Best Lon Poems
“Mother Earth Speaks”
From the east she awakens
Her nightly slumber aroused
Splashing her face
With thundering waves
Her eyes open to
Snow covered peaks
Valleys rich with green
Forests filled with feathered melodies
And deserts for castaways
Pondering her motherly thoughts
Rivulets of tears
Flow down her cheeks
She speaks
I’ve given you life
I’ve given you bread
The wind to cool you
The sun to warm you
The rain so you may not thirst
You have taken my soil
Rubbed it over your naked body
Made love in my meadows
Bathed in my rain
Danced in my darkness
You no longer
Touch me as a lover
Tracing lines down my spine
You no longer
Lie beside me
Flesh to flesh
Lost in my perfume
Can you not see?
Cast your eyes around
My body is heating
My glaciers are calving
My oceans are rising
My forests are burning
The wind no longer sails
Through my valleys
It Hisses
It Screams
It Thrashes
It Scars
Must I tell you more?
You are sucking my breasts dry
There is little milk to give
You have thrown me against
The wall of time
You have kicked me in
My birthing place
My heart bleeds
You are no longer my lover
You who do not know me
Do not love me
Your denial reeks
Your children will
Never know me
Dear Father Time
Treat them kindly
Spare them your Wrath
“Nota Bene”
Lon 4/12/2016
"Nota Bene" A Latin phrase (or its abbreviation) used to indicate that special attention should be paid to something
double Chaney Lugosi and Karloff
those four are the most known monsters all time
and each monster they portrayed had spinoff
I grew up with those monsters on prime time
my mother saw them in the theatres
I saw them years later on the tv
the Cheneys’ monsters hasn’t been better
today the classic monsters hard to see
those monsters like poetry my fine wine
my mother enjoyed Dracula the most
Abbott and Costello met Frankenstein
all the monsters today are way to gross
Lon didn’t want his son to follow him
the wolfman out lived his father’s phantom
“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
Day-248 “Winter’s Wrath”
From out of the north
The cold winds blew
Hell’s inferno turned blistery cold
The Devil himself all
Bundled in ice coated steel;
His snarly, crackling laughter
Piercing the barren air.
His staff, a brazened fork,
Pierced all who ventured out
Searing holes in sockless shoes.
His razor sharp eyes
Turned pathways glazed
To monstrous graves.
Eternity could not be worse
This inferno from the north.
From out of the south
The warm winds came.
Across the Heavens,
In a chariot of golden sun rays
Pulled by a hundred whited steeds
Apollo took aim.
Over the plains they clashed;
Spears and swords took many a soul
White sheets covered the deadly fields.
The north wind hissed.
The south wind kissed.
Apollo cried out
“My blood runs hot
Forsake me not.”
From his scabbard a diamond blade flew
Cutting the breath of that mighty
South bound wind.
He ripped the armor
From the Devil’s redden skin
And turned it to dust; then
Took that angry man’s staff and threw
It to the sea.
With that the skies began to calm
And the wind turned warm.
Above the plains
In the setting sun
Selene stood proud.
As she glazed the sea
With an orangish glow
A smile on her face
For Apollo her man,
Boreas he tamed.
Lon 2/16/2021 #351
Day-211 “A Simple Kiss”
There’s a weed in my back yard
It’s tall and lanky
It’s black, mean and ugly
I’ve chopped it down
three times today
each time I turn
it flares up again and again
As I was scratching my head
wondering what to do
along came a little boy
with a candy cane smile
Howdy Mr. Smith!
I see you’ve been
working hard today
just, what is it you are trying to do?
I’m trying to rid my yard
of this pesky o’l weed
I’ve chopped it down
three times today
each time I turn
it flares up again and again
With a twinkle in his eye
and a grin on his face
He said.
I betcha I can rid
it from your yard?
Would you let me give it a try?
Sure said I
If you do I’ll give you a smile
With that the little boy
with the candy cane smile
ran to my back yard and
planted a kiss on that ugly o’l weed
To my utter amazement
it wilted and died
right there on the spot
My Goodness! Said I
How on earth did you do that?
What is this magic you possess?
Where upon the little boy
with the candy cane smile
Said
You kill hate with kindness
Mr. Smith
Now, may I have my smile?
