Best Shooters Poems
Forget about futuristic wars
between nations, race against race
country against country
tongue against tongue;
soon the populous will know no
borders, continents no boundaries.
“The New master”
Is awakening manoeuvring
stalking, his plan already activated
The twenty second century will
see his bidding become
formidable, the pocket, whims,
thoughts and desires
will be his to regulate, what
to eat, drink, lay on ride on, he
will control, no law will hold him,
he will be the law!
Politicians will become
his directors and producers
will guide his script, play his media
trouble shooters
his bounty hunters, seeking out
the moralist, the Salvationist,
no competition will be his aim,
manipulation of all things
one world
one God
one Board
one CHAIRMAN
“The ultimate ONE COMPANY”
© Harry J Horsman 2018
THE DALLAS COWBOYS
Can you not hear the rumblings of that distant herd coming,
The loud thundering of destiny’s champions crossing, the NFL
Field of dreams, beware the rampaging lightening team known
As the Dallas Cowboys, for they are the hail storms victorous
Breed, the eye of the hurricane riders, searching for their
Well-deserved trophy of fortunes honor!
Remove your cowboy’s hats of respect unto them, ladies
Curtsy with reverences motion, for these athletes are
Endurance’s best, and they shall overcome against
Any opposing finest challengers, these rangers of the
Old western traditions, that carry this country’s time
Honored name of the cowboy to the ultimate extreme,
Of skill and strength’s dexterity!
Dallas all plain drifters of purity’s valor, head to head
No bull horns about it, these are the champions of the
Gladiatorial games in the world of sportsmanship!
Yielding unto no oppositions combatants, these warriors
Hold their ground with distinctions sheer magnificence!
Let those world famous cheerleaders scream with every
Field goal achieved, for these beauties know that no
Other team in footballs annals will score, to the level
Of these good old boys, named by fame's hall of records,
The famous Dallas Cowboys, heehaw and God bless hum!
Now listen you city slicking team of sports hall of fameing
Seekers, you’d better go back to your home fields of
Advantages, for hear in this lone star state, we take no
Prisoners, and show no mercy to out lander's!
Here in the ALAMO state of freedoms calling,
We remember our heritage standing tall and
Proud against all odds, blazoned in bullets
Historical legends, our grand team barres
The name of fore-barriers proudly, those
Pioneer’s men known, as the all American
Cowboys!
These six-shooters whom rode the die hard tails,
Across a new world creating a country of freedom,
Where only the tumble-weeds rolled, and desert dust,
Coached a man’s thirst almost to madness!
Now in traditions sport of men, a new team of desperado’s,
Threatens this lone star state, but have no fear my fellow
Texans for our Dallas Cowboys will send them packing,
With a good old boy’s field goals smacking, so I’ll cheer
Them on, waving my hat in the evening air, yelling heehaw,
Go get hum boys!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
FOR LINDA THE DESTROYER
ROCK ON SISTER POET
Now this is quiet a famous little stream, many untold story
The muddy waters run slow, but don't let it fool you when it comes alive
Divides the United States and Mexico, but it is just a line
Old Cottonwood trees and quick sand, some cross it for glory
A history of out laws crossed it fleeing into Mexico, some did not survive
Maybe holding up a bank or stealing from a gold mine
Long yesterdays ago, Pancho Villa and his raiders came
They robbed and killed, then head back to their sanctuary
Some though him to be a hero, to the poor he was a giver
He was an out law, that is where he got his fame
Even today there are those that will argue to the contrary
After he did his damage, he always crossed that river
Those muddy waters have seen a lot and still active
It has been a battle ground, many old cowboy songs sung
But like history, the old river changes too
Sometimes history is not very attractive
Those cottonwoods have seen many horse and cow thieves hung
Back in those days that what they had to do
The tides of the old river have changed. smugglers bring drugs to this side
No longer six shooters, it is machine guns now days
No more cowboys and Indians, now cocaine desperado thugs
Anything goes there, no such thing as pride
And the old river once again has had to change it's ways
It is all because of damn old drugs
The stargazers got together
and spread a blanket out on the grass
of the lush and opulent lawn
Here, they all huddled together
astronomy addicted
they gazed as comets blazed
sad to see them fall
shooting stars
caught their eyes
but on the stars in the skies
constellation sewn
clustered or alone
The stars shone...
