Best Yukon Poems
apologies to Robert W. Service
There’s a tale that is told
In the night Yukon cold
Of the shooting of Dan Mc Grew
The truth as it’s known
Is a legend that’s grown
And the truth is known by very few
It’s twenty years on
The Malamutes gone
There’s nobody left from that night
But there’s talk of some gold
That sometimes is told
Of what happened just after the fight
There is word of a bar
“The New Yukon Star”
And a fellow down there who can play
The place it is grand
The best in the land
And it’s found down by Old Frisco Bay
Now, remember the poke
Of McGrew’s the tale spoke
And what happened when Dan was now dead
From his neck it was freed
And the poke held the deed
To Dangerous Dan’s claim it was said
When the Northern lights glow
Bringing life to the snow
They say that old Dan walks again
But twenty years past
Dan took that breath, yes, his last
And left the world of mortal men
Now, the saloon down in Frisco
With a barkeep named Cisco
Had a picture of Dan on the wall
They say that his ghost
Makes it smile when you toast
Dan McGrew when it is last call
A traveller came
And remembered Dan’s name
One night as he sat with his drink
The piano was loud
And he saw through the crowd
A face, which made the man think
He once was a cop
And on occasion did stop
At the bar when Dan McGrew died
He looked at the face
But wasn’t sure of the place
That he knew it, but damn boys he tried
There’s a place saved in hell
For those under the spell
Of those who cheated out old Dan McGrew
In the stories it’s told
how his poke with his gold
Was stolen by someone he knew
Think of the name
Of the one living with shame
From Dan’s last night beneath the north star
Just who could build
A place always filled
A hotel and a popular bar
There on the stair
With long silvery hair
Through cigar smoke that made the air blue
Was the girl who once danced
And had Dan entranced
The girl known only as Lou
D Doctor Michelle Oakley, Yukon Vet
O On Nat Geo, best animal show yet,
C can bring the thrills of taking care of tamed
T to wild species, with her strength and famed
O operations handling moose and yaks,
R red foxes, musk-oxen, huge elk with racks.
M Michelle, a rugged lady, there on call,
I in helping animals both large and small,
C can teach an injured hawk to fly once more
H healing wings so one day it can soar.
E Even ailing porcupines get cured.
L Linx, when spotted ill, are gently lured
L letting her perform her healing skills
E ensuring we who watch enjoy the thrills.
O Often she helps out a local zoo,
A and mountain goats, mule deer, and caribou
K keep her busy if they're hurt or when
L land in danger birthing, because then
E every newborn life is nature's prize.
Y Yearly vaccines often can comprise
Y yielding into schemes to bring them close,
U upon which she will shoot a dart with dose,
K kindly making sure it hits the spot;
O often quite involved to give a shot.
N Nothing more exciting than to see
V vast Yukon plains with creatures wild and free,
E entrapped when needed, by a blowgun dart
T to be repaired by this vet's healing art.
Sandra M. Haight
~3rd Place~
Contest: Strand Select F
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Judged: 02/07/2020
~2nd Place~
Premiere Contest: Your Favorite Habit-Forming TV Show
Sponsor: Tom Quigley
Judged: 08/25/2016
This TV series, 'Dr. Oakley - Yukon Vet' is aired on Nat Geo Wild,
I love this show!
Vane glorious and absolutistic,
though I defiantly,
cavalierly, and blithely attest
Yukon bet your (laugh-in) sweet bippy
mine acidic breast
houses anarchic, anti-poetic ballistic,
barbaric, and bubonic
cannibalistic demons within thy
safely guarded Pandora chest
atomic cesium clock
timed to trigger avast
burst of anxiety, frenzy, and
(What me worry
Alfred E. Neuman) blast
ting mental quietude at most
inappropriate, inconvenient,
inopportune, out classed
adrenaline rush, nausea,
palpitating heart, vertigo
besieging, corrupting,
endeavoring fractured arrant
cleft daemonic gripping
hellishly psychic chant
rendering unto sieze hoar,
a choking vise grip extant
yule hiss sieze indomitable
banshee fully controlling grant
diabolic, dogmatic, and dynamic,
anguished corporeal ache
easily, egregiously, and emblematically,
exemplified historically
graphic fatalistic, and ecstatic coup,
(koo), when I caused furious frantic flight,
and/or fight betake
king angst causing just desserts
for Marie Antoinette,
who got her humble pie cake,
thence dispensing with formalities,
where a joshing drake
(named Gill O. Teen)
also known (solely known
to mine selfish source error ways)
alias i.e. as; the Lewis (loose)
lunatic, heady harvester,
and decapitation Deacon trumpeting,
trouncing, and triumphing tranquility
for fifty three Tuesdays,
thence sea king punishing psychotic
pre pound payment
basking in glory (re: gory us)
amidship crashing quays
music to mine ears hearing plaintive neighs
high pitched straining
vocal chord hamstrung keys
regaling oceanographic
lambent hagiographic essays
and keeping at bathos bays.