Lon 1/09/2021#315
“Lynching”
Black man floating in space
Knotted rope about his face
Crosses burning
White sheets chanting
Black man squirming
Blue knee choking
Buildings burning
Dark nights looming
A noose from a tree
A boot and a knee
A black man dead
No one lead
Gutters vomiting
Jesus faltering
Canisters of tears
Scattering fears
Memories from the past
Recall the last
Nothing changed
Our nation estranged
Horrible brutality
Watching reality
A hang man’s stage
Millions enraged
Dusty roads
A hang man’s noose
Burning streets
A black man pleading
So much the same
It just insane
Equal justice
No longer trusted
Civil unrest
A nation stressed
Yet we care
When tempers flare
Doing it right
With all our might
We all must listen
As rattlesnakes hissen
It begins in the mind
You learn to be kind
We are all blood inside
Where love resides
It is not right
That I am white
And am not black
But my soul is cracked
I FEEL YOUR PAIN....
As George was slain
I watched it all
His terrible fall
Again and Again
Again and Again
A henchman calling
A nation bleeding
Again and Again
Again and Again
Crosses burning
Mindsets never learning
It was a lynching
Lon 6/1/2020
There's a party going on upstairs,
your invited, to come and have a scare.
H.G. Wells, will meet you at the gate,
costumes required, hurry don't be late.
Vincent Price will be tonights D.J.
Halloween is his favorite Holiday.
He's spinning "Thriller", while dressed up as "Kiss".
Watching Claude Rains do the "Transylvania Twist".
Steve McQueen came dressed up as the "Blob",
he's serving up the zombie shish-ka-bobs.
Elsa Lanchester placed real bats within her hair.
While Marty Feldom keeps yelling "Frau Blucher".
At the stroke of the witching hour,
St. Peter amps up all the power.
A disco ball drops down from a cloud.
Out on the dance floor, forms a massive crowd.
Michael Jackson then leads them all in dance,
while Lon Chaney and Karloff take their chance,
to join the angels in harmony,
While "Monster Mash" is sang by Lugosi.
Even the Devil made it through the door.
He's the one sporting an Elvis pompadour.
So much fun is had by one and all,
at Heavens Annual Halloween Ball
For Heaven Hustle
By: Tony Brooks
Did you hear the Lon Tan Cross is home!
The 521 Australian fallen are honoured
From a Vietnam War so unpopular
Hail the men of the D Company 6 RAR
Who fought the Vietnamese in the rain
In a rubber plantation so out numbered
And those who died with their faces to the foe
Did you hear Long Tan Cross is home!
© Paul Warren Poetry
On those cool summer evenings when coyotes haunt the night
And the campfire is dying—burning low, then flaring bright,
A cowboy plays harmonica while others sing and hum
While down by the chuck wagon a lonely guitar does strum.
A few pokes like Lon Stonecipher stare silent at the fire,
Imagining old friends and folks in times both dear and dire.
Lon sees and talks to faces that flicker in gold flames—
He asks them of the weather—remembers all their names.
“There’s Delton and Rosella, old Burlin and Rob Alcorn,
There’s that sweet Renata Robins that kissed me one June morn.
There’s Cal Shirlo and Spud Scanlon, that both died in the war,
And Addie Belle from Abilene that said she’d love no more.”
Cowpokes yawned and nodded—on this wild words did not dwell—
They knew the man he used to be, but this was just his shell.
The faces in the fire gave him comfort and offered hope,
They were his last salvation—without them he could not cope.
Lon stared into the fire for many hours before sleep—
His rest was fitful, frenzied—never calm, peaceful or deep.
And often he’d awake and gaze mournfully once again
Into those glowing embers in search of friend or kin.
“I can see my last saddle pal, young Mathew Leatherwood
And a Dodge City gambler that I shot right where he stood.
I see my dear grandmother and my sister Anna Lee—
My grandpa and brother Jim, who died at the age of three.”
The fire burned low and so did Lon out on that prairie bow,
But this was as it always was, at least until just now.
“I see you, ma—I see you, pa—your faces smile at me,”
So said old Lon one last time, drifting upon a prairie sea.
They buried Lon Stonecipher right out on that cold, dark land—
And right beside him built a blaze as hot as they could stand.
