Long Chaw Poems
Long Chaw Poems. Below are the most popular long Chaw by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Chaw poems by poem length and keyword.
I am the link to the god all mighty
The grand master of this world
Dollar marks and social security carts
I am the warrior of this waste
The revelator of the word made to taste
The most high, the conduit to creation
The grand motivator
I shake your money maker
The rejuvenator on high
Feel the coming of my fire
The revelator extraordinaire
I am all
I think
I am the word in flesh & desire
I'm here to destroy and redistribute, redesign
Hallelujah, I'm here to tell ya!
The revelation of the revelator
Extraordinaire!
So dig down deep and scrape that coinage
Off that chewing gum and chaw
And give, give the holy dollar in sacrilege
As I rise above the great fanged maw
I'm the holiest of holy all praise the
Orange God, meet the prince, el Presidente
the Anointed One, hallowed be thy name
its kingdom come
on his toilet of golden as it is done
his holy war will be fun...
I'm the revelation the way to his pockets and praise
I'm the evaluator
The motivator
The ecstasy of one
Hollow be thy name
His kingdom is undone
His crown is crashing down
Holy is thy name the grand revelator
NO! Not a sound...!
Your online's only motivator
I am the kink to the all mighty
The grand wizard of this world a' rage
I am the war layer of this waste
The revelator of his word
I do not make haste...
The most holies of high,
The conduit to destruction
The antithesis of one
The grand exploiter
I carry the golden gun
The rejuvenator on high,
The ejaculator between succulent thighs!
Feel the coming of my fire
The revelator extraordinaire
I am all I think I am the word in flesh n fire
I'm here to destroy, redistribute, n redesign
Hallelujah, I'm here to tell ya!
Dig deep and give, give, forgive
The price to heaven, the keys to the pearly gates...OH YESSS....
Between these revelators weather clad highs
I'm the revelation
The elevator
The revival of most high
The master of nigh
Revelations n ruination…
REVELATOR
Surprise!
When strollin' by the ol' saloon,
on chairs they kept outside,
I spied a dried up, lonsome sort
folks walked by, but eyed.
He had a faithful doggie
with head laid on his knee.
The ol' man stroked him softly,
kind, devotedly.
I stopped an' took a seat nearby,
then shared a cut of chaw.
I thought his story might be good-
he reminded me of Pa.
I asked just where he hailed from,
he didn't bat an' eye-
looked off in space, took one deep breath,
prob'ly thinkin' up a lie.
Come from ever'where, Son,
been places you ain't dreamed.
I settled back to listen.
He relaxed a bit it seemed.
An Indian fighter, I once was,
rode with the Cavalry.
Met ol' Yeller Hair himself
in eighteen, sixty-three.
Was wagon master for some folks
seekin' land to claim,
leavin' homes an' fam'lies east-
thought the West they'd tame.
Had a wife I sure 'nough loved,
two daughters an' a son,
the cholera took 'em all one year,
my driftin' then begun.
Did some drovin' 'hind the herds,
eatin' miles a dust,
catchin' strays, an' keepin' watch
for rustlers we could bust.
Owned a ranch in Texas
but never got no rain,
the drought, it lasted six years,
no reason to remain.
I killed a man in Denver,
the bugger had it comin',
he kicked my dog, stole my horse,
broke the guitar I was strummin'.
Cut trees out in Wyomin',
lumber-jacked a bit.
Camp bully always threatnin',
my throat he'd like to slit.
I rode the rails a piece back then,
an' dern near froze my tail,
sittin' in them boxcars
thru' rain, an' wind, an' hail.
Now, I'm nigh on eighty,
an' comin' to my end.
I thank ya Son for listenin' ,
ya seem 'most like a friend.
I reckon that I've lived some,
an' ain't sure now I'm done,
I just take one day at a time
'cause life ain't easy, Son.
The ol' saddle warn't much to look at but it was all Buck could afford.
He paid Billy five bucks fer it when Billy died and loped to his eternal reward!
The saddle fit his hoss Dan like an ol' shoe and sat Buck's buttocks mighty well!
Fer twenty bucks a month and found, Buck cowboy'd fer an outfit called Ruby Bell.
The saddle was scratched and gouged from chasin' steers through salt pine brush,
And stained here 'n' there with terbaccy chaw and splotches of muddy slush!
The other fellers made sport of Bucks well-worn saddle but he cared nary a tittle.
He'd jes' grin his boyish grin and loose a well-aimed stream of terbaccy spittle!
He rode many a mile astraddle fixin' bobbed war fences and corallin' stray cattle,
On night herd duty or on the trail in snow, rain and dust but he allus won the battle!
He rode the ol' saddle herdin' longhorns on the Chisholm Trail up t'ward Abilene,
Abidin' cantankerous trail bosses, rushin' rivers and many a perilous ravine!
He and Dan tried their luck calf ropin' at the annual rodeo down the road a piece,
But a wily calf busted the horn off'n the saddle, bringin' his rodeo career to a cease!
Buck found comfort usin' the saddle as his piller 'round the campfar at night.
He'd cuddle it like a dance hall queen he knowed 'til dawn's blindin' light!
Buck was as bow-legged as a pair of pliers from sittin' saddle fer many a decade.
He and Dan and the saddle had become mighty weary and somewhat frayed!
