Best City Slicker Poems
You’ll find that I have core beliefs, that are not written in any one book.
I believe that Jesus loves me. He’s all around, so please, take a look.
He doesn’t give me what I may want, or an answer to every prayer.
But he gives me exactly what I need, and the assurance that he’ll always be there.
I’ll never worship fine paper, or the ink you’ll find printed on each page.
I trust what he puts in my heart, and I’m thankful for his generous wage.
He was there when my dear mother died, and he came for my father as well.
I’ve always felt his loving hands, every time that I climbed up and fell.
This man was not American, he was born far across the sea.
He never closed his borders, and he died for both you and me.
All of us have an obligation to stand up and do what is right.
Whenever evil threatens, that’s when we must go and fight.
I’ve heard we should mind our business and watch out for only our own.
Would you ever tell that to God, and wished that he left you alone?
I don’t care if you’re a city slicker, or a redneck in a chevy or ford.
My faith lies in each one of you, and in Jesus, my savior and Lord.
Well, I moved into town to live like a city slicker,
Loaded my truck, found a place, and here I am,
Though a country boy has a head a bit thicker,
City life is not so hard to understand,
And I've been learnin' how to use a computor,
How to do some picture takin' with a cell phone,
How to get insurance for my truck and motor scooter,
But city life is nothing like back home,
Because where I come from, they call it the boonies,
Dirt roads, back woods, life as country as can be,
Though now I'm mixed in with all the town loonies,
They'll never take the country out of me,
Yea, I can still plant me a nice little garden,
Though not nearly as big as it use to be,
And still listen to country music, Dolly Parton,
She's on my coffee mug for all to see,
And I still get to do some dear huntin'
For those split tails runnin' 'round here,
And I make sure to keep my truck tuned and runnin'
By way of Auto Zone, or I'd run out of beer,
Yea, I livin' in the hood, straight from the boonies,
It's great be an American and free,
Though I'm mixed in good with all the town loonies,
They'll never take the country out of me,
Yea, I moved into town to live like a city slicker,
And I'm doin' the best that I can...
I can drive by Churchill Downs and hear the horses nicker,
I'm just a country boy with a city slicker plan,
I can drive by Churchill Downs and hear the horses nicker,
I'm still a country boy, yea, that's who I am,
Though a country boy has a head a bit thicker,
City life is not so hard to understand.
My son and his family drove down from the big city,
out to the countryside with open fields and steams.
They brought their standard golden poodle along,
a curly-haired fellow, name of Timmy.
Timmy had never seen a cat;
not even a mole or a furry rat.
Visiting country kin, he was checking things out.
Everything went fine that very first day.
Cats went about paying him no mind.
He walked about just passing time.
On that second day there was a big mistake.
Being a city dog with more worldy ways,
to add pleasure to his hum-drum days,
he thought it time to befriend these country kin.
The cats had never seen a dog this small,
only those on stilts, big, long and tall,
like Pyrenees, big wide mouths and teeth to match.
With barking big dogs on the scene,
up a tree they squirreled, never to be seen.
But this golden-haired fellow, with city clout--
they’d give him benefit of instinctive doubt.
Mama cat was even so bold
to sniff this city slicker right on the nose.
Sizing him up all the while, a friendly rat, she surmised,
a might bigger than some she had seen,
playing cat and mouse, yet acting so coy;
that is, until that overgrown golden-haired rat
walked up to Mama’s black baby boy.
Mama’s two other sons, another black and a blue,
began to gather nearer this city dweller, too.
Timmy politely extended his nose.
black son cat extended his razor-sharp claws,
with a bristled tail and fierce hissing jaws.
Timmy let out with a painful yelp,
as Mama cat called all boys in for help.
Cats surrounded and gave chase to the dog,
life-fearing circles around the cedar tree he’d log;
four hissing cats hot on his tail,
poor Timmy yelping in a desperate wail.
The master of Timmy gave rescue,
but Mama cat and her three grown sons,
strutting in pride, putting a dog on the run.
