Best Poncho Poems
When February feels like May
And skies are blue instead of gray,
We flock outdoors, but do not know
Which way our clothing needs to go.
Winter jacket? Much too warm;
Lots of beads of sweat will form.
Sweater? Sweatshirt? Poncho? Fleece?
Doubts won’t let me leave in peace.
Short-sleeved shirt and if I do,
Does that mean I’ll get the flu?
Tights or socks or do I dare
Go out with feet and toesies bare?
I’m obsessing, I admit.
There are reasons, though, for it.
Temps today are just a tease
For tomorrow we will freeze.
my heroes have alway's been cowboys
so giddyup go
my ghost riders in the sky
let that whiskey river
flow through luckenback texas
for I'm a rhinestone cowboy
the gambler
running bear
just a coca cola cowboy
headed for El Paso
strumming my teddy bear song
cross the brazos at wacco
at the 'Y' all come back saloon
just waiting for Poncho and Lefty
bringing that white lightning
wild horses and that burning ring of fire
stays gentle on my mind
for all my rowdy friends have settled down
And it wasn't God who made honkey tonk angels
it was the daydreams about night things
So mamas don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys
For I'll go to my grave lovin you
Tribute To Country's Best
The Lonesome Cowboy
Also Trying a new gig lol
It's in a turtle soup shop where I'm employed
It's my duty to cook vomit-inducing soup turtle
which no decent human palate could stand;
a horrid job and a salary which is even worse,
an insult to my brilliant overdeveloped mind;
Not to mention the iniquitous schedule,
though there's something much worse:
the appalling uniform which is an insult
to a nonfrivolous mind like mine;
and in no way instrumental in contributing
to social elegance but a pathological attack
on good taste and gumption!
a distorted regurgitation of undigested
food for thought!
A lavender cup with the grotesque company logo!
The unsightly checked fuchsia and gray pants!
And to top it all: a striped khaki and purple poncho!
My odious uniform! Imported from Togo!
A lovely idea had the company's honcho!
An idea that my Togolese friend rejects!
I hug him! I look up to him!
'Cause he abhors both poncho and honcho!
Cripes! Yikes!
Dinner's ready! Yucky turtle soup I shall regurgitate!
Tonight I sleep in the jungle
Jaguar’s creep through the bush
We have dogs to hunt them, but in the end they are no match
I pull my poncho over my head to keep the rain out
We are not hunting jaguar’s but men
The men are on ambush
Put in the field to destroy
A probe if you will
The jaguar is only hunting to live
As the night grows colder and the bugs increase their intensity
The roar in my ears becomes unbearable
Did something move in the bush
Was it a taper or a spook?
My watch is almost over. Do I dare go to sleep?
There is something out there and it is evil…….
I was watching the TV the other day
When a certain Rerun began to play.
It brought me back to one of my brain's stifled bans
Because it was about Lucas McCain...the Rifleman.
All of a sudden I was drenched by a flood
of Western Shows that have been long since dead.
I'll just begin with a few you may remember
Like Marshall Dillon - later Gun Smoke as it came on one September.
But I remember The Cisco Kid
and how Poncho always did what he did
we can't forget the masked stranger
who of course turned out to be The Lone Ranger
Then there was Wyatt Earp, Cimmaron Strip, and Rawhide too,
The Guns of Will Sonnet and a Wagon Train rumbling through.
Will anyone ever forget Paladin in Have Gun - Will Travel
or Trackdown or Wanted Dead or Alive with Josh Randall?
Can we ever forget The Big Valley,
or the Ponderosa's size when Bonanza came on the tele.
There were Tales of Texas Rangers and even an F Troop,
Let's not forget Rin Tin Tin and how down on the bad guys he'd swoop.
I still can see Lash Larue and Hopalong Cassidy with his black hat
There were Three Mesquiters to watch when I sometimes sat.
Do you remember Yancy Derringer and his friend Pahoo
or Johnny Yuma, The Rebel who never yelled "Yahoo"!
Maverick, Sugarfoot, and Cheyenne were favorites of mine
There are too many more here for me to rhyme.
