Best Throwed Poems
A well-appointed cowpoke, of whom there are still a few,
Wanted to be properly clad for his first job interview.
So, to impress his potential and somewhat cynical boss,
He has a silver-studded saddle throwed across his hoss!
He's wearin' a ten-gallon hat, a Stetson if you please,
And a bandana 'round his neck to catch the dusty breeze.
The dude has a roll-yer-own a-danglin' from his lips,
And a shiny pair of forty-fours a-hangin' from his hips!
He's wearin' a hand-tooled leather belt of the finest grade,
And a "cowboy" shirt and a vest cut from top-grade suede!
A woolly pair of chaps covers his bow-legged knees,
And protects his Calvin Kleins that fit so tight they squeeze!
His gleamin' pair of Tony Lama boots with pointy toes,
Completes what he considers proper cowboyin' clothes.
The silver spurs on his boots glint in the noonday sun;
Ah, he's the ideal picture of a range-ridin' son-of-a-gun!
The boss, arms folded, feet spread, sportin' a knowin' grin,
Didn't seem to be impressed, much to the greenhorn's chagrin.
Sizin' him up from head to toe, he said, "You look fit and able",
Handed him a fork and shovel and sent him to the stable!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved
Categories:
throwed, cowboy-western
Form:
Rhyme
"Howdy to you all from Colorado! This is Cletus Schlunk reporting,
Where gossip is fair and balanced and there is little or no distorting!
It's the home of the Rockies, Broncos, Nuggets and potholes galore,
And old mining towns like Leadville and Cripple Creek, full of western lore!"
"Hordes of gaping tourists from all over come to visit the Centennial State,
So I collared one to get his views and his comments to you I'll relate."
"Sir, could you spare a few minutes of your time for a little chat?
Tell me where you're from and where did you get that silly hat?"
"Ah'm frum th' great state uv Texus an' that's a hunder'd dollar Stetson son.
Now, don'tcha go a-makin' sport uv me - ah've cum here ta have a little fun!"
"Be forewarned that when sipping a cool Coors, respect the altitude here."
"Yup! Ah've figgered out that jes' one uv 'em will set ya' on yer rear!"
"What do you think of our magnificent mountains reaching for the sky?"
"Shucks! We used to have 'em in Texus an' they wuz nearly twice as high!
But ah'm here ta tell ya', they wuz flattened out years an' years ago.
That's why Texus is th' biggest state in the lower 48, I want ya'all ta know!"
"Have you fished our pristine streams, many that are off the beaten track?"
"Yup! Caught a 30-incher - he wuz a Texus minner so I throwed 'im back!"
"Well, folks, he out-bragged me so I brought the interview to a hasty cease!
Till next time, from Colorful Colorado, I wish each of you happiness and peace!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 2 in the "Reporting Live On The Soup" Contest - July 2010
Categories:
throwed, funnyme, me, , western,
Form:
Rhyme
I strolled through the local cemetery the other day
And here are some epitaphs I observed along the way:
Cletus O'Toole lies herein
Too much boozing done him in!
Here lies a gambler molding in his crypt
Odds are he was shot by a chump he had gyped!
His spouse spotted him leaving a house of ill repute
In short order she done him in during a heated dispute!
Clyde raced down the mountain and failed to swerve
Meeting his doom on an S-shaped curve!
His plea to the judge was ruled to be moot
He was sentenced to hang for fencing some loot!
Buckaroo Bob was throwed from his horse
And was buried with his boots on as a matter of course!
The town ruffian was our late friend Keith
He met his match and was interred sans his teeth!
Pilot Pete's final radio message was, "Oh! Shoot!"
Seems he forgot to don his parachute!
Farrier Fred was a premier cobbler as a general rule
Alas, he was kicked in the head by an unruly mule!
Butcher Bruce was expert at wielding his knife
But in a fatal spat he was out-wielded by his wife!
POTD 24 June 2021
Categories:
throwed, death, humorous,
Form:
Rhyme
I put down my book,
And I picked up the picture,
Of you, that I printed and framed-
Lost in your smile-
I gazed for awhile-
Then said, "You are going insane."
