Best Montana Poems
Summer, Montana - I was twenty-one
Cloaked in gray thoughts, far vision concealed
Until I walked beneath your healing sun
Your magical, lush mountains revealed
In trees, symphonies of birdsong merry
Your trails of daisies led me to streams
Sprinkled with sweet pops of huckleberry
Your lodges - open, soaring antique beams
There, he found me - in silence, music heard
Held me close in his arms in moonlit dance
I loved that he loved my wellspring of words
Then, September - and he- gone in a glance
It is his unicorn charm I still feel
Alluring, spellbinding - but it's not real.
5/8/18
A sliver of October moon
sinks slow into the western night
and the life of a billion stars
begin to fade beyond my sight
The black curtain of night dissolves
as colors flare the eastern sky
The glorious hues of morning
proudly herald a new sunrise
Heaven's light spreads o'er the valley
telling all the world to arise
Bright autumn leaves upon the trees
mimic the grandeur of the sky
Sunflowers turn their golden heads
to the promise of what's to come
A melody from wings on high
sing a joyous praise to the sun
I get a little misty eyed
as other cowboy start to come
Can't help but feel a little sad
that this night-herders job is done
Oh great father
give this child a home,
give him the love of a good family
and a lover of his own,
give him a fire in his spirit
and hope in his heart,
my the heavens bless him,
under the wild Montana sky.
Glitterin' gold wuz struck along Alder's Gulch in eighteen sixty-three!
Potential prospectors came frum as fer away as Knoxville, Tenn-o-see!
Hordes uv soiled doves and gamblers migrated to the Gulch as well,
Along with platoons uv ruffians and barkeeps, their potent booze to sell!
Fellers labored hard all week pickin' and a-shovelin' at their claim.
But Sundays wuz set aside to raise 'oly 'ell, much uv it to their shame!
Baptist preachers thumped their Bibles tryin' to preach above the din.
There warn't no churches so they preached in saloons aginst the wages uv sin!
Hurdy-gurdy gals roamed about 'neath the steely-eyed gaze uv their 'madam'.
Guns and bowie knives wuz rife and wuz brandished by the dudes that had 'em!
Brawls erupted resultin' in blackened eyes and numerous bloodied noses,
Leavin' heaps uv rowdies sprawled on sawdust floors in grotesque poses!
Pie-aner players added to the din beltin' out their bawdy songs!
Preachers gave up and said to 'ell with it and joined the festive throngs!
Poker games wuz proceedin' in ever' saloon, usually endin' in a ruckus,
Since there seemed to be an excess uv aces held by some cheatin' cuss!
Fallin' down drunks wuz nuisances that bouncers simply booted out the door,
But they somehow meandered to another pub to imbibe a little more!
On Sundays they had their spree - on Mondays though sick and broke,
They panned fer 'dust fer another Sabbath frolic - the aim uv ever' bloke!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
My name is not Tony Montana
No, I'am not a nature born killer
The heroine is not embedded in veins
I'am always drug free like the quotes states
ride or die don't get
high off your own supply
My name is not Tony Montana
I'am not a gangsters
I'am that Bruce Lee the one you don't want to mess with
One blow to the head and the second blow to the chest
consider yourself knocked out
For sure I have skillz like that
My name is not Tony Montana
Tattoo this to your forehead
No wankster
No drug dealer
No gangster
Check the profile I hit the school books
not the streets
I know how to say no to a situation
that may cause destruction in my life
No my name is not Tony Montana
Say no to drug
Say yes to school and a job
So you can have a healthy stable life
By Shaniki Smith
Date: April 17, 2016
I'm on my way to Butte Montana,
where the mountains reach the sky,
and the eagles soar way up high,
folks are friendly and give you a smile,
it's the Montana way of saying stay awhile.
I'm on my way to Butte Montana,
need a change of scenery,
where the forests are full of greenery,
ranches spread throughout the land,
cowboys on horses roping calves to brand.
I'm on my way to Butte Montana,
it is where I am bound,
praying a job will be found,
my lonely saddle needs a horse to ride
so I can rope cattle with some pride.
I'm on my way to Butte Montana,
with shiny boots and a new ten-gallon hat,
making me feel like a big fat cat,
as I act like a polite and handsome dude
so all the ladies will not find me rude.
I'm on my way to Butte Montana,
staying a night at a KOA Campground
with folks who are from all around,
sharing a campfire with sparkling and glowing heat,
knowing this is the life that cannot be beat.
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.