Many a big star began on that little screen
If it hadn't been for the Westerns...What would they have been?
It can be fun thinking about some of those shows
Because they are a part of TV nostalgia as everyone knows.
They have come and gone like the heroes they'd portray
I remember the Westerns...and their horse's neigh.
I swim in the murky waters, diving deep, nails claw mud. Lowly, I may be bowing, but I am not drowning. No, I am not beat, the struggle is not defeat. My toes dig into the earth, to feel the tangible for what it?s worth. Eyes search to find light, struggling not losing the fight. Head lifted, I seek the sky. Let this stifled soul fly. The gray clouds follow me, blinding me, I cannot see. Living with the acrid smell of my own stale air. Life may be a gift, but it?s not always fair. Looking to God, I break through the bolted door, caught between Heaven and Hell, feet planted firmly on the floor. When did I forget to live, to feel the sun upon my face? When did I decide to hide from the human race? Strokes of times clenched in fear. I wonder if the end is near. Renew my faith, Lord. I know I am not beat! The struggle is never defeat. I swim upon the murky waters, I fight the bondage of chains, I struggle with a net that was set by the unknown. I beseech heavenly Father on divine throne, Will my words of despair reach his invisible ear? Till I am set free this pain I must bare, The Holy Scripture says have no fear, but that becomes difficult when the many monstrosities appear. It also said to gear thy self with prayer which can move mountains and withdrawal the darkest cloud, but still the gray clouds follow me a darkness swallows me, it seems to devour me. The Lord is my shield and buckler so nothing can overpower me. I will not run cowardly. If the gray clouds still follow me, I'll deploy my umbrella rain boots and a poncho it can continue to rain as long as the Lord keeps me dry...
Collaboration by:Elliott Bowe ThE DrUnKeN PoEt & Rhonda Johnson-Saunders
If I were a rich girl with money no object,
I’d take my family on an adventure, they'd never forget.
Safari in Africa, with lion’s, tigers and elephants,
Enjoy real African sunsets, that put you in a trance.
The Atlantic we’d cross, pacific and Indian too,
Mountains we’d climb, Himalaya, Everest and Kilimanjaro.
Morocco, Tunisia, Jaipur and Egypt,
Camels to ride in these sandy deserts.
If trains could travel under the water,
We’d train-sail to Brazil just to watch the soccer.
If buses had wings we’d fly to Mexico,
Just to buy a poncho and a yellow sombrero
Winter in Switzerland is best for skiing,
Lessons to take before embarrassing the kids.
To Florida in America we’d depart,
Miami beach, Disney Land or just check out the stars.
These dreams I have for my family are true,
It’s okay to have dreams than be miserable and blue.
Maybe one day, just one day, God will look my way,
To fulfill these promises I dare to make
i sling rhymes
like i fling stones;
miraculous style
bound to rock your dome.
i got metaphors
like a fortune teller;
for sense like a psychic
when i predict futures.
my two cents
make so much sense
i gain interest.
i'm a bank-teller storytelling
shorty loving typo fellow;
clever like a rapper but lazy
wont spit it loco gringo.
just pen it and sling it
type borracho.
best go get your poncho
cuz im turning water to cerveza
then im dropping some rain on ya.
tasty styles token so your bound to be saying
is this hound playing or was he born easter morning?
http://www.lulu.com/content/paperback-book/one-for-the-lift-ticket/7970992
Cowboy boots
and vintage wool psychedelia (poncho, jazz shades)
and cool drip slow burn tea
and electric notes of Bob Dylan, Maggie’s Farm
and that dude, he has meth mouth
so I guess he’s going to talk
and talk and talk
Mestizo soda pop
and a Vietnam Vet. selling car insurance
and damn, it’s just too bad
that no one knows of his jungle
or of the opaque-eyed landlocked Lord of the Fish
and the fire-brained midnight mutterings
of his old compadres, the soon to be deceased
and now the bus moves
Sporadic in gesture
and old woman (oxygen masked dementia)
and the intergalactic fliers of fancy
and the acid head priest’s imbalance in fact v.
fiction with his ass in seat and wheels as feet
and the shivering ribs of this, our noble mode
of ultimate conveyance through the assailing grays
whites and silvers of the snow-water-nebulas
and now the bus slides
and slides and slides
Through Spokane dark
and the disintegration of passengers into sleep
on the black glass highway
through the breath of the night
and this is motion
and this feels right.