On these, they fixed their eyes
as they "oohed" and "ahhhed"
Celestially seduced- draw
It didn't matter
that some stars shone brighter
they all felt lighter
just being under star dusted canopy of night
This was their delight!
The starshooters were there
on an adjacent hill
they lost out on the thrill
grumbled and brewed
fumed and spewed
profanity at the lights
hanging high in the night
heaven's chandeliers
too bright they seemed
too dazzling and near
they were filled with fear
that the heavens would explode
so many stars...a heavy load
and so the star shooters
gathered their troopers
and aimed at the stars
Hoping to make them combust and fall
This would fill they with mirth
As stars collided with earth
Little did they know
stars couldn't be shot
Not by any old lot
They were meant to shine down
beauty and light
embellishing the night
with their wondrous light
a celestial delight!
The stargazers...now they
Well, what can I say?
They watched starworks at play
till night turned to day
and they then went on their way
Filled with delight,
What a sight!
Stargazer or starshooter
Tell me...
Which had it right?
Eileen Manassian
The term Starshooter is not my own. A super souper shared it with me the other day....I quite like it. Thanks!
Walk does he not the specter of death,
His saith raised high, even he himself has had
Enough killing, on the battlefield of Gettysburg,
Satan screams, stop sons of men, truly war
Is hell on earth.
Time's spiritual voices cry out, as the wind
Blows through the tall over grow grasses,
Of this Pennsylvanian State park.
Injured spirits, roam as phantom soldiers,
Seeking salvation's reprieves preservation,
From their damnation.
On the Devil's Den reddened rock, centuries
Still stand guard, knelling sharp shooters,
Fire at will, as the drummers beat, at rhythm’s
Death march.
Gun powers burnt smell fills the air,
As the loud canons echo in the distance,
Mayhem's discord has left destruction's
Bloodshed, these numbers estimation
Of flesh and bone, are guessed yet it's
Resolution unknown.
Blown are the horns of Calvary’s call,
Reinforcement’s sacred hesitating for aid,
But none come to it's deadening's sounding.
Mourn do the orphan's of war, in their fathers
Name, so they do weep in sorrow remembrance.
A war-ravaged companion, lead by freedom
Seekers, the end to release bondage’s salves,
Stain our great country with it's own blood.
Brother against brother, two flags of belief
Striking each other, north vs the south,
Behold it was the American Civil War.
A revolutionary uprising of idealism,
That all man have the right to be free,
And live without the chains of oppression.
It is in this haunted place, at cemetery ridge,
That the final battle lines are marked in
Bloods deadliest charge ahead.
Many souls still serve here, never shall
They know the light of peace.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
I sing praise to the home-maker,
forgotten hero of the world,
whose actions raise up good children,
whether they be a boy or girl.
Whose presence is there to guide us
in a world that can seem half-damned,
who invest more love into us
than a day-care aide even can.
Who have a vested interest in
seeing that we are brought up well,
their children being their life’s work,
the results of this you can tell:
Less instance of mental illness,
less nihilism and despair,
less major social dysfunction
knowing that someone will be there.
They also provide a model
to their children subconsciously,
showing them how to structure their
own futures homes and families.
They give a agree of value to
a child just starting in life,
to know they’re so important that
another will freely sacrifice.
They teach those kids to realize,
that in a world so harsh and tough,
their existence isn’t nothing,
they are truly worthy of love.
And I think it should be mentioned
what home-makers do for their spouse,
building the kind of refuge that
reality rarely allows.
Making it so the house is more
then a shelter you happen to own,
making a place for life to happen,
turning board and glass to a home.
So many homes now without,
and the results haven’t been great,
children are depressed and stressed out,
many marriages end in hate.
