Best Shoeing Poems
TOP GUN.
A keen jet pilot broke the speed of sound
A loud sonic boom he caused on the ground
House windows were broken
The whole town awoken
Claims from lawyers to the air force abound...
SANTA ON THE RUN
Santa got pulled over on the highway
Cops told him a light had gone on his sleigh
Santa said I'm in a rush
Cracked his whip shouted mush mush
The reindeers galloped off up and away...
QUEUE FOR THE LOO (FICTIONAL WRITE).
Have you noticed there is always a queue
Not outside the gents, only the girls loo
Business takes a minute
What do they do in it ?
They spend time gossiping that's what they do...
BILLY BLACKSMITH.
Billy the blacksmith was stoking his fire
The next horse up for shoeing was a shire
Then blacksmith Billy felt
A kick below the belt
Now high pitched is soprano in the choir...
INDUSTRIAL ACTION.
The reindeer decided to go on strike
Made demands that old Santa didn't like
He said it's Christmas eve
And I've soon got to leave
So he sacked them and rode off on his bike...
Written 19th November 2019.
In the shadows, harpies linger as agents provocateur,
for the Fallen Watchers, for pecking order.
Prostitute mercenaries,
addicted to mercury and disorder.
Their claws sharp, their cries a shiver,
their motive insanity from hell's hateful quiver.
They pluck you from the light of day,
leave you in the flames to barter the fray,
to drown in the sea of faith no more.
Till nightfall,
where they tend the fires of a black wind,
poking signal lures,
preying for entropic thunder,
and romantic moon,
lyres to ascend your spirit
for the purpose of dropping you again
in despairs pit and swoon.
Denoting your abandonment and seclusion,
shoeing the fit,
wild horses couldn't drag them away.
Hoping to find you behind chaos's fire-line,
enemy mine,
a broken rhyme-
not asKing for a new day;
a soul adrift, in a sea of doubt,
no compass, no sails, no wind,
no faith, "tag you're it, hide your eyes and don't count."
on being saved from the fade to black
from grey lack of faith.
In the old days of covered wagons, they were part of the Old West
Called them "Smithy's" back then, don't see them around much anymore
Swinging a big hammer down on an anvil, sparks would fly
Red hot iron from the burning coals of the forge, ready for the test
Shape a horseshoe or build a hinge for The General Store door
An old tradition that time has passed by
Ran the Livrery Stable in every town, a horse hotel for the night
Hay, oats and a drink of water, sometimes a cowboy would sleep there
Back breaking work for little pay, but a job done well
Next day shoe a horse or make a wagon wheel right
Most were strong and stout, would fight a grizzly bear
Work all day, sometimes when there was no Sun
Many joined the Army, when horse were the fleet
Several at every fort, shoeing for the Calvary
Because every soldier needed to ride and needed a mount
Fighting Indians or nailing iron on horse's feet
But those were their orders from the Army
After awhile it did not matter any, they would soon loose count
Times have changed, progress and new inventions are on the scene
And the old Blacksmith shops are gone, the forge and banging sound
The anvil, two pieces of hot molting welded to each other
This was the way it was told on The Silver Screen
But there are still some of them around
Changed their name, now they are called a Farrier
Dearest Cousin Madelyn,
Let’s sit in the rowboat, near the dawn’s verdant shore.
Where a squirrel sits under the Oak, that we once...so adored!
We can discuss music, or our fabulous families’activities.
Later, listen to jazz, Dave Brubeck, who was our sweet, chosen proclivity.
It was so fantastic, to be blessed with an intelligent cousin,like you.
Teaching me, oh so many things, I did not know how to do.
And,now, alas, you have gone to be in the heavens above.
You, Madelyn, who was the gentlest epitome of love!
Illness robbed this earth of your laughter and endless mirth.
You never whined about pain, you were not one to whine about hurt!
You are free now to explore the marvels of your beloved, outer space.
I can see that majestic, starlit, smile on your face.
We join here today at a Celebration of Your Life.
The spirit of you, is here, gently erasing our earthly strife.
Love,
Cousin Pangie
Dedeication. Madelyn was a poet here for a only a brief period of time. She was, by then, too ill to write.
Like many here, she was a teacher! In Wisconsin~ who specialized in science.. Her biggest thrilll was winning an award and going to where Astronauts train.