In the shadows an enemy lurks, it’s where they hide.
While inside my foxholes, a Marine grunt, I abide.
A poncho line wrapped around my body that shivers;
Steeled nerves, impenetrable will, I refuse to quiver.
I wait soaking wet in my restrained prime.
Its death that haunts me while I suffer this time.
My mind is troubled, yet there I’ll remain
There’s no pretending, its death, not a game.
Trained to fight and not to run for the Vietnam War,
Where time has forgotten, and joy comes no more.
Waiting for the enemy, faces without names;
Their bodies mount-up now God’s to claim.
Marines died in the jungles of South Vietnam
While outside of country, the world moved on.
They dared not dream, for it might be forever.
O’ Home, Sweet Home, twas' their bold endeavor.
Far off the beaten track and trail
on quest for music’s Holy Grail
led pilgrims on biblical scale
more than can be counted.
With midsummer sun on our cheek
in tents to shelter we did seek
and pitched them at its highest peak
on a hilltop mounted
As we climbed the lean of the hill
my beer I would try not to spill
and sat with the great unwashed till
olé and adios.
It was I, El Skeet, amigo,
in my poncho and sombrero
half-cut like a loco gringo
who waved “vaya con dios!”
We lit yet another hash bong
all up in smoke like Cheech & Chong
and passed it to each one along
under the cop radars.
Till late as wasted brain cells flag
with every mind trip headfu-ck drag
I tucked in to my sleeping bag
on the hill ‘neath the stars
As music and mayhem did rage
back in next summer’s youthful age
we camped closer to the big stage
by a shallow hollow.
I’d sit and watch the crowds go by
in the hot sun and dust and dry
under a big Waikato sky
from our camp on tent row
And as I ripped in with the guys
to our grog trailer of supplies
we made a hanging chain of ties
with every pull tab rent.
Waiting for Cold Chisel that night
with a superdoob glowing bright
I was fuc-kin’ high as a kite
and lurched back to my tent
The next day I woke in a daze
and walked off my drunken malaise
when I heard singing songs of praise
in some weird sh-it I saw.
Tambourine hippies, punks and geeks
and chanting Hari Krishna freaks
burnt incense in clay painted cheeks
so I got high some more
Yet in a hot wet and wild hour
stoned in the unisex shower
I gazed many a sweet flower
in their naked splendour.
We bathed too in waters that flowed
down where the lazy river bowed
lest my head spontaneous explode
on my three day bender
That night by the stars we were led
as above a smoky sky bled
when out The Enz rocked “I See Red”
and fired a burning flare.
In the spirit of Sweetwaters
we lived among at close quarters
sons of Bacchus and his daughters
and I so revelled there
Written: November 2009
Sweetwaters was an annual three
day music festival back in 1980s.
"Kismet is inevitable...in vain we attempt to shape our future" (By Poet)
Kismet brought two intense souls together,
two young buds, early in life,
Kismet separated the two kindred ecstatic spirits
sending to distant corners of the world,
for a huge void in time!
a breathtaking garden of Dahlias and Chrysanthemums,
a dreamy swing, a myriad of books to share and read,
tied them in a cherished bond,
engrossed with each other in breathless euphoria of youth,
they had the slightest clue,
What life was all about!
a yellow poncho, a few handmade dolls,
a dry parched garland - that’s all she left behind,
when one morning the magical garden was bare,
the blessed swing empty, he didn’t know
where the chirping birds disappeared!
the murmuring wind whooshed around,
but didn’t answer!
a glorious story of love and loss -
Kismet brought them back together,
her softest fragrance can never be lost,
love found its way back anew,
bloomed spreading its divine aroma,
who can hide the ravishing splendour,
of a never-lost passion,
emotions overflowing with adoration!
light shines bright from the untold promise,
trust, dreams of a life-long song,
echoing destiny without barriers,
eventual melting of two souls in one!