Then they watched the flames dance, and stared long into that pyre,
And to this day some still swear, Lon’s face was smiling in that fire.
Enough is Enough
The more we have
The more we want
When will Enough be Enough?
The more we fear
The more we want
The more tears we shed
The more tears to come
I beg of you God
When will Enough be Enough?
When there’s more on the street
There’s more to repeat
I believe it insane
The loss of so many
When will Enough be Enough
Stop playing this game
Is not for fame
Finding courage
In a six inch barrel
Is gravestone peril
When will Enough be Enough
My right to life
Precludes your right to holster
Today so Many
Tomorrow so many, many more
Why not we?
Dear God!
When will Enough be Enough?
Another eight today. My heart bleeds.
Lon 4/16/2021
I was one of the best leading men in Hollywood.
Many people thought my acting was quite good!
As long as Jack L. Warner said it was so,
I would be acting in many a diverse scenario!
They would have me playing a gangster or tough guy.
My great acting caught many a theater goer's eye.
Movie fans loved me in my appearance in "Public Enemy",
when I smashed a grapefruit in a woman's face for all to see.
Those were the usual roles from the studio I would get.
However, in the forties, my best part would come yet.
I won the Oscar for portraying a real-life song and dance man.
who was known on Broadway as George M. Cohan.
After that, I received many an offer and demand
to play many lucrative parts! Life was surely grand!
In a fifties film I starred in that played in many places,
I was Lon Chaney in "A Man of a Thousand Faces"
My last starring role was as a man with the Coca-Cola company.
This was in Billy Wilder's film "One, Two, Three".
In this film, I got myself in plenty of hot water
where behind the Iron Curtain, I lost the boss's daughter.
That was the last film for me for quite some time,
until I appeared briefly in the picture "Ragtime".
Declared plainly by those that know not thee of whom this present world was not worthy Their cries still being heard how long Oh, Lord They were were slain with the sword
of stones of hangings Of Crosses and Stakes Brazen Bulls and Iron Beds they where baked racks and wheels screws and vices iron maidens and all other evil devices
Lit candles lighting the gardens of cruel kings Tortures and Torments but they still sing unto blood shed men of valor showing God's Love consistent of lion's and lamb's eagle's and dove's Courage and strength to put tens of thousands to flight instead suffering servant's showing mercy like Christ Surely they have won the battle not lost for they follow the One counting the cost What manner of death Glorifying God Loving the brethren when they would not as Valiant as they can be the world to come they seek Overcoming this world for another for the Love of God and brother - Based on the Word of God ,Fox's book of martyrs, Tortures and Torments of the Christian Martyrs'', itself a photographic copy of an earlier, rare folio published by William Brendon & Son in 1904. - and HE WHO WOULD VALIANT BE Who Would True Valor See the Words: John Bunyan, Pilgrim’s Progress, 1684; modified by Percy Dearmer in The English Hymnal (London: Oxford University Press, 1906
Day-174 “The Poet’s Fare”
Penning life differently
Is the poet’s fare
Selling metaphors
For his love affairs
Penning lines
That sing in harmony
Painting shadows
With a pen
Rafting rivers
That do not cry
Exploring mountains
That have no names
Molten lightening
On a desert plane
Thunder in the morning rain
Searching for gold
At rainbow’s end
Laughter in every line
Soldier looking for love
On red lit street
Dark and lonely is the night
Master of the Metaphor
There are yet many more
For the poet who pays the fare
Lon 12/06/2020 #277
Day Dreaming Cowboy
Wish I was a cowboy
Just for you tonight
We’d Waltz and two step
Across this bar room floor
We’d put quarters in the juke box
Till they spilled upon the floor
We’d sing along with
Hank and Willy
Till they couldn’t take it anymore
I’d smother you in
Belt buckles
From my latest rodeo
I’d be the cowboy
Who rode that bull
Ten seconds more
I’d put you on a stallion
Let you lope across the
Wind swept prairies of my mind
I’d trade my Stetson
For your Levi’s
And lacy underwear
I’d place your boots
Beneath my bed
Till the little ones came
And kissed us both goodnight
I wish I was that cowboy
Just for you tonight
Lon 4/19/2021