Best Mcgraw Poems
Cash, Willie, Cline, and a
Coal Miner’s daughter sang
Classics with "Dolly" twang.
Crossover Taylor Swift,
Conway with Twitty wit,
Clint Black, Garth, Strait, McGraw,
Carrie, Blake: Love them all!
Oct. 14, 2020
for Joseph May's Pleiades 2 Poetry Contest
Strap on your guitar,
tell me when you heard the words
my face came to mind,
you don't like country music
but you like this song;
you think Tim McGraw wrote it
just for you to play for me--
"Just to see you smile I'd do anything"
your voice is monotone,
you're missing all the notes,
but when you look me in the eye
to say the things you're singing...
"When my world goes crazy
you're right there to save me"
we all want to be love's savior,
to give and to get equally with hands
that never fold and play the martyr,
that can always hold and take away pain--
I'm listening to Tim McGraw's words,
only hearing all the ones he left out--
stories of friendship, of care,
how it came before this love,
how he loved the girl too much
to tell her, at least for awhile.
Is that too romanticized,
or is it hope that will get us there?
Am I playing the fool
sitting here, writing love poems
to no one?
I ask these questions every night
though they always answer the same--
we've got to care before we can love
we've got to love before we can be loved
The Saints be preserved! Begorra! Today Saint Patrick reigns!
An excuse to get the Irish blood a-coursin' through yer veins!
A time for clans with even a tad of Irish in their genes,
To celebrate the holiday with the Wearin' O' The Greens!
O'Sullivans, O'Shaughnessys, O'Reillys and O'Neils,
Will be cavortin' and dancin' to snappy jigs and reels!
Anon, they'll savor corned beef, cabbage and Irish stew,
Toastin' the Auld Sod with hilarious hubbub and ado!
Happy harmonizers will sing "When Irish Eyes Are Smilin'",
Gazin' into the limpid eyes of Irish colleens so beguilin'!
Revelers will belt out "Biddy McGraw" and "McNamara's Band".
Goodwill and fellowship will prevail throughout the land!
Jaunty old-timers sport their shillelaghs in small-town parades.
Sprightly leprechauns and fairies leap about in masquerades.
Saint Patrick must look down upon his flock with some dismay.
What he hoped would be a holy day is now a rowdy holiday!
Hibernia, Eire, The Emerald Isle, Erin - call it what you may,
But ain't we thrilled that the Irish set aside this day?
At least once a year we can shed our usual dour mein,
And joyfully participate in the Wearin' O' The Green!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
New of sadness once again heard,
another hero gone.
Ya Gotta Believe were his famous words,
from Tug McGraw's throne.
No other could where the crown,
what a ball he could throw.
Not a better pitcher to be found,
all of his fans do know.
A hope and courage award you received,
a warrrior and fighter.
We'll never forget, Y a Gotta Believe,
you've made our stadium brighter.
Now you're life is put to rest,
God show him his path please.
This great man has passed the test,
in 1980 he won the world series.
Wei'll say goodbye, to this one so tall,
in our eyes we see.
God made his call to Tug McGraw,
remember, "Ya Gotta Believe.
To vascilate is never any fun
Either go with the other or the one
Riding the fence not the bull
Soon gives all a belly full
of Quickdraw McGraw with an empty gun
For wisdom catagory
Jul 29 2010 For John's Limerick contest
The Saints be preserved! Begorra! Today Saint Patrick reigns!
An excuse to get the Irish blood a-coursin' through yer veins!
A time for clans with even a tad of Irish in their genes,
To celebrate the holiday with the Wearin' O' the Greens!
O'Sullivans, O'Shaughnessys, O'Reillys and O'Neils,
Will be cavortin' and dancin' to snappy jigs and reels!
Anon, they'll savor corned beef, cabbage and Irish stew,
Toastin' the Auld Sod with hilarious hubbub and ado!
Happy harmonizers will sing "When Irish Eyes Are Smilin"
Gazin' into the limpid eyes of Irish colleens so beguilin'!
