Best Ruffian Poems
William Bonny AKA Billy The Kid
A Tale Of Billy The Kid
By Robert Gorelick
“Quien esta?”
Bang! It’s over,
you’re a legend now,
Billy.
Born in Hell’s Kitchen in
ramshackle consumptive squalor,
New York’s crammed gang infected
rat-infested shacks
and alleys.
Amid the iniquitous stench
of rot and the soul’s decay,
in a nation at war,
pulling, stretching, ripping
to shreds the frayed fabric
of its precarious union.
An abused juvenile fleeing west
emerging from the muck
to where a soul and body
may heal, breathe deeply,
expand.
At last—life
New Mexico territory spreads open
and wide, easy to be seduced by cynical
range-war ranchers’ welcome greetings
they pay you well for
every cattle rustled,
then desert you as you flee the
sheriff’s posse.
“Quien esta?”
With a concealed knife
you stab a drunken gambler,
self-defense is no excuse
as the ruffian had
important friends.
You’re set to hang, Billy
in a daring display
you shoot your way out,
steal a horse and gallop
off to your woodland
shanty.
Midnight, your shack’s pitch dark,
there’s breathing nearby,
your Mexican novia?
Why doesn’t she speak?
“Quien esta?”
Bang. Pat Garrett guns
you down.
A throw away kid from big city squalor,
becomes a legend of the wild west.
You’re a legend, Billy
1/8/23
Metrical Tale Contest
Sponsor: Hilo Poet
Categories:
ruffian, character, death,
Form:
Metrical Tale
I strolled through the local cemetery the other day
And here are some epitaphs I observed along the way:
Cletus O'Toole lies herein
Too much boozing done him in!
Here lies a gambler molding in his crypt
Odds are he was shot by a chump he had gyped!
His spouse spotted him leaving a house of ill repute
In short order she done him in during a heated dispute!
Clyde raced down the mountain and failed to swerve
Meeting his doom on an S-shaped curve!
His plea to the judge was ruled to be moot
He was sentenced to hang for fencing some loot!
Buckaroo Bob was throwed from his horse
And was buried with his boots on as a matter of course!
The town ruffian was our late friend Keith
He met his match and was interred sans his teeth!
Pilot Pete's final radio message was, "Oh! Shoot!"
Seems he forgot to don his parachute!
Farrier Fred was a premier cobbler as a general rule
Alas, he was kicked in the head by an unruly mule!
Butcher Bruce was expert at wielding his knife
But in a fatal spat he was out-wielded by his wife!
POTD 24 June 2021
Categories:
ruffian, death, humorous,
Form:
Rhyme
I am a real scaredy cat
and there's absolutely nothing that
I could do about that.
I'm scared of 'roaches
I'm scared of rats
I'm scared of spiders
and afraid of bats
I fear all arachnids
and I fear those gnats
Oh I fear all the kinds I find
of those creepy crawly brats!
And but what can I do about that?
Huh and who woudn't fear
a midnight rat-a-tat?
So I've resigned myself to being
a lifelong scaredy cat.
Yeah and I'm scared of heights
Scared of noises at night
Gah, I'm really quick to fright!
I'm scared of grasshoppers and even of dogs
Gosh there's hardly a thing that I ain't scared of.
But I admit I am a timid tigress
otherwise I'm a harmless human who don't hurt a fly
Normally just a normal lady, a humble poetess
I attack only when provoked to the limits
so as I'm a cat after all
I do show my tiger claws if the situation demands
or else I don't mind chickening out
of aggressive and foolhardy involvements.
And maybe if everybody was a coward like me
they wouldn't hurt each other with sheer brutality.
I guess for ladies it's not so bad to be
a bit more cowardly
In any case that's far better than being
a ruffian who's dastardly!
