Best Shotgun Poems
They promised to never leave each other, never say goodbye,
Even when their hands parted, and they went their ways.
He never knew until it was too late, it was too late to say farewell,
He would simply have to cope with the empty home, the lonely days.
Drinking away his time, there was nothing more to do without her,
That's what he thought as he smashed the bottle onto the floor.
The guns and knives smiled, they looked awful friendly as he cried.
Screaming until he could no longer say a word, he couldn't take much more.
Thinking it over and over, he didn't know what to do anymore as the worries
Piled on top of him, the liquor was costing him too much, it pushed him to poor.
But those worries melted away as cold metal poked at his heart,
And his heart was painted a deep crimson as he cried and fell to the floor.
His little girl found him later, giggling when he thought it was a joke, he was sleeping,
But little did she know it wasn't the case, she wouldn't hear a lullaby.
The sweetie blamed herself, she looked so much like her mother, it was heartbreaking,
Pain and sorrow wrapping and choking her heart as she tried her best not to cry.
They were both together now, but the little girl was so sad, placed in home to home,
She could only cry herself to sleep as she tried to hold onto her pain.
Depression took hold of her mind as she slowly withered away like a flower,
But a beautiful flower like her parents, she was strong to stay sane.
They were together again, the little girl laughed as she ran through an endless field,
Collecting flowers and running back to her parents, who smiled wide and followed.
They were happy together,
And would stay that way forever.
I rode shotgun
with someone
who look just like me
Had the same skin color
as far as I
could steering wheel see
I rode shotgun
with a racist someone,
who hatefully
talked the same way as me
Had the same gnarled speech,
same gnarly hands,
same ugly voice,
same cursive feet
like the carpal in the passenger seat
I rode darkie mind shotgun
with a ghost face someone
who look unholy, just like me
Had the same 20/20 side-by-sidearm vision,
same 20/20 gauge belief
As near as I
could peer passenger see
I once rode shotgun
with a rearview mirror friend,
now a gas pump-action enemy
It’s hard to double barrel conceive,
I went from zero-to-sixty in a heartbeat
Change of attitude direction
came baptismal trigger swiftly
I was passenger told ... and I prayer hope,
distant objects are closer
than they appear to be
We would go to the forgotten towns of west Texas
Places that we couldn’t name and hunt for their souls
Sometime it was on the roadside a place they had been abandoned
Sometimes in and old house broken and forgotten
She’d stand there in her boots and ragged old skirt and start to sing
A lonesome strain of an old cowboy song
And they would come to her and as they did we would lay them down beside her
Put them to rest one final time.
Jack would play the fiddle and me the tambourine
Scrappy would join in on the guitar and we’d work the place until we had all those lost spirits
Standing in the corners or sitting in the shadows
They came to us waiting for a final place to rest.
Some where girls an others young caballeros
Who’d lost their way in a crash to their final destination
She’d sing “My Rifle, My Pony and Me” and they would enter her soul
Annie would take as many as she could and then we would have to leave
She would collapse on the ground and we would carry her to the car
And drive far into the desert close to the borderline
We would start a fire and begin to sing and play once again
And the spirits would leave her one by one some painfully some like flowing water
Then we would head to the nearest town and buy some tequila
and drink until dawn…
We did this for years until Annie couldn’t stand it any longer
One day she said she lost her taste for the dead and she never sang again
I can still hear her voice down by the river
Flowing across the rocks and down along the bottoms
And I wonder where she ended up for I lost her in El Paso
Never once she said and twice would be forever….
So now I sing those songs hoping to remember that lonesome sound
That woke the dead and brought them to our souls
Sometimes it seems like yesterday but I know it is a lifetime from this place
Pa held shotgun to his head
"Marry her son or you're dead"
"It wasn't me" the lad pled
"Yes it was" she said
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 2 in John Freeman's " Love or Humor" Contest - January 2011
When I was a kid, in the family car
We all knew where to sit;
If the order ever wavered,
Someone’d likely have a fit.
But today I heard of something new
Which tells me things have changed;
If someone hollers, “Shotgun!”
Well, the seats get rearranged.
The “Shotgun!” yeller sits up front,
Right by the driver’s side,
A better view, perhaps, and thus
A more prestigious ride.
I wonder how that’s working out
For I can clearly see
The problems this might cause within
The average family.
Had this been in existence when
My sibs and I were judging,
We would have yelled our heads off
But my mom would not be budging!
Bang...Bang...
Not the gun
sounds of hearts
engaged in battle
not having fun
Shells litter the ground
love is a hidden treasure
packed with ammunition
better off not found
Love is war
relationship gunfight
loaded with fools
smoking barrels
blinded eyesight
Love is never done
Love bleeds loud
Love will run
Love will kill
Love is a shotgun
I got worries on my mind,
And the blues weigh down my soul,
I got worries on my mind,
And the blues weigh down my soul,
Gonna chase those blues away,
Try to make myself feel whole.
Gonna forget my troubles
And hold my head high
Shrug off my demons,
The Lord knows that I’ll try,
The blues is heavy,
And it’s weighing down my soul,
I'm gonna count all my blessings,
‘Til they overflow my bowl.
I got my friends,
I know love without end,
My babe, he stands by me,
And on that I depend,
The blues is heavy,
And it’s weighing down my soul,
But when life feels harder,
I know I’m still in control.
