
Enjoying the morning breeze,
Where the dew sits on the tip of Mother Nature’s tongue.
There and only there you will find me,
Under the brightest Texas Star
Categories:
chaps, adventure, beauty, body, mirror,
Form:
Free verse
A well-appointed cowpoke, of whom there are still a few,
Wanted to be properly clad for his first job interview.
So, to impress his potential and somewhat cynical boss,
He has a silver-studded saddle throwed across his hoss!
He's wearin' a ten-gallon hat, a Stetson if you please,
And a bandana 'round his neck to catch the dusty breeze.
The dude has a roll-yer-own a-danglin' from his lips,
And a shiny pair of forty-fours a-hangin' from his hips!
He's wearin' a hand-tooled leather belt of the finest grade,
And a "cowboy" shirt and a vest cut from top-grade suede!
A woolly pair of chaps covers his bow-legged knees,
And protects his Calvin Kleins that fit so tight they squeeze!
His gleamin' pair of Tony Lama boots with pointy toes,
Completes what he considers proper cowboyin' clothes.
The silver spurs on his boots glint in the noonday sun;
Ah, he's the ideal picture of a range-ridin' son-of-a-gun!
The boss, arms folded, feet spread, sportin' a knowin' grin,
Didn't seem to be impressed, much to the greenhorn's chagrin.
Sizin' him up from head to toe, he said, "You look fit and able",
Handed him a fork and shovel and sent him to the stable!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved
Categories:
chaps, cowboy-western
Form:
Rhyme
There's a breed of Aussie hero who has served this nation well
and they don a yellow uniform to face the fires of hell.
When day temperatures are soaring and the high winds blow a gust,
and our bushland is ignited it's in them we place our trust.
Yes, you're all somebody's daughter and you're all somebody's son;
you are mothers and you’re fathers. Hard hat heroes everyone.
When their mates are in the hot seat and they need a helping hand,
they will volunteer their services from stations 'cross this land.
Whether country towns or cities or a bush fire brigade;
they will gladly throw their hats in and will offer their mates aide.
Yes, you're all somebody's daughter and you're all somebody's son;
you are mothers and you’re fathers. Hard hat heroes everyone.
Do you owe your home or property, your very lives perhaps,
to the selfless, sincere efforts of these bold fire-fighting chaps?
Or still sadly you lost everything, but proudly can attest
to their fierce determination as each brave soul did their best.
Yes, you're all somebody's daughter and you're all somebody's son;
you are mothers and you’re fathers. Hard hat heroes everyone.
So I ask you all to join me as we stand and raise a glass
to the courage and the spirit of this fire fighting, class;
and I'm sure you'd love to join me as this message we impart,
"You're such true blue hard hat heroes and we thank you from the heart."
Yes, you're all somebody's daughter and you're all somebody's son;
you are mothers and you’re fathers. Hard hat heroes everyone.
Categories:
chaps, people, song-daughter, fire, daughter,
Form:
Ballad
The unsung heroes of the open plains
The outlaw bandits like Jesse James
Cut throat thieves and black jack hustlers
Green horn Cowboys and long horn rustlers
They all stood the Cowboys test
A stetsons man a broncos best
Leather chaps and leather vest
A real man's man a cut above the rest
Blazing saddles and blazing guns
Long trail ride and mountain runs
Chuck wagon chilly and camp fire sites
Hot sweaty days and long cold nights
A Cowboy sits on his faithful steed
Quick draw fingers based on speed
Bandanna mask and whiskey flask
A Cowboys job is'nt an easy task
Tabacco chew and cow beef stew
a Cowboys gang and Cowboys crew
They did work from dusk to dawn
round 'em up and brand 'em all day long
Gee!!! and haw!!! right and left
Yee and haw out of breath
Cowboy slang and Cowboy lingo
even Mexican Cowboys that say Gringo
Greetings y'all and howdy stranger
long lost wranglers and lone rangers
Ruff and rugged with no frills
Ask questions later shoot to kill
Yellow belly buckaroos and snake oil peddlers
wanted dead or alive outlaws and frontier settlers
From the California gold rush of 48
to the 13 colonies of this great state
Cowboys lived and Cowboys died!!!!
