Best Rattlesnakes Poems
another day in the woods. on Strawberry ridge
looking out over undulating green hills to
the next great wall of mountains. the last
morning clouds left from last night's storm
hanging in the valley mistily. the sun eventually
burns them away.
the respect between old Paul Karlsen and I continues
to exist. even though he's a Mormon and I'm a fallen
New Yorker. the work is comparatively easy, lifting
hundred pound bags, so you can just imagine what
we do other days. in fact, it's fun, especially for
young Bates. we get all white (and our lungs dusty).
on the way to and from the work site I read
in Silent Spring, the chapter against herbicides, gathering
inspiration for the upcoming controversy. in the end
perhaps I'll be fired for refusing to lay down Tordon
beads. realizing this, as I drive with Bates,
I see the dark green conifers and begin to miss them.
Rocks and rattlesnakes, bluebells
and mountain daisies, grasses and cactuses, mahogany
bush, lodgepole pine and quaking aspen, lush forest
and dry sun-tortured mountainside, wind and seed
carried by wind, ants, streams, hummingbird
and hawk, deer, badger, ground squirrel, wolverine.
Anacondas crush to pieces
Bisons sport long shaggy hair
Cheetahs are the fastest species
Dolphins leap into the air
Elephants have large incisors
Fennec foxes, ears like Spock
Great white sharks unnerve the divers
Hyenas are laughing stock
Indris is a type of monkey
Jaguars are fast and strong
Kangaroos are tall and clunky
Llamas' necks are rather long
Mandrills have red-bottomed features
Newts can grow an extra limb
Ostriches are speedy creatures
Polar bears just love to swim
Quetzels are ablaze with colour
Rattlesnakes subdue their prey
Sloths show life could not be duller
Tawny owls sleep through the day
Uakaris have red faces
Vultures scavenge on the go
Wild boar live in diverse places
X-ray tetra brightly glow
Yaks lock horns when in a fight
Zebras' coats are black and white
Now you'll know just who is who
When you visit London zoo.
22.02.20
Abecedarian Contest Poetry Contest - sponsor Caren Krutsinger
Abc Contest Poetry Contest - sponsored by Allright Poet
Now here’s a tale spun with rattlesnakes
Stung into the eyes of motherless guilt
Now turn the head! Open the mouth!
For all to see, and so, too, that more shall fit!
The tainted vapors from our brew!
Breathe them, breathe them in!
And live like the hellhounds in our minds!
And then
In the morning you shall wake
Returned, confused and dull
With nothing but a final sharp memory,
Like the wavering buoy in a black sea,
Of the world bubbling and spilling from below.
From the Painted Desert, head west
Past sagebrush, brittle bush, desert scrub
And The Petrified Forest at rest
To the Rocky Mountains above
Go past the Continental Divide
Below Douglas firs and pinyon pines
Head down the sunset side
Where the Colorado River cuts and winds
Many generations ago
Native Americans were inhabiting squatters
There were herds of buffalo
Along with now extinct muskrats and river otters
Beaver, cut cottonwoods and willows
Leopard frogs slept on limestone pillows
Mule deer and bighorn sheep
Climbed up and down walls so steep
Follow me down the foot trail
Like indigenous butterflies with swallowtails
In to the Valley of the Sun
Where Hopi civilization begun
Tassel eared squirrels frolic about
Bald eagles fly over and scout
Stream orchids, honey mesquite and arrow weeds
For pocket mice and other rodent species
Gray fox, weasels, bobcats
Spotted skunks, ring tails, and bats
Call this canyon their home
Where bark scorpions and rattlesnakes roam
While gila monsters and red spotted toads
Search for midges, flies and black widows
It took this river millions of years
To make this home for all who are here
an original poem by the "poemdog" Daniel Turner
Hank was a hard workin' cowpoke who really earned his meager pay.
He rode his ass Old Red from early dawn 'til at night he hit the hay,
Fixin' fences, ropin' steers and brandin' dogies in the old corral,
But he had an odd addiction that gnawed on his pard's morale!