Well I tried lightnin' up
When the blues pulls me down
Tried lightning up
When the blues pulls me down
It’s hard to feel blue,
When good things are all around!
Speeding down the highway
I lament my life so far
and meanwhile Death is gleeful,
riding shotgun in my car.
So I crank up the volume,
speakers thrumming bass guitar,
but Death just seems to dig it,
riding shotgun in my car.
One child is an addict
and the other lives too far,
as Death adjusts the seat-back,
riding shotgun in my car.
My husband's soul is breaking
while his son's a big rock star,
and now Death is laughing,
riding shotgun in my car.
As I mourn my unborn grand-kids
his smile becomes bizarre,
for this is Death beside me,
riding shotgun in my car.
Crashing at 190 sure would
leave a massive scar,
and meanwhile death is grinning,
riding shotgun in my car.
©Danielle White
(This is a fictional poem)
I stand here with a shotgun pointed at my head.
If I don't marry this man's daughter, I'm as good as dead.
His daughter is pregnant and somehow he thinks I'm the dad.
I've tried to tell him that I'm not but he won't listen because he's so mad.
He's just itching to pull the trigger because he's really pissed.
I have no choice but to say I do but later I'll get out of this.
When he goes to sleep tonight, I'm going to hotwire his car.
I'm going to drive to the nearest police station and have him put behind bars.
A loaded pistol,
With youthful courage till yesteryear;
Now lies naked and dormant,
And Is found to be lifeless and dead.
Somewhere, buried in my Junkyard,
Playfully tested till now in all arms to shame;
As it shyly, blushes and whispers to admit,
Murmuring its helplessness into my ears.
Ooh! My Childhood friend,
It feels like an impotent;
To be so bullet-less today.
My Golden days have all ended,
Life has become so ignorant now;
As I've become so bullet-less today.
As the pendulum constantly oscillates,
Time has traded fast on twenty wheels;
Looking for some good fortune in distant lands.
And a store-room in my backyard,
Has always remained the same;
And is still kept unchanged.
But never was any eye caught,
Not even mine;
To drool upon the nozzle of that Gun;
Like the way I used to do,
Used to lovingly do before.
Strolling down my kindergarten alley,
When a Gun was gifted on a bright Christmas morning;
It used to amaze me in my childhood days,
As I so excitedly unwrapped and got it out;
From the mysterious and magical White socks,
Which was hung on my bed; Hung all night,
Waiting for a snowy white beard old man;
A laughing sage in an exception;
Who lived on the mystical hill-side view,
Of my Steel city.
Today, after so many years,
A long craved sight fell upon it;
And it instantly drove me back,
To flash my childhood nostalgic days.
When infant Army camps used to settle,
To battle in the air for all day long;
Under the densely old,
Never claimed tree by anybody - 'Our Mango Tree'.
Ooh! How then this pistol fakingly killed,
So many nappie buddies of mine.
Who played and just acted,
To be dead as my enemies.
Ooh..! How strangely it feels like,
A game of now.
When today the lil' me gazing at any topic,
Sitting in my backyard;
Stumbled and pondered to find,
An old vintage Shot-gun of mine.
So curiously digging the wearily torn school bag,
Hanging since ages on the dampened wall.
Ooh..! So clueless, I fumbled upon,
An old vintage Shotgun of mine.
Dumped and buried under thousand other,
Essential antique toys of mine;
Which notoriously has got rotten in rust.
In closed walls of adolescence,
Where white parchments seeps overall;
From moist doors of yesterday,
Ooh..! How strangely it still feels like today.
we’re ready are you
wonder if it’s mine at all
do you take ~ i guess
The addict rests in the darkness
Comfortable in his skin
Knowing
Does not doubt his actions
Moves forward swiftly
Alone
Bottle and stash by his side
Chaos as his neighbour
Top down
Cruising
Upon awakening its us
Who needs to pick
ourselves up
wonder
where we have been
Where's the money I had
Who's that lying in my bed
With shame as our witness
Our mouths stinking of cigarettes
Our clothes stained from whatever
it was that happened last night
Or maybe we never left
the house at all
awaking once again to the
pain in our heads
the pain in our hearts
And in that moment we choose
Us or addict
Who will rule that day
Alone, alone she wants us
To terrify us with her stories
To playback the defeats and indiscretions
setting her trap
Coming together in all ways
Whether it is in this room or the next
Saying what there is to say
Opening our ears
Opening our hearts
Lessens his grip
Today I rise after stumbling
and scraping my knees
From there I thanked God for
my opportunity to rise
From there I shift the focus
from my torment to my opportunity
From my pain to my gratitude
I place one foot in front of the other
Open my heart to healing
Giving God the wheel
Gordon Martin Feb 4, 2017
Miss Wild
With child
Not wed
To Ted
Dad mad
You cad!
Loads gun
Says, son
Wed her
You cur
If not
Buckshot
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
Who cares if unwanted children
Abound all over this earth?
Someone else can feed them
Until they have proven their worth!
Of course we shall disgrace them
Until they learn their place
Somewhat less than human and
Completely devoid of Grace!
Pro-lifers must believe their God
Is an old, incompetent fool
Who simply can't remember
What they learned in Sunday School.
Freedom of Choice is an issue
Pro-lifers will never forgive
They MUST have the right to dictate
Exactly how others must live!
Daddy got the shotgun
Daddy got the shotgun
Made it make the noise
chick chunk
Daddy pulled the trigger
Daddy pulled the trigger
goodbye....