Best Steers Poems
Line of inquiry:
“looking back, I’m ashamed of what I was
I’m different now, though not without flaws
Each crest becomes a trough, as we move on
God slowly steers soul towards a new dawn” - Unseeking Seeker
My future self is a river running.
Time with no end is the course I run.
Things I learned from youth have either
been tossed ashore or absorbed
within my deep waters.
Storms I have endured.
Somewhere in the
middle of
my long
life
I
began
to transform.
I grew deeper
and deeper from all
my experiences.
I am flowing closer now
to the ocean of my rebirth
where I will merge with all God’s rivers
in the bright dawn of his abiding love.
"I've rode the range now fer nigh on sixty years,
Brandin' dogies and ropin' them wily Hereford steers.
When I come to the end of the trail, I don't want no big scenes.
Boys, jes' wrap me in my hoss's blanket and bury me in my jeans!"
"I don't want you fellers carryin' on and bellerin' when I'm gone.
Jes' say a few kind words, git back in the saddle and carry on!
Think of me now and then when you're chewin' yer bacon and beans.
'Jes promise me you'll wrap me in a blanket and bury me in my jeans!"
"Promise me you'll take good care of my faithful hoss, Old Dan,
And let him tag along on roundups on the range when you can.
I love cowboyin', but boys you know I ain't a man of means.
Jes' wrap this poor old soul in a blanket and bury me in my jeans!"
"Buck, you kin have my scruffy boots and old sweat-stained hat.
Rusty, you take my saddle - Red, you kin have my 44-caliber gat.
Them's my worldly goods 'cept fer these jeans that's worn to smithereens,
But promise me you'll wrap me in a blanket and bury me in them jeans!"
"I'd like to be planted on that knoll yonder 'neath that ponderosa pine.
If you kin scare up a preacher to send me on my way, that'll do jes' fine.
I've been a cowpoke since I was fourteen - I reckon it's in my genes.
Boys, promise me you'll wrap me in a blanket and bury me in my jeans!"
Entry for Line Gauthier's "Cowboy Poem Contest"
With Your Voice I Sail
My voice
may stumble, failing
a clear path to trace but
your smiling voice always steers me
clear of snags and boulders and, as I pass
through stormy waters, you alone can light
the clearest path to shore. With your voice, songs,
fragrance filled, unfurl their sails and freely flow
on the streams of my mind, and my grief now lies at ease
as dark words like giant fallen trees are left untouched
on some distant battlefield, and I can glide out of
the wind’s shadow, in the rhythm of time,
words billowing soft out of my mind.
Written: October 28, 2023
_________________________________________
Among the living is where perfection is found.
Stoicism is a path of life that acts as dull ground.
The advice is to focus on the bright side of life.
Dispel the negativity, and let vanish all strife.
Inciting people to enhance their morality
To foster resilience in the face of adversity.
Strengthening your resolve and impediment
Beat iconoclastic wits for a fine pediment.
Grasp of the overarching rationality
Sustaining integrity even amid adversity
The Stoic Path is a philosophy of such depth.
With wisdom and tranquility in your breadth
Life taught us to persist in the face of hardship.
To sustain balance while still preserving worship.
Maintain calmness under challenging conditions.
Surmount your inhibitions and avoid suspicion.
And to welcome fulfillment with dignity.
Handle highs and lows with stoic sympathy.
Stoicism, truly, provides solace and calm.
A way of living that allows us to fully qualm.
How? By concentrating on our inner proclivity.
And shedding our bonds is an act of loyalty.
We are liberated from the bonds of conflict.
And accept a promising, significant life profit.
The Stoic Way is a philosophy with lofty stature.
steers our deeds into an improved, sound future.
Integrity and prudence in the face of misfortune
To mold ourselves and have a vital life and fortune.
When doves on evenings, calm and still, call out a hollow tone,
They rouse a medley, old as time, so few have ever known.
The whispered lines of its refrains resound of yesterday,
In ancient tales and bygone trails that man cannot portray.
I’ve rode and worked along a trail throughout my many years.
I’ve heard the tales the sages tell of raging Longhorn steers,
Of soldiers marching single file or mounted days on end,
Of Indians, conquistadors and Rangers tracking men.
