Best Rawhide Poems
I rise and fall like melancholy tides
in ebb and flow of wistful disrepair,
our separate in consciousness divides,
the whiff of grief fills broken-hearted air.
Neglected now, heartstrings' rawhide, I mourn
with briny beads that water my dismay,
eyes teary drizzled mist, inside forlorn,
my psyche pierced by thorns in love's bouquet.
Whatever will I do, this emptiness..?
A gnawing hollow where my heart should be.
My lonely preys me like a lioness,
a simba stalks this lost love refugee.
Soft morning sun does gaze into my eyes
enlightening the depths of agonize.
Ah Frontiera, here we are at your last, you've thrown a rod, your life lies black
on oily ground - all this snow and you're a mobile no longer; so I must walk.
It's cold, and now I think of it, that cold that exists in enormous reservoirs
at the poles of our world, seemingly to pass back and forth between,
as if through a secret conduit as the seasons are unfurled.
I will relax, I tell myself, "become one with the cold" as if it can't hurt me,
because sometimes you have to tell yourself things in order to survive.
My soliloquy proceeds as I gather thin paper birch branches and fashion them
into snowshoes with rawhide strings from my pack, a woefully empty pack
considering where I must go - the Brooks Range, even in October, is no joke -
and I can make it to a trapper's cabin, south south-west near Lake Chandalar.
Like the Inupiat Eskimos, I will sing my song, make up my tale, and live on.
Garlock, lord of this valley, seven feet of branch-breaking, tree-scarring,
log-rolling, stump-pulling black bear might, looks up, for the wind was behind me
and his nose is ever aware; my prayer - "You've eaten well, for your
winter sleep comes soon, you are not hungry enough for me" - I repeat it with
calm confidence; Praise God - noble king Garlock, this time, gives me a pass.
Two hundred miles, "Can I make it in three weeks, can I stay alive for four,"
I wonder as I walk, as I fish - pike, char; hard-fought with my hook, still the grayling
cooks on my fire - with a few remaining blueberries I find for spice; over mountain pass,
near the gorge's bottom, a rocky ledge, a rare stumbled caribou with broken legs,
my knife finishes it, oh how warm and rich the liver.
Over the blue cold of a nameless glacier - half the planet's glaciers are in Alaska,
that blue in summer melting is half of all water flowing into all the seas; I exist
with the cold, I'm only a part-day's travel from the trapper's cabin now.
Click-thunk! I hear it before my leg is alive with pain; I've stepped on a trap.
The evening's grim descent doubles and redoubles - I laugh or cry.
Will I bleed, will I freeze, or will my life just vanish into shock,
tucked into the ever-colder onset of night.
Trapper, when will you next check your traps?
December 21, 2016
For Shadow Hamilton's contest - 'Epic'
[He says]Never say ?I can't?
Why on Earth not meet defeat
admit you're seldom right
Saying you CAN is vanity
and looking for a fight.
[He says] Don'?t look back on failure ...
Dwell on failure is what I say
thank failure with a smile!
A learning tool is what it is
to shorten your next mile.
Good results are scant [He says]
Oh goodness, where are you looking?
You breathe the air where roses bloom
and eat your wife's fine cooking.
Taste the gift of life; don't focus on doom.
[He says] But, praise is less than complaint!
Enjoy the ACTION she says, not the "at a boy!'
you decide, what you value
and whose judgments to deploy
Your opinion of self is what you should pursue.
Embrace the TRUTH with stoic composure. [He says]
The truth...which truth is that?
Laugh, I say, in the face of those
who would oppose you, tip your hat.
Revealations comes to those who grow!
[He says]Be rawhide tough and BULLDOG mean.
Oh God, what men don't do?
Be sweet, be soft be kind I say
and like will return to you
for your soul you've not betrayed.
Defeat [He says] has no place in our repertoire ...
Now here she says, it's not defeat to wish upon a star.
He says: Charles Henderson, She says: Debbie Guzzi
That was the day we played all day outside
And ride imaginary stick horses around
Shooting and shouting as if our lungs was rawhide
It was in imagination that the fun abound
That was the day the house seemed in disrepair
Furniture and boxes all out of place
Chaos reigned while mama cleaned everywhere
Leaving germ and dirt without a trace.
I thought of mama today as I watched you clean
Remembered how we would wipe our foot
On the little mat, but mostly could not dare go in
As if we were the grime or the cause of soot
Food would only come when mama took a break
But not before dark and howling belly turned
Play into night, and after the yard was swept and raked
Something about you in mama I'd discerned.
What was all that cleaning just to be clean, I ask
Or was it a search for something missing here
What deeper motive had the highly honored task
What coin, or sheep, or son hid behind the tear
What golden fleece or grail to you both have been lost
I know mama cleaning searched for meaning here
As if sin was something we could see like life's dross
As if to seek was the magic bullet for man's despair.
O something about you remind me of mama, my dear
And childhood comes rushing back in floods
Two sparse rooms and five pieces of furniture there
While we chased butterflies from dying buds
You are different though, for you have allowed us in
Watching our eyes to tell you of missing spots
But we just laugh and tell long tales while you clean
Life is too short to search or go connecting dots.
White stars, red and white stripes.
Blue for loyalty.
Waving in the wind, instilling pride.
Reminding us of pledge.
Apple pie, Chevrolet, John Wayne.
Viet Nam, Gulf War,
Freedom of speech, freedom riders,
Free to think, free to be the best we can be.
Texas, California, Iowa, from sea to shining me.
State pride, rawhide, courageous side.
A cultural mix unheard of before the Pilgrims landed, and the Natives
Took pity and helped them live.
Thanksgiving, 4th of July, Veterans of Foreign Wars,
Germans, French, Italians, Scots, Swedes, African Americans.
All Americans, all united in that.
911 Hero pride.
Sacrifices. Pride to all of us, they were Americans.
All for one, a nation under God, my Country Tis of Thee
8/27/2018 My Country Tis of Thee Contest Sponsor: Brahn Bailey
a flustered tango of Gypsy moths
drumming the porchlight; chalk artists;
the endemic disappearance of farms—silos lost
in unkempt fields; space stations; the sunlit-scent of lemon
oil on cherry wood; birth; the chasm between cultural
appropriation & cultural appreciation; the history in our dust;
loneliness & heartbreak; trivia; funky funerals;
climate change, hurricanes, earthquakes & neglected
victims; heirloom charm bracelets, homemade
wind chimes & the homing sound made by a singing bowl;
masquerade balls; cityscapes hidden in ant hills; fly
fishing; serendipitous skinny dipping; missing children,
teddy bear memorials, forensic identification, monsters
never found in sleepy towns; the horrors of zoos—
elephants gone mad, lions robbed of their pride;
book reviews; civil unrest, bad cops & good cops & young men
gunned down; brand new fire stations; cancer survivors who wear
baldness so beautifully; my favourite pair of jeans; river rocks
found by dearest hands; a letter that can never be
received; joyful celebrations; incandescent dragonfly
dreams; twenty million at risk of starving to death;
wildflowers shaking pretty little heads;
misogyny disguised as religion; forgotten veterans who die
a bit more inside every day; the rainforest, shrinking;
saintly stoners & postulant prostitutes; toxic smog;
madmen with warheads; cheese cake & ice wine;
every personalized Kama sutra move & the God-given
ecstasy of body on body language; holding hands;
why one giggle can change everything; Thanksgiving
prayers; abandoned minefields, boy soldiers & devastating
amputations; the songs of the working poor; lightning
over the lake; his timely phone calls; brotherhood & sisterhood;
love in its every form; old maps; twenty-one gun salutes;
the extinction of the Galapagos Giant Tortoise; being
five, being twenty five, being ninety-five; kites; dogs chawing
on ragged rawhide; church-like museums on a Sunday
afternoon; make-shift picnics; deja vu; thrift store
wedding dresses; long drives with comfortable silences;
fading freedoms; censorship; seamless moonlight;
introspective dalliances with self-acceptance; the power
of purpose; how to be the bigger person; how to go
in a new direction; how to rise above . . .
As my father in law's Alzheimer's progressed he became very concerned with the contents of his wallet. We gave him a pretend credit card, fake money and his driver's license. It made him happy.
My first wallet had a cowboy hat on the face and stitching around the side,
It was stamped in gold lettering as being made from genuine split rawhide.
It carried whatever few coins I had then it zipped my money to safely guard,
And in the ID slot I stuffed my Hopalong Cassidy Jr. Deputy Sheriff card.
My next wallet was one that my father gave to me when I found summer work,
I now had a couple of bucks to stash and my new driver’s license was a perk.
My bride gave me a wallet for my birthday when we were just newly wed,
She wrote a note that she put inside, “let’s fatten this up” is what it said.
So it became fattened with pictures of the kids that made up our family,
And to those photos I added the grandkid’s as grandpa became my identity.
This father’s day I got a wallet and my daughter made two cards to use for my ID,
The first one says that if this wallet is found please return it to room 237 for me.
I don’t know why she made the other one, why I need it I haven’t got a clue,
It explains to anyone that if I am found please take me back there too.
Livin' won't mean a dang thing!
If killin' is how ya survive!
Killin' does dishonor bring!
with being wanted dead or alive!
Every lawman knows yer name!
tellin' everybody what ya did!
the fastest draw gets the fame!
yet, on the run stayin' hid!
There's alway an hombre packin' tough!
a rowdy drunk or ornery fool!
just woundin' a gunslinger ain't enough!
death lays the safest rule!
On the run, gotta stay alert!
wild injuns everywhere!
livin' in caves, sleepin' on dirt!
like a mean ol' grizzly bear!
Shootin' straight 'n' lightning fast!
it's how I aimed, and did!
runnin' roughshod, mimics the past,
for me..."The Rawhide Kid!"
Always gonna remember,
my sweetie pie back home,
keeps burnin' like an ember,
knowin' she's all alone.
One evening my dog and I discovered a nature enveloped trail and we went for
a walk. In the dandelion laden grass we encountered a grazing doe with two
identical looking offspring. Unexpectedly, a taller than average woman stepped
out from behind a laurel with her bow drawn and the arrow pointing in our
direction. Frozen with fright, I could not talk.
A golden arrow spiraled from her bow and whizzed by my dog and I. It felt as
though my heart jumped out of my chest and into my throat. With my heart
still racing-I turned to see her intended target. I had such a feeling of relief that
we did not die.
The arrow hit a black panther that had been silently stalking. Upon hitting the
panther, the arrow made a loud popping noise and seemed to disintegrate into
thin air. The arrow left behind a cloud of golden dust and flakes. I was reduced
to jaw-drop gawking.
The black cat shrieked, jumped, and bolted into the wooded darkness. I turned
again to look at the woman and noticed a dog at her side. Her dog had a
slender build, floppy ears, and a narrow face. The woman had long shimmering
blonde hair, blue eyes, and an attitude with a hint of starkness.
She was wearing what appeared to be ancient Greek clothing and knee-high
lace up rawhide boots. And, she was wearing a tiara made with golden leaves
and honey suckle. She had an aura of a goddess. I thought she must have
been reared in the realm of the gods with Mount Olympus being her roots.
This now gentile woman, knelt down, extended her hand, and summoned the
doe and her twins. To my amazement, they complied without hesitation. I
thought she must be a mixture of darkness and light. After all, it’s the
perfection of balance that wins.
After petting the deer, the huntress stood up, nodded in my direction, and
strolled off with her hunting dog into the fir ruled forest and disappeared out
of sight. My dog and I returned home and while doing chores later that
evening, my attention was drawn to a painting that I had of a goddess and her
dog. With wonderment upon my discovery, I grinned with delight.
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.
Written February 22, 2017
Motivation keeps us dream chasing
Those thoughts that you hold dear to your heart
Until the world falls apart from me missing you
These thoughts of you keep me holding onto
This abstract feeling called love
Now paint a pointillist on a rawhide canvas
On a Native American buffalo drum
But I digress to keep the beat going along
Keep it flowing to waterfalls where angels sing
A song to the siren, listen to her lull you to your last breath
So you thought this was an abstraction of love, not death
But you thought wrong 'cause they're one in the same
It's the name of game when the carousel goes round
Watch it go round, round, and round
A radial diametric where the angles bisect
To prototypes and concepts
From the concave to convex
Do you do it for the money and sex
Or for the only dreamers that we've got left
Yeah you know you've gotta give to receive
This abstract feeling called love
3-3-5-7-7-1
Christmas shop..Till you drop..
Every which way but loose..
For some rawhide, Wishbone fried..
Gil Favor big on flavor..
Some!
Jo se Wells…Eastwood Tales..
As I knew he would..
Clint Eastwood, did very good..
Being so well on his…way..
Act!
Cattle drive…Eastwood drove..
From Rawhide he came..
Droving them doggies rolling..
Improving his western…game..
Bang!
Lee Van Cleef…Just beneath..
The Clint Eastwood leaf..
Did some neat trick in Clint’s flicks..
For just a few dollars…more..
Sing!
Spaghetti…Confetti..
Italian a..
A very long shot movies we got..
Producers had little hope..
Yang!
But did soap…they did rope..
Block busted some dopes..
Mean machine like Steve McQueen..
One Eastwood movie with Sheen..
Yen!
One big star…Clint you're made..
Riding in your cade..
Now it is you who controls..
Fans seek your movies in…rows..
End!
11-3 09 johnmosesfreeman
A ghost began whispering inside the soul's echo
there one Trojan horse enters defeated
spiritually the battle ground stands firmly fixed
against those whom denounce the King
misery will follow with disastrous events
Where human rights are exploited through chaos
quarrelsome beggars deny the basic truth to explain
Backfiring liars have a burning desire to bring conflict
Unequally self ordained gods of little value without hope
they try to influence the battle results
ignoring this backward omen leading to terrible infighting
warfare has the mentality that's deeply incorporated this motivating force
where sorrow beats down by force the anger deeply within us
.
Now I shall go, to overtake that killer of a dear life
into one's conscious self
our mortal undying glory rises or falls
quick to the mark snaps the rawhide strap
There was a day on TV
Where westerns were all the rage
You could take your pick
From your TV paper page
Together our masked hero the Lone Ranger
With Tonto kept outlaws in a spin
Have Gun Will Travel was the card
For black dressed professional gunfighter Paladin
Wagon Train kept rolling along
Seth Adams the leader
Flint McCullough chief scout
Old Charlie Wooster was the feeder
Rawhide kept the cattle moving
Gil and Randy kept control
In Dodge City it was Gunsmoke
Marshall Matt Dillon was key role
On the ponderosa it was Bonanza
Where Ben Cartwright was the boss
With his family of three boys
Adam, little Joe and Hoss
Wells Fargo was the stagecoach
Where Jim Hardie was the star
Now these are only some
For they were many more by far
They were the Virginian and the Rifleman
Laramie, Maverick and Cheyenne
The High Chaparral not to mention alias Smith and Jones
These made us all a fan
Cowboys where are you?
Memories of you is our lot
On TV we can’t see
Is this our last shot?
poetgord@2013
Chickasaw warrior…Apache brave
Chimed echo from recent pasts
Rawhide clad of bow and stave
Our iconic figure now cast
Roaming prairies open plains
Selfless equal within nature
A simple life of a people proud
Societies of ancient stature
Cherokee warrior…Arapaho brave
Awakened into midnight battle
Blue eyes aim down the thunder sticks
Reaping from cavalry saddles
Shunned showpieces of society
Called examples of a savage pride
Crushed of tyrannical booted propriety
In the federal wastes to reside
Tillamook warrior…Shoshone brave
Hunted through the very last stand
Forced to the brink of identity lost
Imprisoned in fenced desert sands
Allow the great spirits to soar the skies
A birthright given back anew
This aspiration for the tribes we hold
Sadly realized by consciences few
Indian warriors…fighters brave
Truest peace I offer my hand
Headdress upon the shadowy brow
Those great tribes once roaming the lands.