I know I can't have you-
You may not want me...
But we'll never know will we, dear.
Nor stroll hand in hand-
Through the Florida sand-
Alas, all my future is here.
Besides that, I'm older-
With too many miles...
That I've seen as I went down the road;
A rodeo drifter,
A dreamer, a fool,
More oft than I've won, I got throwed.
I'll miss you, my darling...
Do you think of me?
We touched, and of that I am sure...
Perhaps it is better-
That our love stay unmarred,
Platonic,and perfect, and pure.
Reality's shattered...
More daydreams that one.
I'm glad ours will always exist.
A gossamer world-
Unsullied by fact...
We'll walk through the glow and the mist.
Farewell, little darling-
Your smile is so sweet...
Your eyes are two windows alight.
I bask in their glow,
When the lonely winds blow-
And I sit here alone in the night.
Categories:
throwed, devotion, introspection, lost love,
Form:
Lyric
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
Categories:
throwed, humorous,
Form:
Rhyme
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
Categories:
throwed, humorous,
Form:
Rhyme
Porridge is ploppy' broth is real thin..
However this true 'soup of poetry' fills things up to the brim..
I'll admit its sometimes murky... yet its flavours real strong...'
its long on warm welcomes to whoever jumps in'
It can be hot at the bottom and bubbly on top;
I hope that your senses can take in a lot.
There’s lumps in the mixture that can challenge your swallow;
But if you stick with your portion you'll see how it beats imitators hollow.
I've hit a few snags.. I'll admit there are trials,
Yet the Judges aren't for 'hanging'
(I mean they make decisions sometimes) L O L...
Now I don't put that in verses, well I hadn't till now
It probably won't Rhyme, but it’s to late anyhow,
Now just where was I? Oh yes you must try,
And keep 'a circulating or you might boil the pot dry.'
I've been trapped in the bubbles that might be silly to you
But the old silly-bubbles do get me in a stew,
If you bite down on one, and you hear a slight ahh!
It’s either a soft or a hard one, now you may not be sure,
Like the egg and the chicken... That got squashed by a car;
It can be quite academic, if you make it that far,
and if that does happen,
That you travel that road,
A nice plump 'foul' wouldn’t hurt ,if its in the brew throwed
If the egg isn't seen, I don't give a dang.!
Pop that bird in the pot, that'll be just the thang....
©Joe Maverick 30-11-2013
Categories:
throwed, community,
Form:
Light Verse
Been throwed
Legs bowed
Prefers
Brass spurs
Bunk house
Sans spouse
Wears chaps
Perhaps
Wears jeans
Eats beans
Brands steers
Likes beers
Hates boss
Loves hoss
Straddles
Saddles
Wears boots
Hates suits
Spits juice
Profuse
Payday
Small pay
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
Categories:
throwed,
Form:
Footle
Hank had rode the range a-punchin' cattle fer nigh on fifty years,
Ridin' through Texas northers and brandin' cantankerous steers.
He'd herded ornery longhorns along the Chisolm Trail to Abilene.
He'd signed on with the Triple D Ranch when he was about seventeen.
Hank had broke many a wild bronc and a heap of times was throwed,
And ridin' the saddle all them years, his legs was grievously bowed!
He put his loyal hoss Old Dan out to pasture and decided to retire,
To take quill in hand, reminisce and toss off verse by a glowin' fire.
He wrote about pullin' cattle-guard on dark and stormy nights;
The grandeur of the starry skies and the spectacular Northern Lights;
Splendid risin's of the sun and its magnificent settin's at end of day,
And sleepin' 'neath the mellow moon when it was time to hit the hay.
Hank wrote of the meager pay and many suppers of beans and bacon,
And the same for breakfast with acrid-tastin' java when he'd awaken!
The evenin' campfires with his pards a-singin' 'long with the harmonica,
And, yes, he wrote of a long-lost love, his dance hall queen, Suemonica.
