Best Saloons Poems

I took my periodic stroll through the local antique store today.
There were the usual horse collars, clocks and various sundries on display.
Havin' no need fer horse collars and sech, I quickly passed them by,
But a paintin' of an abandoned stagecoach really caught my eye!

The artist...

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Farewell to the pubs
the bars and the stores

Farewell to saloons
and the swinging of doors

Farewell to the nights
of stumbling home

Farewell to the fights
that hurt me alone

Farewell to the grip 
of the bottle at last

I say to the demons
You can kiss my ass....

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'Twas an ominous moment when rode into town
To its marshal defy and outdraw and gun down
A notorious, murderous varmint named Slade 
Who had widows and orphans throughout the west made.

The next morning, as destined, they met on the street
To for title of gunfighter finest compete....

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While wand'ring ghost town scenes of memories
Loose mind like shutters bang in channeled thoughts
Old haunting spirits restless and distraught
Now roam deserted streets like tumbleweeds
Dirt devils funnel, scattering dead seeds
As rattling chains of broken bonds stretch taut
Dark tortured faceless shadows, though not sought
Appear in screenless windows...

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Way up there in the Colorado mountains at around 9000 feet,
There once was a thrivin' village that served as the county seat.
It was a boom and bust town that now lies in desolate shambles,
Its one-time stately buildin's now overgrown with creepin' brambles.

'Tis said that a...

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Slow drawn, steeping tea bags, in an etched glass pitcher,
Lazily infuse its Oriental musk into the sun warmed brew.
 My ice crackles along with the thunder over the great Mississippi
As the ewers’ spout releases the torrents of Southern comfort 
Into the tall, foggy, frost laden...

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NOTE TO THE READER
Once Apun a Time

This yarn is a flossy fabric woven of several earlier warped works, lightly laced together, adorned with fur-ther braided tails of human frailty. The looms were loosed, purling frantically this febrile fable... 

Some pearls may be found wanting –...

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This old car written by a parky ,


I have a friend Denitia 
A lovely lady she is
I rang her up one morning
To see if she was in

We decided to have some fun
In an old reck of a car
So off we went 
With tools in hand...

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saloons are just another form of dealing with depression
I hate drinking away nights
saying yes to bartenders
saying no to reality 
take a dip in the cold waters
harsh and real
life is for losers I thought
but maybe I should really try living sometime...

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Of all the minin' camps in old Colorady, the town of Tin Cup was truly,
With all its gamblin' halls, brothels and sleazy saloons the most unruly!
'Tis said that Jim Taylor dipped his tin cup in the 'crick' to take a sip,
And found gold in the...

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Skagway, Alaska in the late 1890s was sure a rowdy place alright!
It was seethin' with humanity a-raisin' hell all through the day and night!
'Twas the gateway to Chilkoot Pass beyond which lay Klondike gold!
Why!  You could scoop up nuggets by the bushel, or so...

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Magazine ads and newspaper obituaries
skitter across the streets
like tumbleweed in the desert.
Rims the size of carriage wheels roll by.
Everyone's holsters are filled,
even the children carry pistols.
The schools are ghost towns
but the saloons stay occupied.
This is the Wild, Wild West....

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Glitterin' gold wuz struck along Alder's Gulch in eighteen sixty-three!
Potential prospectors came frum as fer away as Knoxville, Tenn-o-see!
Hordes uv soiled doves and gamblers migrated to the Gulch as well,
Along with platoons uv ruffians and barkeeps, their potent booze to sell!

Fellers labored hard all week...

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Above a cloudy jar of brine
That floated greenish hard boiled eggs,
Beside a Schlitz beer waterfall
That told bar time (ten minutes fast),
A taxidermied Jack-A-Lope
With rabbit ears and tiny rack
Stared marble eyed into the dark.
“We don’t have many Jack-A-Lopes
Back home in any city bars,”
I told a man...

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At the foot uv Pikes Peak sprawls the old minin' town uv Cripple Creek.
They wuz nigh on fifty-thousand folks thar when minin' wuz at its peak!
Ol' Bob Womack, a cowpoke, struck gold in Poverty Gulch stakin' his claim.
'Tis said he sold out fer 500 bucks...

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