Best Derringer Poems
He plied the Mississippi River on the paddle wheeler 'Dandy Dame'.
Gamblin' was his profession and three-card monte was his game.
He became very creative at palmin' that elusive ace of spades.
Such dexterity and sleight of hand he had practiced for decades!
He embarked in Saint Louis for a cruise to the town of New Orleans.
On his arm hung one of his gaudily dressed bordello 'queens'!
He wore diamond rings on each finger and impeccably tailored suits,
A homburg hat, pearl studs, gold-tipped cane and alligator boots!
He toted a concealed derringer just in the event there was trouble,
And he took a table near the door so he could lam on the double!
He ordered Jack Daniels bourbon for the dudes he was soon to con,
And sized up the naive and hapless victims who dared to take him on!
The gambler let others win a hand or so to make them feel at ease.
His shill closely watched as the gambler, his moment was to seize!
His winnin's piled up as bettors tried to locate the shiftin' ace.
Losers dropped out of the game and other suckers took their place!
One astute monte player saw the scam and called the gambler's hand.
He drew his forty-fours, chairs toppled and folks fled to beat the band!
The gambler drew his rod but he met his God, blood oozin' on the floor!
His sobbin' 'queen' clasped him to her breast to know his love no more!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 2 in Paula Swanson's "Pick A Card, Any Card" Contest - Jun 2011
Categories:
derringer, funny
Form:
Rhyme
David slings a rock
Cop holsters a glock, Lizzie Borden packs an axe
Mac he packs the knife, Billy battles with a club, Tommy’s gun is a sub
Kelly’s got one too, Bazooka Joe Is Gum, Peter Gunn isn't,Colt45not malt
Nor is it a horse, horseshoes & handgrenades, canons have big balls, Doc
Holiday had TB Rock Hudson had HIV, James Dean crashes his car,Hank Williams crashes a bar, Natalie Wood don’t float, Cain killed his brother, Juliette drank poison for her lover, Rev. Jim Jones killed with cool-aid, Whitey Bulger he got paid,dead man walking gets to eat Rodney King
got beat, Cupid’s arrow as Clyde Barrow, Mama Cass choked on ham
57,000 gone in Nam, Four dead in Ohio, Kamikazes fall 1941, again
they fall 2001Iraqi leader with a rope, John Belushi too much dope,
Charles Manson is alive MichaelJackson isn’t,Saturday night special
is very ordinary, Fast and furious is the crime, Dick Clark just his
time Pirate victims walk the plank, THINK,
Next I’ll come rolling in a tank
Hear the whistle of my missile
Dirty Harry had the biggest
The Derringer is small
Smokey Bear forest fire
Greek funeral is a pyre
Too many +’s or -’s
Is electric surges
Woman and child
sing the dirges
Walking dead
Are zombies
Fat man and
Little Boy
Are atom
Bombies
Categories:
derringer, conflict, courage, death, metaphor,
Form:
Shape
I was watching the TV the other day
When a certain Rerun began to play.
It brought me back to one of my brain's stifled bans
Because it was about Lucas McCain...the Rifleman.
All of a sudden I was drenched by a flood
of Western Shows that have been long since dead.
I'll just begin with a few you may remember
Like Marshall Dillon - later Gun Smoke as it came on one September.
But I remember The Cisco Kid
and how Poncho always did what he did
we can't forget the masked stranger
who of course turned out to be The Lone Ranger
Then there was Wyatt Earp, Cimmaron Strip, and Rawhide too,
The Guns of Will Sonnet and a Wagon Train rumbling through.
Will anyone ever forget Paladin in Have Gun - Will Travel
or Trackdown or Wanted Dead or Alive with Josh Randall?
Can we ever forget The Big Valley,
or the Ponderosa's size when Bonanza came on the tele.
There were Tales of Texas Rangers and even an F Troop,
Let's not forget Rin Tin Tin and how down on the bad guys he'd swoop.
