Long Buckshot Poems
Long Buckshot Poems. Below are the most popular long Buckshot by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Buckshot poems by poem length and keyword.
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.
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.
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.
When you ate at this restaurant yesterday, you left without paying.
I have my shotgun behind the counter, you'd better start praying.
Last week another customer tried to pull the same crap.
I pulled out this shotgun and now he has no knee caps.
You skipped out on your bill and you have the nerve to come back.
When it comes to the brains department, it's something you lack.
You're trying to get out of here and you're moving fast.
But not quick enough, I just put a buckshot up your ass.
Now you're spilling blood on my nice clean floor.
Hit the road, Jack and you'd better not come here anymore!
(This is a fictional poem)
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
...McClors rode up, and smiled quite thin,
He said,”Woman, get away from him!
You come with me now, and it will suffice.
You play more of these games, and you’ll get the knife.”
“See I’m in no mood for dumb girlish stunts—”
A blast roared out, and McClors gave a grunt.
From the back of his horse the villain did flop,
His chest torn apart from a load of buckshot.
Adam he turned while all sat there stunned,
And found the three lackies with his scatter-gun.
The horses they stomped, the lackies they blustered
Stupidly bunched in one great, big cluster.
The other barrel it was already cocked,
And Adams laid waste to the thugs with one shot!
Two died right quick, and the third man moaned,
Trapped underneath his dead mangled roan.
Adams stalked up, stared down at the man,
He said,”Listen up now, or forever be damned.
It seems strange to say it, amdist this strife,
But I’ve decided to make this woman will my wife.”
“So I’ll let you live, and run back to the town,
And tell all the people the way things are now.
This woman right here none shall disrespect,
And if I see you back here, I’ll stretch your damn neck!”
The lackie he stumbled and faltered away
Miriam had no words, nothing she could say.
Adam nodded. “I’d accept your offer,
But I think there’s a better one that I can proffer.”
“If you don’t mind a killer for a husband,
Than you and I will go to Reverend Dan,
Cause I still have a few good kith and good kin
Who wouldn’t approve of us living in sin.”
And so they went down, and so they were wed
And raced to his home, barely making it to the bed.
The mayor later stopped by, still half-rattled with fear,
And said “ ’twas all self-defense! It’s perfectly clear.”
Now Kline he lucked out with his newfound bride,
She gave him seven kids, their joy and their pride.
And as they years went by, their pasts they did fade,
Both found some peace in the life they had made.
Though still some townsfolk whispered of her,
But said nothing aloud to avoid Adam’s anger.
From that day at the ranch, till death came in time
She was known simply as: Misses Miriam Kline.
Life
appears as stories
varying in focus~
those more weighty
peace and war
push away a provincial
story of cows on a road~
(and others recorded below)~
It is deceiving though:
each story appears
vanishing immediately
rendering a sameness
a simple equality
to all stories~and
a sense of freedom
for a fleeting
new year~~
((La Plata County Sheriff’s Office Police Blotter (Durango Herald)
Friday
7:43 a.m. A man was walking around another person’s property and barn in a suspicious manner on U.S. Highway 550.
7 p.m. Four to five black, white and brown cows were in the road on La Posta Road (County Road 213).
Saturday
7:28 a.m. A truck with snowboards hanging out of the bed was reported to have passed someone on a double-yellow section of U.S. Highway 550.
10:19 p.m. A man called deputies to ask if he had a warrant out for his arrest on East Tamarack Drive.
Sunday
7:08 a.m. Someone was shooting firearms so close to the caller’s home on Waterfall Lane that buckshot was sprinkling onto their roof.
10:11 p.m. Multiple people were videoed egging someone’s car on Big Bend Loop.
Most items in this column are taken from logs of calls made to authorities. Their accuracy may not have been verified by an investigation.))
“Santa Anna Wind”.
© London F. Buss
Don’t fear sadness, only shadows,
who come through walls,
It's always now and always then.
It's loneliness never ends,
even after you him. yes him.
Only money it seems can buy a friend.
She hates herself; ugliness never ends.
trampled under a calloused love.
She wants to die just to feel love.
Happiness is a dream?
But her daughter, she’s so young,
she just don’t know.
he danger in his eyes,
Tangled knots in her hair, isn’t love.
His lies laid bare.
Just as well it’s cold as hell,
she got summer in her smile.
He got his hand on her thigh,
hands playing with her tities.
Footsteps going, going, gone.
He wouldn’t wait a while.
What would you say?
He tore up your yesterdays,
Pink Cadillac is parked out back,
doing the back seat boogie,
Now, she got winter on her mind.
Cadillac heater making her unwind,
Rain filled heart, smoke filled fears,
your thawing out in his arms
You’re screaming in pain Steaming.... up the widows.
and you’re on the wrong side of town.
Has daddy seen you, you're not sure?
Worn out promises, practiced lies,
too late to change her mind.
He made a mess,
Cumming over your confirmation dress,
She's only eleven and got summer on her mind.
Her daddies’ footsteps sealed his fate.
Saw her panties on the floor.
12-gauge shotgun… buckshot roars.
He's just a dying, lying, twitching, on the floor.
Santa Anna winds don’t blow this far north.
He won’t come knocking on her door,
Not no more, he killed little her blue bunny,
He won’t come knocking on her door,
Not no more,
He killed little her blue bunny,
ripped it apart is lying helpless, screaming on the floor,
Santa Anna winds don’t blow this far north.
Santa Anna winds don’t blow this far north.
He won’t come knocking on her door,
Not no more,
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.