Written by: Carolyn Henderson
For Constance LaFrance's Cat Poem Contest
Won 9th Place
She arrived from the big city
wearing a red ten-gallon hat,
and a denim stone-washed outfit
which topped off her shiny new
cowboy boots that were designed
by Tucson Sue.
This dude ranch cowgirl had a secret,
she never rode a horse in her life,
she knew it was time to learn the ropes,
all her life she lived in the city,
the closest she got to a horse was on T.V.,
it was a shame and a pity.
Early next morning she arose,
washed her face, brushed her teeth
and combed her curly hair,
carefully placing her tall hat on her head,
she sauntered into the dining hall.
looked around and decided to sit next to Fred.
He was a cowpoke who roamed from town to town,
grabbing jobs wherever he could working with horses,
the young lady and Fred made small talk,
she confessed she never rode a horse before,
and didn't know the front end from the rear,
he knew she was a city slicker and had to learn more.
Fred took a liking to her right away,
he told her that he had a perfect horse for her,
her name was Ginger, a stawberry roan,
the only problem was that she had a three-legged gait,
would she mind learning on Ginger for her first time,
she noticed that the cowpoke was handsome was this fate?
She told him that her name was Cindy Lee,
he liked the sound of her name and thought she was pretty,
off on the trail they rode together,
Ginger with her uneven trot headed straight into a tree branch,
Knocking off the young lady from her saddle,
She tumbled and fell and wished she was back at the ranch.
Cindy Lee and Fred fell in love while she was on vacation,
he taught her to ride and learn about horses,
she was determined to hang on and not let go,
Ginger was replaced by a quarter horse who knew leg commands,
a palomino with lots of pride who on occasion would throw its rider
against a fence and snort without demands.
Fred and Cindy Lee decided to get hitched,
a September wedding was planned with everyone invited,
all the dude ranch staff and the entire small town,
both rode their horses on their wedding day very much in love,
she wore an old-fashioned lace dress with her boots,
off they rode into the sunset together peaceful as a dove.
rondeau
Envision your route, it's quicker.
Like your crowds thinner or thicker?
Traffic can ruin a trip, no fun;
my choice - less-traveled paths, bar none.
country bumpkin / city slicker?
Long journeys can be a kicker;
on a bus, some snore, some snicker.
Think through your options one by one.
Envision your route.
Some folks will dally and dicker?
Others like to blame and bicker?
think ahead ere the trip's begun;
you'll be happier when it's done.
If you drive, don't drive on liquor,
envision your route.
written 07/27/12, revised 07/19/19
to meet requirement of 8 syllable lines.
Host: Charles Messina - Contest: Rondeau
Their population on the swell,
The local yokels just couldn't tell,
Why their isolated town called Bugaree,
Red dust and drought for all to see,
Was inundated by a city slicker hell.
You see,it was a radio man from 2CE
Using language bordering on thuggery,
Delivered such a terrible harangue,
Abusing listeners when they rang,
Had told everyone to go to buggery.
People laugh and make fun of me because I wear a coonskin cap.
But they'll stop laughing because I'm through taking their crap.
People say that my cap makes me look silly.
They say that it makes me look like a hillbilly.
This morning a city slicker called me a hick and he called my hound dog a mutt.
He was laughing very hard but he stopped when I put some buckshot in his butt.
He started running after I shot both of his cheeks.
He won't be able to sit down for about twelve weeks.
If you see me face to face, you may point, laugh and make fun.
But unless you want to visit a proctologist, you'd better remember that I own this shotgun.
(This is a fictional poem.)
I was raised up in Wichita Kansas
A city slicker I'd guess you would say
Once my Uncle Ben took my brother and I
To visit his cabin for a night and a day
We fished and swam and had great fun
Then went back to the cabin for a bit
I asked Uncle Ben, “Where's the bathroom at”
He said, “Out back and down that path is it”
I thought that's weird as I walked out the door
But ran as my stomach I had to clench
I shoved the door open and pulled down my pants
and sat down on a big hole in a bench
I was feeling triumphant as things started to flow,
The door bumped my knee so I kicked it shut
That's when a wasp nest in the corner came alive
And I had nothing to wipe my butt!