Mackenzie Trail is not well known for time obscures its fame,
But high regard is placed on it by those who know its name.
Its story’s scribed in black and white, its remnants etched in stone,
Its way was marked by sweat and blood, by grave and bleaching bone.
The broad frontier that it traversed had yet to be surveyed
And danger seemed to lie in wait at every turn and grade.
From Fort Clark Springs to forts on north, it led Mackenzie’s men
To risk their lives out on the trail, then brought them home again.
A mound lies near Mackenzie Lake, where horse thieves met despair,
For Rangers tracked their hurried trail and hung them then and there.
And near a barn not far away, in Live Oaks’ blissful shade,
The remnants of a camp still lie where soldiers often laid.
I’ve rode the trail and damned the rock that cost my horse a shoe.
I’ve crossed its draws that filled with rain and made my lips turn blue.
Its rugged paths have tested me and all who’ve come this way,
Yet, it remains my trail through time, my bond with yesterday.
Mackenzie Trail will long survive, a monument to will,
That I recall when I ride near on evenings, calm and still;
When doves exclaim in harmony, their lonely, hollow tone
And rouse the medley, old as time, so few have ever known.
Hear the screams in the night, they are shattering
moonlight breaking, reverberating, splattering
Down the hall, she feels so small, cradled by the dark
blood red like roses are finger petaled swelled slap marks
Makeup smears with tears like a clown in a funhouse mirror
With a voice of a mouse in a barefoot house, no one hears her
Body is sore she explores all the aching joints and pain
replaying the nightmare she steers through the shame
And the stories of "if only's" are jokers justifications
A marionette that never forgets the devils grin
This endless circle like the phases of the showoff moon
comes the ride of the tide the anger drowns her too soon
Licking wounds she is a submissive to the open hand
convincing her legs she is too weak to ever self stand
But she whispers "heaven help me" as closes her swollen eyes
raw throat choked she prays to God to let her die
Hear the prayers in the night, they are streaming
shackle freeing, hope believing, promise keeping
Just listen.
Wandering through the crystalline mists,
is truly a revelation.
Dreamers merely dream,
but seers roam misty, dark realms,
to find the truths, which others would hide.
The swirling fog forms;
takes its sweet time.
I seek clarification;
Fog only hints, at life’s coming storms.
Some have died, for their gift;
slaughtered by those who can’t or won’t
try to understand;
insisting that,
they must be of service to others.
It’s no comfort to know events,
Before they occur, but
God gives gifts.
Prognostication is one of the
Best and worst gifts.
The god within,
will not be silent;
inner knowledge is the wheel,
that steers us to safety.
A prognosticator channels the map,
for those who cannot see.
waves weave and whisper
feather clouds caress soft time
liquid lace landscapes
breath of bold sailor
amber eyes float as forests
his heart lava love
orchestra seagulls
violin seaweed vine strings
heavenly harp prayers
coastline coral cream
freckled fish flaunt freedom
zepher dancing hands
ruby encrusted sky
rises as dragon daybreak
echo tides shiver
lightening ripping lines
sails crackling crash as clothing
lizard boat leaping
teething to his life
rusty rocks crawling and claw
his blood intertwines
salty stalwart strength
the nautical warrior swords
exalting eyes
his vessel steers
blue hues blend with sunset cues
painting blossom clouds
angel adventures
opal ballet bright blessings
upon silky sand stages
full moon blooming boat
lighthouses glitter sea flags
second filled stars slip
candle leaves cascade
frosty flowers pearl pollen steam
garden comet gowns
sleeping sound sailor
blankets of constellations
his stellar soul peace
July 19th 2024
I dedicate this poem to Thomas Cunningham,
who I admire for the tales he tells in poetry form.
