Best Lawmen Poems
When asked to write Limericks about ladies
I said, "Oh, no. There's no way in Hades!"
Too many are my friends
I'd have to make amends
Not even for a brand new Mercedes
Then, I gave the matter a bit more thought
And chose women closest to my heart
The ones in Milton Creek
Five who are quite unique
All lovely women who are very smart
Jan holds ownership of the Manx Saloon
Where two lovely ladies sing a fine tune
It's where Milt played poker
But do not provoke her
Jan has been known to throw a mean spittoon!
Tania now runs the bakery in town
Her Whiskey Whoopie Pies are world renown
Come to Kitchin's Kitchen
She might let you pitch in
to help her make the best pastries around
Deb manages the Manx with extra care
No outlaws allowed, so you'd best beware
If you're packin' a gun
Or maybe on the run
She'll call the lawmen and they'll be right there
Two recently hired ladies fit right in
Caren tends bar, pouring jiggers of gin
Anne-Lise is the town flirt
Servin' drinks in ruffled skirt
Fine ladies, living at Aces with Lin
There's a few others at the Bordello
I hear one's sweet on a certain fellow
Maybe just a rumor
A tale told with humor
The Creek's calm enough to hear cows bellow
Residents will keep it free of all spats
No bad hombres who'll be wearin' black hats
More ladies will arrive
Our little town will thrive
Mayor Tom will have more to say 'bout that
(Spenserian Sonnet)
A flagrant man is Robert Brown, a swine;
his eyes glow red like ember coals of fire.
Will fate be kind or bring him bitter brine
and will his soul the evil one require?
Did in pretense he seek to prove desire
and rise to plant a kiss upon her lips?
He sliced her neck and watched his wife expire,
as blood streamed down and dripped from fingertips.
Yet rumor spread as neighbors came to grips
with horror of a murder in their town,
and newsmen raced to pen details in scripts
while lawmen flocked to chase the villain down.
I held my mother in my arms and cried;
her eyes met mine in sorrow as she died.
Each day in Tombstone as tourists watch
The OK Corral gunfight plays out
Reenactments staged by the locals
The Earps always prevail in this bout
Saunter down to the Bird Cage Theater
Now a museum in this Old West town
Actors aren’t needed to play roles
The original cast is still around
Sixteen gunfights caused 26 deaths
Poker players who were dealt bad hands
Tourists still hear the shuffling of cards
And music from the piano man
Gunshots, images captured on tape
Dancehall girls still perform on the stage
Scents of old ale cling to dusty walls
And card game losers express their rage
Doc Holliday and Clanton Brothers
Look on as Wyatt holds all the cards
Virgil, Morgan glare at the McLaurys
Lawmen and outlaws send their regards
Spirits may rise from nearby Boot Hill
To visit the Bird Cage for a while
Delighting modern-day visitors
With a taste of history, Tombstone-style
To learn more about the Bird Cage Theater hauntings and see photos, visit http://www.ghost-
trackers.org/birdcage.htm
At Dalton town where I was born
in Ozark hills of home,
There lived a man named Leamon Brown
who plowed the rich, black loam.
His wife, a sweet and gentle soul,
did not foresee his bent,
she daily worked beside her man
who seemed to be content.
But in his heart a wrath appeared
to poison spirit's peace.
When reason left, his anger grew
and clawed to find release.
He stepped behind her where she sat
and bent to kiss her lips,
withdrew his blade and slit her throat
while blood streamed down her hips.
In panic's grip she fled the house
but stumbled soon and fell.
The children screamed in frozen shock
and dove straight into hell.
One son ran to his mother's side
and held her as she died.
His siblings hid from daddy's blade;
he stood there, glassy eyed.
As gossip spread like raging fire
of murder in our town,
the newsmen raced to pen details
as lawmen dragged him down.
His deed became the hottest news
to ever hit our town
The judge declared the man insane
this man named Leamon Brown
Now he is locked behind closed doors,
his wife lies in the ground.
Though we lament the children's fate,
his kids are sorrow bound.
In the backwoods of Virginia by a one room country shack
Stood a still that was a brewing that my Mama kept out back.
She kept a shotgun by the backdoor in an old potato sack
and when the travelers came a calling they brought money in a paper sack.
The bell tree was a blowing and you could hear that little ring
for a taste of that clear whiskey and the good times it could bring.
Now in the quietness of the night with a little light from the moon
Came the smoke that was rising from the making of the brew.
Mama had many names she called it and here are just a few...
Corn Liquor, Bush Whiskey, Hillbilly Pop, White Lightning and of course Mountain Dew.
It was warm when you drank it and had a kick like a mule
and if you needed resting you could sit on Mama's stool.
Now the lawmen would come a sneaking and try to find my Mama's brew
but the tin cans that were a hanging would alert her to the news
that someone was a snooping and trying to find her moonshine brew.
