Best Stampedes Poems
Great Spirit whispers on breathing breeze; 'It is time',
puce plume in saffron noon signals hunt's aborning,
ThunderBeasts' harrowing hooves erupt Great Plains grime,
soon will ail, widow's wail like a wild dove's mourning...
Ancient wisdom, ebony eyes, high cheekbones wide,
buffalo, he knows, mystical foes who fight back,
astride, he rides his Spanish horse with native pride,
his soul cleared, spiritual prayers 'fore the attack.
Timeworn trails, bison beaten by shaggy stampedes,
hunting grounds feared and revered, tribesmen o'er the brae,
power potent, cloven cloud, hastened heart proceeds,
ambush laid, panicked herd, embrace the bloody fray.
Casualty's chance, horseback dance, drum lethal hoof beats,
thunderous trample of ample prairie crocus,
Sioux and beasts' sacred throes, their crimson flows 'neath feet,
death has a way of bringing life into focus.
Susan Ashley
October, 24,2017
~ Third Place ~
Contest: Tribute To Native Culture
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
Let true love find me to be the ever fixed mark of constant gaze
The spectacle of her thrilling eyes, and she to me the dearest prize
A coral when the heart stampedes, or fickle fancy frivolous strays
For love must be a leash of common trust, the pole beyond the skies
So shall we not shiver when seasons change the wind and mist comes
A dark impenetrable fog before the yes, a marsh around the mind
For we by love is added as one, most accurate of all majestic sums
Trust must be the key to vision when love alone stumbles here blind
No arc of sight away in flight, bending ever to a proud inconstant sun
But holding hands we chart our course, finishing better than we begun
For all nature shall around us spin fresh vortexes of an ancient desire
But trust shall preserve us body, soul and skin only for our own fire.
What else shall by our light be drawn, like quivering moths must retire
Into the dust and cinders gasping at our feet, hope their fractured glass
Let true love be constant in this faith, for God's peace cannot expire
Through every storm his ways do hold, so upon him all anchors cast
So what then this buzzing, this jealous sound, is it of frail frying wings
Does some flame the fragile heart deceives, or nestless memory stings
Ah, sentinel not the virgin beauty of my sheets, my fortressed pride
This castle is built of stronger walls, the drawbridge is up, I'm alone inside
They ragged armies may their runted horses rattle until they neigh
Pure hubris, the harried hustlings, trust is a wall faithful and secure
To smooth for any tool to clasp, all tempted grasp will only slide away
And these walls have moats without and within, none crossed before
You alone have I shown where to swim, and how to unlock this gate
To you my center constant holds, only one holy grail keeps my faith
See not my stern behind my bow, point to the haven of your arms
See not my flags fly for you alone, your port the weather ever charms
It's firm the mast that keeps my sail, look from your castle, I come
O sweet the winds that drive me to your shore, what constant tide!
You the true Polaris of my compass stone, my fiddles and my drum
Love not all alone that carries me, but trust that steers me to your side.
The Empty Space Between the Stars 10-24-24 Inspired by Aurora Borealis by Frederic Edwin Church
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Empty Space Between the Stars
Aurora dances in empty space
Breathing legacies of star dust -
Charging solar bubbles of atoms
Seek reunion
With blasted bits of spangled astral Edens.
Spirits of abandoned ancestors
Twirl
Spiraling hydrogen kaleidoscopes
Cloaked in legend,
Between celestial glories, storming matter plasmas
Seek reunion with voyagers.
Emptiness absolved from desolation
In scarlet phantoms electrified
In stampedes of crimson rose
Wearing neon cloaks
Chartreuse winks at Orion
Launched into the space between…
Chorus:
There sits Mama old and gray,
Rocking, rocking night and day,
Her life was always full and gay,
Till that day, Pa went away.
Narration:
Time was when she was so young,
Raven haired and full of fun,
Many a beau would come to call,
But her heart she gave to Pa.
She would flirt and tease them all,
Wear her shoes out at a ball,
Pa just stood there with a grin,
Some how he knew, she'd marry him.