Millennials not having children,
they never were shown why they should,
too many drugs and school shooters,
wherever we’ve gone, it’s not good.
Using daycare, the latch and key,
too much emphasis on career,
tells our kids they’re second-fiddle,
would be easier if they weren’t here.
Throwing away the cornerstone
of any balanced child’s mind,
demonizing those who stay home
when in truth I think we would find
That all of us would do better
with more stay-at-home parenting,
we should pray for more home-makers,
on their shoulders rest near everything…
How can I fetch what's inside me?
It's a mental scream I can see,
They had poured fear through my mind's crease,
Tears swell deep ache, I grieve in peace.
There has been a real stage play,
Rumbling in the chasm and airway,
This caused the effect of the cease,
Tears swell deep ache, I grieve in peace.
Screaming voices drove me insane,
Shooters, killers, and guns again,
Frail life blights me on endless lease,
Tears swell deep ache, I grieve in peace.
We yield what we hear, but we hear,
In our blood, others' scars are clear,
We wipe tears but also decrease,
Tears swell deep ache, I grieve in peace.
My wounds are still bright in my mind,
Anguish since the long-term rewind,
Out of sight, cracked into pieces,
Tears swell deep ache, I grieve in peace.
We're together despite the waves,
Thrilled as tides rush us to the caves,
Earth seems to cast us a release,
Tears swell deep ache, I grieve in peace.
We plant hope as a human seed,
Love grows in the other being's deed,
These keen emotions can't surcease,
Tears swell deep ache, I grieve in peace.
What if rain wipes tears of sadness?
We'll free ourselves from the brashness,
Teases to shed tears of caprice?
Tears swell deep ache, I grieve in peace.
Whether you cry from pain or bliss,
It's not rain that makes that abyss,
Crying is nature, human peeps,
Tears swell deep ache, I grieve in peace.
My sorrow is couched in downpour,
Sobbing has not yet come down more,
I chafe drenched while I wait for cease,
Tears swell deep ache, I grieve in peace.
Behind my face, that beams a smile,
Long, twisty, and pitch-black road style,
Secret cries have been rife with geese,
Tears swell deep ache, I grieve in peace.
Checked by HMS.COM/ 8 syllables.com
1St place contest winner
Written: November 14, 2022
Pick-A-Title, Vol 33 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
What if you realize one day
You needed God’s help
And no matter how you tried
There was nothing to be felt
Sick on your bed and the
Doctor’s has given up hope
So with the little strength
Left in your hands you
Write someone a note
You said you look for God
And he were nowhere
To be found
At the point in your life you
Needed him he somehow
Let you down
Your children running wild
And there are bills to be paid
Drive by shooters, shoot
In your home, and now
You are afraid
So you feel like God has
Taken a vacation from all
The mess down here
Just the thought of God on
Vacation has arose
Your deepest fear
You call God with prayers
Only his answering machine
Picks up the slack
He said I’m on vacation
If you need anything it’ll
Wait till I get back
When God needed you
Just to spread the word
You refuse to do the job
Because you lost your nerves
He needed you to help your neighbor
And help the homeless out
You said I can’t give away my money
So you sat in a corner and pout
You thought you had it made
With your brilliant education
It’s not helping you now
Cause God’s on vacation
So what if God took a vacation
And left this world alone
Where would any of us be
When he return home?
This is how God feels when
He gives you a task
He wants the job done and
He wants it done fast
So when God give
You a plan to carry
To the nation;
And you refuse his orders
Then to him you’re on vacation
Back in the days, when men bold,
spun golden legends;
of exploits in the wild west;
of punch-in and herd-in cows
and saloon brawls where they’d shoot
and scores of bullets roared.
Stories of the Iron Horse’s roar
and gunfighters and marshals, bold;
Of gamblers, who’d go shooting
for the stars in cards; those were feats of legend.
Days when plains of cows,
fur-painted the landscape of, the old west.