March 10, 2023
Theme: Kismet (Old Turkish word meaning "Fate, Destiny")
Inspired by Writing Challenge - "K" words Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
FIRST PLACE
Brian Strand Premier No. 1198 Poetry Contest
In a dusty fleabit mining town
The kind you’d see on screen
The stranger rode down Main Street
Looking evil, looking mean
He packed a pair of six guns
And a sawn off in his vest
Those folks was mighty nervous
But that’s something you’d a guessed
The drug store shut the shutters
And the hotel did the same
The sky grew dark and cloudy, and
It looked like it might rain
The stranger in his poncho
He stayed sitting on his horse
He’d rode near fifty miles
He was saddle sore, of course
It took some time, but he got down
Then standing in the street
He opened up a well worn pouch
And rolled a cigareet
He struck a match across his chin
And in it’s dying flame
Some folks recognised him
Though, they didn’t know his name
Moving slowly down the boardwalk
Headin’ straight towards the bar
The light’ning flashed and all could see
The stranger wore a star
He pushed in through the bar room door
And silence filled the air
Those men was mean and moody
He could feel their hateful stare
Sidling slowly to a barstool, well
The mood, it sorta eased
For at last they had a starman
And they seemed like they was pleased
The starman drank his coffee
Ate some victuals and some bread
It had been a long hard day,and
He was ready for his bed
But then he saw the gunman
From the corner of his eye
He knew the man was faster
And he knew that he could die
Dressed in black all over
Staring deep into the room
The gunman, like a shadow
Almost hidden in the gloom
Though running short of time
The lawman hatched a cunning plan
He only had one chance to get
The better of this man
Moving quickly from his barstool
Heading straight toward the door
The sheriff hit the gunman
And, the gunman hit the floor
11/22/16
Got to get that cheese pronto
Those that talked guano
Got hit with an uppercut combo
mano a mano
I had a dog named Bronco
And landlords named Helga and Poncho
Knew this lady that lived in a condo
And worked at Costco
Cargo
Being shipped worldwide, even garbanzo
Jane and John Doe
Still trying to win the lotto
Roads smooth or full of potholes
Article after article on Monsanto
Business and vacation trips to Cabo
Valuable art pieces done by Picasso
He wanted a Gallardo and she wanted a Murcielago
Beauty can be seen from Lake Tahoe to way beyond Morocco
Regardless of it is or is not in a grotto
I like a lot of music from the DMV and Chicago
Songs made with many instruments such as the bongo
On any fish, beef or chicken taco
I'll stack toppings like cheese, tomato, sour cream and avocado
Girl didn't know how to cook anything including nachos
She called me el diablo
But never el chapo
At the end of this they're going to hate, or congratulate and say bravo
By: Dalton Ogletree
My name is Don Quixote Del La Mancha.
I am a knight in the coat of arms
Give me a lance, give me a sword, and give me a steed
Where is the king in all of this?
I wear the Royal Spanish Crown and Gold Seal of San Fernando Levante
I solemnly swear that booty and bounty shall rest with the king
Even the Catholic Church Christen me for a swift victory
I have signed and sealed orders to save the Princess Donesia Del Debosa
Then, I shall rescue her from the evil clutches of the windmill dragon
My chief architect, Poncho Sanchez is my right arm and canteen
He is responsible for fresh food rations, cold drinks, and other supplies
providing sustenance to our great adventure through the enchanted land of Spain. Even the sky clouds are shaped like windmills and blue dragons. Just pause for a moment and you can hear the sweet coronet horns played by the Spanish Royal Guards, along the way.
A gallant foot soldier is he, thus Poncho trails me like a Swiss Guard,
With his burro donkey friend, named El Donkey Camino Blanco
As we approach the last horizon of the day, the code of chivalry shall not die