Best Out Of Doors Poems
Some modern folks, when they hear his name,
will roll their eyes and look ashamed,
thinking the cowboy is uncivilized,
with his hats, and guns, and round-up rides.
That somehow they are beyond the stuff,
to good for the wild, and the rough,
following some unwritten ‘elite’ law,
suppressing the urge to shout ‘yee-haw!’
But I think when it all is said and done,
cowboys are truly made of awesome…
Riding swift across the wide-open plains,
coat flapping behind like your horse’s mane,
maneuvering a large and panicked herd,
turning a stampede with iron nerves,
rough-hewn men cooking by the firelight,
coyote chorus yips through the night,
knowing that for all the wind and grit,
it sure beats sitting in an office.
A battered hat worth more than any pearl,
grabs the attention of the cowgirls,
boots that announce you in any room,
be you a mere hand, or fancy bride-groom.
Leather vests that dress up any shirt,
and somehow can even make fringe"work,
a bandana or a wild rag,
with a thousand uses, not a mere fad.
The tell-tale jangle comes from your spurs,
vast coat made out of buffalo fur.
Square-dance, line-dance, twirl a girl around,
to fiddle and steel guitar’s sound,
campfire songs to entertain the kids,
harmonicas to sing the blues with,
teaching the folks to throw a lasso,
then breaking out tricks with swirling rope.
Living life by a strong honor code,
one that good people would do well to know.
Wyatt Earp and his famous revenge ride,
Masterson cut Dodge City down to size,
Doc Holliday gambling with a death wish,
Billy the Kid, criminal, yet tragic,
Wild Bill holding those aces & eights,
and old Kit Carson, out blazing the way,
Buffalo Bill brought the people a dream,
and who can forget, the legend Bass Reeves?
A six-gun at ready, holster right side,
the lines of a Winchester, ever sublime.
Ranches that sprawl on mountain and prairie,
riding the trails where man can breath free,
rampaging rodeo, those guns are fun,
and damn can those barrel-racers run!
Living out of doors, by both skill and luck,
be it on a horse or a pick-up truck,
It’s clear that when all is said and done,
that cowboys are truly made of awesome.
A hidden moon sails above the darkened cloud
Confidant, arrogant and so hauntingly proud.
A stirring mass crawl’s the darkly naked trees.
A chilled malevolence creeps amongst the breeze.
A cracking twig races the heart, suddenly skips a beat,
You spin around wondering of the horrors yet to meet.
You scan the woods for signs; you train your searching ear,
All the time your heart races, thumps, increasing latent fear.
A distant howl vibrates, stirs the gathering mist,
Nocturnal sounds grate the nerves, hard to resist.
It grows louder, the clawing bushes rustle and shake,
You step away from the trees a decision to make.
Flee or stand, face the terrible entity of fear,
The noise increasing, what horror will soon appear?
You taste the bitter bile as your hands wildly tremble,
The shape grows into something your thoughts resemble
A terrible cry escapes your lips and fills the darkened night,
As neighbours pour out of doors to check the haunting sight.
A beast bounds from the woods and knocks you to the ground,
Only then do you realise, it’s your loyal and loving hound.
S.de Burca.......© 6th May 2013
Floating fluttering fleurs
are jewels in fuchsia and magenta
transmuting into taffy hue
with the kiss of dappled sunlight
like her cheeks that blush in pink
with his wondering wink.
The willows are stalactites
seducing newly bloomed nympheas
slumbering in Egyptian blue water
like her shaggy windswept hair
teasing her beloved's face
beneath the dancing moonlight.
Oh, Monet,
your 'en plein air' emphyrean elegance
awakens my sacrosanct senses
as I envisage a Filbert brush
glazing each pearly petal
highlighting sun's luster
on emerald to lime leaves,
on cyan to admiral water,
reflecting cerulean sky
in consummate chiaroscuro.
7 April 2022
A Briand Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
8th place
Notes:
In 1893, Monet, a passionate horticulturist, purchased land with a pond near his property in Giverny, intending to build something "for the pleasure of the eye and also for motifs to paint." The Water Lilies is a 1919 painting by impressionist Claude Monet, one of his Water Lilies series. The painting, the left hand panel of a large pair, depicts a scene in Monet's French pond showing light reflecting off the water with water lilies on the surface.
(www.metmuseum.org)
*plein-air painting, in its strictest sense, the practice of painting landscape pictures out-of-doors; more loosely, the achievement of an intense impression of the open air (French: plein air) in a landscape painting(www.britannica.com).
When the temperature soars
My Muse is cranky and cross
Whether in or out of doors
Meter and rhyme are quite lost
My head heavy, I'm bored
Sweat pours off my chin
Hunched over the keyboard
What a funk I am in
To slumber I yield
I nod off for a bit
My fate surely sealed
Poetry, I quit...