These are the breed that won the west,
as across the plains, the Iron Horse roared.
those are the backs worn, herding cows;
the exploits of the brave and bold.
those brave and haggard legends
made of silver spurs and pearl-handled shooters.
You’re darn toot-in, shoot’in
like that, was what won the west.
While the Iron Horse died, its legend
lives on, belching out its roar,
across the plains, so bold.
Still, cowboys herd and rope their cows.
Modern day cowboys, herding cows
by truck and shootouts
no longer ring so boldly.
Wild no more, is the west,
where now, only cars and planes roar.
Yet, there still live the legends.
They aren’t as great, these new legends,
but it doesn’t phase the cows.
They calmly graze, amid the airplanes roar.
Though one may say, “shoot,
it’s spoiled now”, the legends live on, in the west,
of heroes brave and bold.
The west will always, have its legends, Though trains no longer roar.
Cowboys will always rope their cows, as they did in the old, wild west.
Upon museum walls, stories of the shootouts,
are told; of ancient heroes brave and bold.
10-8-2020
Impress me with an old poem (002)
Poet Destroyer A
Wild Horses
I want wild horses and my funeral bright
prancing in hooves shod in solid gold
Even wilder horses at my grave site
I beg this end when I get too damn old!
I want six-shooters there loud blasting
and cowboys wearing sharp toe boots
I never planned on this trip long lasting
always, great pride in my Southern roots!
There was a pretty senorita a'dancing
O' once she meant the world to me
I want to remember our deep romancing
like smooth waves on a shining sea!
Nights I spent drinking and fighting
STILL BRING A BIG SMILE TO ME
I SEE HER AGAIN, MOON JUST A'LIGHTING
that jet-black hair flowing so free!
Time has way of hurting and a'eroding
sending long cold shivers a'shaking
Pray I see her again just a'holding
apple pie for me she was a'baking!
I want wild horses and my funeral bright
prancing in hooves shod in solid gold
Even wilder horses at my grave site
I beg this end when I get too damn old!
R. J. Lindley
Date -ancient, maybe 69 or 70..
Note- OK, I made it(too damn old).. Now I want those horses a few more decades later- for life has given me both hope and love.
My death, A'waitin' on me, instead of me A'waitin' on it..
I only learned one thing in school
And that was how to fight
The teachers were always so good at it
And they were always right.
One teacher was nicknamed spitfire
Because she'd spit as she spoke
All the teachers wore mortar board hats
And wore long black cloaks.
Always late for lessons
Always got the cane.
School books hidden in your trousers never worked
You had to feel the pain.
One teachers face got so red when he got mad
We only had a riot in class nothing unusual
Didn't think we were that bad.
Our sports teacher used to whack us hard
When we forgot our P,E kir
And make us run through nettles
In bare feet the hurt more than a bit.
In science we always tried to make a bomb
And leave the gas taps on
We'd make pea shooters from biro pens
And when the teachers were facing the blackboard
We'd shoot at them then sit poker faced wasn't me Sir.
We'd hide around building corners
To gamble and smoke a crafty cigarette
Until one day a teacher came around suddenly
With a water jet.
One teacher had an affair with an other teacher
With a very pretty one with nice legs and blonde hair
I used to dream about
In my fantasies she was mine
It just wasn't fair.
I was convinced they were not human
But came from some other planet one day in spaceships
And not cars
Maybe they were from Mars.
We'd put condoms on door handles
Let the teachers tyres down on their car
Sneak into the girls changing room for an eye full
And steal their knickers and their bras
Sing rude words to songs at morning assembly
Throw stink bombs in the teachers lounge
Draw funny pictures in our books of our teachers with their trousers down.
Sometimes I'd be madly in love with a teacher or a girl pupil
And do nothing but day dream all day long
Skipping through fields of sunflowers hand in hand
Kissing like to clams under a tree all day long
Oh I was always in love with someone
And would often burst out in song.
I got good at forging homework diary signatures
Explaining why my homework wasn't done
It was always some far fetched story
Like I was chased by Atilla the Hun.