I still can see Lash Larue and Hopalong Cassidy with his black hat
There were Three Mesquiters to watch when I sometimes sat.
Do you remember Yancy Derringer and his friend Pahoo
or Johnny Yuma, The Rebel who never yelled "Yahoo"!
Maverick, Sugarfoot, and Cheyenne were favorites of mine
There are too many more here for me to rhyme.
Many a big star began on that little screen
If it hadn't been for the Westerns...What would they have been?
It can be fun thinking about some of those shows
Because they are a part of TV nostalgia as everyone knows.
They have come and gone like the heroes they'd portray
I remember the Westerns...and their horse's neigh.
Categories:
derringer, hero, memory, remember, tribute,
Form:
Rhyme
A SAGA OF OLD EL PASO
AND LADY B GOOD
There was a famous lady of El Paso in the Old West
She hunted and trapped, trading furs with the best
Her pride, her joy, a red velvet cape trimmed in fur so white
It seemed to glow with a gleaming unearthly light
You might think her name to be Snow White or Red Riding Hood
But she was known as Sweet Emmaline or Lady Be Good
Lady was famous in town for her mirrored honky tonk saloon
Which had a large sign saying Y'all Come Back Soon
There was even a piano player, with whom Lady often had a date
Who tickled the keys every night about a quarter to eight
But alas there rode into town one day a badass buckaroo
Upon his horse by the name of Big Blue
This hobnailed fellow looked to make an easy buck or two
He spotted the saloon and LadyBGood fixin' to go inspect traps
As it turned out it would be one of her very last acts
Lady and her dog Croesus had been an inseparable pair
But this day Croesus was off chasing squirrels somewhere
"I'll take your money and that fancy fur coat"
"Are you crazy little boy, you're not old enough to vote"
Quick as lightening Lady's Derringer came from her ****'s fold
But the cowpoke was quicker if truth be told
The buckaroo's nickel-plated pistol was pointed and My Didn't It Roar
Whereupon LadyBGood then unfortunately met the floor
The blood ran as red as her fur trimmed velvet cloak
And Sweet Emmaline drifted into a sleep from which she never awoke
EPILOGUE
Boot Hill in El Paso has only one Lady in it
Who made it her home when outdone in that grievous minute
She lies with her fur trimmed red velvet cloak and **** to match
Right next to the one who put her there … the Cowboy, Sam Hatch
Categories:
derringer, adventure, destiny, fantasy, murder,
Form:
Narrative
WESSON
GIVES A LESSON
WITH A .357
DAVID SLINGS A ROCK
COP HOLSTERS A GLOCK
LIZZY BORDEN PACKS AN AXE
MAC HE PACKS THE KNIFE
BILLY BATTLES WITH A CLUB
TOMMY’S GUN IS A SUB
KELLY’S GOT ONE TOO
BAZOOKA JOE IS GUM
PETER GUNN IS NOT
COLT .45 IS NOT MALT
NOR IS IT A HORSE
HORSESHOES AND
HAND GRENADES
CANONS HAVE BIG BALLS
DOC HOLIDAY HAD TB
ROCK HUDSON HAD HIV
NATILIE WOOD DON’T FLOAT
NATILIE HOLLAWAY DON'T FLOAT
THE TITANIC BOAT DON'T FLOAT
JAMES DEAN CRASHED HIS CAR
HANK WILLIAMS CRASHED HIS BAR
DIRTY HARRY HAD THE BIGGEST
THE DERRINGER IS SMALLEST
CAIN MURDERED HIS BROTHER
JULIETTE DRANK POISON FOR HER LOVER
JIM JONES KILLED WITH COOL-AID
SLASHING WRISTS WITH A BLADE
BOW AND ARROW KILLS THE SAME
AS BONNIE OR CLYDE BARROW
CHARLES MANSON IS ALIVE
MICHAEL JACKSON IS NOT
IRAQI RULER WITH A ROPE
JOHN BELUSHI TOO MUCH DOPE
SATURDAY NIGHT SPECIAL IS ORDINARY
FAST AND FURIOUS IS THE CRIME
PIRATE VICTIMS WALK THE PLANK
THINK! NEXT TIME I”LL BRING A TANK
HEAR THE WHISTLE OF MY MISSILE?
