Best Ole Poems
“Ole Brownie”
The meanest and the best,
Proven among the rest,
My dog in Arkansas, pope county,
I present, ole Brownie,
With first cold front,
Arkansans begin the hunt,
Razorback hogs,
with their dogs,
Now my dog Brownie,
Meanest hog dog in pope county,
A sight to see,
Even growls at me,
A heinz fifty seven,
Comes number seven of the eleven,
Impossible to see,
His pedigree,
Though no pedigree,
Visibly plain to see,
He was the dog for me,
By my shout of glee,
When he was given to me,
He was a handsome dog,
Though he loved to hog,
Part red bone hound,
Mixed with feist clown,
Would fight anything around,
Twas very plain he wasn’t a coward,
With teeth bared,
Who’s hoss or boss,
At any cost,
Often declared,
When disputes were aired,
Ain’t no fibbing,
Ears torn to ribbons,
His ears` he had sacrifices,
To his scrapping vice,
Anyhow, to finish my story,
Bout my dog of glory, ©.( “Razorback Hog Hunt”)
9-27-09 johnmosesfreeman@yahoo.com
Meat in my smokehouse a bit light,
With the weather about right,
One morning at first light,
I headed to buzzard roost hollow,
A leash on Brownie’s collar,
But Brownie went crazy as a goose,
When I turn him loose,
My worse fear, I could hear,
Him chasing a deer,
Out of pope county, was clear,
Anyhow, now, down in the pope county wild woods,
Seated on an Arkansas hollow log,
With my finger on a trigger, and my eye on a hog,
I pulled that trigger, and the bullet went zip,
I jumped on that hog, with all my grip,
Though I knew I had missed,
I couldn’t resist,
Now as my grip would slip.
The hog would rip,
Tusk 8 inches long,
Like ice tongs,
Would chomp and rip,
As the battle begin to tip,
Hog getting the best of a bad situation,
Sure wish my dog hadn’t taken, his deer vacation,
At about the time,
I thought it was, the end of the line,
I heard Brownie coming,
Man, that dog was running,
He had heard the fight,
Was coming back, to claim his right,
Old Johnny Cash, in the boy named Sue,
Ain’t shown my dog and me, nothing new,
Blood guts and hair, rose up in the air,
When ole Brownie took hold, this fight ain’t fair,
Didn’t take no hour,
Untill we were back in our own lair,
We were saying a prayer, within the hour,
I was seated in a chair,
At my kitchen table,
Razorback meat, the label,
Ole Brownie, proving himself to be, very able,
To sit under my table,
For he’s my mean hooooog,
DOG!!!
Dedication: "MoonBee Canady" An outstanding poet of light poetry, as far as I am concerned.
I certainly enjoy reading your light poetry, as well as the other types you write. You go girl,
I hope you like these poems! Godly love, Sincerely Moses
9-27-09 johnmosesfreeman@yahoo.com
Farewell old pard, I write this letter to you. Well, I guess I’ll saddle up and ride out with my new pard, he’s only a colt at three.
He’s a real beauty, a real eye pleaser and sure of foot with a cutting pedigree.
I’ll go on out to the rough country where the sky is blue, relive the
old times and try to work the rope a bit, so I won’t be thinking of you.
We were pards for many a year and we both tote the scars to show
and that cold back you had fairly tossed me hard every morning before you’d make up your mind to go.
But we never shared a cross word that ever meant much among friends,
Though, you did take a few hard comments when you got ornery now and then.
We purt- near worked in all kinds of weather, rain, snow and even a blizzard or two.
We shared our misery out on the plains when the cold winds off the mountain blew.
We’ve covered a lot of country, any closer, I don’t guess any pards could be
and though you weren’t much to look at, it never meant much to me.
You loved your job and worked it well with light rains and leg ques.
And there were times when you led the way, and I took my ques from you.
You were not a natural cutter, but you weren’t scared of bulls, cows or steer
and you worked the tight spots eagerly, never showing the jitters of fear.
We were pards, alright, never just a way to get the job done nor pleasure for me,
You loved it too, riding the open range with only the basics that kept us wild and free.
Why did you go and leave me, you just laid down in your stall and I was left alone.
I tell my stories and old pard, I tell yours too, since you’ve checked out and gone.
I look back through the years as I sit here looking over the grass growing high on the range.
How love for a horse can feel so right is hard for this cowboy to explain.
I can’t help but riminess’ and wonder, were there times you just didn’t feel quite well?