Cowboys give for Cowboys pride!!!
Categories:
chaps, cowboy-western
Form:
Rhyme
There once was a few chaps named Tom, Dick & Harry
Who for Hallows Eve were frightfully scary
For they were trying to undress
A woman you might guess
And scare the pants off of Mary.
So the silly spooks Tom, Dick & Harry
Who in their own way were ready to marry
So they each had a turn
Distilled with heartburn
To see who could pop Mary’s cherry.
Now who was the one to win over this cheeky chick
For they all tried really hard with a prickly trick
But Marry had the last laugh
When she gandered the scary staff
At the monster of Tom’s Harry ______.
...the last word is 'stick'...geez! people...come on now lol...all in good fun!
Sept.19.2018
Scary or Spooky poem
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
N/A for contest
Categories:
chaps, funny love, halloween, humorous,
Form:
Limerick
On a dark Friday night, creature crawling
The darkness silenced, frogs in swamps shuts
Croaking and the hissing create muted at once
To perceive the whistlers whistling in turns
PaMushika-shika, To board home, Combies
After being dropped off by the combi Pahasha
I opted for a quick thriving by the darks, Ana
Sisi Pamumvuri. A quick one to say, quench
My absurd sexual appetites, lips left so dried...
Two steps forth, leaking my white rimmed lips
A bite too, appreciating a sultry maze in front
Never did I thought of my ED condition. Oh
Had long forgotten about understanding my ed
And his symptoms, Ed and my lifestyle as well
His common causes I had drawn a blank eye.
A short skirts fitting her slendern torso, as of
My utterance she became the defined beauties
Of the night, Eh... so eloquent alike Mugabe's
Speech in Native language, mocking the chaps
Whom taught him of vowels a e i o u. A ei ou
Quick to react, she gets to talk business as of
Her routine, A five dollar note for short time
Not a bad fortune for her well decorated torso
In her dark room I found myself in, undressing
And her radio, powered on spelling the melting pot
It spelt of the misfortunes of the domains vividly
How we queue in long impetuous lines to refill
How the price hiking and shelves emptying wry
How the bond note manifest into bondage, more...
And more dilemmas spat by the voice in her radio.
The heraldings left me a quagmire, I was stunned
In a state of confusion and conflicts, I was naked
So rinsed were my thoughts of independence awry
And to her nakedness I found not any pleasure more
An ED to her rescue, Victims of circumstances
Never did I thought of stress to lead me an ED
Depression, anxiety, and alcohol often trigger it.
In this case maybe my physical factor of diabetes,
My kidney disease and blood vessel diseases been the culprit.
An Erectile dysfunction to her rescue. Victims of ED.
Categories:
chaps, allegory,
Form:
Quatrain
Invisible ladies! You see them ev’rywhere,
In sensible raincoats and Margaret Thatcher hair.
Standing at bus-stops, watching the bus go by:
Waiting at crossings,
Letting the traffic splatter mud in their eyes …
Invisible ladies, all in their “middle years”.
Invisible ladies:
No hopes, but so many fears …
SO polite! So ladylike!
Just don’t mind us, don’t make a fuss … Wouldn’t be right …
But deep inside, there’s such a rage …
You’ll catch it too, this vanishing plague
Called MIDDLE AGE!
Invisible ladies … shopping bags all akimbo:
Moving like zombies, each in her private limbo.
Pushing a trolley at ASDA or Sainsbury:
Examining prices,
Searching for bargains – ever more desp’rately …
Invisible ladies, choosing the longest queue …
The one with the baby:
Babies, they’re visible to …
SO polite! So ladylike!
Just don’t mind us, don’t make a fuss … Wouldn’t be right …
But deep inside, there’s such a rage …
You’ll catch it too, this vanishing plague
Called MIDDLE AGE!
Invisible ladies! When somebody barges by,
Instead of complaining, they always apologise!
They oughta get angry, and maybe get pushy too:
Say, “HEY! Look AT me!