He was a happy yodler which is alright fer a wrangler I suppose,
But his irritatin' warblin' caused him to nearly come to blows!
At night in the bunkhouse he would even yodel in his sleep,
Addin' to the din of his pals who were known fer snorin' deep!
His yodelin' caused cattle to stampede and hosses to buck and neigh.
Caused chickens to cease layin' aigs and cantankerous mules to bray!
Porkers squealed in their sty and the hounds barked and howled,
His comrades raged and cussed and the cats all hissed and yowled!
Even rattlesnakes were flustered and slithered to hide in dens,
And bands of coyotes skulked to seek cover in the nearby fens.
Frenzied birds vacated their cozy nests and fled to distant climes,
And Cookie got upset since the guys couldn't hear his supper chimes!
The grizzled old ranch boss called Hank aside fer a serious session,
Sayin', "Son, you're creatin' havoc 'round hyar with yer damn obsession!
Take yer ass and yodler to swoon the gals at the Dry Gulch Saloon,
'Cause if'n you keep it up 'round hyar, you'll hit the road and soon!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
Hank had cowboyed and rodeoed fer nigh on forty years,
Ridin' in sleet, rain and snow a-herdin' cantankerous steers.
His hide was tough as leather and his legs was slightly bowed,
But brandin' dogies and fixin' fences was all he ever knowed!
His gut was made of iron from a diet of taters, beans and bacon.
Many times he was throwed from his hoss but his will remained unshaken.
He'd been bit by rattlesnakes and scarred from many barroom brawls,
And kicked by many a skittish bronc while muckin' out their stalls!
When tryin' to halt stampedes, Hank was often gravely gored,
And was hoarse from yellin' and cussin' at that riotous horde.
When shoein' hosses they often left an imprint on his chest,
Where flyin' hoofs landed leavin' him angry and depressed!
He didn't git rich and couldn't hoard money fer a rainy day;
Not much chance of accumulatin' such on a cowpokes meager pay.
His bed was usually 'neath the stars with his saddle fer a pillow,
Sharin' space with his old dog Spike and an occasional armadillo!
One day he up and told the boss, "I've had my fill of a cowboy's life.
I'm a-quittin' as of now. My old bones is weary from all this strife.
I'm saddle sore and tired of bunkhouse livin' and all yer stingin' slurs.
You kin take this job and shove it 'cause I'm a-hangin' up my spurs!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
"Murder on a Perfect Day"
Murdering the main
instigator that
metaphor perpetrator
pulls the trigger
this is the way
a perfect day begins
scattered on the wall
blood of black ink
light and dark
fleshy matters
words like bullets
penetrating thick brain
thin skin of heart heard
incessant chatter
on the floor
the carpet like a hill
covers dead bodies
their pockets full of
swept under things
still moving
the devil's in the details
when you're born again
rattlesnakes
ready for the kill
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
Cowboys in the Badlands
Out West, across the great divide
great open spaces oceans wide.
Beauty in these badlands does hide
everything fights us as we ride.
Last stop, was exciting wild Abilene
shot an hombre that was very mean.
Watched him bleed as he slowly died
his gal held him and loudly she cried.
Before, she had sworn love to me
next his dying love she swore to be.
Riding away fast, ahead of the Law
looking back, cloud of dust we saw.
My partner lit out on me last night
cried this was surely not his fight.
He turned back east galloping so fast
we had our time, had a damn blast.
Ahead the badlands beckon me on
this cowboy life sets me all alone.
Hot as hell the water miles ahead
A night's rest to clear my head.
Morning sun woke me to great heat
no bread, bacon and eggs to eat.
Precious water is in very short supply
always fleeing, I ponder just why.
No time to enjoy such pretty views
my path ahead, my life I must choose.
Avoiding Indians and the chasing men
forever alone with never a friend.
This beauty now I can slow to see
posse has surely given up on me.
Coyotes call , rattlesnakes do hiss
comfort of town I do sorely miss.
