Best Pistols Poems
The sounds of wolves howling... echoed loudly,
deep in the solitary woods of no mans land,
While the blazing campfire shared its hearth proudly,
heating the pot of coffee Kid Colt had close at hand,
Each day rehashed such thoughts of how it could be,
for one labeled an outlaw man,
Would it be jail....or staying free,
or getting dealt the dead mans hand?
Staying on the run is sure trouble,
when yer wanted dead or alive fer a crime,
If yer shot dead, all they need is a shovel,
alive, it's a hanging or prison time,
Card games can bring out the worse in a man,
if yer drinking gets ya mouthy and drunk,
and blaming a player of a cheating hand,
could be yer jawin' on too big a chunk!
Saw many a man shot between the eyes,
and some plumb through the chest!
Too slow a gun, ain't no surprise,
The fastest can be the deadliest!
Never plan to kill over a triple jack hand,
and don't fancy getting called a cheat in any card play!
Not enough guts could get ya shot in the back, and,
could have, can't back down, turn around, can't walk away.
"Epic Epigram"
His name came rightly so,
He carried two colts wherever he'd go,
"The Outlaw" came, from his death dealing draw!
during card games or a fist fighting brawl!
Boom! down one went! Boom! Boom! 3 bullets spent!
Boom! Boom! Boom! hell bound they're sent,
by Kid Colt, The Outlaw Gent.
The Jihadi’s got an entire hour to kill
Hundreds of helpless patrons shocked and awed
An eon of murderous rage until
The long awaited reward from his “god”
Like schools, this Orlando bar predictably
Missing the one thing mass shootings lack
It’s no longer much of a gallery
When the intended sitting ducks shoot back
Ideology of disarmament
To some people, a feather in their caps
Yet it's to your eternal detriment
If mind-bending hatred falls in your laps
Hamstrung by their protocols, by and large
Officers stuck on perimeter, of course
No matter how they may want to charge
They are the police, not Delta Force
For a solution, this nation divided
Starkly different views on reality
The most effective measure derided
In its place, a plea to authority
When it goes down like this in disarmed France
To me it’s just as clear as a crystal
If innocent lives are to have a chance
Hear the message of the Pink Pistols
Brave by any measure to come out twice
First gay, then pro armed defense
Their deepest truths, no human price
Unwilling to appease or ride the fence
Helplessness has never stopped a rampage
There’s no reason to think it ever will
Only equal force can stop the carnage
When evil men have decided to kill
6/13/16
© Thomas W. Quigley
Guns, Guns, Who Loves Guns
Oops, We Shot Our Own Loved Ones
Guns, Guns, Tons Of Guns
Shoot You In Your Flabby Buns.
Triggers are red,
barrels are blue.
Smith and Wesson
I love you!
Targets are set,
guns are sighted.
In my hand,
I get excited!
Bore snakes out
Hoppe’s too
be good to them
they’ll be good to you!
NB: I have a great photo of my grandson's team with their SCTP Nationals Trap Shooting trophies, but PS will not allow me to upload it. Your loss. LOL. There are no shotguns in the picture, but a depiction of one on the trophies. (I can upload any other picture from my library or off the Web, unless it shows guns or shooting - how very liberal. Pity, it is a great sport, as are other types of shooting competitions.)
Second mag time and more damage below
A gas bottle blows in an orange blast of debris
While this occurs beepers still beep and lights flash
It’s a huge yard and there are many targets still
Slowly but surely he eliminates them like a surgeon
His next gun is a BAR Browning Automatic Rifle
This he shoots on single shot bipod lying down
It’s a powerful 7.62mm gun and simply superb
Each shot hits home and kills 4 operators dead
Explodes rear 3 mounted gas bottles and more
But the BAR does full auto too and he we go!
Jap sniper full ing auto 30 shot mag wham
Soon empty rounds down range more hits
The fire has been devastating attrition mounts
There are far less fork lifts now in use there
Burning trucks and dead or dying operators cry
In his head he’s the rock n roll man on a roll
I’ve got more guns to fire and now it’s my cod piece
Browning 7.62mm machine gun with bipod
I quickly pull the parts from my bag to assemble
Then a belt of 250 rounds with 1 in 5 red tracer
Happy it’s ready I click off the safety and fire
I’m sat down and hose fire downwards
I slowly move the gun left to right left to right
Impacts spark and in the night air tracer guided
My 250 bullets lasts fifteen seconds and is it
Nothing intact remains below working wise
I took out 30 fork lift trucks and operators
Many are dead some injured others hiding
Lastly I use my M1 Garand rifle with blank ammo
I fire eight rifle grenades at the builders’ yard
I pop a grenade on the end angle up and fire
The blank shell launches the grenade up and down
It takes seconds to fall and hit and Bang Boom Blam!
I fire 8 at random spots of the huge yard
There are no more reverse beepers sounding
All fork lift truck use ceases forever due to me
Now I can peacefully sleep in my room at night
Do not destroy my slumber!
MAJOR INSOMNIA
CORPORAL SLEEP
Nick Armbrister and other writers
In the year of 1967 I was a freshman
In high school in a small Midwest Iowa town.
Before teachers cared about bullying
and goofy stuff like kids’ feelings
We were not allowed to have them anyway back then
The gym teacher was snippy and mean.
Pinched nose, hair teased and sprayed
With enough hairspray to choke us all to death
She had beady eyes. I do not recall the color.
Never happy, snippy usually.
Cindy and Susie were always the basketball captains.
They were the giraffes of our class.
They chose us one at a time from a line.
My twin and I and our friend Debbie were always the last to be picked.
When they got to us, they always had a huge argument about who had to take us.
“You can have them!”
“No, you take them.”
If we had gone home
whining about it, our
parents would have laughed.
These days, if a child accuses another child of looking at her wrong,
Mommy, Daddy and Grandma come up, packing loaded pistols.