Yet switch on the a/c
And, voile! A new me!
To the delight of my Muse --
Cool air lights her fuse!
He's just an ol' cowboy
With a heart big as the whole out of doors.
But time has exchanged
His home on the range,
For a garden and five acres to mow.
He still rides the range,
Each day at three,
With John Wayne, Gabby or Tex,
When he closes his eyes he's there by their side,
Somewhere out in the west.
He's there in spring
At the rendezvous site,
When the mountain men all converge,
He'll share their whiskey, adventures and lies,
Till they give into that wandering urge.
He spent one winter
In the mountains way high,
His cabin the size of a den.
He was cozy and warm, tucked safe from the storm,
Until a commercial cut in.
He was there when Jessie, Frank and the gang,
Hit the bank in a small Kansas town,
He ran for the sheriff
Drew his six guns and waited,
Expecting to mow them all down.
On trails he did ride
With Goodnight and Chisum,
His job, To bring in the strays.
Like a coyote he'd croon by the light of the moon
To the cattle at the end of the day.
He froze in Alaska as he panned for gold,
Burned brown as the prairies he trod,
Fell along side Jim Bowie
At the Old Alamo,
And is buried deep 'neath the Lone Star sod.
He tried to avoid the Indian wars,
But rode with Reno
At the Little Big Horn,
The chaos he saw made his skin crawl
And wasn't ashamed as he knelt there and bawled.
His days they were great,
And granted still are,
For he met a new friend today.
He walked by a bookstore, saw Louie Lamour
Now new adventures are coming his way.
He sits in his chair with a confident air
And turns on his TV at three.
He rides with his friends
Till the commercial cuts in
Then he takes out Ol' Louie and reads.
Cile Beer
written l990
We've brought him back again, where in the corners lie
the shadows of his youth, a world that passed on by
I watch him walk the floors, that he had walked before
Old planks that creaked, with hurried, carefree steps
once sang with youth, ...now whine with sad regret
Again, the out-of-doors has let itself be clipped
to window images, of which he had recalled
where fond thoughts of youth returned, each spring, and every fall
Framed pictures of windy branches in the sun
We could hardly tell, at first, if the mountains slumbered by
The same old way, as days when he was young
for branches, grown, had crowded open skies
And yet, he smiles, recalling all too soon
how the dust motes, fill the afternoon
with chalkboard clouds, and ink well stains
with musty thoughts, and childhood's sweet perfume
Again, the out-of-doors has let itself be clipped
To window images, of which he can't forget
_______________________________________
Carrie Richards 1/30/14 "Historical"
Night's falling
Slow dance
And music's drifting out of doors
Under the stars the ocean roars
Whirl dip
Fragrance fest
Mellow moon
Scarlet sunset
Almost gone
And Mars can be seen above
In the season of the dove
Diamond stars
Pearl moon
Summer dance
Warm breeze
birdsong trees
A night of color and song
And the moments move slowly along
Laughter inside
Gay revelers
Dreamy days
Written on 1/3/2021
For: Trinet Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Joseph May
King Louis of France
Was looked on by many askance
Then the people said fooey to Louis
And made their selection: Chop Suey
Old King Louis got everything wrong
Told his wife in a touching swan song
“I think it’s for the best
Get it off of my chest”
Made his exit quite short, not so long
King Louis in or out of doors
Loved to dress in silky drawers
When asked “Do they feel alright?”
He said: ”Yes, when they’re pulled up tight”
27 August 2019
Clerimerick Couplets Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Mark Toney
Bitter, bitter, bitter
not as in a taste on tongue
or unrequited loves' remain,
only of wind thats wrung
all warmth from the air.
Bitter, bitter, bitter
all the way through to bone,
clenching chattering teeth,
and breath blown
on mittened hands.
Shine of sun to deceive
beckons one out of doors
brain has an idea of sun
that roars
away outside
caught in bitter's bite.
I remember the heavy round wooden tables
Built low to the ground,
Just right for kindergartners.
He would always sit close.
I didn't notice.
Out-of-doors on the playground was a giant oak.
He made me an acorn pipe, then taught me how.
I made lots of acorn pipes, giving them all away;
Even his.
He stood quiet with little fists pushed deep in his pockets.
But I didn't notice.
The sun was golden
Shining through high windows
Down on the low round table,
Particles of dust dancing merrily on the beams.
He handed me a present,
And as the royal blue paper with tiny pin stripes
Crossed the sun's rays
The stripes lit up like diamonds.
Gently opening the paper,
Careful not to lose the sparkles,
I could feel the whole class watch.
I was embarrassed.
Inside was a book about a velveteen kitten.
