Best Fe Poems
Fe, Fi, Fo, Fum
I smell the
fried sausages
bacon and eggs
fried bread, toast,
mushrooms and
tomatoes.
Fe, Fi, Fo, Fum
Ismell the
Steak and kidney
pie, loads of potatoes
veggies galore and
buckets full of gravy
Fe, Fi, Fo, Fum
I smell the
Aftermath of beans
on toast, covered in
melted cheese, where
do I start the more I
eat the more I fart
Fe, Fi, Fo, Fum
I smell the
Dessert, jelly and
custard, spotted
dick to, jam rolly
polly and a chunk
of plum pie, all on
one plate piled up
high.
Now pass me a human
I need a tooth pick
"Hyar she comes! The weekly stagecoach is a-comin' to old Santa Fe!"
The driver cracked his whip and blowed his klaxon to herald the way!
The weekly arrival of the stagecoach was cause fer raucous celebration!
The town's ne'er-do-wells found another excuse fer excess inebriation!
The excited citizens one and all awaited its arrival with bated breath,
To see and greet the motley rogues brought to town by the driver, Seth!
Seth descended from his perch midst snarlin' curs and guttersnipes,
Gun-totin' hangers-on, genteel ladies, the sheriff and other sundry types.
Grizzled Seth cut loose a stream of cussin' and in a furious rage,
Yelled, "You'uns clear the way and let them people git off'n the stage!"
His bedraggled passengers set foot on the dusty streets of old Santa Fe,
Happy to be relieved of the stagecoach's nauseous lurch and sway!
The Baptist Ladies Guild gasped when down stepped a lady of the night,
But she was greeted by the fellers of Buster's Saloon with a cry of delight!
Next was a feller all dressed in black scannin' the crowd with a gloomy glower.
He was a preacher-man causin' fellers from Buster's Saloon to cringe and cower!
A steely-eyed dude with 44s on his hips viewed the mob with condescension,
But his shifty manner put the sheriff on alert and merited his attention!
Down stepped a foppish dandy wearin' diamonds and dressed in fine attire.
He was a gamblin' man aimin' to see how much town capital he might acquire!
Seth hollered, "All aboard! I gotta git to Albuquerq' by six tonight!"
He whipped his steeds to a gallop and soon old Santa Fe was outta sight!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
“Santa Fe”
Santa Fe, Santa Fe,
Oh Santa Fe,
Take me home to Santa Fe.
Where mountain peaks
Are bathed in gold.
Where artists and seekers
Come to unfold.
Where natives live in ages past
Stair step terra-cotta
Rise on desert floors.
Where artists come to paint and play
Calling all to Santa Fe
Dream maker’s dreams
Come true in the
Travertine
Aisles of Canyon Road.
Take me home to Santa Fe.
Zuni, Navajo and Hopi jewels
Laid out on woven throws.
Travelers come to barter
For jewels upon their wrists.
Sculptors, painters and weavers
Silversmiths, potters and glass blowers
Excite the spirits hidden deep
Within your soul.
The joy of beauty unfolds.
Galleries upon Galleries;
Artistic nudes,
Golden sunsets and landscapes.
Glimpses through storefront glass
Play on your senses.
The sun shines bright in Santa Fe.
Boxes carved in walls
Deliver stories from the past.
Colored doors tell tales of lives within.
Many an O’Keeffe have come and gone
Yet they linger in the spirits
And walls of Santa Fe.
No other place inspires
Like Santa Fe.
I dream of her
Whenever I’m blue.
Take me back to Santa Fe;
Paint a picture on my soul.
You wake up my senses
You beautify my soul
You heal my sorrows
You bring joy to my life
When I die let it be in Santa Fe
There is no better place
To lay your bones
Than dear old Santa Fe.
Take me home to Santa Fe.