You always took to the saddle and in my selfish way, I never cared to ask, and you didn’t tell
We’d ride out and pretty- soon, you seemed glad you came along and there were
times we trailed in late, long after the sun had gone.
But now I look back on the past and sentimental thoughts tears my eyes and burden me.
Good-by old pard from your old friend, you were the best any pard could be.
Do you ever think of the good ole days,
And what they really were?
Such peace and understanding,
Such joy filled our hearts,
No time for demanding,
How about a game of darts?
We all pulled together,
So no ONE did all the work.
The air so much cleaner,
No one went berserk.
Now you look around you,
Only if you dare,
It seems such an issue,
Doesn’t anyone care?
But we go on living,
That’s what they call it now,
Too much a misgiving,
Makes you wonder how.
Peace on earth,
Goodwill to men,
These are just words,
That have been.
So when you wake in the morning,
And breathe in your smog,
Your tale is dragging,
No time to jog.
Just for a second,
Think about life,
Think of your children,
Don’t forget your wife.
Think about living,
The best that you can.
Think about giving,
An extra hand.
What can you do,
About things as they are?
Maybe a new muffler,
On that Junker of a car.
Maybe a smile,
Wherever you are.
I have heard it contagious,
So be careful out there,
Some think it outrageous,
To show that you care.
Lets bring back the old days,
Lets breathe again,
Lets enjoy our life,
The best that we can.
I was having one of “those” mornings
being all boo-hoo
and feeling sorry for myself
just counting the ways
that things were so uncool
when my ole hound-dog came up
and nuzzled my thigh
I reached down and rubbed his ears
and got to thinking
do hound-dogs ever get the boo-hoos
and I realized
yeah, they probably do
with that revealing flash of insight
I got down on my knees
and gave my ole hound-dog a hug so tight
that it hitched my breathing
he got to wagging and licking
tossing his head and smiling
and I got to making all that
talking-to-my-ole-hound-dog-baby-talk
while we were having ourselves
a good ole time together
I got to thinking again
when you get the boo-hoos
and start feeling sorry for yourself
what you must try and do
is give comfort to someone else
and if the closest someone else
is your very own wag-licking ole hound-dog
then you just get down on your knees
and let that comfort flow
while I was doing just that
and we were nose-to-nose
we looked into each other’s eyes
and I had another revealing flash of insight
I wasn’t giving comfort to my ole hound-dog
he was giving comfort to me.
If I were a stone what one would I be?
I'd want to be one, everyone wants to see!
Like they would for a star,
folks would come from afar
just to visit the Castle and "ME"!
At Blarney Castle I would not be alone.
As a matter of fact, I'm very well known!
Visitors would be quite remiss,
to not plant a Kiss,
on "ME", the Ole Blarney Stone!
NOTE: Blarney Castle is located in
County Cork, Ireland. A Stone of
Eloquence is located in the castle
tower. Legend has it that if you
kiss the stone, you'll never be lost
for words! Thousands go there
every year to kiss the Stone!
I kissed it in July 1984!
A fellow by the name of Ole Pistol Pete
Once had this real special technique
He just had to think
His eyes he would blink
Ladies would follow Pistol Pete like sheep
© Jack Ellison 2013
naughty child gets whipped
with a fine ripe rosebush switch
to let him know quick!
Sabre Tooth
You and I were there upon the ice,
the white crystal paradise,
We fought the Sabre Tooth Tiger Cat,
We fought with fear like cornered Rats,
and some of us survived.
We hunted Woolly Mammoth under the Moon,
did overwhelm and eat it soon,
though some died doing that,
stomped spiked and lifeless flat,
cos death did call the tune.
We learned to plot and persevere,
there was no time for acting *****,
where death walked in a Cat,
no time for getting fat,
ole Sabre loved us dear....
Don Johnson
Ole Poppycock said the British clock maker.
While setting his alarm clock which was the building block
of his foundation.He purchased penny stock at four o'clock
and future stock on Wall Street today.
Ole Poppycock said the Dutch soda drink maker.
George Washington did not cut down the Cherry Tree.
He placed a cuckoo clock under the chopping block,
and becasue of a culture shock purchased New York Common stock,
at the stock exchange today.
Ole Poppycock said the British Law Maker.
You're only trying to make me the laughingstock of London.
Place your pig's belly on the butcher-block,and play me some acid rock,
before we experience another earthquake aftershock.
Sign your John Hancock and be on your way.