She was black and feminine.
She wore a pink bow,
And she was fuzzy to the touch.
I treasured that book.
As time went by I rubbed the kitty's fur
Until she was loved slick and smooth.
I don't remember saying thank you.
I'm sure I did.
Surely the teacher would have reminded me;
There in front of the whole class.
Over four decades ago - yet -
The memory of that special gift is as clear and bright
As was the sun beam that day.
And I would like you to know Jimmy Wilson;
That I noticed.
Note: An old kindergarten memory to share with you. Written about 22 years ago.
How many Guinea Pigs can you see?
Is it one, or two, or maybe three?
There's Honey and Sweetie, and Old Master Monty,
He ogles the girls 'till his eyes go quite wonky.
As to which one's the best, we just can't agree
'Cos they all belong to my sister and me
They live out of doors in a house made by Dad,
It's lovely and posh, the best they could have
A bit like on holiday when your' van's been delayed
They shout, "on the house", A PLATINUM UPGRADE.
For having to wait, It's totally free
We're both very grateful, my sister and me.
We all love those Guinea Pigs, of that there's no doubt,
But when it comes to cleaning them out
We both try pretending it's the other one's turn
We go for the wind up but we both need to learn
That nothing worth having ever comes easily,
And one day we'll get there, my sister and me.
How long do you think there'll be only three?
Suppose they gave babies, like a real family.
There'll be hundreds of Poohs and thousands of wee's
I hope they don't do it on the brand new settee
Old Master Monty will be as proud as can be
As he blinks a sly wink at my sister and me.
Farm boys, farm boys, go and do your chores
Better take your hat for it’s sunny out-of-doors
Farm boys, farm boys, gotta milk those cows
Milk-em twice a day and feed the hungry sows
Make your mother butter in the butter churn
Argue with your brother when you think it’s not your turn
Measure off the distance you both will have to run
Where it is you’ll need to go to get the milking done
Toe the mark to challenge your brother at the gate
Divvy up the pails to balance out the weight
Farm boys being farm boys down there on the farm
And you’ll milk the cows if I beat you to the barn
ekphrasis
Five glasses filled with brew but only two in kind;
the bread is toasted lightly, portioned just for four.
Although the background’s hazy, something rests behind,
dim splotch of green? a clue we may be out-of-doors.
A meeting of the minds? just what shall we assume?
Simplicity. The toast and drink, an easy fare.
It seems the palate lacks variety, it’s true;
be careful, but move past the concrete things in view.
Which guest will do without the toast or maybe share?
Perhaps this scene’s a prompt not meant to be consumed.
Imagine artists gathered round, with tools all set,
each marking what he sees upon that butcher block.
A not so simple task, the brush and palette used
or words in lines employed so meaning is infused.
The artist/writer spinning thoughts which can unlock
the core of what is seen, our appetites to whet.
written by Reason A. Poteet
written 18 April 2015, for Giorgio's Ekphrasis 01 Contest
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poetry_contests/member_contest_details.aspx?ContestID=6243
There was a young feline named Jackson,
Who wanted a piece of the action.
While hunting for rats, Jack
Got into a spat, with a strange little
Creature known to us as a bat.
This then is the fact of the matter.
The bat proved as 'mad as a hatter'.
And it paid with it's life,
Causing Jackson much strife:
Bad luck for the poor little ratter.
They arrested the cat in a hurry
And woe to this poor furry purry.
Without even a trial, he was put on 'The Mile'
Where his life became drab and quite dreary.
Jack's been sitting there day after day,
Quite bored and just pining away.
While dreaming of mousies and birds on the wing,
Of hair balls and catnip and such kitty things.
"How long, oh how long must I pay?
Please won't someone just whisk me away?
Back to my home where a kitty can roam
And stay out-of-doors all live, long day."
The end of this tale I hope tell,
Will find Jack finally leaving his cell,
To be welcomed back home, once again
Free to roam, older and wiser and well.
"No more bats for this cat", Jackson moans.
And it seems that he's learned on his own:
It's far better than not, to keep up with ones shots,
Than call three feet of jail space your home!
© 2015 Diane Lefebvre
Easter eggs and jelly beans.
For younger persons and even teens.
The Easter Bunny and chocolate too.
Are happily awaiting - just to see you!
Easter flowers, silk, and lace.
Whether out of doors or at your place.
Spring is here all fresh and new.
Bring out the hot dogs and homemade stew!
Cream filled eggs and a chocolate bunny.
Is sure to make most people glad and funny!
Come on out now - one and all.
It's time for us to have a ball!
Mother Nature's awake - Spring has sprung!
We'll see what else now has begun.
Winter is gone - it's time to play.
Come on out now - and don't delay!