Ahh school days yes we were nothing more than savages
But the teachers were savages too
They should have changed the name school
To Human Zoo.
''I was a good boy I was''.
Peter Dome. Copyright.2015. June.
Shoes on the lawn
every single one
a reminder
of someone
no longer there
cause no one would dare
speak out or decry
yet tears haven't run dry
so there they are
a colorful panorama
it's not frivolous drama
this is real
Feel...
Each pair's a silent scream
of a parent's shattered dream
empty places
grief stricken faces
empty seats
No after school treats
empty beds
because of the empty heads
of politicians who are fed
blood stained money instead
shoes on the lawn
night goes down to dawn
a mother cries
another student dies
shooters shoot
emotionally unstable
undetected, they are able
mentally deranged
from society estranged
they roam in the land of the free
more guns is NOT the key
what about the stats
all those bloodied facts
other countries? not the same!
Here mass shooting's a game
BS is the name
to give to the excuses! What a shame!
A shame!
Look....See
Shoes on the lawn
Don't just stand there and yawn
put aside your pride
Think of all who have died
Look...see
The next pair of shoes
could belong to me
or to you
there's so much you can do
you know it is true
You can help stop the madness
and help heal the sadness
Oh...how my heart aches to see...
those shoes...
those multicolored empty shoes
scattered on the lawn...
Eileen Manassian
My husband is a shooter,
Which isn't always fun,
As every weekend
He's out somewhere with his gun.
So quality time together
Can sometimes be quite sparse,
"But I have to have a hobby."
He tells me with a laugh.
Our daughters getting married
To a super guy called Tom,
Has he any faults?
I've discovered just the one.
He also is a shooter,
His hobby is the same,
He can't wait to get out
And with his gun take aim.
So this week we decided
To be a shooters WAG
And go along with them,
Maybe hold their bag.
So Lu and I rose early,
Up at the crack of dawn,
To go and watch them shoot
On this early Sunday morn.
It was then that we discovered,
She's marrying her Dad!
Just a fairer version,
Oh dear could this be bad?
They speak the same language,
Of floppy stuff and rabbits,
They have the same mannerisms,
The very same habits.
They pull out their guns
From gun sleeves in time.
Pick up their bags together
And up the hill they climb.
They put on identical glasses,
Taken from identical tins,
From behind they could be,
The dark and fair haired twins.
They stand and measure clays,
Arms up in the air,
Give each other
The very same stare.
Their heads move in unison
As they watch the others shoot,
They both rest their guns
Upon their right boot.
They congratulate each other
On a job well done,
Share a bit of banter,
Have a lot of fun.
Discuss with other shooters
The angle of the clay,
"What is your score card
Looking like today?"
So my darling daughter
Your weekends could be a bore.
When he gets back home again
He'll sit and analyse the score.
We'll have to get a hobby
That is just for us two,
'Cause Dad and Tom jointly
Will stick together like glue!
Oh, it was a dark November evening,
that the innocent lay dead and dying,
some taken hostage.
Enjoying the evening so unaware,
of brain-washed terrorist who had no care,
for deathly carnage.
Forever in prayers and memory,
at Bataclan shooters had no mercy,
even at cafe's.
Suicide bombers at the Stade de France,
the city of Paris is in a trance,
and survivors pray.
_____________________
November 23, 2015
Rime Couee - Tail Rhyme
For the contest, Rime Couee- Tail Rhyme Verse - For France,
Sponsor, Debbie Guzzi
Fourth Place
We seem to be losing that loving feeling
As we sit side by side at computers
I'm engrossed in my P-Soup and writing
And Cathie plays games with shooters
We're losing the knack of intelligent repartee
Don't connect as much anymore
We just look things up, do a search on Google
Everything is there, that's for sure
We definitely need to get back to yesterday
When rapport was the name of the game
We're losing touch with our friends and loved ones
This technological age is to blame
Certainly it'll never go back to the way it was
It's called progress, I call it sad
That our closest friend is now our computer
Real people are no longer our fad
© Jack Ellison 2013