Gunfighter Poems - Poems about Gunfighter

A man with eyes so brown Walked into town A large dog in tow Who he is no one knows Wearing a suit of black Carrying a gun against his back A vest that will protect Everyone is suspect An absolute professional Leaves guilt in the confessional Never misses his mark Both in the light and the dark When he is near You will know fear Staring at you...

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The angry gunfighter Was quick to draw Didn't matter the reason He just had a flaw As his anger grew Way out of control He shot up dead bodies That was buried in a hole He was still so angry And lost all control By shooting the sheriff Who was way to old He didn't stop there but Confronted the wrong man Who was way to mean, that he Killed...

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Was near high noon in Abilene, Everybody was at the scene. Sheriff was stern and standing fast, Clueless today would be his last. A mystery man rode into town, Said was the fastest gun around. A Navy Colt strapped by his side, On a painted horse, he did ride. The rumor was he'd killed plenty, Some swore it was more than twenty. Each one...

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He was the world’s last gun fighter And he always worked in drag Carrying his six shooters In a special velvet bag. No boots and spurs to jingle As in to town he rode, Just patent leather sling backs High heeled and open toed. He always arrived early Before the heat of the sun Always so very careful His mascara didn’t run. And...

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In spite of a long history as a gunfighter From my early days as a wild west sniper Turned out pretty good Wouldn't change if I could Turned out to be a smashing good limerick writer...

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The Gunfighter By: Tom Wright 1997 I knoweth not From whence he came. He just appeared He gave us no name. He had close-set eyes That gave but a glance. Immediately I knew I had no chance. The tied off holsters He wore on his hips. Held two forty-fives With faux pearl grips. His hat-shaded brow Held beaded sweat. His trip into Dodge Was to settle a bet. With a drawl he then said I've...

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Mr. Smith and Mr. Wesson A brand new sheriff came to town I'm sure he's not the last We've had fourteen in the past year They leave here mighty fast Some can't stand the pressure Others end up in boot hill It ain't easy being Sheriff Here in Cactus Mill He was tall, compared to most folks That's what the undertaker said "I'm just scouting for...

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My hand once was ready And my sight was true With an eye that was steady I would know what to do But that was then and now is now Know my hand now shakes away You see I'm nearer the end - I wonder how And will my eyes still be true and not stray. © Paul Warren Poetry...

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The Gunfighter Was Ready The coach arrived engulfed in blowing dust, this day carrying more than precious gold, a gunfighter, his sending for was a must, needed was a fighter wild, fast and bold. Confident as he stepped into dirty street, eying all around for any deadly threat, looking for the lady he was to meet, a job he took on a personal...

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I knoweth not from whence he came, He just appeared giving us no name. He had close set eyes that gave but a glance, Immediately I knew I had no chance. The tied off holsters he wore on his hips, Held two forty-fives, with pearl grips. His hat shaded brow held beaded sweat, His trip into Dodge was to settle a bet. With...

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Now, the gunfighter came to this new little town, where the town was starting to boom. Tried to find him a place to bed for the night, but, instead got drunk at the saloon. His judgment, impaired by the number of shots that the barkeeper kept serving up. The gunfighter, no slouch when drinking the gin, had been sure to finish each...

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Into the sunset, rides the gunfighter. A man, who, for justice, will fight to the end. Today’s battle, it had, left him undaunted, but tonight’s battle is with an old friend. His battle, this night, is with old Roger Dunne, someone he had befriended, in his own past. Appears that old Dunne had stolen some money from a bank at Monterey ...

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