Best Rangy Poems
A huge Alsatian barks at a passerby stranger
as the pond geese honk sensing grave danger
Trudges back home a rangy lone ranger.
Big and little aubergines cast a purple shade
In the twilight birdsong begins to fade
Night makes navy-blue of the greenery's jade.
Wolves howl in the distance
Panthers prowl near pig pens
Ocelots growl around the dens.
Dolphins perform in the aquatic circus
Kids count on the time-old abacus
All in all the miracle of creation's fabulous
Elsewhere the morn dawns upon wee ladybirds
And shepherds go about grazing their hungry herds.
A rare sight of starfishes settle upon beach pebbles
Pink salmon in a see-through lake breath out bubbles
Bombed by tech; corpses found in debris and rubbles!
Wild species lurk in the murky forest
Stands tall and hovering high mount Everest
A chance to enjoy nature at its very best!
Admit it O' mankind no one can ever be
at par with your and my versatile Creator
The billions of species is far too extraordinary
He single-handedly created all that variety in nature.
For even the clever human who invented the radio
did not as well model the computer.
The one who designed my dresser couldn't design my patio
It'd be rare for a shoemaker to also be a tutor
But God He made both ant and elephant
and there's absolutely nothing that He can't.
Why wake when first takes fade to night
Why wake when days evade your plight
Don’t ask to rule when thrones you lost apply,
To things you wish, keenly brewing bright
Don’t say you know
when the sun’s last chance arrives
Arrange your passions however you wish
And twist your eyes when they bewitch
Don’t ask of men to fashion a new breed
…the thought, of course, relies on me
Don’t look again
as I slip and slip
In fact your rangy words subscribe
to bottled pride repacked and retooled inside
To every hint of light this way derived
the prospect of insightful sparks you blight
Don’t send me a word
if my memories from your words may die
Don’t sign a cloud with brownish words of clay
A cloud is seen worldly through light and rays
Your words for clouds could thus retain
a will to cast all light aside and rain
Don’t cry for two
when clouds rephrase your words and fade
Don’t tell the truth
that saintly words of love unsaid remain
Mighty Mercury
Alert then aloof, snuggly warm then colder
His rangy legs spring to hitch a ride on our shoulder
Lifting our hearts to elation
He’s our portable vacation
We cherish Mercury more each day we grow older
The light chiffon veneers of winter's face
Slow-deliquesce as rangy shadows wane
Soft gossamer as whitened Guipure lace
Melts running to the rills ... with April's rain.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Quat-Ro Your Four Line" Poetry Cpntest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "April 2019 Premier 7, Up To A Max Of 5 Lines" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
* This is a "Rithimus Divisa", taken from the poem "The Surge, Life", written on March 17, 2019 *
There’s a legacy inside him,
As he sits upon his steed;
His heart is filled with honesty,
Not perjury or greed;
He rides the same old range,
That his father rode before;
And it’s been that way for forever,
A hundred years or more;
Pushin’ cattle, brandin’ calves,
That is a cowboy’s life;
Someday he may settle down,
And make some girl his wife;
He’s spent so many lonely nights,
Sleeping under the stars,
He hasn’t got a tattoo,
What he has are battle scars;
There’s a rip across his stomach,
From a rangy longhorn steer;
And even though it hurt like hell,
He never shed a tear;
He always outs on a brave face,
Emotions locked inside;
And for his cowboy heritage,
He feels only pride.
(I'd Pay a Million)
He's an ordinary gray, long and lean,
relieved by ashen whiskers and chin.
A perfect white 'V' marks his breast
and one snowy paw mocks the rest.
What is he worth to this old friend
when dozens can be had of his kind?
Some are more worthy of love and trust
and others are spared his hoary crust.
But daily I treasure his sweet purr
and gently stroke his ordinary fur.
I rest my eyes on his rangy form
and rue the day when he'll be gone.
Contemplative bliss communes with the serene,
into the spirit of the placid marine crystalized in my mind.
As the sun’s reflection spreads glitter upon its open sea,
throngs milling to the melodious tunes of the guitar.
Strumming troubadour, slim and rangy toe headed youth
grins modestly as his tip jar fills welcoming spared bills
And to the sounds of the seagulls
gleeful squawk, soaring through the azure.