Their life began on a bright sunny day,
In a little church in I-o-way,
They packed their things, joined a wagon train,
And headed west to the open plain.
They didn't have much, like most folks then,
A change of clothes and a couple ol' hens,
Some pots and pans and a hog or two,
And Pa's big stallion called Ol' Blue.
Ma road the wagon and helped Mrs. Green,
Pa helped Fred with the cattle and things,
When evening came and chores were through,
Ma'd help Pa brush down Ol' Blue.
They couldn't travel very fast,
But Pa and Ma made each day last,
Every minute of every day,
Seemed a treasure to store away.
They went through snow, rain and sand,
Until they reached, Dakota Land,
Some how in their hearts they knew,
Here at last, their journey was through.
They took the land the law allowed,
Built a sod house and small corral,
And as their family grew and grew,
More land, was added too.
It was a struggle, you can bet,
To raise a family on just plain sweat,
When evening came and supper et,
From the Bible Papa read.
Through Indian raids and summer drought,
When Prairie fires burned them out,
Buffalo stampedes and winter's freeze,
Pa and Ma'd be on their knees.
They taught us the laws of God and man,
No finer couple, in the land,
They were always there at beckon call,
To take our hand lest we should fall.
No matter what hardships or trails they knew,
Together, they did see them through,
And for 68 years this proved true,
As their home on the prairie, grew and grew.
It breaks my heart to see Mama there,
Sitting in her rocking chair,
She's just waiting till the angels call,
To take her home to be with Pa.
Chorus:
Cile Beer
written l975
When cowboys sprawl 'round the camp fire after the days work is done,
They strum guitars and tootle harmonicas and sing to have fun.
Real cowboys don't sing Honky-Tonk or She Done Me Wrong stuff.
They leave that to rhinestone cowboys, considerin' it to be so much fluff!
Real wranglers sing about ropin' dogies and fixin' barbed wire fences,
Roundups, brandin' time and the magnificence of God's grand expanses.
They sing of home on the range, rodeos and dinin' on bacon and beans,
Cattle stampedes on stormy nights, the old corral and dance hall queens.
They harmonize about ghost riders in the sky who've met their fates,
Tumblin' tumbleweeds, cool water, tin cups and eatin' from tin plates.
They sing about bein' back in the saddle again and the streets of Laredo,
And belt out songs about horses named Old Paint, Ol' Dan and Tornado.
They yodel the cattle call and sing about when the bloom's on the sages,
And croon about their yellow rose of Texas and their pitiful wages.
Real buckaroos sing about Christmas in the bunk house and rye whiskey,
Cattle drives on the Lone Star and Abilene trails and a life so very risky.
They sing of the grumpy foreman and when the works all done this fall,
And tweedle about ragtime cowboy Joe and many a barroom brawl.
Real cowboys sing about ridin' the range, the chaparral and dusty trail,
And leave Hank Snow to warble about lost love, honky-tonks and landin' in jail!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
Hank had cowboyed and rodeoed fer nigh on forty years,
Ridin' in sleet, rain and snow a-herdin' cantankerous steers.
His hide was tough as leather and his legs was slightly bowed,
But brandin' dogies and fixin' fences was all he ever knowed!
His gut was made of iron from a diet of taters, beans and bacon.
Many times he was throwed from his hoss but his will remained unshaken.
He'd been bit by rattlesnakes and scarred from many barroom brawls,
And kicked by many a skittish bronc while muckin' out their stalls!
When tryin' to halt stampedes, Hank was often gravely gored,
And was hoarse from yellin' and cussin' at that riotous horde.
When shoein' hosses they often left an imprint on his chest,
Where flyin' hoofs landed leavin' him angry and depressed!
He didn't git rich and couldn't hoard money fer a rainy day;
Not much chance of accumulatin' such on a cowpokes meager pay.
His bed was usually 'neath the stars with his saddle fer a pillow,
Sharin' space with his old dog Spike and an occasional armadillo!
