Best Ranker Poems
The Camp Cooky’s singin again outa tune,
about turnin 60 today around noon
"What good is there in it?" I hear him say,
and it got me to thinkin . . . seein it was his birthday
It seems bein 60’s got two spins to that tale,
one frittered and wrinkled, the other covered in shale
The one who’s 60 if truth be told,
is still younger than all those 61—to real old
In the campfire’s crackle of light I can see,
how everyone younger, is likely dumber than me
So if my hands struggle with the knots and riggin fer sure,
the knowin and the tellin to those younger’s worth more
Havin outlived many a cow horse, while lovin them all,
the awnry and skitterish, the short and the tall
The summers ridin drag, and the worst winters mendin fence,
with a slicker full a holes, and that ol dog with no sense
And while the cuttin and the brandin seems boring to some,
it’s the importance of their nature and gettin things done
When the hats and the spurs and even the saddles are all gone,
and the sun sinks over that last mountain, like in Dusty’s ol song
I’ll remember the good times, lettin go of the bad,
and think back on the pards and the ladies I’ve had
Because just like for Cooky, it happened last year to me,
and turnin 60 seemed ranker than any bronc could ever be
But like that new Visalia saddle the boss man said was now mine,
I've found somethin that’s different, somethin gentler and kind
The speed and the strength ain’t been traded for free,
and somethin woke up that I guess was sleepin in me
And as I yell to the wrangler “Cut me one gentle and nice”
without loosin too much pride I ask, “Can you help Ol Jim
cinch his riggin real tight”
Then once more in the dark I ride off in search of the herd,
singin that one favorite cow song every real hand has heard
And as I inch up on the lead steer whisperin mellow and low,
“Yippee ki yay, Ol Fella; you ready to go”
For maybe one last time we push North thru the dark,
the sun still two hours off to the right of our mark
While in the distance a wolf howls, as that lead steer catches my eye,
and in that instant I know I’m still needed—a long ways from g’bye
(Dewey Montana: Circa 1990) Read In Elko Nevada, 1993
It was on the hanging tree, that we Romans got from the uppity Greeks, that they
pinched from the perishing Persians. A fitting death for a criminal from where else but
Galilee, great for a soldier's leave with its women and their dark dangerous eyes and
the warm sometimes wild weather but the men there weird; notorious for its pathetic
prophets. We can't ignore rabble rousers, especially at Passover too, so we hanged
him with two thieves for company making a chorus of the dying. This 'King of the Jews!
Just three, so nothing really to write home about. One wonders why our officers even
bothered when long ago in putting down Spartacus' revolt we Romans crucified five
thousand or twice as many; our famed Imperial officials must have got so tired or too
bored to be accurate; anyway they were only slaves and if we ever allow scum to win
then our great civilisation, our liberty , would be under threat and we, our families too,
being tortured to death!
A common death, still, what if it is true that this Jesus came alive after three days?
Many shrug their shoulders today as yesterday. How many for Easter Sunday lunch?
What sports on the telly? Others annoyed. Why do these pesky Christians insist
on spoiling our well deserved holiday by marching through places in 'Christian' lands
on - wait for it - 'Good Friday', with their dismal story that is not the Dawkins' truth?
Today Christianity maybe is the world's most popular religion but it all happened so
long, long ago in a land that still festers, annoying other lands, with no sign of justice
and peace in the cradle of Christianity. Yet aptly named Von Ranker, founder of the
scientific study of history, said this of Jesus Christ, "In the annals of world history He
was incomparable!"
Well, here's the deal with my dismay.
I really find it needless to say.
If you can't figure out what's wrong.
I doubt you'd get the meaning of the song.
Sooo, I feel the need to say so long.
Listen, if you want to know.
What's deep inside and makes me glow.
Just take a look into the mirror.
What you see is what you hear.
Listen, get outta here. (Boston or New York accent needed. Which ever one is right. :)
The reason that I seem so ranker.
I am not your emotion banker.
Just get your head out of your ... .
If you don't like it, take a pass.
Somethin' stinks, you got gas?
Are you starting to get the picture.
This is my unspoken lecture.
Yeah, there is plenty underneath.
Aren't you glad I didn't bequeath.
I feel like I need to brush my teeth.
So, now you know why I didn't mention.
All the anger and the tension.
That rubs me till I'm almost raw.
About things and people that I saw.
Cause I'd rather share a big guf-faw.
For the slam contest
Was Backbencher
Academics Top Ranker
Sports Medal Winner
Dramas ace Performer
Backbencher Teachers pain
Not all dimwits and vain
Real life, celebrity genes in vein
Adept user of Left, Right Brain
For pranks often punished
Outside class, when I stood
Am not stupid, mind brooded
Am Polymath, briefly muted
______________________________
© Dr Hitendra Mehta, India ????
PS : The words are Reality of my School days, presented in poetic way. Have received Awards for Polymath attribute.
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Wiles of Kumar Sangakarra..
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Fancy dan talisman.. Tamil Totem of elan..
Run spanker & banker.
His unctuous umami like a sumptuous curry
Even at the end…flurry of runs in a hurry for Surrey…
Hands so soft….held aloft…the head so still…combined with
Unique refined technique echoes the past…remembers
Classical embers of the text and record book cast..
Plays the ball so God damn late…almost tardy…
Trait of a hardy..true first rate great…
Another Sanga banga..all thriller not a scintilla of filler..
Larrups another clanger…elegant and decadent..
Like having a Concorde in your hangar..
Redolent of a sublime almost forgotten time..
His timber timbre.. the sweetest rhyme…
Record heaper…acid jazz pizzazz..flair run reaper..
Smooth..rare groove sweeper..
Well honed treacle toned soul
Top notch keeper..& to be fair
A lovely mop of hair..
One of the gilded golden generation of glittering constellation sensations..
As a lefty…no fibs…his nibs might get first dibs
Superfly guy playing or…sashaying to his own homegrown celestial sky high…