But out by Mama's shack was an old hole that she had dug
to hid her jars of whiskey from the lawman that came a looking for her special brew.
They ain't never found her whiskey...but I still know where it is...
and at times I sit on Mama's stool by that old bell tree
and have a sip or maybe two.
T Reams 1st Place
The roaring twenties prohibition.
Left violent crime to seize the day.
An act of folly, no forward vision
Of curbing crime, and their ambition
To supply hard liquor, and disobey.
The roaring twenties prohibition.
Failed to prevent, what was tradition.
A paradox says that,'crime does pay'.
An act of folly no forward vision.
Corruption is blind no opposition.
The 'cotton clubs' were there to stay.
The roaring twenties prohibition
Was needful then for more attrition
And fighting crime, without delay
An act of folly, no forward vision.
Until the lawmen gained submission.
Who was to blame? Society will say,
The roaring twenties prohibition.
An act of folly, no forward vision
3/ 2/ 2015.
In Sherwood forest where big oaks grow
There lives a band of outlaws
They roam the forest with their long bows
With arrows ready to draw
In an attempt to put the rebels in a jam
A lawman comes up with a plan
He is the sheriff of Nottingham
And he has kidnapped maid Marian
This news quickly spread to Robin Hood
The leader of this outlaw band
He fights for justice and for good
Her freedom he demands
But the sheriff refuses to let her go
Until Robin Hood gives up
But Robin replies with a resounding no
Cause he drinks from victory's cup
Then Robin's men surround the place
Where Maid Marian is being held
The sheriff and his lawmen brace
for battle, but they will soon be felled
Then arrows fly as lawmen fall
And maid Marian is soon rescued
And Robin Hood now stands tall
The hero from the forest of Sherwood
The Kid had been arrested along with The Boys and Jesse Evans.
All were being charged with cattle rustling.
It was John Tunstall's livestock that had been stolen,
and he intended to press charges against all of them,
until he happened to see William H Bonney.
He seemed so out of place with this gang of ruthless thieves.
Mr Tunstall then spoke with the Kid privately.
"I will drop all charges against you for your testimony,
that my livestock was stolen by this gang of thieves,
afterward you're welcome to come and work for me.
Room and board will be absolutely free,
and you will earn a decent salary honestly."
Billy Bonney readily agreed
and so John Tunstall had the Kid released.
When they arrived at Tunstall's home he had a gift for the Kid,
a rifle and a horse complete with saddle gear and blanket.
This unexpectedly brought tears to the Kid's eyes.
"What's wrong son?" Mr Tunstall asked surprised.
"Nobody," said the Kid, "has ever given me anything in my life."
John Tunstall would become Billy's mentor.
John wrote home to his family the following in a letter,
"That kid never ceases to amaze me.
There isn't anything in the world he won't do to try and impress me.
I'm going to make one hell of a man out of that kid one day,"
but tragically John Tunstall got blown away,
by the ruthless monopolizing competition.
Partners Lawrence Murphy and Jimmy Dolan
sent a merciless gang of corrupt lawmen
to John Tunstall's ranch and murdered him.
Billy's second chance for a better life was no more.
John Tunstall's murder ignited The Lincoln County War.
Some songs
Are of saddest times
The skies of darkest days
Some words
Bring such discontent
There are no gentle ways
To tell the tale
Without the tears
That tear the heart in two
But I will share
This saddest tale
Of hearts both black and true
There was a widow
With a son
He was a spunky lad
And when she found
Another man
The boy turned
Mean and sad.
The maid who cleaned the widow’s house
Saw the what was going on.
How each day the battle raged
As soon as she was gone.
The man took off
His silver belt
And like a man insane
He beat the boy, he cursed at him
And called him filthy names.
The mother’s love had maddened him
He hounded the poor child
Jealousy had filled his head
By hate his heart defiled.
He loved the widow, now his wife
Her son was in the way.
He sent the boy away to school
On that their wedding day.
The boy wrote home--
He hated school
They beat him there and worse
They starved the boy
To punish him
For writing silly verse.
The boy wrote home to plead his case
He promised to be good.
He begged to be at home again
He’d even chop the wood!
At the widow’s urging
The man re-read the letter
'He must come home'--his sweetheart cried--
'He's promised to be better.'
The man sent off the widow
Quick to get her son
She left him on the next train
Before the day’d begun.
The day was hot, the winds were bad
The clouds, they shouted rain
The neighbors said that angels wept
As they hailed the train
The man stopped by to get the mail
Without his widow’d wife
Another letter from the school
How tiresome was his life!
He put the letter in his bag
And headed his way home
When bedtime came he got it out
He liked to read alone.
'Your son is dead,' the letter said,
The hand was from a man
the school was starving naughty boys
the lawmen had a plan.
The school would close, the boys all leave
But one boy would remain.
