Based on Frosty The Snowman
Freddy the mailman is just out on parole
He did the crime and served his time
For all that mail he stole
Now Freddy is back as Christmas bells chime
Freddy the mailman is now a con man people say
He charms the ladies with words sweet as honey
Deceiving them in every way
Before he steals their money
But there must have been some buckshot in
The gun old Sally had
For when he tried to steal her loot
She blasted him, the cad
time frosted the eyes
put buckshot to his voice box
they still came in flocks
the stage grows smaller
into yesterday they walk
hearts become fluted
Everyone has a favorite pond.
Where they come to place garnish upon...
Some bring koi and water lilies.
Singing stones- the scent of mint.
Wading birds dressed in paradise.
Cattails waltzing with the wind.
Envy arrives at your pond.
With treble hooks and buckshot eyes.
Turning tranquility into graves.
Plastic bags dancing in the shade.
Serenity forever pocked, a fifth of envy clanging off the rocks.
As a vague gray scans the quiet-quiet frons.
The gun seems gun-shy in this space;
where deer hides hang on rustic walls
and granddad-tick-tocks beat, instead
of hearts in hollowed skins. The gun
a “trophy-bagger” in its rack,
a loud-mouth predator at rest,
this motherless, brother-less thug
perceives no pity-pangs... the gun
now quiet, buckshot empty, cold.
Above the stove’s phoenix soul hangs
an antlered head with prideful tines
the man, with bear-paw hands, had won.
A fox in freeze-frame-trot, a stiff
with cat glass eyes, attests his prize.
Indeed, like litterfall they fell,
unseen his haunt in hunter gear, his gun
a junkyard dog of steel. I say
they're beautiful in life. He says
they’re beautiful in death. Between
our words — a stand of pine — the shot!
that brought the shock of ammo air
that rib-cage-ripped and broke the breath,
that hurled the crows against the sky —
the blast that felled the 10-point buck that failed to sense your goddamn gun!
Yeah... blame the buck his reckless pose
and buckled throes. You felt the king!
Behind tight trees you sat with dawn
in sniper-silhouette. The gun
felt nothing; no remorse, no joy
—it, too, hangs upon the wall.
stains and paints a deer
after distressing the wood -
husband’s a hunter
her encounter with the wild
finds a buckshot in deer’s chest
Winter Sleet
2/23/2022
Miracle Man
Buckshot pellets from the sky,
many thinking I’m the bulls-eye.
Frigid cold they sting my skin,
should I be out, or have stayed in.
Could be enjoying a burning log,
but I’m here feeding a poor stray dog.
I’ll get her inside where its warm,
It appears her bees soon will swarm.
NO RESERVATIONS!
20th Anniversary Edition
THE LANDMARK ALBUM
REMASTERED AND EXPANDED
Includes rare, exclusive and
previously unreleased recordings.
Featuring the original WAR DANCE renegades:
Amos Dakota - lead vocals
Benny Two Hats - bass guitar
Curtis Buckshot - percussion
Meko Eko - lead guitar & keyboards
Pony Blindstone - rhythm guitar, vocals
www.wardance.com
ADVERTISEMENT
ALWAYS CHECK YOUR TANK
Johnny Smiths gang had just robbed the town bank
With gang members scar face Mike, and old Hank
Their getaway car
Wasnt going far
Cos Hank forget to put gas in the tank...
SHIVER ME TIMBERS
An old pirate had woodworm in his leg
Wanted to go ashore for a new peg
As he walked down the gangway
His old withered stump gave way
He cursed as o'er the side went his rum keg...
THE GRADUATE
It was Elaine Robinsons wedding day
Poor Ben shouted through the window "no way"
Mrs Robinson just glared
All the congregation stared
As Elaine and Ben made their getaway...
CAN'T SIT
A window cleaner was cleaning the glass
Spied the owner in bed with a young lass
Asked could he join in the fun
Saw the owner get his gun
Now cant sit cos of buckshot in his a.s.s...
Written 1st September 2020.
In 9th grade, Mr. Adams told our class
(with a buckshot in his eyes)
"That one day life will scare the $hit out of you".
Well, we all giggled like little barn owls -
Didn't really know or care about what he was talking about.
What was so scary about living in a half square mile of bliss -
Smoking cheap dope-sharing a root beer float with a trashy little girlfriend.
But nothing lasts forever, and neither would any of this.
On the last day of my senior year, I opened the blast furnace doors of responsibility.
There was a big smirking fireball of instantaneous fear.
Barreling toward the last breath of my whiffle ball youth.
Mr. Adams was right, after all.
The breeze nips the bristles of my beard,
The horse carriage squeals while we plunge deeper into the storm.
Fog coats the path, fire in the distance,
Is someone there?
The faintest of lights blinds dear old Buckshot,
The closer we get, the brighter it gets,
Buckshot thrust his feet up in a halt,
In disbelief I walk toward this crevasse in the earth,
Such destruction and such beauty,
Lava expanding and condensing,
A calm within the storm,
I gazed into this beauty and gaze became strong
I peeked right down to the center, and strange thoughts obscured my mind,
Could I make it to the bottom?
January 10 2019
Points to Ponder
Thanks to Buckshot for the thought
By Franklin Price
9/25/2018
Here are some points to ponder
About who should have a say
About our lives, and how we live them,
The how, the why, the way
Those for whom we care the most
Our husbands and our wives
Our children, parents, siblings
Friends who make for better lives
The devout and caring clergy,
When they practice what they preach,
Our important educators
When they stick to what they teach
The doctors who take care of us
And are concerned about our health
Those who affect our incomes
Our positions and our wealth
Celebrities are not among these
They are there to entertain
The same goes for pro athletes
To give advice, they should refrain
The Media and all the news
Should be always verified
Affirmed to our satisfaction
May still be taken for a ride
Last and least, the politicians
Who only care of what they think
To listen much to what they say
Will drive us all to drugs and drink
Should we ever want to speak ourselves
The first amendment says we may
Our minds should dwell before we speak
Can't withdraw the words we say
He works for the NFL and he is a famous coach.
He shoots my bottom for going on his land to poach.
I go on his land to shoot some raccoons and deer.
But getting a fanny full of buckshot drives me to tears.
I was about to kill a buck when I was approached by a skunk.
I had to take six baths to get rid of the odor because I really stunk.
When people go on his land to poach, he grabs his shotgun.
He shoots everybody's buttocks, he even shot his own son.
He's outside right now with his shotgun and he's waiting for me to approach.
If I want to be able to sit down, I'd better find a different place to poach.
Miss Wild
With child
Not wed
To Ted
Dad mad
You cad!
Loads gun
Says, son
Wed her
You cur
If not
Buckshot
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
My biggest challenge of my life
occurred in 1998 a year of strife,
routine mammography displayed a buckshot
spray of calcification which displayed a lot
of cancer within its maudlin picture show,
removal of my right breast proved to be a torturous blow.
It turned out to be a Trans-flap operation in which
a surgeon did a miraclous and incredible switch,
I ended up wearing part of my stomach as a new chest.
February 28, 2017. 73 words.
rattlesnake
slithering toward sunlight –
buckshot
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.