See, I’m a PERSON, really very like you!”
Invisible ladies, everyone knows one …
They live in our houses …
You probably call yours “MUM!”
(This is an anthem for all fifty-somethings - Chaps too!)
Categories:
chaps, funny, people, song-lyric
Form:
Verse
Me name is Daniel Morgan
There’s a thousand pounds on me head
Just me and me native lad
We upset the Traps,
the silly chaps,
Gawd strike me dead.
The Traps were camping ,
on the green old lagoon.
Me n Billy shot a few
Had em squealing like a loon,
In New South Wales,
after noon.
Mad Dog Morgan is me name,
Bushranging is me plurry game,
With my pistol you will bail up,
Some say I’m really quite insane,
Some wont give me up,
either?
So they shot me in the throat,
An here I lie a dying,
Cut off me bloody head ,
Gawd strike me dead,
Police desk, me skull, a lying.
Scrotum for tobacco pouch.
For Victoria’s top Policeman,
Pretty prize,
yes dead or alive,
Don’t be sad n blue, a grieving {about 1865)
Don Johnson
This Irish guy had lots of support,
From the ex convict’s n Aussie sports ,
Deported Irish of all sorts
Not really, not surprising!
Categories:
chaps, adventureme, me,
Form:
Rhyme
My heart was pumping hard that day I faced the maddening crowd,
Despite the spinning in my head I stood there mighty proud.
Though racked with pain my reddened hand acknowledged them a wave
And to this day I've ne'er forgot, the accolades they gave.
It was a dream come true you see to stand there in that ring,
For rodeo was in my blood and one day I'd be king.
The beast I drew was mean and lean ... no Chainsaw I admit,
But still if I could just ride time I'd show them I had grit.
I'd limbered up behind the chute preparing for the ride,
Well knowing what was just ahead, but took it in my stride.
The chute boss called, "You've drawn chute five, get down and make it quick."
Then as I eyed the beast below ... I suddenly felt sick.
That brute it tried to climb the gate and bellowed cries of fear,
While chute hands fought to organise the necessary gear.
I felt the violent quiver of the hide between my chaps,
The smell of sweat, the cry of men ... a change of mind perhaps?
Too late I felt the rope pulled taut and shoved within my glove,
I thought it's now or never mate and sent a prayer above.
Then as I pulled my Colly down I yelled out, "Let him go!"
The gate flew open ... it was on ... 'twas time to rodeo.
With whites of eyes all full of hate that beast did twist and turn,
'Twas obvious my frame aboard was something he did spurn.
Eight seconds on this beast from hell seemed like eternity,
For ev'ry muscle which I owned screamed out in agony.
Between the jars and twists and turns I heard the crowd all cheer,
Then at long last that blessed sound of hooter in my ear.
The pick up man then pulled me clear and was I proud ... not half!
I'll ne'er forget that day old mate I rode that poddy calf.
Categories:
chaps, funny, day, prayer, day,
Form:
Rhyme
I am here on an archaeological quest,
to satisfy many a curious mind's request
for knowledge on antiques and artifacts
of Egypt's long extinct historical facts,
in treasured sands buried, like gold mines earnestly
sought for in stories shrouded in mythology.
With a large contingent just as curious as I,
hardly daunted by curses, but with shoulders high,
we went to the field, the sun baking us chaps
to a baker's delight. With our rumpled maps,
we searched every clue, and were bitten perhaps
by a million flies. Getting relief from sunless skies
in times of fair weather, whilst hoping something lies
in the depths of the hot sands for our very eyes
to see. With my tools by hard work and search worn out,
I brushed to full view, the tomb, brilliantly carved out
of young blue blooded Tut, regally laid to rest.
To my wearied colleagues, I spoke in real earnest:
'To exhume the past, we are here at last.'