AFTER THAT WHAT DO YOU BET?
I’LL COME FLYING IN A FIGHTER JET
SMOKEY BEAR’S RIGHT TO “BEAR” ARMS
OR DID WE JUST ARM BEARS?
NEVER STIFLE MY RIFLE
THIS IS MY RIFLE THIS IS MY GUN
ONE FOR FIGHTING ONE FOR FUN
CADENCE…
BANG - BANG - BANG - BANG - BANG - BANG
RELOAD
MOLON LABE
COME AND TAKE THEM
THE ONLY WAY FREEDOM OF SPEECH WORKS
IS BECAUSE THE 1st AMENDMENT
IS BACKED BY THE 2nd AMENDMENT
Categories:
derringer, america, conflict, death, education,
Form:
Free verse
...With that he kicked his horse in the flanks
and charged towards Thompson and the men,
not expecting it, two of them went down
before they realized he was no longer Friend.
Now it was just Thompson and Stomping Bird
who returned fire as he charged their way.
He felt two bullets hit, but he did not fall,
he bulled his tired horse into the fray!
Stomping Bird appeared suddenly in front of him,
anders fired at him without respite,
their horses collided and he was thrown clear,
then landed hard upon his right side.
Bleeding from wounds, his ribs broken,
he turned over and saw Black Thompson
seated on his horse, wounded in one arm,
but in the other held his Smith & Wesson.
“Damn fool I was to ever trust a mad man,”
the thug snarled as he gazed on down.
“You shoot up my men, and for that act
I’m leaving your body to rot on this ground!”
Anders just smiled at his former partner,
said,”Go ahead and use that big gun.
Better I die the man I once was,
then live as the monster I’ve become.”
Thompson took aim, Anders jolted his wrist,
sliding out a two-barrel Derringer,
gunshots rang out across the prairie,
an echoing report of their fire.
Thompson slumped low, pitched off his mount,
two slugs gone straight through his head,
Anders struggled hard to catch his breath,
his chest home to a new piece of lead.
His vision was fading, but he swore he saw,
standing a short way away in the grass,
his dear sweet Rosa, smiling so gently...
he could feel the pain started to pass.
He closed his eyes, felt her gentle touch,
and felt no fear that moment because
for all of his sins he’d meet his maker
having died as the man he once was.
Categories:
derringer, anger, character, faith, hurt,
Form:
Cowboy Poetry
When Clem finally made it into town
Leading his horse and swearing
The townfolk looked at him askance
But, Clem totally wasn't caring
He had walked the last five miles
His horse had thrown a shoe
Walking wasn't his favorite sport
But, there was nothing else to do
He was mighty hungry
His throat was desert dry
He planned to get a juicy steak
And great, big, bottle of rye
He left his horse with the smithy
Then walked across the street
He decided to quench his thirst
Before he went to eat
Trina was dancing in the saloon that day
A lady so sweet and fair
With silver buckles on her shoes
And rhinestones in her hair
Clem felt his heart skip a beat
And knew he had fallen in love
He didn't realize he was staring
Til a big man gave him a shove
"That's my woman", the big man said
"So, put your eyes back in their socket"
And without the slightest warning
Drew a derringer from his pocket
Clem tried to leave without a fight
But the big man stood in his way
Just one shot was all it took
To kill Clem that day
The marshal arrested the big man
Clem was buried on Boot Hill
The smithy auctioned off his horse
To pay his funeral bill
WhenTrina left town soon after that
She wanted to say goodbye
So she left a rose on poor Clem's grave
And a great, big, bottle of rye
Categories:
derringer, death, life, people, horse,
Form:
Rhyme
She Runs
She felt alone in her heart.