MUTINY
I stands at the bow
Proud to lead
I get the first catch
and splash
Pretense while I breathe
as if our lips our sealed together
in this hallowed breeze
The skill of his hands
that masterfully guide
the ship to the seas
My intricate gown
he sees only in his dreams
as he feels the form
underneath
with his intrepid heart
His feet firmly planted
on deck,
this captain of mine,
steers the ship
He must think of the coins
the greed, the gold
under the nose
of his crew
They often smirk
and besmirch his name
under tobacco’d breath
and the stench
of a whore’s perfume
My hair is in disarray,
I dread his fate
under the hallowed moon
The thunder roars
from a shotgun
into the air it soars
In chains, he’s still in charge,
his thoughts for me alarmed
I’m pale and soaked,
the downpour mad
And so am I
My knees bend
My hands fold
My head bound
to see you through
You stand at the brawny depths
where the sirens roar,
where tremendous teeth
and hideous fins
nearly frighten you
I beg for your pardon,
plead for your soul
The head shark
leans in with stain’d fangs
mercilessly mocking,
tearing up the captain
with dead man tales
The compass spins
wildly as the traitor
vehemently describes
the fishbait before his eyes
The treasured bride
asks for a trade
her life for his
The sand sinks her knees
“No, no, Josephine!”
her sisters on her trail
“Take ours, us two,
save both of them!”
The Lord wipes his tears
and takes the dears
into his arms,
safe from the storm
The tables turn
as a sail
slices the air
rebuking the mutiny
and the crew they stare
as their daring
is circled and bit...
one arm, one leg,
one ear at a time
They’ve seen nothing like this
Then their eyes open
A light from the bow
They rub their eyes
but still they see the captain’s bride
She smiles like the crystal sea
She waves and disappears
The crew drops their gear,
unties the captain,
begs mercy,
unless they go down with the ship!
10/10/2020
Unmetered narrative
AFFLICTION?
It is said of young physicians when they first set out to learn
All the symptoms and conditions that known illnesses convey
They perceive these indications each one causing more concern
‘Til they make the diagnosis to their shock and their dismay
They arrive at the conviction
They themselves have the affliction
Now when learned academics write a thesis that proclaims
All white people are infected with a racism endemic
Filled with symptom and with signs supporting dogma that defames
Fragile folk are then persuaded by this plausible polemic
And arrive at the conviction
We’re all guilty of affliction
What could be more direful to survival of this blessed sphere
Than wild nature, once benign, by human feckless acts betrayed!
“See the wild fires, melting icebergs and the hurricanes!”- we hear
Computer forecasts yet sole factors we can truly call ‘man made’
Should we therefore have conviction
Of a terminal affliction?
Data now in a profusion never seen before these times
Flood our eyes and ears and minds in ‘monu-mental’ mind-bate range
Those with focussed strong agenda choose a menu that defines
And steers us, if undiscerning and from reason then estranged
To unquestioning conviction
THAT in truth would be affliction
'Twas a dark and stormy night on that dark and stormy night!
HMS Blunderbuss plied the billowing seas just off the Isle of Wight!
Able Seaman Steer manned the helm when dead ahead he saw the light!
He woke the snoozing Officer of the Deck to apprise him of their plight!
Captain Ironbottom (who happened to be in the 'head') was duly alerted!
He dashed to the bridge in his drawers to ensure that disaster was averted!
"By jove!" he cried, "Her Majesty's ships turn aside for no one, I say!"
He grabbed the radio, "Ahoy there! Turn east 15 degrees! Out of my way!"
From out of the ozone a voice retorted, "Suggest you turn west 15 degrees!
I'll not change course for anyone, so heed my warning if you please!"
"This is Captain Ironbottom of the HMS Blunderbuss!" he thundered back!
"I know the rules of the road! Turn now or I'll see you hung from the rack!"
Able Seaman Steers' eyes grew as large as saucers knowing not what to do!
Communication between the captain and the mysterious light was turning blue!
As the distance narrowed between them, neither would give a nautical mile!
The white-knuckled Officer of the Deck was turning pale with a sickly smile!
"This is Captain Ironbottom again! Are you challenging Her Majesty's might?"
"Yes sir" was the reply, "You see, this is the light house on the Isle of Wight!"
Today the mighty HMS Blunderbuss rusts upon the Isle of Wight's rocky shoal.
Captain Ironbottom faded into oblivion due to the folly of his last patrol!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
I was strolling through Evergreen Cemetery the other day,
Glancing at epitaphs etched upon various stones along the way.
Some flowing verse was out of this world but I can only assume,
That the authors were forthcoming in how they met their doom!
"Should an inconsiderate bird upon my stone alight,
Please do me a favor and remove the blight!"