Revelers will belt out "Biddy McGraw" and "McNamara's Band";
Goodwill and fellowship will prevail throughout the land!
Jaunty old-timers will sport their shillelaghs in small-town parades;
Sprightly leprechauns and fairies will leap about in masquerades.
Saint Patrick must look down upon his flock with some dismay;
What he hoped to be a holy day has become a rowdy holiday!
Hibernia, Eire, Emerald Isle, Erin, call it what you may,
Ain't we grateful that the Irish set aside this day!
At least once a year we can shed our usual dour miens,
And joyfully celebrate The Wearin' O' The Greens!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
Frank Edwin was his real name.
This southpaw went on to garner fame.
With great accomplishments and few regrets,
he became the closer for the New York Mets.
This native of Martinez, California
finished his baseball playing career in Philadelphia.
He is indelibly etched in Phillies fans’ memories
when he struck out Willie Wilson in the World Series.
That was in the magical season of 1980.
What a colorful act on the mound he was to see.
Unfortunately, Tug is not around anymore.
He sadly passed away back in 2004.
I thank wikipedia.org online encyclopedia for information I obtained to write this poem.
Wow, it's a heat seeking missile
Always first to blow the whistle
Amazingly speedy on the draw
Faster than Quick Draw McGraw
No poem has the chance to linger
Not with that itchy trigger finger
Hurry, hurry, no time to wait
Gotta get out of the starting gate
But the first to cross the finish line
is always the winner, Einstein.
I took a stroll through Boot Hill Cemetery the other day,
To take a look at where outlaws and other rabble lay.
Some graves were marked by stones, others by weathered board;
Many covered with cairns of rock, residents known only by the Lord!
As I moseyed through the weeds and brambles from tomb to tomb,
I read interestin' epitaphs on how those fellers met their doom!
"Here lies the mortal shell of bank robber Tim McGraw;
Bad luck for Tim - the bank teller was quicker on the draw!"
"Beneath this turf resides big-time gambler Jedidiah Greeves;
He played Texas hold-em with too many aces up his sleeves!"
"Here dwells 'Hank' Hankston who 'borrowed' the judge's steed;
He was hanged from a lone oak tree for this nefarious deed!"
"Here inhabits Cletus O'Toole who had a run-in with the law;
The high sheriff won the battle on the dusty streets of Wichita!"
"Molding in this lonely grave is Joe Bronson, notorious cattle thief;
Wranglers dealt with Joe in a hail of lead with whom they had a beef!"
"Cody Blanks went on a drunken toot causing mayhem and injury;
The judge sentenced him to be hanged as suggested by the jury!"
These fellers were planted with their boots on accordin' to local lore;
That's why it will be known as Boot Hill Cemetery now and forever more!
Gun slinger
Matt Zinger
Dressed in black
Didn't come back
High Noon
Was Doomed
Quick Draw
McGraw
Got A Rope
Hung that dope
Undertaker Called
Dead Body Hauled
Poured the whisky
From Junction 60
Dead Man's Trail
Where slingers failed
The ammunition greased casings pepper skull and cross lovely bones,
lightening speedily deals mortal blow persons unaware,
the final minutes/seconds of lives leased
shorn of existence, and akin to sheared sheep, this case
targeted ambushed ewe mon souls permanently fleeced
instantaneously cut short sealed mortality fate upon Avast group ceased
to exist as happy go lucky men, women and/or children
from most fearsome beast.
Instantaneous re: within the blink and/or flickr survive
er eyed, and former gallivanting live
capitalone progressive pinterest ting human con hive
ving to collide with hulu hooping unwittingly accompanying jive
vin track hewed by quick draw mcgraw holster
sending dead riders to final resting place.
Ribald exhortations and allegiance gifted who usher bereave
ment, where demise of existence experiences a field day,
whence microbes gorge viz Philabundance, while next of kin grieve
incalculable loss forsaken, whence emptiness doles bleakness
upon grim outlook that doth leave tears, brought per spilt blood and sweat
tallying cost, no miracle whipped lifeless ones can survivors retrieve.