Watching crows eat roadkill in Montana, my rifle slung across my shoulder,
early morning workers sweating, cursing, as they break apart a boulder
Ice cream truck stops by the roadside, driver shouting “come and get it”,
A lumbering moose the only taker, the angry driver shouts “forget it”.
The river overflows into the valley’s golden corn fields
The farmers lay large sand bags, they fear to loose their yields
Crop duster circles as the crows fly in pursuit
of falling butterflies and ladybugs who perched upon the fruit.
The poison claimed their short lived lives today
bees flee, birds scatter, all escaping from the spray
The bobcat spies the moose, in all it’s forest glory
pouncing on its back it sinks its teeth, I cannot watch, too gory.
Thunder in the valley, rain falls ‘cross the land
a forest dweller begs for help, he needs a helping hand
“My daughter ran away without a word into the city,
I only ask for where to search, I do not ask for pity”.
“Dear man what can I say, I’m just a hunter, not raised in Hollywood,
where only bad girls find their way there”, the old man understood
He slowly disappears beyond the trees, and softly moans,
The crows have finished with the roadkill and only left the bones.
And me, I think I’ll patch my jeans, and jump into the water
and climb into my pickup truck, go searching for his daughter
I hold a picture I was given, as he walked into the woods
I must admit she is a beauty, and has the proper goods
To drive this man to find her, before she disappears,
into the crowded city streets, that drive young girls to tears
The beauty of Montana, the forest and the farms,
will call me back I pray, with his daughter in my arms
I am an old man
a deep well
an epoch marriage
a raven haired beauty
five above average kids
Orion deckhand and cook
teacher of the year
Bible study leader
jail preacher
song worship leader
NAU graduate --graduate school
ASU graduate --undergraduate school
life guard
breakfast cook
English tutor
Archie Brokeshoulder's well puller
grain elevator operator
pizza chef
dishwasher
mental hospital patient
prisoner
welder
all region linebacker
wrestler
pole vaulter
3 high schools
4 jr highs
2 elementary schools
8 states
2 dads
5 moms
6 sisters
4 brothers
13 presidents
I am an old man
I'll swim a mile
this morning
and dance
all night
golf tomorrow
backpack Europe
visit kids in Montana
come back to Arizona
visit kids in Kentucky
do more Europe
come back to Arizona
swim and golf
then who knows
India, Nepal, Tibet
I am an old man
looking for something
SIlence fell over Montana
Stretched outward, blew through trees,
Clouded out the sky,
Made its home on her hills,
Suffocated the light,
Immersed itself in rivers
Sucking everything dry.
Epidemic in air,
That she could no longer sustain.
Sunlight was refracted
Tangent arc of ice crystals
He was.
He took off his hunting gear,
Made himself anonymous.
Deficient and incomplete,
It was unavoidable,
that he would leave,
Montana in silence...
My name is not Tony Montana
No I'am not a nature born killer
The heroine is not embedded in my veins
I'am always drug free like the quote states
ride or die
don't get high off your own supply
My name is not Tony Montana
I'am not a gangster
I'am that Bruce Lee the one you don't want to mess with
One blow to the head and the second blow to the chest
consider yourself knocked out
For sure I have skillz like that
My name is not Tony Montana
Tattoo this to your forehead
No wankster
No gangster
No drug dealer
Check the profile I hit the school books
not the streets
I know how to say no to situation that may cause destruction
in my life
No my name is not Tony Montana
Say no to drugs
Say yes to school and a job
So you can have a healthy stable life
the sand forgot me
a man's struggle's,hold thee hand
grandchild,i need thee
There was a lady from Montana
Who fell in love with a banana,
Which had such an appeal
She felt urged to reveal
They planned to elope to Havana.
She rented a seaside cabana
Nested between beach and savanna.
At a party she threw
Came a Chiquita new
And the new two flew to Montana.
Montana skies
at nighttide
drips with stars
trailed by crimson showers
beneath the clouded hue
of the milky way
alabaster tips
of mountains
stand like shadows
almost touching
the backdrop of night
aglow in the blush
momentarily
I stand
in the stillness
of my own actions
the same as them
casting shadows
like wishes
on the streamers
of falling stars
as they fade
in the distance
I feel
the expansion
of my own dreams
dissipate within the air
of night's veiled breath
as I sigh
at the beauty
contained within
Montana's skies
Daddy's shoulders were burned by the sun
as he plowed wheat fields one by one
All his hopes seeded in the soil
His labor fed us with all his toil
Noon would come - he would find a tree
Take his hunchback pail...a moment free
The tractors roar was fierce and strong
He rode it all the daylight long.
He now plows heaven's fields on John Deere
I hear that motor loud and clear