There's a tale that is told
In the night Yukon cold
Of the shooting of Dan Mc Grew
The truth as it's known
Is a legend that's grown
And the truth is known by very few
It's twenty years on
The Malamutes gone
There's nobody left from that night
But there's talk of some gold
That sometimes is told
Of what happened just after the fight
There is word of a bar
"The New Yukon Star"
And a fellow down there who can play
The place it is grand
The best in the land
And it's found down by Old Frisco Bay
Now, remember the poke
Of McGrew's the tale spoke
And what happened when Dan was now dead
From his neck it was freed
And the poke held the deed
To Dangerous Dan's claim it was said
When the Northern lights glow
Bringing life to the snow
They say that old Dan walks again
But twenty years past
Dan took that breath, yes, his last
And left the world of mortal men
Now, the saloon down in Frisco
With a barkeep named Cisco
Had a picture of Dan on the wall
They say that his ghost
Makes it smile when you toast
Dan McGrew when it is last call
A traveller came
And remembered Dan's name
One night as he sat with his drink
The piano was loud
And he saw through the crowd
A face, which made the man think
He once was a cop
And on occasion did stop
At the bar when Dan McGrew died
He looked at the face
But wasn't sure of the place
That he knew it, but damn boys he tried
There's a place saved in hell
For those under the spell
Of those who cheated out old Dan McGrew
In the stories it's told
how his poke with his gold
Was stolen by someone he knew
Think of the name
Of the one living with shame
From Dan's last night beneath the north star
Just who could build
A place always filled
A hotel and a popular bar
There on the stair
With long silvery hair
Through cigar smoke that made the air blue
Was the girl who once danced
And had Dan entranced
The girl known only as Lou
since the grim reaper stole me mum
words my recourse to express
how fateful symbiosis
ma pop got snagged asper
one wonderful ambidextrous artistic woman
adroit nailing a brad -
marsh a rose, the special gal grateful,
befriended my dad
many coe sure tokens of appreciation
doth figure me glad
how this poem ought to jump start
then motor along
the information superhighway,
cuz me iz the grown lad
of Boyce, whose re:comp pence,
pleasance, presence,
and importance - worth brings
each as a mutual friend to the other,
whereat thine octogenarian widower papa
repurposed, regained, rebounded, et cetera,
and feeling quite at home in your pad
oh...and gratitude for allowing, and permitting
Matthew Scott harris tush hair his poetry,
which might immediately spur (an omg -
why didst aye enable vernacular speaking/
writing secular, and peculiar
sole son to rad
duck gull quaking scribe) fill
up the screen of your notebook or tab
let, or whatever the
name would be of electronic link
providing the access per bing linkedin
to whirled wide web,
and if we sustain stock key exchange of emails,
ye might be driven to drink
so much poison scorpion spiked ale,
then squinting eyes to resemble a chink
blocking any light to induce thee tub blink
as this fledgling poem strives to soar and alight
this barred bard will wonder if you didst delight
in re: ding this expressly feeble jesting bon jure lame
resulting take off tubby, sans a les miserables flight
never attaining maximum height.
Careful watch your step, or so I am told
By many a friend who has travelled there,
Among the rubble while panning for gold.
Some of the tourists’ adventures extolled
Many searching are blessed with a flair,
Careful, watch your step, or so I am told.
Do not be naïve, be always quite bold
For many fellow seekers do not care,
Among the rubble while panning for gold.
A summertime trip, eschewing the cold
Sun on small nuggets present as a glare,
Careful, watch your step, or so I am told.
It is dangerous, so do not get rolled
Safely join the venture of those who dare,
Among the rubble while panning for gold.
A trip to Yukon--do not put on hold,
Perhaps meet up with a grizzly bear
Careful, watch your step, or so I am told,
Among the rubble while panning for gold.
written July 15, 2021