Nonsense Poetry by Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 2016..ALL rights reserved.
patented genuine leather gloves
captivating our boyhood heroes
those same gloves flailing about
towards fly's we were supposed to catch
a glowing white ball with red thread
that begged to be rocketed into orbit
we dreamed of such heroics
pleaded to the God's for the power
most times we flailed there too
it was a tiny aspirin
that evaded mammoth sticks
eagle-eyed trembling lads tried and tried
at least three consecutive times
before retreating with lowered heads
and yet we swore we'd return
with vengeance upon our hearts
there were parents, encouraging
some hopelessly, others with zest
each and every ball pitched
held a lifetime of recollection to come
hopes that immortality would strike
inhale, swing....exhale, next
one by one we took our turn
learning life, the struggles, the joys
suckling each moment with precious breath
tomorrow didn't matter, this was the day
contact, wood upon a now scuffed ball
foulball the ump screamed!
a delightful sound
for it meant success
no matter how miniscule
clapping, smiles broad as the horizon
shoulder slaps, that a boy!
proud parents boasted
picnics were planned
even the diamond itself sparkled
it lived for moments such as these
ah the stories held within those fences
Part 2
thirty five years have gone by
our "field of dreams" now a grave site
ironic that coach Lou resides at homeplate
his stone reads "We lent him boys,
He returned young men"
a great tribute to his dedication
and love for the game
the grave yard littered with former players
however the mound lies bare
no hill, nor stone
only my own precious memories
one day, I shall play again.............
She's Off To Merry England
Where the blue bell wood goes wild
Where all the lad and lass speak a funny style!
Where cheerio means nothing but, "Hey how ya do?"
And bobbies are the real police watchin over you
Wave your hand, blow your nose, stand around awhile
The Palace Guards are stiff and never known to smile.
Good old Merry England! It's fun for all to see
Climb aboard, take a plane, grab a trip with me!
The Ole Roadrunner
(For Sara from Uncle Johnny)
June 2015
Want to tell you a story
Bout a bird that can run.
He can fly up in trees, but
To race is more fun.
He’s a runner at heart
He lurks like a trickster
Darts out on the road
Goes faster and faster.
He’s sleek and he’s quick
Keep watch and don’t blink
Out he will jump
And be gone in a wink.
Not easy to catch
Roadrunners are wary
To chase is to fail
Ask Wile E Coyote’!
Birds like to sing
To cheep and to peep.
This one is different
He likes to Beep.
So when out in the car
Keep your eye on the road
If you see something running
Might be this Ole Bird.
Beep Beep!
Families sat together when I was young
Ate popcorn had fun….
Around the coffee table we’ whine
Pass the chips gimme mine!
Black and white TV had just come to town
The neighbor had it, it was around.
But, oh the board games we’d play
Parcheesi, dominoes, monopoly!
We’d all sit on the floor on that mustard shag rug
My bratty little sister would get all the cat’s hugs.
The bowl of potato chips would be twixt Dad’s knees
And Mommy would ask to pass the bowl please.
Babe our dog would nose all the pieces
And the monopoly money would get covered with greases??
Boy, we’d laugh cause it always seemed
Baby brother would get thrown in jail, double-teamed.
Well, we never did get rich
But you know what’s funny?
I’d give anything…..
Anything for one more chance
At family…and that Monopoly money!
Monopoly the Game of Life
D. Guzzi
Victoriana
Pier
Stands
Monumental.....
Of the glory days long gone
The train rumbles on as a confused old lady
Unsure of her destiny yet still she travels on
Young faces embrace with baited breath
Peering anticipation pressed on smeery glass
Wooing and cooing as objects roll by
Parents smile in adoration as their little ones ask 'why?'
And it's all so reflective, the sheen of the sea,
Glass thoughts imagination as we
Watching faces, aging lovers, flowing dresses, flip-flops
Baseball caps and the odd few shops
De-board to stretch and sigh, relish the visions which greets the eye
Chips on the promenade an absolute must
Rossi ice cream to flourish in lust
Just sea and breeze with breaths and smile
To stop take time, enjoy (our) while
Lean on the piers aged frame,
Whilst fishermen reel
Young pollacks play games
Streamline they race
Against the incoming current
Side flips cause amazement
As to why? Unapparent
Thousands in the shade of the aged old pier
Return to same spot year after year
Just like us and our forefathers before
An irresistible meeting ground
We cannot ignore
(love the old pier)