And oh, lastly but not the least
ah yes, I also greatly fear
any lustful male leer
I'd rather I'm invisible to their view
So I really find huge refuge
in the dear divine idea that exhorts me to
to drape and wrap myself from top to toe
in flowing garbs when I step outdoors
and that veiling attire does make me brave
as I feel vulnerable no more
and that's when I feel the transformation from lil kitty
into the big cats
from scaredy cat to formidable tigress
and that's when for once there's NOTHING I fear anymore! :)
as I go out veiled in soft armour from top to toe.
And I feel I can face the chauvinistic foe
Categories:
ruffian, fear, humor,
Form:
Rhyme
What A Revolting Development
(Not by Groucho or Karl Marx)
Bernie with bent back grudges does carry
Decided to become another Revolutionary
Always knowing exactly what he meant
By this being a revolting development.
Hillary's tough questions were a strain
Until about brilliant Bernie did complain
Just because people prefer my sound advice
Was paid handsomely which was very nice.
Just how handsome do you have to be
When you are in competition with me
With talkative staff started to scrimmage
One had a professor and grandfather image.
All of this did come up with a certain feel
That to younger voters would have appeal
To make sure and eliminate all of the doubt
Made sure young women were not left out.
Closer and closer campaign competition became
Who would be President receiving glory and fame?
But what if your shoddy support were to lack
We should go in search of some Super Pack.
Bernie went door to door and bell after bell
Said, Don't vote for Hillary Dillary in the Dell
By my blessed appearance you could have been
With me and wrinkled clothes looking like a ruffian.
Heard some say I surely look like a Sherlock
At home with pipe in mouth which is a crock
And in front of home we do have a doormat
Saying I have become a stubborn Democrat.
What if old Holmes's hat I were to wear?
Do you think this would start a new scare?
At least mine is much better the Ben's brain
Thinks Egyptians in Pyramids store their grain.
But when by many who Ben they all adore
Are told he dropped out and ain't in race anymore
They did discover something about Ted Cruzer
Is a bruiser, blunt, big bully and a lalapaluzer.
Any dirty tricks, you pick, and Cruz has tried
Lied about original country where he did abide
And when atmosphere became dull and grim
Why would one more Republican vote for him?
Cruz has sold his own party down the drain
Republican voters for him have much disdain
Discovered greener on Democrat side is the clover
So if Republican or undecided come right on over.
I think Republican Right is know as Tea Party
which consists of a huge bunch of malarkey.
James Thesarious Hilarious Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
RiverSea Plantation
Bolivia, NC
Categories:
ruffian, allegory, analogy, humorous,
Form:
Couplet
Thou didst not make me come
I came of my own accord
now you tell me that you're bored
how can I improve on my sweet Lord
Thou art a ruffian - unskilled in the
art of lovemaking, no tantric sex
more like Titanic with a hex
I always know what's coming next
Who wrote my script and said that:
I wouldst love you no matter what?
maybe it was you more likely than not
I must be thankful, pretend at what I've got
Now thou art coming again - never mind my pain
Why is it that my loss has to be your gain?
Categories:
ruffian, love,
Form:
Prose Poetry
A rhetorical question finds me asking
(to no one in particular) why I recall
the names of grade school teachers
approximately fifty years ago (whose
names listed below), when the need
to retrieve necessary information due
ring examinations (less time ago)
often found me seized with sudden
inability to remember any vital ants
sirs (even including my name), thus
grudgingly handing over blank test paper
analogously surrendering a vital
document gracing terms of defeat
into the scaly claws (zen nay), sans
first to sixth grade Precambrian relic
(Missus Batson, Missus Rittenhouse,
Missus Wells, Mister Stout,
Missus Shaner, or Miss Rinderle).
Invariably majority of first thru
sixth grade accorded accredited
ancient authenticated creatures.