The dead boy would be with his ma
When she returned by train.
The man who loved the widow
And took her for his wife
Hanged himself before the dawn
And took his own dear life.
The widow and her son
Returned through beating rains
She walked into that darkened house
And blew apart her brains.
He watched his mother, his mentor and three of his best friends
die right before his eyes.
His mother died of TB very slowly,
and when she slipped away he was there at her bedside.
John Tunstall, his mentor, employer and very close friend,
was riddled with bullets by a gang of corrupt lawmen,
right in front of him.
His pals Dick Brewer, Tom O'Folliard and Charlie Bowdre,
were all murdered in the presence of his company,
and yet despite all of the violence and all of his tragedy,
his outlook on life was always cheery.
Never dwelling in his dark past or present miserably,
always looking towards his future joyously living life fully.
How the hell did you do that William H Bonney?
I have suffered far less than he,
and yet I'm a miserable SOB who avoids everybody.
I wish I knew your secret William H Bonney.
As much as I admire you, I also sometimes feel envy.
...inspired by the Robert Earl Keen Jr song
'The Road Goes On Forever'
Flying high thru south west Texas
black Camaro's leaking oil,
radiator needs attention,
sputtering, it starts to boil.
Up ahead a service station,
got to get attention quick,
a fast mechanic and a twelve pack,
cigs and chew will do the trick.
Curt's his name, his disposition,
mean, and dangerous to boot,
he robbed a bank in Amarillo,
teller there he had to shoot.
He doesn't know the teller made it,
thinks he's headed for the Chair,
guns the Chevy, checks the rear view,
blows a tire and fits the spare.
Evening comes, it starts to raining,
visibility is bad,
seven beers, he feels some comfort,
wildest time he's ever had!
Heading southward to the border,
up to speed, he's almost there,
no sign of lawmen in his mirror,
no restrictions anywhere.
North of Shafter there's a roadblock,
troopers out in full array,
he floors the pedal, doing ninety,
they're not gonna block his way!
He slams a cruiser at full measure,
they are stationed full three deep,
a fiery heap of molten metal,
none to grieve and none to weep.
The Sixty-Four Rulers of the Yi Jing
When chieftains uncrowned yearn to be enthroned
They either give their daughters to princes
Or invite other chieftains and have them poisoned
Some choose the war-path without hindrances
And lose their lives wives their land masses
In days of yore we call smirk as dark ages
Today’s chieftains also own land masses
Stars with stripes pedigree business managers
Lawmen who make millions helped by judges
Generals in command of battalions
Through coup d’Etat fulfil ill-nursed grudges
All scions sired by pur sang stallions
Who won elections with money from banks
Or the pennies dropped by party members
All paths leaders take to the top while thanks
They give not to those who toiled to hoist masters
What may the difference be with then and now
One man still decides the fate of one’s country
No man can encompass all the know-how
Any man can lose cool and berserk thrash free
When the going gets tough under pressure
When vested interests pull tout azimuth
Is divine right a blessing rained down treasure
Or the servile mind’s habit of staying put
If sixty-four wise men ran a country
According to the dictates of the Yi Jing
The world will neither know war nor treaty
The future will be assured for every being
(c) T. Wignesan - Paris, 2017
a terza rima
The setting? Bean Town, known for allegory,
has city gardens guarded close by lawmen.
Make Way for Ducklings, long a famous story.
Adjacent playground near the well-known common
includes eight precious ducklings, bronzed with burnish
inviting kids to bring a weary mom in.
As Mommy-sized folk sit, these icons furnish
young fledglings brief recess from worn caregivers.
Moms will then offer swan rides to refurbish.
Such swans are boats that cruise along the rivers,
diversion's fun that Boston mass delivers.
written May 14, 2016
first came Matt Dillon
later on came Joe Friday
they're two true lawmen
A cold-blooded killer or a kind hearted man,
Searching for justice with a gun in his hand
He escaped many times indeed he did,
He is known as Billy the Kid
A charming young man, with a heart-breaking smile,
He rode across the desert, he rode many miles.
He is known for the things that he did,
He is known as Billy the Kid
Chased by lawmen, bandits, and thieves,
Billy is dead now and many are relieved,
Shot by Pat Garrrett, his so-called friend
Murdered and betrayed, enemies in the end
Could history be wrong?
A lie have been told,
Could Billy have died at ninety years old,
In a small town in Texas, a place called Hico
Brushy Bill Roberts,
A man growing old,
Stories of his life,
Many have been told
He claims a life of killing,
A life of revenge,
He wants to be pardoned,
He is nearing his end
"Do you have any proof that you are who you say?"
Does Billy the Kid still live today?
These questions were asked,
By an attorney of law,
Then Brushy revealed his scars,
Many wounds he saw
The truth has been told,
It's finally out,
Was Brushy "The Kid?"
I have no doubt