Lon 9/24/2021
“On The Atchison Topeka And The Santa Fe”
This song is rolling round in my brain today
Was it the Modernaires or Pied Pipers
Which group were the blighters
That made us sing along in a hap hap happy way
death in the classrooms
nine students and one teacher
Death blithe attitude
5/18/2018
https://abcnews.go.com/US/active-shooter-incident-santa-fe-high-school-texas/story?id=55258606
Drowning Dreams
School-Shootings
heard sounds of children
singing under the golden
colorful rainbow
snap sounds of bullets flying
prayed that they all found cover
terrified to death
approached the open window
there was no one there
shells shattering nightmares haunt
strangling tight around my throat
Copyright © Eve Roper 4/5/2018
We're only 12 weeks into 2018, and there have already been 17 school shootings where someone was hurt or killed. That averages out to 1.4 shootings a week.
https://www.cnn.com/2018/03/02/us/school-shootings-2018-list-trnd/index.html
In the middle of the river stood a bear all aquiver
In anticipation of his first meal of the Spring
Just a ways away was fisher man from Santa Fe
Who had sworn to bring his wife the very same thing
There was a salmon down the stream that fit both the dreamers' dream
And she was comin' hard with a belly full of roe
Oh, she had climbed three water falls as they do when Nature calls
And she guessed she only had a hundred yards to go
She had known the bed she sought and the price she would pay when bought
But nothin' was too much to pay in this cycle of life and death
She had been to sea a thousand leagues and lived her life in endless intrigues
As she fought with man and nature with each treasured breath
Then she saw just up ahead a tasty morsel before her bed
She had no way of knowing that the morsel was connected to the man
And she was weary and never saw the danger of the upraised paw
She could only think of a fine meal before she laid her load in the sand
Then it was plain to see some things in Nature are meant to be
The salmon came into the bear's reach as the lure came floating by
The bear swung at the salmon's dorsal as the man yanked on the tasty morsel
And sunk the hook deep in the hungry bear's fishing paw
Silence gave way to scream as the fish hastily moved upstream
The fisherman and all his gear clumsily fell off the rock
The bear would fish no more today just find himself a place to lay
And the man from Santa Fe just swore and wrung out a sock
And so the fish had reached her bed it could have gone two ways instead
As both led to a much larger creature's dinner table
Do not discount it as a rumor for Mother Nature has a sense of humor
Both man and bear took it on the chin and the fish had babies as she was able
2-6-21
Larry Bradfield
heartless and you can forgive
blind eyes and you can see
deaf and you can hear
mute and you can speak
a bully and you fear
no legs and you can walk
no hands and you can feel
christian upbringing and you don't beleive
educated and you can't read
skilled and you don't work
bold and you are ashamed
a mother and you are childless
taught and you don't know
loved and you can't love
born and you....
walks of lie-fe
Auto-da-fé
There's no mis-leadin any sane of mind
to think a witch is any other kind
than one who'll lead you to your fall
and never bat an eye at all
nor care about one argument you find;
there's no good witch, unless she's burnin' fast
and leavin to here-after; in the past!
and if you think ones' spell is good
you've never fully understood,
tis from the dark she calls her spells to cast!
Her way is vile--she's got the evil eye,
and never doubt, if needs be, she can fly;
she'll lead you down the primrose path
before she lets you know her wrath;
by then the harm's been done, and you will die
The rocky desert was searing red,
And the sky was lapis lazuli
When thundering hooves and swirling dust
Brought grimy, grim men fast riding by.
Their looks and their mien were vulturine
With dark eyes that were as hard as stone.
‘Twas easy to see it was risky
To be riding this bleak land alone.
I held my peace and stayed in my cave
Hidden beneath the Mogollon Rim.
Three months and a day, I hid away
Until my trail was colder than snow.
I saddled my horse and lit a shuck,
Riding by night for old Santa Fe.
No man of the gun, I hated to run.
What else could I do with no alibi?
I rode the horse that carried the gold
Of the late robbers who shot my son.
It all came to an end last Sunday in Santa Fe.
The love of my life was violently taken away.
A mugger shot my wife even though she gave him her purse.
She was rushed to the hospital but things got even worse.
The doctors couldn't save her even though they tried.
While she was on the operating table, she died.
She was carrying my baby and that makes it more sad.
I'm no longer a husband and I will not be a dad.
Because of that bastard, two lives have came to an end.
My wife wasn't just my lover, she was also my best friend.
Now that she's gone, my future doesn't look very bright.
When the cops find that man, I hope they shoot him on sight.
She died even though I went to the Chapel to pray.
My life became worthless last Sunday in Santa Fe.
(This is a fictional poem.)
Sixteen-Eighty was brutal on saints and their hissing cats.
A turgid June, thickened as it was by an immature sanguinary wine
failed to quench the civil mob.