They freely exercised diabolical
churlish beastial animalistic zeal
us yakking, wickedly unprintable
upon (unprincipled urchin) at
receiving end of fiendishly grue
some hellish instructions. Assign
ments buttressed with ultimatums
harkening back to Jurassic period
earlier in dawning primate con
sciousness. Lesson material kindled
with justifiable license in league
with garnered insignia. Heft
to bring pupils to heal predicated
via warp and weft woven wonder
fully. Wrought writs welcomed
whips with warranty whenever
recalcitrant ruffian refused
respecting reptilian rubric repre
sentative rattling (The Idler Wheel
Is Wiser Than the Driver of
the Screw and Whipping Cords
Will Serve You More Than Ropes
Will Ever Do), which loosely
rendered regularly warbled
wishy washy verse curmudgeons
freedom granted to interpret
as one decrepit, hawkish insignia
certified one beaming Eve and/
or stud deed brute soffit. Education
often relied on the weekly reader,
and letters to and/or from Aunt
Emma. Nefarious mean linkedin
kickstarter jawboning torturous
treatment tolerated, asper imps
of the pervert, mutant Ninja
Turtles duty bound antsy
youthful yokel yodelers
weathering ululating sing-song
and quintessential precepts.
Categories:
ruffian, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Prose Poetry
To SAW, Jr.
As a young wife with young faith, I innocently shared –
cared and loved husband as my naivety best declared.
Then his true, young-self broke, I groped and we choked.
Now, lost and unsure, my soul is searching for stroke.
Amidst club music and noise, I saw you seeing me;
a man so beautiful, perfecting my perfection fantasy.
Your smooth approach ruffled my prim poise,
your man-boy grin, hinted sensual, joyous joys.
I completely lost my grip staring at your sculptured lips.
Your amber eyes, long dark hair and lush eyelashes
gave me intense, lust filled, intoxicating flashes.
Yes, take me, please, to privacy if your perception matches.
I don’t care where you go to church, if you hail from the north or south.
I don’t need to know how you get by, if you’re a tinker, ruffian or spy.
I just want our souls to fly as we escape convention, eye to eye,
and, united, leave life’s real cries to flee high on swelling sighs.
Let’s not talk of life’s mysteries or share our histories,
but let us own the now, take it for you and me somehow.
In the morning, disappear, but tonight stay intimately near.
My heart won’t let you in, but soul yielding coats my skin.
This night shall be the one secret in my life’s pocket.
From time to time, when alone, I shall tenderly unlock it
and revisit senses felt this night, a soul memory gift
where my private can relive our young escape lift.
Categories:
ruffian, lust, memory, passion,
Form:
Rhyme
A Lover's Query
I cannot love thee any more , nor less
hast thou not thrilled to my nightly embrace
cried about sins I faithfully confess
in shock at my previous sinner's race?
Nay, fair lady think me not a high fool
a master of deceit that sells my charm
tormentor in words so very cruel
ruffian that scurries about to harm!
My lady, looks at me the cock that crows
that preens in the morning to please the Sun
strutting, pleasing your eyes as our love grows
do you speak soft and I come on a run?
Do we not share this secret lover's bond?
Secret nights of which you are very fond?
Robert J. Lindley 08-25-2014
Categories:
ruffian, beauty, dance, desire, devotion,
Form:
Sonnet
To Whomsoever It May Concern,
(It concerns me nought)
This is just for me to keep
A track of the tricked mind's inmost--
A gist of sufferings I ever got--
All Happiness I discern.
I never stood for a loss--
I'm moving everyday--
Those about call me a 'Ruffian',
A 'Mongrel', a 'Vagrant',
A 'Tramp', they say
Who's lived a life of low for a no-fair cause,
But I care not:
Care not I, 'cause I am free--
Not bound like everyone
Of these 'Worldly-wise'
Caged and tied-up
In their own misery...
I go about living this life
The way it's meant for all to live:
Often taking( I never stole )
What I need, from where I can--
Giving when I can give...
And I say, I may not have
A house to own--
A dwelling place sojourn;
I may not have brand-new clothes--
The shoes I wear are worn;
Even so, I may not be
A grand face to look at--
Far from the gentleman-ly acts
With branded stick and hat:
It's a fulfillment and content for me,
Just being a street rat..
Under this tree right now, and beside these rocks,
I sit to explain a life--
A life in my own walks--
Unlike a Hermit, who'd spend his everyday,
I waste not a moment
To slouch or reflect-on in dismay.