He wrote about long, hot and dusty days in the saddle a-mendin' fences,
Of buffalo, antelope, tumbleweed and the beauty of God's great expanses.
His last poem spoke of the epitaph he wanted etched upon his stone:
"I ain't one to moan, But, Lord I was hopin' this ride You'd postpone!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
Categories:
throwed,
Form:
Rhyme
Mind all that your pa says
And don’t give him no reputes,
Sit quiet on the wood rail
Down by the corrals and chutes.
Don’t dally your digits
Or dive head long from a horse,
Listen to all your elders
And run your life to full course.
Appreciate grease wood
Ride your life free in wild sage—
Know you’ll not always be young,
And act older that our age.
Brush off your jeans real good
Whenever you do get throwed,
Don’t brag ‘bout a right answer,
That’s where real respect is sowed.
Be part of a question
But never the main worry,
Take care in what you’re ropin’—
When you catch it, don’t hurry.
Be kind to all critters,
Give them respect they deserve—
Treat folks like you’d want to be
Treated – don’t you ever swerve.
Pass on all that you know
To those that now come after—
Your legacy’s in their minds
With your wise words and laughter.
And in your final years
Enjoy the rest that you’ve earned—
Think back on those before you,
Try to rebuilt bridges burned.
Teach your kids the same thing
As they coach their own recruits—
Pass on the lessons learned
Down by the corrals and chutes.
Categories:
throwed, cowboy-westernlife,
Form:
Cowboy Poetry
While strolling through the graveyard the other day, I was drawn,
To a host of stones with creative and pithy epitaphs etched thereon!
Such flowing poetic verse is deemed worthy of recording for posterity,
Due to its peculiarity, sincerity, rarity and macabre hilarity!
"Here lies Gus riddled with lead! The high sheriff shot him dead!"
"He brewed the finest booze in the county! 'Til a G-man shot him for the bounty!"
"From his horse Red was throwed! He was the finest feller we ever knowed!"
"His jealous spouse cut short his life! With a twelve-inch butchering knife!"
"She slipped on a derelict banana peel! The bump on her noggin failed to heal!"
"He failed to slow down and swerve! Lost his nerve and missed the curve!"
"If you think this place has no appeal! How the heck do you think I feel?"
"Here lies the late bullfighter Umberto! He was fatally gored by el toro!"
"Clyde owns this piece of real estate! Or that's what he claims, at any rate!"
"Barnstormer Barney has flown the coop! He failed to negotiate an outside loop!"
"Cowpoke Pete has bit the dust! From his wild cayuse he was abruptly thrust!"
"A slug ended the career of gambler Steve! Seems he had some aces up his sleeve!"
"Too much cholesterol is how he met his fate! Docs warned him but 'twas too late!"
"She met her doom skating on the ice! Tried to do the triple axel thrice!"
"He always enjoyed a nickel cigar! Alas, his flame died out due to too much tar!"
"Upon my stone let no bird alight! Should that happen, please clean off the blight!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Categories:
throwed, funny,
Form:
Rhyme
THE LETTER PARODY
(MISTER MUELLER WROTE ME A LETTER)
(To the tune of THE LETTER by the Boxtops 1968)
Gimme a ticket on an aeroplane.
Ain't got time to take a freight train.
Ima leavin home! Never go back home!
Mister Mueller he wrote me a letter.
Well he wrote me a letter
but I throwed it in the trash
and I shredded trash today.
Tell him maybe that I died
or I been Shanghaid
or I'm lost in Mandalay.
Mister Mueller he wrote me a letter.
Gimme a ticket on an aeroplane.
Find me a boat or a wagon train.
Mister Mueller he wrote me a letter.
(be the first to record this Parody I hope you make a million dollars. LOL)
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
Categories:
throwed, parody,
Form:
Lyric
An old cowpoke throwed his leg over the well-worn saddle horn,
And tilted back his ten-gallon hat that was sweat-stained and worn.
From his shirt pocket he took a Bull Durham tobacco pouch,
And with one hand made a roll-yer-own - at that he was no slouch!