Mortal kombat rues unfathomable payless Priceline Bourse
induces adrenaline to course thru melee,
where iron maidens sprint non selfie ish
lee to safer outlook, where moments of pain force
besiege collective asylum seekers indulge gorse
faux Joyus fancyfeast er vanityfair, whence sorrow loosed like a wild horse
diehard fanatic (attired inconspicuously like
dishabille schlepper of an outlier) source
index finger clutch released high-powered voluminous ammunition
murderous mass homicidal rates get worse.
Netzero escape those unfairly killed ceaselessly year after year
undeclared warfare,
whereby killer coolly unleashes fusillade veer
ring out the barrel to tear
whole community fabric, blithely empty lethal munitions truckload to spare.
From the time, You became an indian squaw
Were you A rebel like Quick McGraw
Unhesistant of answering that Call
Knowing true Warriors Never stall
That We before walking first gotta Crawl
Like Our Loved Ones, back Home, that are Small
Yet, let's "just fix it", Y'all
When in Our court, is the ball
For the Reward of feeling Ten feet tall
If not Another name on the Wall
Even if We, upon trying, Stumble and fall
Cause No matter what, We're heroes, One and all
At 11 am I pulled into their drive
Ashtin and Houston ran out of the door
Screaming and laughing, ready to ride
Going with me wherever we please
First to the bank, for a little cash
Our next step meeting Rodney
Their wonderful dad, my loving son
Shoney's for lunch, still more to come
We headed down the interstate
We sang Tim McGraw songs
We laughed and told jokes
Science Adventure Center, here we come
So much to do, they started to run
Up, down around, again to the top
Houston climbed in to the huge plastic heart
Ashtin kept up, then we lost sight
She went to the left and I went to the right
Houston we found was nowhere in sight
He finally came by with a big wide grin
He said, I found Cooper, one of my friends
So they played and they played
Then we went to the gift shop
Then Mawmaw sat down to watch
The went back and played
Houston won laser tag
They watched as a mirror
Made their faces start to age
They played a piano with their toes
My Tuesday was perfect
God blessed me that day
My grandchildren and I went to play
We stopped at a church, with pumpkins to buy
They were grown by the Navajo
We found six to carve in shapes that we like
Next we went to our favorite store
Dollar General is where we can get good buys
The last stop was Sonic, to get some good food
They played on the playground
Waiting for the roller-skating girl
To deliver the order, then we rode away
We drove in their driveway
Stuff everywhere
Ashtin said, we are so glad
You like to spend time with us
This has been the best day ever
I say sweet girl you said that before
The last time we went and had fun galore
God gave me memories
Worth more than anything
I know I would never change anything
I pray God will bless me again just the same
That Tuesday was a special day!
Some things said at funerals
are so surprising
’tis a wonder the deceased
doesn't start rising.
“He was the most honest of men,”
one speaker did assert.
But more than one listener
to Dirty Dick had lost a shirt.
“He always told the truth,"
his minister opted to claim.
But his long-time tax adviser
knew his lies were a shame.
“He didn’t speak ill of a soul,"
his doctor told the crowd.
But dozens he had smeared
disagreed openly and aloud.
Thus proceeded the funeral
of Dirty Dick McGraw.
All agreed it was a sham,
praise for a man they never saw.
There is a message in this tale
all would do well to observe.
Speak a eulogy honest and true—
one the departed would deserve.
Peppermint Christmas angels were doing the cha cha cha.
“What else can you do?” Asked a pinecone name of McGraw.
We can do the petootsie dance, and we can tease our maw.
“What else can you do?” asked a prissy critical macaw.
“We can twirl and spin, and we can make delicious coleslaw.
We can play racquetball and we can spot an editorial flaw.
We can peel potatoes in a fancy way if you get them raw.
We are pretty talented,” said the angels, and we can draw.”