Only that I see this world and it's things
As a bait for me,
So I'm fulfilled and content--
Happy a rat to be...
So far so fine--if the World's not mine--
I wouldn't then respond
To the bait set in the Trap.
Signing--The Vagabond.
08/26/2011
Categories:
ruffian, life, people, philosophy, me,
Form:
Free verse
Throw your white glove in a puddle of mud.
Let it represent all of your toil.
The mud won’t get glovey, for crud is still crud,
But your glove, I’m afraid, will be soiled.
Take particular care in the friends that you keep,
For your friends either lift or drag down.
Choose those who propel toward goals that you seek;
Shun those with the cheek and the frown.
Yes, there is room in the world for a kind word to all,
For the saint and the ruffian alike.
Pray, offer your hand to those who would fall,
But be watchful for serpents will strike.
Categories:
ruffian, betrayal, friendship, wisdom,
Form:
Quatrain
DUCK AFTER DUMP PING THE DON
air ring ma thoughts - no matter aye ham
juiced one twenty first century mwm ape
serves as genuine s cape
to fly (during pitch black hours of night) and escape
burning effigies, where his jumbo jet, a sonic boom stick bewitching like Snape
temporarily tough feign ruffled feathers sans rape
pay shuss selfish lust, when world sliding down behavioral sink,
where he doth jape
and me as distant outlier from madding crowd i gape
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
At the sheer inanity
trumpeting strumpets donning an innate
prejudice and senselessness purr
blind faith toward self avowed demigod -- seize whore viz Cesar
his hair coiffed and puffed like it whir
wind blown kickstart ting mobs to stir
paying bodyguards to evict ruckus-causing murmur
oh...how the masses will let this country
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Go to hell in hand basket
and rack up stratospheric global debt
cause zing this one measly mortal male to fret
that totalitarian rule will force every man,
woman and child to march....het
two...three...four, while the billionaire
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
turns a third blind eye speeds away in his foo fighter jet
argh...heavens to Betsy, how did the fickle finger of fate let
this pompous ass
vacuumed majority votes across world wide net
to finagle vox populi, and groom hooligan nasty ruffian thugs
with smashed face s as his smart pet
bump ping uglies henchmen set
to create their own version of the tet
offensive, despite croup bawling ashen faced deportees
whose tears sentence innocent to po' ver tee branding indiscriminately vet
so culled unwanted ill eagle "aliens"
labored with nose to grindstone
fingers to the bone vainly, their american dream parched whence whet.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Long story short - pondering my rental circumstance will equal net
zero importance, and will be upended if this ret
chad, ewol, googly-eyed, gastronomic, narcissistic bullish don will set
the spark for world war three - via gone ah re: ha...ha...ha...to all vet
tureens within the american crucible melting pot - with backs whet
unless....Katrina and the Waves, superman or Sabrina can oust him yet!
Categories:
ruffian, abuse, america, anger, anti
Form:
Dramatic Verse
The dreaming self of mine, coagulate
to form an image purely supreme
to intermingle all my mellow thoughts
and create a thing above all.
The senses are most absorbing
and are getting each thing perfect
blending each thing to their mighty core
and carve a sculpture, fanciful.
A tomb in my heart is build
of my ceremonious antique vows
which were once my delight
but now alas time has decayed.
The sensitivity, the perseverance
spended in pain and in real vain
fled, had been each genial thought
and life decays with time.
Relished hardships too once
but o, life how unessential
i have become,to pine
at most deserving thought.
The visionary gleam of my heart
fading fast as scarce flowers
and the things which use to charm me otherwise
are now but quartz to me.
The delicate heart of mine
to marble has turned
contrasted equally as if hell to heaven
or heaven to hell has turned.
My deceiving beauty, my heart
Has cheated me throughout
And conjures me glance into visions
Which could never had been achieved.
But hope has restored and recreated
a heart which was fleeing fast
and occupies a narrow bridge
on which life swings.
Let not the light of hope fickle
and don't let the sap of mind be parched
admit no'ne in your heart, to flourish
but keep each feeling conserved and coiled.