Found now, a dusty trail to old Mexico
across the Rio Grande I now go.
Far behind, hell's horses race after me
dancing with pretty senoritas I'll soon be!
10/11/2014
Talk to me
Creosote poisons
Rattlesnakes bite
And the white bird sings
In the night
There’s a hollow in the night
Following the footsteps
Your eyes are cryptic
You got a shadow over you
I can see your soul
I can see your face
There’s a shadow over you.
Evil is your friend
Circles flat and long
Bring me back to you
There’s a shadow over you
Cooking on the edge of town
Taking children down
You’re all black inside
There’s a shadow over you
You got it all to yourself now
Nothing but ashes
Left to stain the trees
There’s a shadow over you
Black as the night
I can see the circle twisting
As the beer cans hit the ground
There’s a shadow over you
Evil is your friend
You leave them alone
Dead to be found
There’s a shadow over you
Hanging to the ground
Like the shadow on the door
Your soul will be bound to hell
There's a shadow...
"Triple Helix from the Hip"
Triple helix
stanzas
strung together
like pearls
wisdom worn
and swallowed
like a pill
sweet and
bitter
they evolve
those others
from their bad dreams
like poetry
cradling their
purity in sentences
that speak their godliness
as if they
have done no wrong
shooting nonchalantly
from the hip
killing their nemesis
silently with dark strokes
like bullets
from guns, cowboys
toting innocence
they evolve
golden
and terrible
hissing as they hymn
like sleek green
reptilians
they take cheap shots
of triple helix like rum
they breathe it in
and expel it
like steam, lit
on fire
from
their sewers
of nowhere
some kind
of contesting
baptism, immersed in
garbage
if only they could
extinguish the lesser chord
that which exists within them
but they are
oblivious to the
nature of their true self
they’re pure
without fault
condensed and sweetened
disingenuous
glowing unicorns
with very loose horns
blown, as if they’ve never
done no wrong
listing remedies
from solitary minds
that sink their fangs
and glistening smiles
into the gormless
congregation
like rattlesnakes
strange medicine men
they portend
survival
against all odds
even
death
the unacknowledged
who don’t remember
where they sit
at any table
yet,
they'll write their
way in
they are necessary
the true lost,
they are a new evolution
dripping adulation
in baptismal fonts
of dopamine
marking their
poetic vanity
on humanity
like they
crushed a
slam dunk
on sanity
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
"they were human once"...
In The Desert
In the desert walks a man with no name
within its barren sands he seeks no fame
Survival is his only wish and only game
all burns, sticks or crawls nothing is tame
The rattlesnakes strike with poison gifts
nothing soothes, quenches or uplifts
A heat that singes as it burns on down
Rarely, if ever relief from a cloudy gown
Yes, O' yes, beauty does still hide here
found only if he can conquer his great fear!
note: Fear of the danger a desert presents often clouds
the beauty lying within. A proper emergency plan is a must
when entering a desert.
Food, water and a compass are just the basic start..
Robert J. Lindley, Contest- In The Desert , 09-14-2014
Pastoral country
Where folks wave to passers by--
Farmers plowing
Exit 386
Wal-Mart, fast foods, and hotels--
Tourists stop
Modern businesses
Of every type one might need--
The short road to town
Refurbished storefronts
With arts antiques and barbers--
Downtown businesses
Houses big and small
Fill the local neighborhoods--
Quiet streets
State Parks, music fests
And neighborhood barbeques --
Entertainment
Outside of town
Beautiful farms and woodlands--
The rural folks
The river rises
Bringing water to my land --
Children in kayaks
The home of brave hearts
Who understand nature’s way --
King and rattlesnakes
The home of the free
Where people are seen smiling--
Live Oak, Florida
ã June 5, 2012
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
Written for Poetry Soup Member MY LAND IS MY HOME
Sponsored by: ~ SKAT ~
Let me tell you a story of Nature
and my early morning walks in the
desert. The fragrance of cactus blossoms
and the starkness of its beauty beckon.
