Best Hoe Poems
On a Sunday in the evening
The old barn becomes a hall
Social place where every weekend
The town folk go for a ball.
The inside is decorated
Lights are lit, the banners sway
By the walls barrels and cartwheels
Wooden stools and bales of hay.
Everybody loves a shindig
Where square dancing is the craze
Violins, guitars and banjos
Loud hillbilly music plays.
There’s a guy who’s always present
He’s the handsome Cowboy Kurt
On his head a leather Stetson
Dressed in jeans and chequered shirt.
Carol comes in golden pigtails
Gorgeous looking in flared skirt
She stands out; her smile is charming
She is hot and likes to flirt.
Cowboy Kurt looks quite appealing
He taps his feet to the beat
As other couples are reeling
Pretty Carol takes a seat.
Kurt decides to mosey on up
And lay his heart on the line
See if Carol would share some grub
Perhaps a swig of moonshine.
Tiny Carol surprises Kurt
Chugging down half a bottle
She eyes him coyly, looking pert
Then starts to jig full throttle.
Stunned Kurt is reeling to and fro
As wee Carol takes the lead
Dance floor clears; they put on a show
Kurt looks like a tumbleweed.
Music wouldn’t stop fast enough
For Kurt who couldn’t square dance
Carol is made of tougher stuff
And has high hopes for romance.
Totally lit and loving it
Carol trots to the outhouse
But when she returns, Kurt has split
“Where’s my man?” Carol does grouse
In his truck Kurt has hit the trail
Head still spinning from the dance
Carol sits upon a hay bale
Hoping he’ll return to prance
After the hoe down was over
Banjos and fiddles tucked away
Cowboy Kurt was still a rover
Out cold on the hay Carol lay.
------------------------------------------------------------
Written 6th October, 2014
A collaboration by Paul Callus and Carolyn Devonshire
This long awaited date -
a hoedown it’s to be
shy smiles as we head in
we touch hands nervously
We allemande left and do-si-do
Then both head ladies chain
and breathlessly we meet
in each other’s arms again
We swirl in sawdust on the floor
to the tune sweet Bye and Bye
Evocative is the patter
as the gold moon rises high
An anticipated moment
as the fiddle fades away
Your denim and my lace
soon lie buried in the hay
Sweet echoes of the evening
fill passion in the soul
Upon the amber straw
we both have lost control
written October 27, 2014 by Rick Parise and Andrea Dietrich
For Shadow Hamilton's Cowboy Hoe Down Contest
Written by Maurice Yvonne and Seren
Crack that whip, jerk the line,
Let's start dancing it's no time to dine.
First you holler, then you sing
All join hands and make a ring.
Now if you please circle wide,
spread right out like an old cow hide.
Feed the Hogs, brand the calf,
Swing your honey once and a half
Now you switch on the heel and toe
Come gals and cowboys, don't be slow.
Allemande left with the corner maid,
Meet your own and promenade.
Everybody swing and whirl
Swing 'round and 'round with your pretty little girl.
Do si do don't you know,
You can't grab a rabbit until there's a snow.
Bow to you partner and the corner miss,
To the opposite lady just blow a kiss.
Chicken in the bread pan scratching out gravel,
get your maid & away you travel.
Lassies to your seats and gents you foller
Thank the fiddler and kiss the caller
Dated 11 October 2014
Weeeeel, It's friday night
And I got my fiddle
Alfred's here
And he starting to niggle
I said call the dance
And make those folks wiggle
Here at the Soup hoe down
He stood at the mike
And started talkin' silly
with a Do-se-do
Just like a Hillbilly
With an allemande left
Hypocrites to the right
Sashay now, well into the night
Then He called a promenade
With a roll away
Cause He never made a poem
That made Poem of the Day
With a see-saw-taw
And a circle to the line
Freddie slip the clutch
And said good-bye to the grind
On a Sunday in the evening
The old barn becomes a hall
Social place where every weekend
The town folk go for a ball.