Categories:
chaps, history,
Form:
Everybody bears a price tag
Claim tycoons with bottomless purses
With a plethora of dollars to flash and flag
About to entice simpletons who deem their lives struck by curses
Inserted in their DNA
Generations ago
Which render them incapable to shove away
Bets of cash their stricken spines can’t forgo
While stomachs groan and lips
Demand smartphones, mascaras and lipsticks
Deployed to slay chaps with wanton whips
That cut and slice with savage kicks
On pates gone wan with insomnia
As limousine driven juggernauts
Splurge huge wads of notes to catalyze mass hysteria
Among street corner astronauts
Whose flight to Cupid exoplanet
Fell on its face
As moral worth net
They chose to suppress
In the face of perennial penury
That nibbles homesteads bereft of meals
In January
When cash overloaded sovereigns strike asymmetric deals
In which they beat down the cashless
Unless the poor rebuff cash offers
Preferring the famine and thirst the voiceless
Endure twenty four seven cos their coffers
Cash they’ve never seen
Cos fate shifted the balance of resources in favour of the few
Who more often than not turn out mean
To taunt the poor who shift on a church pew
As a tycoon blurts, ‘There’s a price tag on you
The sooner you acknowledge the reality
The better your world will enliven anew
As on you my bucks bestow and restore dignity in humility.’
Categories:
chaps, poems,
Form:
Free verse
The marshal saddled up as dawn broke over old Dodge City.
Upon town rabble and mean hombres he took no pity!
He donned his ten-gallon hat and strapped on his gun.
On his vest the marshals' badge gleamed in the rising sun!
Sheepskin chaps and fancy boots completed his dandy outfit.
He was a handsome dude - with the ladies he made quite a hit!
He mounted his horse Woody and took a ride about the town,
Ever on the lookout for desperados of notorious renown!
He took a break for a hearty breakfast of bacon and eggs,
Then continued on his rounds on the lookout for society's dregs.
Rowdy cowpokes galloped down Main Street on a toot.
Marshal Dan escorted them out of town in hot pursuit!
At high noon the peace of Dodge City was interrupted,
When a brawl at the Long Branch Saloon suddenly erupted!
Shooting began and Marshal Dan drew his peace-maker;
Two rowdy gun-slingers had a date with the undertaker!
With Marshal Dan, peace in Dodge City was guaranteed.
Danny dismounted his rocking horse Woody, his faithful steed.
It had been a tough day trying to be fair and impartial.
Now it was afternoon nap time for the little five-year old marshal!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Categories:
chaps, childhoodold, peace, city, horse,
Form:
Rhyme
My pen, as though wounded, bleeds,
Who on earth, its blood-flooding sound, heeds?
Tabula rasa papers turn pregnant,
Messages of peace-brim-filling excitement;
Midst clanging of shiny swords,
Who witnesses the wounded words?
Poetry is for lunatics, they say,
Might moves mountainous sway;
Blood should paint the world maps,
Dead should adorn the scull-caps;
Shells should illumine skyscrapers,
No podium for poetry-papers;
They march forward with philosophies such,
Though fear within, deadliest weapons they clutch;
Like monsters and vampires they fight,
Many, to Hades, take their flight;
Peace-poems, often, become wraps,
Of their not-so-hot-potato chaps;
My wounded heart, together with my pen, yearns,
Insane humans to realize their hate-churns;
Having battles lost and won,
Laurels of pride, heads adorn;
Losing wife, children, friends, kith-and-kin,
Sensory organs, like neon gas, brunt within;
Those survive try to trace and read the peace writings,
Die, ultimately, in perennial musings...!
28 March 2022
Categories:
chaps, life, peace, war,
Form:
Free verse
A Special Thanks to the Bumbles
We give thanks to the creator
for you, special pollinator,
the miracle of natural homes
for workers, queens, eggs and drones.
Golden like the noonday sun
colors like no other ones.
Hail all power to the queen
keynote speaker of the scene.
Thank you to the laid-back guys
fathers of the honey hives.
Let’s clap for the worker chaps
who gather up the pollen schnapps.
And then the ones who give a sting.
Thanks again for everything
that bumble hum close to the ear
when we just don't want you there.
We cannot say it ever too soon
women cannot wear perfume.
How strange that from your angry brood
would come this tasty, healthy food.
9/21/19
Categories:
chaps, insect,
Form:
Couplet