Or, is it the silence, like no other, interrupted
only by the hum of bees and tiny species
who materialize when you draw a handful
of sand to your eyes, viewing them as equals.
This is the playground of coyotes and jackrabbits,
sure to practice social distancing, at least the jacks!
Where desert rats dig shelters far beneath the earth,
safe and cool--and even squirrels abide.
It is shared by rattlesnakes seeking shade under tall
mesquites, causing travelers to choose where their
next step goes. In the near distance are the
mountains, given birth by volcanos in centuries past.
In early evening, the mountains don cloaks of violet
as the glorious sunset turns desert plants ablaze in
reds and golds--nature's gift to us. Turning indigo,
the mountains stand like sentries in the night.
Soon, thunder clouds gather and rain begins its journey
to the thirsty mouths of plants and soil. Animals scurry for
shelter, to appear when midget lakes take form and they can
bathe and frolic. The scent of desert rain is a rare perfume.
The desert isn't meant for those who need forests and lakes,
or city dwellers lost among tall buildings, basking in its noise.
No, they would not survive the loneliness, where one's thoughts
are steadfast companions, and music the songs of coyotes.
Early morning, when enjoying the walk, I sometimes surprise a
fox, or find a nest of hummingbirds, so tiny, mouths open waiting
for breakfast. I see nature in its truest light, unfiltered by the
haze of progress. How lucky I am to call the desert my friend.
NATURE THEME
April 15, 2022
for Form N - Narrative New Poetry Contest
by Constance La France
A Second
Satan over the years has been known for tricks and deception
Not only covering up what he is doing, but what he has done
One has to give him credit as he is very successful, but beware
He and his people are always looking for a new invention
And he is one tricky old son of a gun
Very private about where they worship if you can call it that, don't want you there
In the old desert around El Paso, Texas, can be very a dangerous place
The scorpions and rattlesnakes are tame compared to Satan
The Mexican border, Drug smuggling and devil worship are on a rampage
With the rotten and evil, he will show his face
Again they will try to cover it up if they can
But when discovered, they are filled with rage
Native Americans have used "the Sweat Lodge" for hundred's of centuries
In the religious rites to cleanse a spirit or a soul
Their way of getting closer to God, sometimes they use peyote
Now Satan's people have stolen the idea, it is uses varies
Where they think in drug altered minds that they are in control
And once again old Satan is the coyote
At their rituals it looks like a white plastic covered igloo
In the middle of tall mesquite bushes near a bonfire
In a large fire pit in the flames, lava rocks are left to bake
Around a bonfire they dance and chant, do what lesbian witches do
In the sweat lodge, drugs make all of Hell go haywire
Drugs are poured on the molting rocks, the steam is a witches dream
Not man Native Americans in El Paso, that use a sweat lodge
So there is no legitimate reason for one to be there
But to devil worshiper, it is just a desguies
And another way for Satan to corrupt the sweat lodge
But all is seen that goes on there
Nothing hides from God's eyes
I savor a hearty repast of meat and smashed pertaters,
And a salad liberally laced with fresh termaters,
But spare me anything slathered with anchovy paste!
('Tis just a matter of my discriminating taste!)
'Tis a gastronomic delight dining on Chinese cuisine,
But my appetite is dulled by things best left unseen,
Such as bird's nest soup and octopus when it is faced!
('Tis just a matter of my discriminating taste!)
How delectable are hams, bacon and sausages to eat,
But my stomach roils upon seeing a pigs pickled feet,
Or souse containing stuff that should be consigned to waste!
('Tis just a matter of my discriminating taste!)
Moroccan folks are wizards at brewing their tea,
But cous-cous with glazed sheep's eyes staring at me,
Is more than I care for when before me it is placed!
('Tis just a matter of my discriminating taste!)
I'm a glutton for cookies, puddings, pies and cakes,
But I'm repelled by the flesh of 'gators and rattlesnakes!
As can be seen, ordinary vittles I have embraced!
('Tis just a matter of my discriminating taste!)
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved