Best Ride Out Poems
~Do Not Trust a Word, He Says~
He speaks of sunken treasures the way no other man
The map of his essence is drawn in the stars
His smile of gold ride out the waves
The moon is pulled by the prestige of his masculine art
With great pleasure, your heart now sits in a glass case
His love lavishes making every moment memorable
This gentleman cultivates you from every direction
Your blood rises to his flirtatious ego
His eyes, manipulate you, invade every dream,
Endless lust, pulled by the enigma of dragon dust wind
Falling flowers of forgetfulness, when lost in his touch
He endures, he breathes in ways you can't resist
Uttered words easily wrap around your heart
In a game of trust, his lips persuade another kiss
Like a syndrome, you babble and drool ---- stepping all over yourself
You are naught more than a fool in love,
Trusting and believing every golden word spoken from his lip
~I LOVE YOU~
( A Poet Destroyer Collection)
Do Not Trust a Word, she says
She speaks of sunken treasures the way no one else does
The map to her heart is drawn by the sun
Her smile of gold ride out the waves
The moon attracted by the prestige of her glowing art
With great pleasure, your heart now sits in a glass case
Her love lavishes making every moment memorable.
This lovely lady cultivates you in every way
Your blood rises to her flirtatious demand,
Her eyes, hypnotize, invade every dream,
Endless lust, pulled by the enigma of dragon dust wind
Falling flowers of forgetfulness, when lost to her spell
She lives, she breathes your ribs in
Words were spoken, now wrapped around your heart
In a game of trust, her kiss hushes your lips
Like a syndrome, you babble and drool ----stepping all over yourself
You are nothing more than a fool in love,
Trusting and turning every word she says into gold
~I LOVE YOU~
( A Poet Destroyer Collection)
The fog sits heavy on broken ground,
Snow lays light where the stubble’s browned.
No sun, just hush and hoofbeat slow,
And breath that drifts like chimney smoke.
The cows stand scattered, heads hung low,
Dark shapes caught in a pale gray glow.
I ride out quiet, don’t make a sound...
They know this hat, this horse, this ground.
A calf’s come early, slick and thin,
Laid out cold with his legs tucked in.
I swing a loop with a steady hand,
No sudden moves in this kind of land.
The stubble snaps beneath each step,
And time don’t care how long you’ve kept.
It’s just you, the rope, the breath, the need...
And a life hung tight between frost and feed.
My mare don’t flinch, just shifts her weight,
Knows well the line ‘tween luck and fate.
Ain’t no crowd, no song, no stage...
Just a man and stock and an honest wage.
I rub him down with gloveless skin,
He blinks, then breathes the cold back in.
His mama lows, I step away...
That kind of trust ain’t earned in a day.
I ride on slow through fields gone bare,
With wheat stems pokin’ through thin air.
And I reckon that’s what winter is...
A test of quiet, a trial by whiz.
This life don’t shine, don’t boast, don’t beg...
It’s a coffee pot, a frostbit leg.
But it’s mine, and I’ll ride it true...
Just like this ground remembers you.
If you'd have lived and worked on Juno Ranch, you’d have come away better for it. It
may not have seemed like it at the time but Pancho (Uncle Frank) would put it to you, an’ it
was for you to decide to do it, what to do with it, or to fight. The motto was, “You either work
or fight, there ain’t no quittin’ on this-here ranch.”
Pancho cultivated a reputation as a living legend in his fifty-some years in the Devil’s
River country of the Texas frontier. He loved his life, family, work and felt plumb lucky to be
livin’ it. He believed there was art in every undertakin’ an’ practiced the highest standards in
dealin’ with any an’ all comers. He savvied horses, cattle an’ the land; and death was just the
gate that opened into higher pastures.
Ride 'em Pancho!
The cowboy wakes before each dawn
With blurry eyes n'a mournful yawn;
Gets breakfast down, just bacon'n eggs,
An' biscuits dunked in coffee dregs.
He feeds the stock some oats an' hay
In growin' light of break o' day.
Then Pancho comes an' rigs a hoss,
An' chews his butt, 'cause he's the boss.
“The sun is up, you little bride!
We're loosin' light! We gotta ride!”
So they ride out to make their rounds
In echoed clops of hoof-beat sounds.
The sun is high 'bout half-passed noon,
An' dinnertime is none too soon.
He eats his beans an' taters fast,
Then rolls a smoke an' rests at last.
He dreams of how he'll spend his pay
When he's in town on Saturday,
An' where he'll go to have some fun
With gals who'll laugh and call him, "Hun..."
He gets his hat an' pulls it down,
Forgets the dream of gals in town,
Cause if he ain't just damn near dead,
The work comes first on Pancho's spread.
THE MUSHERS RIDE OUT
Air colder than the heart of death
Surrounds the champion teams
And crystals dance twixt every breath
To paint this Arctic dream
Critics who think these dogs coerced
To run in mighty races
Need only bask upon the sight
Of eager canine faces
Commands are sharp , mistakes are few
The lead dog thinks for all
And like a whisper wrapped in wind
He hears the mushers call
No whips or sticks strike dogs who lead
It’s months and years together
The musher and his dog who leads
Are minds that think together
As mushers wait and dogs stand tall
All eager to be gone
The darkness lurks beyond the lights
And in a shot they’re gone
Well-wishers line the barren streets
Where winds are arctic whips
While satellites will flash the sight
From warmth the newsmen quip—
Fools of Tourists dressed all wrong
will scoff at cold life dangers
These careless tourists wander off
At risk to rescue rangers
The tropical storm moves closer
Brings wind and choppy seas
From my window it's a gray mass
But ride out the storm with me
Trapped in total isolation
All alone in my pain
Even the joy of the Seagull
Disappears with falling rain
The rain brings it own small comforts
Water to make things green
Clouds to hold sun's thermometer
Time alone to daydream
Sponsor: PD
Contest: Any Poem
Written: June 08, 2013
Posted July 02, 2013
Farewell old pard, I write this letter to you. Well, I guess I’ll saddle up and ride out with my new pard, he’s only a colt at three.
He’s a real beauty, a real eye pleaser and sure of foot with a cutting pedigree.
I’ll go on out to the rough country where the sky is blue, relive the
old times and try to work the rope a bit, so I won’t be thinking of you.
We were pards for many a year and we both tote the scars to show
and that cold back you had fairly tossed me hard every morning before you’d make up your mind to go.
But we never shared a cross word that ever meant much among friends,
Though, you did take a few hard comments when you got ornery now and then.
We purt- near worked in all kinds of weather, rain, snow and even a blizzard or two.
We shared our misery out on the plains when the cold winds off the mountain blew.
We’ve covered a lot of country, any closer, I don’t guess any pards could be
and though you weren’t much to look at, it never meant much to me.
You loved your job and worked it well with light rains and leg ques.
And there were times when you led the way, and I took my ques from you.
You were not a natural cutter, but you weren’t scared of bulls, cows or steer
and you worked the tight spots eagerly, never showing the jitters of fear.
We were pards, alright, never just a way to get the job done nor pleasure for me,
You loved it too, riding the open range with only the basics that kept us wild and free.
Why did you go and leave me, you just laid down in your stall and I was left alone.
I tell my stories and old pard, I tell yours too, since you’ve checked out and gone.
I look back through the years as I sit here looking over the grass growing high on the range.
How love for a horse can feel so right is hard for this cowboy to explain.
I can’t help but riminess’ and wonder, were there times you just didn’t feel quite well?
You always took to the saddle and in my selfish way, I never cared to ask, and you didn’t tell
We’d ride out and pretty- soon, you seemed glad you came along and there were
times we trailed in late, long after the sun had gone.
But now I look back on the past and sentimental thoughts tears my eyes and burden me.
Good-by old pard from your old friend, you were the best any pard could be.
But later that night the girl tip-toed out,
And went down to the registry desk.
She picked up the ledger, poured through it all,
There was something that she had to check.
Back upstairs she went, content to wait
Her quarry had not yet arrived.
He loved was awake, and smiled at her
The kind the makes a man feel alive.
She smiled back and asked for his name,
She’d forgotten to ask in the rush.
He said ‘Clarence Stone,’ and out came her gun,
And she pointed it straight at his gut.
She said,’My name is Ellie-May Burton,
Sent out two months ago on this path,
To track down a Stone who ran to the west,
Hoping to escape our wrath!’
But he heard a catch in her harsh tone,
And in her gun-hand a slight shiver.
He couldn’t forget the warmth of her touch,
So one final chance her did give her:
He nodded and said,’Then fire away,’
With a coldness that made the soul quake.
The gun fell from her hands, and she lit out,
Running from the hotel without break.
Come morning he road, pointed northwest
Unnerved, but his decision remained,
To return to Kentucky and die in a feud
Was a choice not made by the sane.
In the bright prairie light a rider appeared,
A familiar woman on a mare.
She rode up slowly, face red form tears,
No weapon upon him did bear.
He moved closer slowly, hand on his gun,
But she said,’Clarence, there’s no need.
I’ve been thinking all night on what I’m to do
Of the future and of dark deeds.’
‘Of a good man who stood, fought by my side,
And put on a fine show in bed.
Yet my family demands, for forgotten crimes
That I put a bullet in his head.’
‘Perhaps it is best, what you’re doing now,
Riding out a free man to the wild.
To be ride of the hate that has put kin in graves,
Since the days when I was a child.’
‘They say that a woman needs a good man,
And the good men need themselves a wife.
I may not be so good, but I think you and I
Could ride out and build ourselves a life.’
Then she went silent, he waited and thought
Of the chances and of the risks.
But the pain in her eyes told the whole truth
She he rode close and planted a kiss.
They moved out at a trot, both realizing that
Amongst the worst you sometimes find the best,
And to this very day countless Burton-Stones
Are scattered all over the west.
Gonna wake up
At the brink of dawn
With the d a r n little red rooster
Cock-a-doodle doodling alarm
Saddle
My horse and ride out
Cross the river to the green field about
Make sure those sneaky coyotes
Haven't had lambchop for dinner.
Then
Gonna water all of my crop
Gonna spread out
All the bales of hay
Where the goats and the horses
And the cattle stay
After
Dinner with a little moonshine
The best d a m nnnn... moonshine
That I ever made
With my woman Suzanne
6/7/2020
My first Cowboy Form poem
Try A New Style - Something You Have Never Or Hardly Ever Tried Poetry
Sponsored by: Caren Krutsinger
(1929-1945)
life was good until it wasn’t
we could almost forget the enemy we eluded
the persecution so viciously relentless
it was a matter of time till
the enemy was again at our door
trapped~ this time with no escape route
we could only do what we must
hide in the walls become ghosts
hope to ride out the nightmare
bent on surviving no matter the cost
wondered if things
would ever return to normal
the fear ever vanish
and life ever be as it should
trusting there would be an end to it all
someday someway somehow
but the worst yet to come
and it did
when we thought it couldn’t get worse
the unimaginable
it came and it did
leaving behind a handwritten journal
stained with tears of a little girl
her aborted dreams of becoming a journalist
and making a name for herself
AP: Honorable Mention 2021
To be on a hill on a tall dark horse,
With the wind
In a slight breeze
To take away the sweat from your forehead
And your steed
As look down at where you will be, with ease
Shining all in your full battle gear,
The sun reflects of all your medals of heroism
Pinned up on your chest
Shining out the thoughts of your loves, shining near
Your favorite surrounds your own heart,
You’re at and with your best
As you ready to go into the rift of blood and chaos
It is the loved ones on your mind that you protect
With your own life, as your heart will reflect
A time in your life you enjoy a tear
For yourself, as you ride out to a possible loss
To meet deaths own door without fear,
And feel more alive now than ever before
with the souls you protect
With the feelings of a man
written 062714
I peer out from my sanctuary of filtered air
Each breath, a gift to the lungs
But just beyond, yellow clouds appear
Courtesy of the flora we all live among
I dare not venture beyond this bubble
into the abyss of the bleak.
Where puffy eyes make vision double
and noses perpetually leak
Though I'm held up in my hide out
My anticipation soars
For a storm I'm told to" ride out"
Will cleanse the land once more
Soon the storm is upon my door
In the form of a wind whipped mist
and that pollen's retreating more and more
as the showers begin to persist
A deluge, now upon the town
Of yellow there's scarcely a trace
with every drop that tumbles down
A particulate gets erased
I step outside, the world to greet
On the wind is the scent of the shore
inhale deeply, air so sweet
I can feel it in every pore
Fragrance of rain contest,Joe Inca,17nov13
This feedlot of ancestral glitter
how tiresome, now a rummaged litter
a mitigated financed quitter
the addict, driven to mass rid stir!
As nature's boundaries pray beauty
the homeward bound, lost soul's forced duty
is to give in, give up, take booty
as dignity's rebuff thrives loosely!
Monopolizing wealth's consider
the numbers game, let live on bitter
your choice is here, from us, don't quiver
but take the drug, that made you sicker!
The addicts prayer is but a flicker
of hope to ride out, faith's endeavor,
as saying NO, still presses lever
insidious pressures force is ever!
The pushers living off receivers
to modify their conscious efforts
then vandalize the paycheck's rather
and hypnotize feeling together!
Sleepy eyes awake to crashing sounds on window panes
Creeping animals scramble around bristling forests nesting for a spot
while thousands of mad ants crusade in barren fields storing food in tiny plots
Along the busy high way meandering trees parted wide asphalted roads
and thick wavering clouds peak above shrouded path waiting for it to start.
Countless loaded trucks speed down bending roads honking horns
forewarning oblivious travelers not to take a chance
In the center of town busy shoppers paraded the crowded plaza
Ignoring beckoning dark clouds pressing upon them from pregnant skies.
Laughing children swing high on Ferris wheels
grown men tossed up down expanded roller coasters
screaming out of control
amused with laughter.
Unforeseen the gigantic Ferris wheel halted
And a terrifying sound emerged from beneath
Stealing the happy children’s delightful laughter
thick black clouds overshadows
the sounds get louder and confusion drenches the streets
dust and debris flutter in the atmosphere
A thunderous sound spits venomous vengeance
whipping and lashing
whistling and barking
and maneuvers the busy town
it dances from city to city
Wrenching up a destined path
disseminating people all over the streets
But the terrified children grip tightly
Kept calm and ride out the raging storm
©2013 Christine Phillips
The captain of the schooner ship,
Looked at the angry sky,
His ship tossed in the storm,
Not a star to guide her by.
This captian trusted his vessel,
He would ride out the storm,
Then he saw a light,
And the sounding of a fog horn.
The lighthouse sat on a cliff,
Its beam guiding ships to shore,
The vibrating sound could be heard,
Above the ocean's roar.
Jesus is my lighthouse,
I keep moving towards His light,
And when His Spirit speaks to me,
I'm guided through the darkest night.