It shouldn't have been like this.
Her dark depression was her only companion.
A silver plated Derringer was her only possession.
Not to shoot randy men.
No, it was to save herself from herself.
When her depression overwhelmed her,
a single bullet to her temple was her permanent escape.
Till then she kept running.
Categories:
derringer, anger, angst, bullying, depression,
Form:
Blank verse
DEATH OF A PARISIENNE HOUSEMATE--Monsieur L'Vampyre
The death of me lay waiting in the dark
down candle lighted steps, before mine eyes
as my love held the blade, to leave the mark
upon my neck before I'd realize
yes I knew she was there, and filled with hate
a murderess if I'd do as she thought
but I had other plans, to change her fate,
and lay her deep with all the pain she'd wrought;
my derringer was cocked and firm in hand
and chambered were both silver tips for her
whilst I had in my mind, and had it planned
in self defense I'd fire, be as it were.
just as her wolf man died the night before
from mine own hand behind her bedroom door!
(less of ****** he was humping for.)
And how she cried as he drew his last breath
I nearly had compassion for her spell,
forgetting how they'd made my life a death
and that his soul was borned straight out from hell
but grabbed she then my pearly handled knife
my very favorite blade of cutlery
I used in gutting pigs, or end the life
of anyone who'd do a wrong to me;
So down theses cellar steps she's led the chase
welll knowing I would have to end her days,
lest she could beat my play, and save her face
and then convince the gendarmes of my ways!
I heard her breathing Paris, her sweet sound,
but couldn't place the point where she'd be found
for silver tips to put her in the ground.
The creaking of each wooden step gave sway
as I tried to step lightly down the stair
until the last was stone, and had no play
she held her breath, and silence filled the air!
The shadows from the candle's dancing flame
there on the wall made nothing for a clue
so stepped I through the dim, to stalk my game
and then I felt the swish my blade can do!
She missed her mark, but cut my sweated skin
enough to give more credence to my tale
and fired I silver tips, through satin thin
and to her heart--you should have heard her wail!
She died as she had lived, a fool for me--
and looked too sweet for gentlemen to see,
And so I beat her one more time for free!
Categories:
derringer, angstdeath, sweet, death, silver,
Form:
Sonnet
Cyanide Footsteps, Arsenic Touch
Everything about you is toxic. Your lethal kiss at dawn ending my life in a moment. Your breath stagnant when you stand in my personal space.
Suffocation.
The rasping assault on my eardrums when you shout at me, imploding my head. What of your arsenic touch, killing me by ruining my very cells?
Unstoppable assaults on innocent me. What did I do to you? Tell me lady of the night? I paid for sex. You won't list the Sexually Transmitted Diseases I got off you or what your pimp did to me.
One thing is for sure. I stole your Derringer pistol and revenge will be mine. One bullet for you and your pimp.
Categories:
derringer, anger, celebration, feelings, heartbreak,
Form:
Free verse
Times of Nonchalance By Jimmy Boom Semtex
ISBN: 978-1-291-77683-6
Derringer One
That oh so beautiful Derringer pistol was not just a gun. She was art. Silver chrome that shone in the lamp light. Engraved on the chrome were names of Wild West legends: Butch Cassidy and Sundance. They were here only a decade ago. Mother of pearl handle, white as desert bone. Her twin barrels, one above the other, were black as death. The .45 slugs in there had my name on them. My heart was breaking. They had done it! Why oh why oh why? Consigned me to the scrap heap. I was due to start a job making steam trains on Monday. They cancelled the contract and gave it to Germany. Their engineers were better. Damn this commercial economics! Damn them to hell! I picked up the beautiful Derringer pistol. Clicked back the hammer to full cock. And placed it in my mouth. The trigger pull was sensitive. Like me...