"Here reposes a dude who tried to rob a lady teller,
But she was a keener shot than this unlucky feller!"
"Here sleeps ace pilot Captain Cletus Cole;
His wings were clipped attempting a barrel roll!"
"Here reclines butcher Clyde who cheated on his wife.
Unknown to him she was also adept at wielding a butcher knife!"
"Here lies Hank his mortal shell riddled with lead.
He was nabbed rustlin' steers and the sheriff shot him dead!"
"Here is deposited the corpus of Eddie a top-notch baker.
He is now serving assorted donuts to his beloved Maker!"
"Please relay your regards as by this way you pass,
But for heavens sake, keep off the cottin' pickin' grass!"
"On a banana peel the dear departed slipped and fell.
We pray he landed in paradise and not in hell!"
"He didn't know his Volkswagen had all that power.
He met his doom head-on doing 90 miles per hour!"
"Fer nigh on 40 years old Hank rode this earthly range;
Now he rides in that final roundup on that heavenly grange!"
"Gambler Jim has left very few friends behind to grieve;
He was caught with a couple of aces up his sleeve!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
Muffins, Doritos and Cheetos, Oh My! (A Bulimic’s Tale)
There is a hole in her core she must sate.
So, she drives to the grocery store before it’s too late.
She steers the cart in search of junk food.
She spots a case of cupcakes that can ease her mood.
Powdered donuts on a shelf she can reach.
Next, she chooses Bottled sodas, she packs up five each.
Muffins, Doritos, Cheetos, Funyuns and Snickers she will par-take.
She must not forget about the Little Debbie snack cakes.
Once the cashier starts scanning her vittles,
She starts to feel a tingly rush form in her middle.
She pays her fee then rushes to her vehicle parked afar
Then unloads the groceries on the passenger seat of the car.
As she sits behind her steering wheel.
She appraises her edible saviors, then makes her appeal
She starts with the Snickers shoving them down her throat,
The empty void inside her fills as she lets out a choke.
The Funyuns and muffins are next on her seat.
She devours them in seconds, puffing up her cheeks.
Doritos, Cheetos and snack cakes are inhaled like oxygen,
She is slightly starting to feel whole again.
The cupcakes are the last morsels of her stock
She washes them down with the soda she bought.
When the food is gone she observes the food wrappers in her space.
She glances in the rear view mirror but fails to recognize her face.
Powdered sugar and Cheeto dust crusting around her lips,
A sob escapes her chest as sanity begins to slip.
There is one more mission she must forgo
Opening her car door, she shoves a finger down her throat.
Vomit is released from her belly’s lair.
Stomach acid and bile sting the night air.
She appraises the regurgitation splattered on the concrete.
Then senses the empty void is gone, her task is complete.
From cracks above, lightning explodes
A deranged sea rattling the mast;
Hanging on between life and doom
My fate near water’s rim, harassed
When darkness hides the palest star.
Just then, a silhouette appears
Long the tresses, eyes deeply creamed
Ready to meet the tempest’s dare…
In one bolt, a ship wreck redeemed
Calming the dread upon my face.
Against a current's dauntless reel,
The buoyant glide of milder waves
Recedes through siren’s drawl that lures,
That an angry gust now behaves
As she steers me ashore, then leaves.
I wake to feel a heady scent
Recalling tastes of Galene’s night,
Until dream-catcher’s web unfolds
To snap me back from fancy’s flight…
Yet in my head, her mystique heaves.
...........
Rob Carmack's Dream Contest
4/23/2015
Galene—Greek goddess of calm seas
Eve T.M.M. is a sweet Canadian gal
A product of the wild wild west
Living between Edmonton and Calgary
Imagine as a cowgirl she's dressed
Riding frisky stallions and lassooing steers
Roundup time on Circle M Ranch
With the majestic Rockies off in the distant
A loud Yippy-Ki-O she does chant
Now my friends, I could be totally off base
Eve may just be a simple city girl
Perhaps just a sweet down to earth real lady
Sending rancher's heads in a whirl
Well I'd like to think she's a sophisticated lady
With servants at her beck and call
Wearing a diamond studded evening gown
Dancing the night away at the ball
Eve T.M.M. is a sweet Canadian gal
A product of the wild wild west
© Jack Ellison 2015