The inside is decorated
Lights are lit, the banners sway
By the walls barrels and cartwheels
Wooden stools and bales of hay.
Everybody loves a shindig
Where square dancing is the craze
Violins, guitars and banjos
Hillybilly music plays.
There’s a guy who’s always present
He’s the handsome Cowboy Kurt
On his head a leather Stetson
Dressed in jeans and chequered shirt.
Carol comes in golden pigtails
Gorgeous looking in flared skirt
She stands out; her smile is charming
She is hot and likes to flirt.
Cowboy Kurt looks quite appealing
He taps his feet to the beat
As other couples are reeling
Pretty Carol takes a seat.
Kurt decides to mosey on up
And lay his heart on the line
See if Carol would share some grub
Perhaps a swig of moonshine.
Tiny Carol surprises Kurt
Chugging down half a bottle
She eyes him coyly, looking pert
Then starts to jig full throttle.
Stunned Kurt is reeling to and fro
As wee Carol takes the lead
Dance floor clears; they put on a show
Kurt looks like a tumbleweed.
Music wouldn’t stop fast enough
For Kurt who couldn’t square dance
Carol is made of tougher stuff
And has high hopes for romance.
Totally lit and loving it
Carol trots to the outhouse
But when she returns, Kurt has split
“Where’s my man?” Carol does grouse
In his truck Kurt has hit the trail
Head still spinning from the dance
Carol sits upon a hay bale
Hoping he’ll return to prance.
After the hoe down was over
Banjos and fiddles tucked away
Cowboy Kurt was still a rover
Out cold on the hay Carol lay.
*Written October 6, 2014
by Paul Callus and Carolyn Devonshire
The dancing pardners, dressed in dungarees,
With checkered shirts, and Stetsons, boots and spurs,
Are at a wedding. Joy the bride now asks
The band to play a tune that she prefers.
The fiddle music made ’em tap their toes,
But what she wants just brings the place to life:
The hoe down wedding is the place to be -
And Billy-Bob’s so glad that Joy’s his wife.
I shake my head and smile at what I see
And hear the whoops and cries, as couples leap;
The fiddlers play so fast I can’t resist
But soon become a laughing, sweating heap.
I step upon my pardner's boot clad toes,
And pull her down when I fall to the floor.
I laugh so hard I cannot get my breath,
But she is angry, branding me a bore.
Some stop their dancing just to help me up
And wait there as I stumble to a chair.
The newlyweds wrapped in each other's arms
Dance on as though the rest of us aren't there.
This is their day, hope I haven't spoiled it
Even a little bit, that would be sad.
Most of the guests are crowding to dance floor,
But as for me, I'll rest here for a tad.
Before too long, I have to shout, “Yee-haa!”
I clap my hands and then I stamp my feet.
The youngsters feign fatigue and clear the floor
And, giggling, watch me leap up from my seat...
Written by Jack Horne and Joyce Johnson for Shadow's contest
Crack that whip, jerk the line,
Let's start dancing it's no time to dine.
First you holler, then you sing
All join hands and make a ring.
Now if you please circle wide,
spread right out like an old cow hide.
Feed the Hogs, brand the calf,
Swing your honey once and a half
Now you switch on the heel and toe
Come gals and cowboys, don't be slow.
Allemande left with the corner maid,
Meet your own and promenade.
Everybody swing and whirl
Swing 'round and 'round with your pretty little girl.
Do si do don't you know,
You can't grab a rabbit until there's a snow.
Bow to you partner and the corner miss,
To the opposite lady just blow a kiss.
Chicken in the bread pan scratching out gravel,
get your maid & away you travel.
Lassies to your seats and gents you foller
Thank the fiddler and kiss the caller
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
Contest Name: HOE DOWN
Collaboration By
Seren Roberts/ Maurice Yvonne
11~10~2014
The crop has been harvested, the moon has turned red.