After that there was screaming and shouting
There was crying as I beat on that old stuck door
I came out alive but man what a mess it made
And I never used that old outhouse anymore
Presumptuous
City slicker, soul breaker
Night hawker, headhunter
Fire starter, mayhem maker
Risk taker, maniacal monster
Forecast reader, global disorder
Bogus soothsayer, dreams slayer!
Penned: 01/13/2023
2:13 a.m.
West Palm Beach
Florida
Now gather round this here campfire
y'all kind good folk
Sit down get and make yourselves
real comfy and toast a marshmallow
Because this is a Freestyle Hoedown
ain't it all of us here have come to see
and i am about to get this party started
So here's a little ditty im about to spit
if you follow my flow and catch my drift
please feel free to join in and sing along
Hey- Diddle - Dee
Slap a my thigh
Fiddle - Dee- Dee
I'm a simple country boy at heart
not 1 of them city slicker
Who enjoys the simple things and
pleasures of the outdoors life such as
My shack and outhouse I constructed
myself with my own bare hands that
provides me shelter when I am not out
roaming the plains
A cowboy hat tin of beans cup of coffee
whiskey bottle and thick warm blanket
to sleep under the star's at night
I live off the land and anything else I
need it can't provide all I have to do
is take a ride into town I can purchase
from the supplies store
And my mode of transportation I use to
get there is my trusty Mustang of the
four legged type 1 B.H.P under the
hood that comes with a saddle
not 1 of the modern day muscle car variety
You see I'll take my chances all day long
Dancing with these Wild Wolves rather
than the one's on Wall street
Because at least there was some form
of law and a Sheriff in Dodge
Whereas
Wall street is totally and utterly lawless
run by cowboys who have the Sheriff's
and the Judge on their payroll
Who will railroad you straight to jail
choose to throw away the key or
hang you
Music Score provided by
( Deliverance Banjo )
&
( A Fistful of Dollars More )
&
( The Bad & the Downright Ugly )
If I let my imagination go does it return?
Does it really count what I imagine?
Does it make any difference if I reshape my imagination?
If I imagine to be a country girl or a city slicker,
Rich or poor, Young or old,
Build castle in the air or indulge my virile in Rio
Sail imaginary shores or remain in the shadows of obscurity
Does it really matter if the universe is spherical?
Or being a half human just for a day or swap into endless possibilities
Or imagine a departure at twenty or at fifty,
Or slide into eternal sleep or wander like a wandering wolf
Or wear John Legend’s buttery voice
Does it really matter if I can imagine all things and do nothing?
Will my imaginations resurrect the crucifier?
PUT ON YOUR LONGEST WADERS.
SOMEONE WILL HELP YOU STAND.
MEANDER DOWN THAT LONG WINDING ROAD
THAT LEADS TO THE LANDING.
IF YOU ARE FAMILIAR WITH SALKEHATCHIE
AVOID THE DREADED DEVIL’S WALKING STICK.
YOU HAVEN’T LOST YOUR MIND!
IT WILL BE WORTH YOUR TRIP.
TAKE A LONG STICK TO MEASURE DEPTH,
DON’T WORRY, YOU WON’T DROWN.
BRING A CHANGE OF CLOTHING
BEFORE YOU GO BACK TO TOWN.
THE SQUISH OF YOUR STEPS
WILL BE LOUDLY HEARD.
YOU MAY GET STUCK, BOG TO YOUR WAIST.
WAIT AND SOMEONE WILL GET THE WORD.
UNTIL SOMEONE ELSE FALLS IN THE MUD,
YOU WILL SURELY BE TEASED!
YOU MAY HEAR THE GRUNT OF SOMETHING NEAR.
CITY SLICKER, HAVE YOU LOST YOUR KEYS?
Where has the American cowboy gone,
Did he ride off into the dust trails of history,
A faded figure, melting into the last horizons sunset.