Beyond the pier the magician plies his trade,
tricks which awe and stun
the enthusiastic crowds gathered about.
And what lovely crowds willing, mellifluous, madrigal,
thoughtful, kind, and respectful.
Smiles abound as though the world conspires for a pleasant mood.
I inhale the familiar primordial sea air’s briny scent.
I take pause to ponder gazing out onto the vast ocean’s expanse.
How much longer can I bare this aching fulfillment
as I anxiously transpose these images and feelings
into meriting words.
The rangy longhorns were rounded up and tended to.
Over the Colorado plains a fearsome blizzard blew!
'Twas Christmas Day! The cowpokes paid no mind to the storm,
As they huddled 'round the potbellied stove all snug and warm!
While 'Cooky' stuffed the turkey for their Christmas fare,
Frivolity, fun and comradeship filled the air!
The old bunkhouse was decorated as best they could.
In a corner a tree formed from tumbleweeds stood.
They recalled Christmases past when they were boys,
Sharin' happy family lore and distant Yuletide joys.
One read from Luke the story of Jesus and the manger.
He is their faithful sidekick - to them He is no stranger!
They sang carols accompanied by a harmonica and guitar,
And sipped spicy cider and coffee as black as tar!
With cups of wassail they proposed raucous toasts,
And regaled each other with timely and witty ripostes!
'Cooky' yelled, "Come 'n git it, all's ready 'round the board!"
They doffed their hats for the blessin' and thanked the Lord.
Though the hoi polloi celebrated at the Ritz with gala parties,
That would never do for these range ridin' hearties!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
My long sleep wasn't disturbed by a Mallard,
no visions of wars but of absolute serenity...
giving this body a vital boost of energy;
flowing was the blood, sound was the mind!
The green-winged Teal seemed too hungry,
and munching on a piece of bread, hurriedly
glanced and drastically feared the rangy vagrant
with a face so pale that even startled a big cat!
Opening my window to the cool breeze of March
takes the whiff of staleness out of the dim room;
observe the yellow begonias cherishing its caress...
'though perturbed by the smell of the forest Larch!
Flowers don't feel pain, neither they show gloom:
tend to them and they will display their loveliness!
I grab my pen and start composing another lyric
to describe this wonderful season that delights;
I'm glad that winter has put an end its snowy days!
Do poets choose their words according to images,
or they pop into their heads and write ditty verses
diverging from the norm of poetry that's too intrinsic?
Opening my window to the cool breeze of March...
oh, sonorous spring has arrived ending my confinement
to a glass desk with a Dell computer to find a replacement!
Does artificial intelligence offer some enlightenment?
Not all cope with loneliness: dramatic was the fate of Lach;
how many of us have used extreme measures to stay afloat?
the light chiffon veneers of winter's face
slow-deliquesce as rangy shadows wane
soft gossamer as whitened Guipure lace
melts running to the rills with April's rain
a dulcet strain of spring tide on the wing
each songbird chants a serenade to woo
the passions that a warmer air can bring
and nature's resurrection thru-and-thru
a world of monochrome now comes alive
so blossoming with promise and with life
the world of bursting color now to thrive
all water, land and air with movement rife
now mystery and romance start their call
for spring is summer's harbinger ... of all.
~ 5th Place ~ in the "April 2019 Premiere 6, Up To A Max Of 14 Lines" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Spring Sonnet" Poetry Contest, John Hamilton, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 4th Place ~ in the "Spring Is In The Air" Poetry Contest, Emile Pinet, Judge & Sponsor.
Retrieved Passage 6:
From The Book of Days - The Cellar
Don't send me down to the cellar
I swear I won't do it again
lest my sanity goes inter-stellar
and I beat myself senseless in vain
Don't send me down to the cellar
there are things there that scuttle and crawl
there are gnomes there that sing a capella
and an evil old troll in a shawl
There are heebies and jeebies aplenty
who leave trails of slime on the stairs
and their brains are undoubtedly empty
and their long arms have unsightly hairs
So leave me my cape and umbrella
and my half-eaten poems of woe
don't send me down to the cellar
nurse, not again, let me go!