A teacher who actually taught for the joy of being with children~not a large paycheck or more days off. Madelyn also taught skiing on the weekends in the hills of Wisconsin.
She had no love for those out the destroy the Comstitution or American values.
She was a true Pariot.
A lover of animals, she fed the deer in her backyard, loved flying, boating, water skiing and sno-shoeing!
Her life was about service and love...of those countries from whence her grandparents came. Intensely, proud. And she was a world traveler, too.
5/16/2022
Old Jane Gallagher,
she was fine,
in that sun shining on an every-day-girl sort of way.
Giggling
as her checkers clacked and she stacked up her kings,
funny
how young women enter men’s senses and take over their hearts.
Young women
with fresh friendly faces, and smooth, soft skin,
basking in the glow
of adolescent light
during comfortable, warm, summer days,
embedding colloquial tones
into malleable brains of dreaming young men.
There, they reside in ideal perfection
with their skinny naked step fathers prancing around,
showing off hairy legs and sipping cheap booze
to numb exhibitionist tendencies.
Soft-shoeing on the men’s room floor
in your red, felt, hunting hat,
what do you think you’re doing?
Young man filled with illusions of sweet girls
sipping sun tea and playing games with neighbor boys.
That handsome sporty roommate
scraping off his five-o-clock shadow
is going to conquer your innocent princess
in the back seat of a darkened, parked car.
Go down and tell her, “Hello!”
Go on, don’t be shy!
She only bites at the peak of her lust.
Like you had a chance,
putting a half nelson on your sporty roommate,
your skinny arms couldn’t hold old Jane,
let alone, a broad shouldered stud
wearing your hound’s tooth jacket.
Poor skinny hipster should be writing about sexy Jane Gallagher,
not sexy men entertaining Jane’s periphery existence.
Better let some repulsive coincidence
take your mind off the intimacy you’ll be missing.
Your coming-of-age tale
will be watching an unkempt recluse
squeezing a large puss filled zit in the mirror.
LONDON TUBE EXPLOSION 2017
Another explosion in London today
When will they learn to go away?
General public hurt yet again
These terrorists are a real big pain
Setting off a device in a public place
You’re no member of the human race
Hurting people doing their daily chores
You certainly won’t get any applause
I hope all those hurt are on the mend
To these people this message we send
Don’t let them change your daily routine
Report to the police anything you have seen
I send my thoughts to you all
Hope your families and friends can stand tall
Hope you’re all healing and getting well
These nasty people will be sent to hell
Islamic state have claimed it’s their doing
What they need is a real good shoeing
No matter what you want to achieve
Your act of violence I can’t believe
We will catch you and you will be sent to rot
In a 6 foot cell you will wish you were shot
Go back under the rock whence you came
Your spiteful acts they are evil and insane
Most old ranches in the West, have a history of their past
Legends and tales about ranching in hard time
Blood, sweat, tears and a lot of elbow grease
The at the 5Y, those days are long past
The last 40 years it has been nothing but crime
Day and night, there is no real peace
July, 1976, I was shoeing horses for a living
Southern, New Mexico, the Sun was jalepeno hot
Pulled up to the 5Y, before it got to warm
Was supposed to be a horse breeding farm, but that was deceiving
Something about that day I never forgot
I knew that I was in for a storm
The owner's name was Sawford, had not bathed in days
In his office, a metal table, dirty mattress. bottle of whiskey and a .45
Told me where the mares were at, would pay me when I was done
I started to think about changing my ways
A gut feeling told me to work fast, if I was going to get out alive
Sweating like a fool, it was not all the Sun
Four miles to the border, many strange things happen there
At lunch, I stopped for a bite to eat
Found a tree near by, so I sat in the shade
A big black Lime drove up, driven by a pair
In business suits, Sawford they were there to meet
It was his day to get paid
I knew it was Mafiaoso, but i did not want to know why?