Juxtaposed liberties are but necessities
and ruffian freedom, none but liability
the soul whose sail eternity drew
will place it nevertheless to the harbor of heaven.
AKASH SANGWAN
Categories:
ruffian, beautiful, birth, heart, heartbroken,
Form:
Blank verse
BULLY- - MATON- part 1
Matón—
Tú no eres nada;
Pero un cobarde valiente;
Matón—
Tu elección es tan estúpida;
No podías manejar tu propio poder;
Ya ves que TODOS debemos ver al Padre un día;
Bully--
Your choice is so stupid;
You couldn't handle your own power;
You see we must ALL one day see the Father;
BULLY- - MATON- part 1
A person been habitually seeking to harm or intimidate me
Those whom they perceive as vulnerable see they think it’s me
I’m strong but it hurts and I’m sad;
Too much pain goin on it’s bad
I’ve done nothing to you
You taunt and torture me
And yet I MUST FORGIVE AND LOVE YOU
synonyms: My persecutor, oppressor,
Is such a tyrant, tormentor,
Mental, physical browbeater,
intimidator,
coercer, subjugator;
scourge, tough,
I’ve done nothing to you
You taunt and torture me
And yet I MUST FORGIVE AND LOVE YOU
What a lush
heavy, bully boy or even girl man or woman sure
ruffian, thug
Those of them self they too need love
I forgive them I forget,
Yet
There’s come a time for judgment;
I have no heaven nor hell to place them in….
a blustering, browbeating
your talking negative things bout’ me
you’re habitually cruel, insulting,
threatening me who you think is weaker,
you deem me smaller, or in some way vulnerable
I mustn’t give in
Continue to do what you do
You’re God’s chosen
I’ve done nothing to you
You taunt and torture me
And yet I MUST FORGIVE AND LOVE YOU
I stop you, I’ll pray for your soul
That you be born again
Bullying
Bully--
you ain't nothning;
But a brave coward;
Bully--
Your choice is so stupid;
You couldn't handle your own power;
You see we must ALL one day see the Father;
Matón—
Tú no eres nada;
Pero un cobarde valiente;
Matón—
Tu elección es tan estúpida;
No podías manejar tu propio poder;
Ya ves que TODOS debemos ver al Padre un día;
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
-----From forth coming anthology “Reality Realm”
Categories:
ruffian, abuse, analogy, anger, anxiety,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
the blogger
is the wretched chicken
laying an asteroid.
the city dweller
is the self identifying
contagious forlorn.
he strives
for the praise.
he strives
for a masterpiece.
he is
in fact
a ruffian.
the breasts
of equality
the jaw of
rebellion.
the revolutionary
spark plug.
the YES MAN!
in this world,
when you are left to the bone.
no one wants to hear your
********.
the bull*****baths
of selfless,
powerless,
diminishment
of a character.
they would always
rather have the hero.
the self rising dough.
the collegiate fortune hunter.
they say "JUMP!
misery will pull you down!"
way down.
the feel of a fine wine glass.
you hold its hollow delicateness.
the heart.
contract and expand.
up and down we go.
from filth to pristine sterility.
'tis better to have a hen tomorrow
than an egg today.
Categories:
ruffian,
Form:
Verse
Hard to believe you graduated
from college 25 years ago.
Anyone who can climb
from ruffian in a juvenile home
to university graduate to
business owner is remarkable.
One day your sons
will come to understand that.
Your siblings as well.
Couldn’t be prouder of your trek,
a magnificent one, done the hard way,
something I viewed from the valley.
My father had a passbook
with cash for me to go to college.
He always had work, hard work,
highly skilled, with no layoffs.
There’s always a demand for hot wire
electricians willing to climb
tall poles and high towers,
attack voltage in any weather.
Life never steps back, forever upstream,
and then suddenly we're salmon.
A final thrust or two and we die.
Thank God we have souls.
Donal Mahoney
Categories:
ruffian, father son,
Form:
Blank verse