Two
I heard the wood fire crackling when I came to. I must have passed out. I didn't know where I was. Then I saw the pretty Derringer pistol and it came rushing back to me. I had used that same pistol to commit suicide. The Germans had stolen our steam train work. And I was broke, with no cash. This was a day after my fiancé, Amy, ran off with a cowboy. He was a real man. Six shooters, horse, leather saddle, tough as hell. Last of his kind. I had nothing except my job. So I used the gun. But why am I still here? Am I a ghost or wounded? I felt no pain nor saw any blood. I was unharmed. I should be dead. I reached down to pick it up...
Categories:
derringer, anxiety, heartbroken, hope,
Form:
Verse
SILVER TIPS FOR MY LOVE--Monsieur L'Vampyre
The death of me lay waiting in the dark
down candle lighted steps, before mine eyes
as my love held the blade, to leave the mark
upon my neck before I'd realize
yes I knew she was there, and filled with hate
a murderess if I'd do as she thought
but I had other plans, to change her fate,
and lay her deep with all the pain she'd wrought;
my derringer was cocked and firm in hand
and chambered were both silver tips for her
whilst I had in my mind, and had it planned
in self defense I'd fire, be as it were.
just as her wolf man died the night before
from mine own hand behind her bedroom door!
(less of ****** he was humping for.)
And how she cried as he drew his last breath
I nearly had compassion for her spell,
forgetting how they'd made my life a death
and that his soul was borned straight out from hell
but grabbed she then my pearly handled knife
my very favorite blade of cutlery
I used in gutting pigs, or end the life
of anyone who'd do a wrong to me;
So down theses cellar steps she's led the chase
welll knowing I would have to end her days,
lest she could beat my play, and save her face
and then convince the gendarmes of my ways!
I heard her breathing Paris, her sweet sound,
but couldn't place the point where she'd be found
for silver tips to put her in the ground.
The creaking of each wooden step gave sway
as I tried to step lightly down the stair
until the last was stone, and had no play
she held her breath, and silence filled the air!
The shadows from the candle's dancing flame
there on the wall made nothing for a clue
so stepped I through the dim, to stalk my game
and then I felt the swish my blade can do!
She missed her mark, but cut my sweated skin
enough to give more credence to my tale
and fired I silver tips, through satin thin
and to her heart--you should have heard her wail!
She died as she had lived, a fool for me--
and looked too sweet for gentlemen to see,
And so I beat her one more time for free!
Categories:
derringer, angst, death, depression, imagination,
Form:
Iambic Pentameter
Ugly cement gray howling city wolves
More dangerous than their county cousins
Tearing families apart with contracts
Filling office workers up with impossible tasks
Tearing heads off colleagues during appointments
Ugly cement gray howling city wolves
Running city blocks to work in tennis shoes
Keeping shiny Florsheim in their desk drawers
a loaded derringer bouncing in their pocket
Incase an indigent asks them for money
Ugly cement gray howling city wolves
In San Francisco, New York, and Chicago
Mobbing, killing, raping the innocents
Not seeing people, no hellos on the street
More dangerous than their country cousins
Categories:
derringer, city,
Form:
Free verse
I have a ‘snake slayer,’
a derringer I carry
when hiking in dry States.
So when I saw the coiled rattlesnake
sunbathing on a dusty track
I unholstered,
ready to unleash some primitive instincts,
oddly though
I chose, ‘instinctively’
to step backwards for a spell
and work my way around it.
I could have slayed it
with one .410 shotshell;
I mean who needs rattlers?
I could have cut the rattle off,
taken it home triumphantly
to my mancave.
Then again, ammo is not cheap,
and snakes are all over
this arid landscape.
Funny how it pans out…
sometimes instincts can surprise us
with a little caveman reasoning.
Categories:
derringer, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
Her derringer was at the ready
Ripper’s favorite kind of night
Marlys wanted to kill him herself
After what he did to her sister
Her Victorian dress was the bait
Categories:
derringer, murder,
Form:
Free verse