"Son", he drawled, "I'd be much obliged if'n you'd lend me yer ears,
Whilst my hoss old Dan an' me take a break frum brandin' them steers.
You see, I've spent nigh on fifty years ropin' dogies an' fixin' fences,
Ridin' ever' day in rain, snow an' dust over these wild expanses!"
"I ain't never gonna git rich workin' fer fifty bucks a month an' chuck,
But I'm a helluva lot happier than them city fellers a-chasin' th' buck!
They jes' sits at their desks starin' at a computer screen ever' day.
I gits to see them mountains ever' day yonder across th' way!"
"Cowboyin' is hard an' dirty work an' I shore ain't in it fer th' pay!
I live in a rustic bunkhouse with six other fellers when I hits th' hay!
Durin' lightnin' an' thunderstorms I've had to calm th' restless herd,
An' I've drove 'em through ragin' blizzards 'til my eyes wuz blurred!"
"Well, I reckon I'd better git back to work a-fore th' boss gits on my back.
He's a purty square shooter but don't cut me a great deal uv slack!"
With that the weathered cowpoke said, "Giddy up!", gave the reins a jerk,
And the old cowboy and his faithful hoss Dan trotted back to work!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 1 in Tirzah Conway's "A Cowboy Is" Contest - March 2011
Categories:
throwed, day, me, old, work,
Form:
Rhyme
There ain't nothin' a cowboy is prouder of than his faithful horse,
Except that is, maybe his hat and his pointy-toed boots of course!
In sleet, snow and rain he'll pull the old hat down over his ears,
As he stands guard over the restless herd of skittish steers!
He'll wear his old sweat-stained hat to Saturday night dances,
And to protect him from the sun and rain while fixin' fences.
At the end of day he'll guzzle a coupl'a beers, his thirst to slake,
Plantin' his boots on the brass rail with his pards to take a break!
He'll wear his old slouch hat from dawn 'til at night he hits the hay,
Never doffin' it for nothin' 'cept if'n a pretty lady passes his way,
Or use it to water his hoss and feed him oats is the other exception!
For the niceties of society and the social graces he has little affection!
Maybe he can't afford a fancy pair of them Levi or Wrangler jeans,
And he must tolerate Cooky's tiresome chuck of bacon and beans,
But when it comes to his hat and boots he won't compromise.
The hat must be a Stetson and Tony Lama boots are what he buys!
He throwed his leg over his saddle horn one day and had this to say:
"Boys, when I come to the end of the trail and cash in my chips someday,
I don't want you fellers a-carryin' on and a-bellerin when I'm gone.
Jes' promise you'll bury me in my dusty hat and scruffy boots and carry on!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Categories:
throwed, cowboy-western, night, old, rain,
Form:
Rhyme
Cowpoke Hank hired on fer a dollar a day and found.
He wuz knowed as the best bronc-buster around!
They wuz allus a roll-yer-own a-danglin' frum his lips,
And he wore a pair of 44 shootin' arns on his hips.
He wuz lean and lank and had spent nigh thirty years in the saddle.
He wuz bow-legged as a pliers havin' spent all that time astraddle!
Wearin' an old slouch hat, bandana and scruffy pointy-toed boots,
He'd throwed a ton uv steers ridin' outta county rodeo chutes!
"Thar stands the orn'riest critter alive!", the boss implied.
"They ain't no mustang 'round I cain't tame!", Hank replied.
Other cowpunchers ambled to the corral to enjoy the show,
And with knowin' grins watched as Hank earned his dough!
The bronc jes stood thar snortin' with fire in his eyes!
Hank could see trouble brewin'! Boys, wuz he in fer a su'prise!
Sech hossflesh he'd never rode! He'd never seen sech gyrations!
His old bones had never experienced sech joltin' sensations!
He wuz throwed, stomped and wedged agin' the fence.
With his pals cheerin' him on, things wuz a-gittin' tense!
He finally allowed, "Boys, I give up! He's done beat me good!
I reckon I'd better find myself another livelihood!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
Categories:
throwed, humorous,
Form:
Rhyme