Retrieved Passage 7:
Overboard
"Potato Overboard!"
Came the loud mid-shipman's cry
the Potato King had fallen in
we hung him out to dry
dangling from the mainsail mast
festooned with swaying weeds
it cured his hangover quite fast
it usually succeeds
"Oh Your Majesty"
said his fair queen, in dismay
the gulls had eaten both his socks
and took his wig away
he was a spud of rangy height
wall-eyed, with lantern jaw
but now he was a sorry sight
as many times before.
"Potato Overboard"
was a common cry, those days
We never cured His Majesty
of rabid dipso ways
he would fall into bouillabaise
cow troughs, and out of ships
and always buy up hard liquor
on foreign shopping trips.
Retrieved Passage 8:
The Hour of Cool is Nigh
I came to chill
I came to mellow down
I came to groove about in a yellow gown
hey man, I want to shimmy like a yak
this is the hour I have my cool attack
I came to chill
I came to croon for lurrve
I came to give coolness a helping shove
hey maestro, hit the bass and timpany
this is the funk hour, in the Name of Me
Dressed to thrill
I came to chill this town
to say "one has to get up to get down"
I came to watch the bumble bees go by
hey give it up, the Hour of Cool is nigh.
Up in the pinion covered highlands,
I came upon a wild horse band.
I counted six rangy horses, grazing there,
including the Stallion and the lead mare.
It was truly a range cowboy's delight.
there were four bays, a roan and one mostly white.
The muscled stallion stood watchful up on a rise,
and followed my every move with his eyes.
Then the stallion somehow signaled the lead mare,
in a language only wild horses can share.
She led her charges up a winding trail,
and her movement broke my hypnotic spell.
I admired their surefootedness and their survival skills,
as they quickly ascended the rocky hills.
The Stallion was last, bringing up the rear,
It was self preservation, not nervous fear.
it was awe inspiring as I watched them flee,
but a melancholy wistfulness came over me.
The Mustang, like the cowboy,symbol of the west,
drifted into the sunset, and went over the crest.
A tall man waited,
His woman was gone.
She had a travellers itch,
The need to move,
She never settled down.
Working hard,
she was a true cowgirl
Worth the wait he always said.
She hit town after town, lived in her truck
He waited, kept the house at home.
One day she came,
She looked at him,
and then she knew.
He said your traveling days are over,
Your workin time is done.
No matter how many hours you log,
how far you go,
the work is never done.
So come stay with me,
Be my partner
My best freind.
She smiled and said ok.
Her workin days were over,
she missed the time of
Open feilds, and rangy cattle,
The smell of a brandin fire.
But She'd not trade in a single day
With that man she'd loved.
They had a home, a baby,
A couple real good dogs.
She loved him, and he loved her,
And a home they'd finally made.
And he said she was worth the wait,
And she said she'd found what she'd been searching for.
Defiant are shards of dirt which particle apart
Never to know their neighbouring flakes,
Not integrating, no squish of accompanyment
Forlorn separates which support not life, nothing
Beneath rangy weeds, breeze blows loose granules
Shifted without resistance,
foreign adjacent land is theirs temporarily
Only for necessity, proximity is parallel, merge free
Neediness discarded, only Heaven can help dead dirt
Because the moments spent observing a scrappy tree
Beside withering leaves has hard expanding pears
Held by delving stem, fed, assisted, nutrient found
Show me expired soil needs nourishment
Requires deeply dug roots, intrusion, rooster boost
Sand blown syndrome suppresses realisation
Instinct drives attempt to be cleansed and extend
23rd January
This dirt hurts
The late afternoon casts a shadow upon the rangy summer grass
While they pick busily on weeds and seeds
Passing along is the season that moves so fast
It must be an oasis of great height to them
When they bend into the great green abyss
So sweet, they are jumping from stem to stem
If life was so simple as this, find your food then rest
Rest yes, rest upon your limb
And there you chirp so brown and trimly dressed
Patience and I are but a guest
While the warm days are at their abbreviated test
No, neither a moment, nor a second in nature is wasted at best
For change is inevitability
So I shall greet the new light
And watch as the sparrow adjusts in their tranquility