One day he up and told the boss, "I've had my fill of a cowboy's life.
I'm a-quittin' as of now. My old bones is weary from all this strife.
I'm saddle sore and tired of bunkhouse livin' and all yer stingin' slurs.
You kin take this job and shove it 'cause I'm a-hangin' up my spurs!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
Hank had cowboyed on the Triple T Ranch fer nigh on fifty years.
He'd rode the range herdin' beef peerin' betwixt his hoss's ears.
Durin' cattle stampedes he'd broke bones and many a time was throwed,
And he'd been astraddle his saddle so long that his legs was stiffly bowed!
He loved the cowpokin' life but he didn't become rich by any means.
He'd even come to savor Cooky's usual grub of bacon, taters and beans.
Durin' brandin' time he roped and branded many a steer's scruffy hide.
He was a master with the brandin' arn and he wielded it with skillful pride!
He liked lollin' 'round the campfire a-jawin' with pards beneath the stars,
Sippin' java that smelled like old socks, smokin' roll-yer-owns and ceegars.
He pulled many a nighttime guard duty in sleet, snow and peltin' rain,
Blowin' on his harmonica to calm skittish herds which was quite a strain!
He'll miss huddlin' 'round the bunkhouse stove as storms blew driftin' snow,
While he and his pals listened to Tex sawin' away with his fiddle and bow.
Hank hung up his scruffy boots, tattered chaps and sweat-stained hat.
He'd already given away his well-worn saddle and his 44 caliber gat.
This was Hank's last roundup herdin' cattle to Abilene up the dusty trail,
Cussin' and sweatin' to get 'em loaded up to ship on the Chicago rail.
He stopped by fer a few snorts with the boys at the Long Branch cabaret,
Then cantered off into the sunset on Old Dan his trusty hoss, callin' it a day!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
The grass was always tall and green,
Every day seemed like a dream.
In the tenderness of youth,
All of life rang with the truth.
Oh, the wind blew just for me,
When I ran so wild and free;
Cooled the sweat upon my brow.
It all comes back to me somehow.
Treasures of my yesterday,
Pick me up, take me away.
Memories etched deep in sand.
Destiney reached out it's hand,
As the fire in me grew;
Where it led, God only knew.
Pictures drawn and framed today,
Take me back to yesterday.
The times were so much different then.
I thought that it would never end.
Blood ran red hot in youthful veins.
I kicked at life and held the reins.
Charged hard in stampedes every day,
That led me further on my way;
Where storms were met with confidence.
I saddled up the turbulence,
And rode upon the strongest gale.
Now youth is gone and I just sail,
Life's quiet waters peacefully.
The wind is calm... I'm truly free.
Storm clouds build and advance,
as thunder stampedes the air.
Reverberations caress my bones,
as I bow my head in prayer.
As I raise my face to rain,
that falls as tears on hallowed ground.
My eyes behold proud Totem poles,
touching sky and yet earth bound.
Their carved reverence, I can feel,
as they stand amid fierce winds.
Along side cold stones that offer names,
life stories these Totems lend.
A celebration of life in wood,
these sentinels against dark skies.
I stand within the storm in awe,
of their beauty, where death resides.
Paula Swanson
8/12/2011
For the contest Totems In The Darkening Sky
Sponsored by Francine Roberts
Placement: 3rd
STAMPEDES 'round the screen,
STAMPEDES 'round the kids, T
H
E
Scritch scratch 'round N
! Their match. Everybody E
i Aims to catch W
! Mom's batch of little gamers.
P ! P
E ! E
D ! D
END 'EM ALL Leave alone A
STAMPEDES! our video kids! G
O
G
I
S
T
S
Within ageless canyons we hold our breath.
Ash clouds engulf us, survival or death?
Santana stampedes, pariah unchained.
‘Tis Dante’s hellhound of Hades renamed!
Chased from our homes and all else that we own,
Panicked we flee, to a refuge unknown.
Behind us a past we can never forget
The clear hills of May, June’s swallows…regret.
Sparked up by nature, mishap or misdeed
Transmission line wires sing songs we must heed.