Nay, unbridled the mustangs run free now,
No riders lasso, snaps against the winds of destiny,
A legacy's true American hero, has finished the
Last round up.
Hey, you'd better halt there, just one dang gone
Minute, you city slicker, them be fighting words,
That you all have just written.
Hush your mouth now, the American cowboy lives on,
Not on horse back, but behind the steel of the
Eighteen wheeler, copy that you'd better, breaker dude.
Show some respectful pride, to the man whom
Has helped to build, this great nation, we all call home.
Driving down the back bone, of America, in the name
Of glory's flag, believe you me brother, a hard
Road does he roam alone, just to keep house,
And home alive.
For all of the feminine persuasion, yes’s em, mam
He still whisper’s, that same old lonesome tune.
Tilting his ten gallon hat, to all you young misses.
After all the convoy man, is still a gentleman
Beneath his rough hued exterior.
Four horse power to the floor, no more, he's
A hell bound creature, in need, for sixty-fives
Speed limit sign, it keeps the old cowboy inside
Alive, down the highway of life.
Thriving on the adrian rush, of the open
Road to freedom, lying ahead of him, no
Boundaries can hold this man, yielding to
The desire for liberation's winds, blowing
Against the trails of progress.
Steel belted radials, burning rubber across
The asphalt turn pike, get far out of his way,
This true road master, swiftness control at his
Command, excelling beyond the boundaries
Limitations.
Damn, don't you all try to fence this free spirit in,
Or he'll run you down, times dead line, haunts
Him, the devil boss's hounds are biting at his heels,
And burden's heavy load, rests upon those broad shoulders.
The Lord God himself does sit, in the passenger seat,
Beside him, heaven's copilot, for this steel driving man,
Bringing him home safely, to those whom love him,
This the convoy man.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Man the way people boast, can't miss it, it's on TV radio, plus they post coast to
coast. We love poking out our chests, boasting I'm the best, to hell with the rest. Laughing like it's a big joke when we rag on folk, a very heavy yoke.
I remember life being more clear when people would lend an ear or this I would hear. May I be of assistance, what do you need, what's been allowed to supersede? That monster greed. Now we all have an emptiness that need to be filled, we try pills, thrills and even ill will, going down hill.
Then get pissed when in life we remiss, some fall into the abyss, trying to reach that state of bliss. All they can foresee is misery, even with a college degree, misery, do love company.
So we make up contests trying to reach some sort of success, nonetheless, we digress trying to find who's the best. Although we do have our super powers, we're taught never to cower, you're a beautiful flower but things do go sour, living in Ivory Towers.
Now if you want to boast about who's foremost, check out this bloke who wasn't blowing smoke whenever He spoke, the man was no joke. The man was shrewd, He fed the multitude, never rude nor would He delude, minds and bodies, He renewed.
A healer of the sick, a peacenik without the politics. Never a squatter He's called the Potter, The man even walked on water. He's the real deal in witch you can always appeal, if there are storms in your life He can make "em kneel, Peace Be Still.
And hears the kicker more potent than liquor and quicker than any city slicker. You see it had been aforesaid so He knew what was ahead and He could have fled, instead, He was nailed to the cross where bled, then was raised from the dead.
For all those who think they're hard, check out The King of Kings and Lord of Lords. Where you shall stand in total awe with the rest, every knee shall bow, every tongue shall confess. Now Who's The Best?
So if you want to boast about who's utmost, then we can all give a toast from coast to coast to The Lord Of Hosts and receive. The Holy Ghost.
Forever waiting for any kind of visitor
Raring to share our down home country hospitality
Outstanding in our eagerness to please others
Neglecting to say no to friends, neighbors or family
Talking and laughing over and over at the same stories
Porch sitting may not be for some city slicker Type A’s
Ordinarily it is not for me either but now during this pandemic
Restful and rejuvenating, porch sitting is a favorite past time
Country living among a variety of gorgeous flowers and bushes
Here I sit watching my birds. Visit me please! I am ready to see a person.