Best Spittoons Poems
'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.
Marshal Matson, with duty to outlaw arrest,
Versus Slade, risking life in the ultimate test.
At a distance the townspeople gathered to see
The historical challenge that thrilling should be.
Two tall figures unconquered and stoic and brave,
With the loser interred in a premature grave.
Foes whose shadowy faces beneath Stetson brim
Wore expressions determined, ferocious, and grim.
Hands were poised over holsters attached to their thighs,
Jaws were set, hands were steady, and angry were eyes.
Doomed to sprawl in the dust would be gunslinger slain,
While the victor would toasted and honored remain.
Marking one more rash braggart whose lifetime is done
Would be notch newly carved in his pearl-handled gun.
No one knows who drew first for the blur was too fast.
Barrels blazed in a loud, simultaneous blast.
Then a second and third and again and again
Until chambers were empty, but still stood two men.
Errant bullets great havoc had caused all around.
Precious water was gushing from tower through holes.
An unfortunate, low-flying buzzard was downed,
Signs were dangling from hinges, and riddled were poles.
From the crowd that was watching arose a great roar,
But of laughter, not cheering as always before.
The combatants, embarrassed and hanging their heads,
Scurried back to concealment in brothel room beds.
All night long drunken witnesses filled the saloons
To guffaw, raise a rumpus, and target spittoons.
While on opposite ends of the town slinked away
Into darkness two shadows disgraced on that day.
So astoundingly awful and wayward was aim
That the pair's reputations were never the same.
Butts of jokes the names Matson and Slade have since been.
Still remembered for showdown that neither could win.
Categories:
spittoons, adventure, history, humor, parody,
Form:
Quatrain
If you draw your sword so sharp
To skewer me on a night so dark
Stop and ponder what might befall
If my words you chance to spall
A bouquet of thorns, for you I’ll sow it
Take warning fair, beware the poet
I’ll drag your hair out from your crown
Set it aflame to render down
Flesh from bones and skull and pate
Your dome will be my dinner plate
If for your body you care or fret
Take warning fair, beware the poet
I’ll fry your kidney, spleen and lung
Then garnish it with nose and tongue
Your innards I will with pestle pound
And feed them to my trusty hound
Who’ll lap them up with zeal I bet
Take warning fair, beware the poet
I’ll carve your shin bone to a spoon
You’re ears will become two spittoons
Fine shredded cheeks and coarse sliced eyes
Can become lip smacking pies
Each digit will make a fine brochette
Take warning fair, beware the poet
I know ‘twill be a fantastic feast
For family and friends, ten at least
We’ll toast stupidity with your blood
And finish up with sweet, heart pud
It’s no false threat that I emote
Take warning fair, beware the poet
Categories:
spittoons,
Form:
If it’s possible to close my eyes
Then by clicking my heels
I could go back in time anywhere
The Wild West, that’s my deal
Back in time to the gun slinging days
A big iron on my hip
The beer so cheap it’s almost free
A nickel’s a big tip
I want to ride a horse named Sugar
Meet old Buffalo Bill
Walk the streets with Wyatt Earp
Stroll around on Boot Hill
I want to be at OK corral
When the shooting begins
Just be there as part of the crowd
See if the Earp’s will win
I want to belly up to the bar
Put my boot on the rail
Spit into one of brass spittoons
Ask the bar keep for ale
Just experience the Wild West life
Not sure what lies ahead
But when I wake up, I hope to be
Nice and safe in my bed
"Close your eyes and click your heels" Contest
Charles Sides
Categories:
spittoons, cowboy-western, time,
Form:
Quatrain
Ah Vegas
You call me now
In ways no longer reserved
For asylum jingles or perverse tours of duty
Those missions have been won
Decorated in myth
Perpetuated by views and cues
As wartorn players revel
In memories
Gaunt from melted time
Quantum distance
And duty laden with mirth-like urgency
Oh Vegas
You're still my girl
Always fond of freedom's sweets
You lavishly pour my way
I still promenade with the throngs
The cousins you deliver upon arrival
All in tandem, synced in mood
Joy tendered from precious metals
Imported by the river's greedy decree
Flowing in by buckets
Trickling out by accidental drops
Leaked from diseased spittoons
I watch this
Through eyes singed by hemlock's past
Through windows sealed by labor's virtue
Balance, I conclude
Has been achieved
As past wickedness
Forced hands
Grips firmly in rhythm
The beat remains yet modulates
To soulful prancing and mitigated madness
Since these glowing tapestries
These ardent vats adorned
By Satan's grotto
No longer sting of zest and legend
Which endure through
Dust, illusion and amplified pride
Meant to inspire the next of kin
The bonus babies
Destined to sketch
The next chapters of glee gone awry.
(6/16/08)
Categories:
spittoons, celebration, crazy, desire, evil,
Form:
Free verse
ON SPIRITS, SAINTS AND SPITTOONS
If you want to love me but find yourself unable
If that is buried deep within you about me
First of all don’t put a setting for me at the table
And for Christ’s sake, just take back the key
This whole palace is your’s and your’s alone
Bedrooms with pink sheets wAND a comforter to match
And when I’m gone and you know it’s me don’t pick up the phone
Lock the windows, lock the door, and double check the latch
I see love in your eyes but surrender in your voice
It seems you’ve succumbed to a wish you hold in your heart
I must admit, knowing myself as I do you are given very little choice
Just make certain to do all the things you need to do whenever I depart
I’m a spirit of spittoons and a Saint of outhouses and such
While you’ve two cars, one you don’t drive, and are oh so very rich
I remember the first time you said ‘I need your gentle touch’
But now I can opine that you’re father’s a coward because he takes bulls**t from your
mother, the bi**h
© 2011.….Phreepoetree ~free cee!~
Categories:
spittoons, angstme, love, me,
Form:
Quintain (English)
A bullseye again!
Can't miss.
Have practiced since I was ten.
Contrary to what people may say,
I have a talent.
And plan to keep it that way.
The Olympics are coming up,
My gold in spitting is coming up fast.
Momma says, "That can't be right.
No such sport as spitting!
I want you to stop tonight."
But I know it's true.
Otherwise, what else will the spitters do?
They are all in training too.
I've seen them as I pass through.
Cups held out to spit in.
Rolled down windows,
Spit in the wind.
Now it's my turn,
I can hit birds in flight!
Momma says, "You'll get over this.
Spitting is gross!
No one will have you as a host!"
Poppa says that spitting has a history.
Brass spittoons in every store!
Poppa says, "Come spit with me.
I bet you can even hit the top of that tree!"
I needed to practice every day.
Now I have a sport that even Poppa can play!
Categories:
spittoons, 3rd grade, 4th grade,
Form:
Rhyme
the door swings open
many personalities
this kitchen i'm in
gunfighters spittoons
the prepped dolls all buttered up
frigid air humming
Categories:
spittoons, poetry,
Form:
Haiku