Flora in peril. Restore what is left!
Redeem our planet for which we’ve been blest.
Wildfires delivering whirlwinds of flame.
Let’s pledge to assure renewal sustained.
Hank lounged on his porch watchin' the sun slowly sinkin' in the west.
He'd cowboyed for nigh on sixty years and figgered he'd done his best.
Hank and his faithful hoss Old Dan was now enjoyin' their leisure years,
And he had time to recall his ranchin' days while tossin' back some beers!
He was so bow-legged from ridin' saddle he looked like a pair of pliers!
His hands was stained and gnarled from roll-yer-owns and mendin' wires.
He'd hung up his spurs, chaps and well-worn saddle without regret,
But he wore his scruffy boots, leather vest, jeans and sombrero yet.
He shuddered recalling stormy nights that spooked the wild-eyed steers,
Causin' hell-raisin' stampedes that endangered him and his peers.
He remembered more peaceful times ridin' herd with cattle happily grazin',
And a time or two chasin' cussed' rustlers with his .44 guns a-blazin'!
He swore he'd never eat another bean, tater or bacon in his life,
Since that's all Cooky knowed how to fix, a subject of constant strife!
He recalled how he stammered when meetin' ladies in many a saloon,
Which left him pawin' the floor with his pointy boots, feelin' like a goon!
Hank remembered cattle drives and in Abilene drawin' his meager pay,
Spendin' it on rot-gut whiskey and schemin' wimmin, blowin' it all away.
Hank peered into the distance and gazed at a lone pine tree in the vale,
Thinkin', "I want to be planted there when I've reached the end of the trail!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
Needles tattoo scarlet flames across my face.
Eyes fix hypnotic on the matador's cape.
Frenzied herd stampedes throughout my chest,
bearing down on a cliff, with no concern.
The dam of reason bursts with mounting pressure
as a river of vengeful thoughts floods my mind;
the sound of roaring rapids echoing in my ears.
My body, a willing host for hate filled demons.
My soul, black with the suet of smoldering anger.
10/29/15
Contest: Dancing with description
Sponsor: Casarah Nance
Climb inside and buckle in
Anxiously twisting the key
As a mechanical symphony roars to life
Setting nine hundred horses free
The machine becomes an extension
Of my own flesh and bone
My heart beats in choppy rhythm
While eight cylinders scream in tone
Launch sequence initiated
The green bulb’s affirmative glare
Release one button as I depress another
The front tires suspend in mid air
The mechanical cavalry stampedes
While the pipes cry out their siren song
Defiantly embedding rubber into asphalt
Parallel stripes running dark and long
Every gear change seemingly effortless
Acceleration that flattens your chest
Control of the beast seems impossible
While every sense is put to the test
Heads swivel and jaws drop open
The earth quakes as I roll past
Vanishing into the darkness
Redefining the meaning of “fast”
For I have stared fear in the face
While others stood back and leered
I stomped my right foot in defiance
And clicked down to a lower gear
This - the Divine Unity
Of Man and his Machine
In water we may be baptised
But in horsepower we are redeemed
Wildfires of fall bring us whirlwinds of flame.
Black-scape throughout, life’s survival or death?
Spring blooms of dogwood. Renewal sustained.
Santana stampedes, she’s wicked, untamed,
through canyons of ages. We hold our breath.
Wildfires of fall bring us whirlwinds of flame.
Now Dante’s hellhound of Hades renamed!
Desiccation abounds where there were fresh
spring blooms of dogwood. Renewal sustained.
What brought this on us, is someone to blame?
Nature or mishap? A crazed soul's arrest?
Wildfires of fall bring us whirlwinds of flame.
Now charred, disfigured but memory maintains
the clear hills of May, June sparrows, content.
Spring blooms of dogwood, renewal sustained.
Flora in peril, all creatures the same!
Twixt ashes or mudslides? These losses attest!
Wildfires of fall bring us whirlwinds of flame.
Spring blooms of dogwood, renewal sustained.