I went to pounding iron and driving nails
When i finished he gave me a $100 and to keep the change
I wanted to be out if there and did want to die
And all I could think of was "Happy Trails"
It was no longer "Home On The Range"
SF
I see you when I close my eyes, my moon lit lady
Cotton dress
Tan lines
Hot temper
I see you when I close my eyes
Infectious laughter
Blushing
I see you in my dreams, my moon lit lady
Standing on a beach
Toes curled in the sand
A small boat run aground to the left
Shoes kicked off to the right
I see you in my dreams
Windswept hair
Shoeing a horse
I see you in my hallucinations, my moon lit lady
Black wings stretched wide
Hands full of honey
Hovering over a pool of liquid melody
I see you in my hallucinations
Roses singing
Tears of silver
I see you in my nightmares, my moon lit lady
Skin boiling
Callused claws
Heart on the sleeve
I see you in my nightmares
White dress
Thoughts of forever
Epitaph, my ebook:
http://www.amazon.com/Epitaph-ebook/dp/B00CCFQ9XS/ref=pd_rhf_gw_p_t_2_TBDR
28 years to see the light it's taken me
To my soul I'm sorry, I know its not been easy.
With gentle prods, subtle messages and even a bang to the head
I still hated my life and wished I was dead.
For that I can not take all the blame
Allowing myself to be corrupted is where I feel shame.
I've argued and cursed god more than you'll ever know
My destiny he refused to show.
I understand now, it's all about free will
The blanks are your responsibility to fill.
I'm teaching myself, I'm learning my power
Within my presences evil will cower.
I do not wish to brag or boast
I'm just a shell and the light is my boast
We're here to show what you fear most.
I feel your secrets and your lies
You'll see them there within my eyes.
I have the strength lurking in me
To play with your emotions and what you think you see.
With just one beat of my heart
The games, they could start.
Only in danger or against evil I do this
Its not a power I would miss.
I honestly didn't know what I was doing
Stealing her heart was always a shoeing.
It does not matter how far they go
My soul will find, he craves to know.
Veterans Memorial Today
August 31, 1861 near the Nevada Border.
Texter was shoeing his friend wild Billy younger. The boots was bent and it was a
hard task to master. We need a day to celebrate the dead not yet killed in the
Cival War to come. Wild Billy Younger looked at his friend so thoughtful he said
Tex are you seeing visions of the future where is that whiskey bottle give it back to
me. That stuff will rot your gut and make it easily lose its ability to eat. On a day
like this one we need to celebrate the dead the veterans already been deceased.
Then on a weekend like this in the very next month we need to do it all again and
worship all of them the living and the dead ones and call it a memorial. Wild Billy
Younger just smiled at his new boots on. Texter the cork is in the whiskey but still
you have it wrong. The first day is for dead ones the Memorial Day is then the next
month is for the living ones then the Veterans Day.
Win gold
be bold
Long run
such fun
High jump
speed bump
Grand prize
all eyes
Close race
in chase
Drab match
I catch
Ground stroke
no joke
Tiebreak
heartache
Foot fault
must halt
Forehand
so grand
Deuce court
report
Drop shot
on spot
Backspin
just in
Closed stance
advance
First serve
hold nerve
All out
no doubt
Arm ball
your call
Back foot
well put
Feet sore
crowd roar
Pit stop
right flop
Air jacks
not lax
Catch fence
immense
Choose cone
in zone
Downforce
of course
Dry line
sounds fine
Black dot
so what
Box-kick
smart flick
Breakdown
don’t frown
Eight-man
staunch fan
Fend-off
not half
Fly half
big laugh
Five-eight
high rate
Foul play
no way
Free kick
quite slick
Full-back
don’t slack
Knock-on
now gone
Loose head
instead
Pop pass
first class
Red card
off guard
Set piece
they tease
Shoeing
booing
Touch judge
won’t budge
Midcourt
retort
High clear
hear hear
Backstroke
awoke
Duck-Dill
instil
Frontcrawl
your call
Grab start
look smart
Pull Buoy
alloy
Swim Down
don’t clown
Mulled Cider Memories
Santa Claus sees what we
are doing.
We rejoice in grandly...
snow-shoeing.
And, oh we do love our hot,
mulled cider.
Especially next to a warm, cozy,
fire!
Christmas tunes joyfully fill many
a home.
Friends an relatives here, who do
Love us ..and do not roam.
We love each other for who we, as
individuals, truly are.
Freedom lovers, we, one and all,who
sing beneath silver, Christmas stars.
Speaking our truths, behind wreathed
ribboned, decorated doors
Bright eyes that sparkle, arms that hold.
True love carved, in poetic, holiday gold.
12/10/2024