Above the birthday cake façade,the pink and cerise porticos,
the heavenly-frocked casements, the stucco -
a tiered sibilance rises were the throng, in a sportive sweat,
begets its feverish desires.
The accused stand center-stage, as hairless as Sphinx
garnished by sheens of fear.
Some contemplate the ornate state of their theatrical ruin.
Some already lash their minds behind unfocused eyes.
That was then; I see all this through a painting,
yet I am here now, and the square still seeps
through a varnish of time.
Suddenly eveing flaps a checkered flag.
The plaza is suddenly a pitch for celebrating revelers.
Real Madrid fans have surged out of the barra.
Soccer balls are dribbled over cobbles.
I imagine my hapless head plunging in and out
of the heedless crowd.. I am their sport,
a candidate for a mocking inquisition.
Meanwhile, the cats stare patiently,
squeezed as they are into strips of sunset,
a pink Iberian tongue of light that streaks the floodlit scene.
This place could be a place for only jubilation, were it not
for the sotto voce hissing of these time-stretched
hissing shadows.
When Joe was young he had tonsilitis
In grade school he developed bronchitis
Later, elbow bursitis
And Colitis, Neuritis
Now that Joe’s old ~ he aches with arthritis
Little wonder Joe’s gender-conflicted
It could easily have been predicted
Sick of sports injuries
Joe made some inquiries
Plays dolls injury-free ~ he enlisted
We met in the airport in Denver
Just a beer and a martini dry
She said she was leavin' some cowboy
And she had not a tear in her eye
Her story was old as the mountains
Loved a man that's the wanderin' kind
She ordered another martini
As she started to leave him behind
She belonged in the arms
Of a man with some charms
A teacher of things of romance
She'd shed this cowpoke
And hope he went broke
And look for a man who could dance
She said she was western bound from here
Try her luck with the men in L.A.
I said I'm headed southward from here
I'm singin' my songs in Santa Fe
She belonged in the arms
Of a man with some charms
A teacher of things of romance
She'd shed this cowpoke
And hope he went broke
And look for a man who could dance
Now I ain't braggin'but I've some charms
And I always write songs of romance
Just change your ticket to Santa Fe
I'll be happy to teach you to dance
And that's how it happened long ago
We took our new love to Santa Fe
She never looked back and learned to dance
And she says that she likes it this way
She belonged in the arms
Of a man with some charms
A teacher of things of romance
She shed her cowpoke
And hoped he went broke
And found her a man who could dance
Auto-da-fé at Plaza Major
Sixteen-Eighty was brutal on saints and their hissing cats.
A turgid June, thickened as it was by an immature sanguinary wine
that failed to quench the civil mob.
Above the birthday cake façade, the pink and cerise porticoes,
the heavenly-frocked casements, the stucco -
a tiered sibilance rises where the throng in a sportive sweat,
begets its feverish desires.
The accused stand center-stage, as hairless as Sphinx
garnished with sheen's of fear.
Some contemplate the ornate state of their theatrical ruin.
Some already lash their minds behind unfocused eyes.
That was then; I see all this through a blood spattered prism,
the square still seeps
through a crimson varnish of time.
Evening now flaps a checkered flag.
The plaza is now a pitch for celebrating revelers.
Real Madrid fans have surged out of the barra.
Soccer balls are dribbled over cobbles.
I imagine my hapless head plunging in and out
of the heedless crowd. I am their sport,
a candidate for a mocking inquisition perhaps?
Meanwhile, the cats stare patiently,
squeezed as they are into strips of sunset,
a pink Iberian tongue of light that streaks the floodlit scene.
This place could be a plaza for jubilation, were it not
for the sotto voce hissing of these time-stretched
unforgiving shadows above us.
Stance like the rock,graced
with rigidity and pride,
Indifferent Moist: Faith.
Faith is a substance of Proof,
Actions hidden by hearts rule.
Innate fluid flowing in the vein,
Traversing the heart,fueling the rein.
Health of dying hope.
Faith is that strong stampede rope,
Attracting with force,unseen promises.
Inversing worry,deleting Vices.
The joy in mocking rages of waves,
Halting deceit,rekindling fire of grace.
For so long had it been talked off:
All soul were once or twice lost.
In the switch of time came faith to explore,
That he should have to himself many stores.
Hearts tiptoe-ing,to see what future holds!
Say to mountain,
Hence from hither to tither:
Faith is the bearer.
18:01:13:21:13