All our chores are now finished, the cows have been fed.
Time to put on our best blue jeans, spit polish our boots.
Let down our long hair, get back to our country roots.
Billy has got a banjo, Danny is a diamond on the drum,
Announcement posted at the hardware store, everybody come.
Feasting on some pumpkin bread, beer and barbeque,
Heels to the dirt dance floor, shake hands a time or two.
Peggy Sue in her sundress, Virginia has gotten a new do,
Let's listen to the dance caller to find the right dance queue.
Begin with a simple square dance, and ease the stage fright,
You can do si do your partner, bow to left and to the right.
Give a smile, your doing just fine, click them heels one more time,
One, two, three, slap your knee, listen to the musically rhyme.
Crowds around are keeping the beat, hands and boots clapping,
Spurs on the stage, instrument of choice, chiming and tapping.
Bellies are full, spirits are high, one more dance, one more rhyme.
Let the competition begin, kick up your heels. let's have a good time.
All the best dancers shuffle their feet wondering who will capture the crown,
The night heats up, crowds gather round, time for an old fashioned Hoe Down.
Casarah Nance
Tim Smith
October 8, 2014
Da Microsoft Hoe. (sing it sort of to the tune of 16 tons.)
verse 1
Some people say we're nuthin but bits 'n' bytes.
I grew up fightin' on Sa'day nights.
Nevah thought we'd evah even need a password
Gittin where I'm goin'. I'sa dirty bird.
verse 2
I was bone one mornin' Mama threw me away
I grew up makin love in stacks of hay
Frogger was da best I could find to pass
my time away, to save my ass.
CHORUS 1
I load sixteen bits. Whada I get?
anoder day older, and deeper in debt.
St Peter don't ya call me cause I cain't go
I owe my soul -- to da Microsoft hoe.
© ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet,
Like a sappy fruit
in vice of time,
a slobber root -
a top cut by a knife.
Thick drops in a pot
down slowly trickle,
hold firmly a cup,
set off a ripple.
Must hoe one's row,
time, here, I see,
for muck and your
fruits marc will be.
crazy steam whistle
wakes me to a cooler ‘morn
blown loud
moisture piercing
rock rock rockin'
on grease
on iron
on splintered sleepers
creaking through
frost blown meadows
do I jump?
do I stay?
next station comin'
station bull gonna ride you away
blackjack swingin'
applejack head ringin'
raggedy wine bard
mad mad mad
for the reach
the sun
the tickle of dawn
eastern philosophical lunatic
preachin' to a lima bean
sermonatin' to a jackknife
cryin' in a canteen cup
jump jump jumpin'
sloppy in a junction box
skiddin' out on corderoy
laughin' with crows
flyin' west into the dawn
dawn run runnin'
away
Contest: Warrior Sonnet
Sponsor: John Lawless
September 15, 2020
Petrarchan sonnet: abbaabba cdcdcd
Song of the Humble Scythe
My fellow men at arms, today we fight!
Courageous men of fields, that left the plough,
our foes have come; you hear their drums, but now
our storm will wet the soil with crimson might!
Your kin are scared to die, but hope is bright!
We are this wall of stone; you will not bow,
to foreign hands, nor foreign lands, and now
we raise the battle cry for what is right!
Take up the plough — that tills the Fields of Fate!
Take up the hoe — that weeds your earthly foe!
Take up the fork — that throws their bales of hate!
Protect your seed — that needs your love to grow!
The field is yours! The Field is yours! Now great,
we war with tools our fathers made to sow.
hoe poe hops, listens
long needle beak plunges in
fresh grub breakfast
The world loves crippling
particularly if weakness
applies to a manner of spoken language
mouth that does not squeaks
is like a hoe with no claws sunk in the ground
only combing and stroking
instead of tearing and crumbling the stony grass
She eats the soil
cuts all worms under
bruises her breasts
with broken teeth she goes back
but no pat on her back