"Boys" he said, pointin' to a knoll, "When I come to the end of the trail and I'm dead,
Bury me beneath that pine yonder along with my saddle as a piller fer my head!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
Kind words meant
Through love spent,
Devotion true,
A fun love brew
Charging ahead in a double bed
A past full of trials
That breeds future miles
We are kids at play
Random, awkward, silly, kids at play
A world away in a double bed
Comfort setting
Striped blue bedding
Naked sleep with
Dreams of wedding
Young hearts crest
The youthful nest of
Guiding hands and a
Treasure chest
Visiting ma
Visiting pa
The eye of judgment
Tells all,
Stop “chewing the chaw”
Start abiding god’s law
With their leaving
We stop deceiving
Our hedonistic thoughts
In our head are bleeding
Interlocking souls
Reach out for more
And make marry in our double bed
Waking up
Monday morning
Warm skin touch
Under blankets molding.
Cold fan spins
Alarm never ends
Weeks work impends.
Arising from our double bed.
Daily routine,
Teeth, coffee, packed lunch
Good bye sweetie
With an eager tone said.
Seven kisses in our double bed
Day work is that.
A work to live
A boring job
Pays the bills
And keeps us fed
Day over
like a snail
Highway home
On the phone
Catching up
Arriving too
Drinking shake
Calling you
Working out
Watch the tele
Waiting for you
Take a pooh.
Make dinner
Watch for you
You arrive.
I, am, Alive!
The days repeat
Like who I see,
What I say, what I eat
What I do,
But,
Nothing matters but being with you
You hold me together
Like paper and glue
You see my soul and say “I do.”
I know you, I know fate
Eternity says don’t wait!
I want life
I want you
American Dream
Plan too.
Form:
Slim was pigeon-toed and bow-legged from allus bein' astraddle,
Of his faithful hoss Old Dan and his well-worn creakin' saddle!
He'd spent 30 years gazin' twixt Old Dan's ears ridin' the spread.
Now both is retired and he took up writin' cowboy poetry instead!
On the porch of the bunkhouse he propped his boots upon the railin',
To muse upon many things he'd write about in this new unveilin'.
He wrote about Cooky's chuck of the usual taters, bacon 'n' beans,
And dressin' up Saturday nights to do-si-do with dance-hall queens!
Brandin' time in the old corral and fixin' fences he put to verse.
Ridin' herd on stormy nights when he thought it couldn't git any worse!
He wrote about cattle drives and the hell cowboys raised in Abilene,
Drinkin', fightin' and gamblin' 'til marshals drove them from the scene!
He expressed his views on wimmen-folk and why he chose to stay free!
He wrote of lakes, streams and valleys and distant mountains' majesty!
Of how fellers lolled about the camp fire enjoyin' a terbaccy chaw,
And how cowpoke Pete could fashion a roll-yer-own with his 3-fingered claw!
He wrote that he warn't a pious man to be corralled by a congregation.
He preferred to git his spiritual grub from the magnificence of God's Creation!
Fer his final verse he wrote, "I reckon cowboyin' was allus in my genes.
When I come to the end of the trail boys, jes' bury me in my jeans!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
The sun settled over the mountains jes' 'bout two hours ago.
Now the moon is risin' in the east a-castin' its meller glow.
In the distance, howlin' wolves render a very discordant choir,
As weary, sleepy cowpokes lounge around a glowin' fire.
They've had their supper, the usual beef, beans and applesauce.
Each has seen to the comfort uv his good and faithful hoss.
They slurp cups uv steamin' coffee and each the others regale,
With talk uv wimmen, whiskey and many a towerin' tale!
It had been a long and dusty ride on the old trail today,
Roundin' up the herd and chasin' dogies gone astray.
'Round the fire some fellers enjoy a wad uv terbaccy chaw,
While others savor a roll-yer-own, fashioned by calloused claw.
Frum across the vale a harmonica's melancholy tune is heard,
As the night guard keeps vigil and soothes the restless herd.
The boys by the fire sprawl on their blankets a-gazin' at the sky,
Marvelin' at God's handiwork, thinkin' uv home with pensive sigh.
Cowboyin' is a lonely life and the rewards are mighty few.
It's fer certain the material things uv life he'll never accrue.
I s'pose some folks reckon a cowpoke's life is purty strange,
But he'll keep on a-wranglin' 'til called home to that celestial range!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
You think you enjoy the radical,
flaming in the gas jets of astral fumes,
spinning in the ocular midnight of a rabid dogs dream,
yet, I think you know, NOTHING is as it seems.
An all too thorough pondering
of mundane thought comes to naught
as vulgar words don’t necessarily wax poetic.
Talking, writing, hurl, polysyllabic words
across a dot matrix screen in a pixel fight with the Lord
don’t made you a prophet or a prophetess
You just scream now, scream…
show your pain across a global terrain in a globular dream
‘Cause I know, you know, NOTHING is as it seems.
Rebel, rebel hell, damn good for nothing navel watcher
pick the lint out, start a fire, you don’t have to die to mean something
you have to do something, damn, it's not enough to just BE
ACT don’t just bite the dirty hand, green with the bile of your blood
eat the whole arm…chaw of a chunk and spit it in the systemic eye
of a postulate system which MAKES have and have nots.
See that fading grin wink from existence and the twin terrors of
DUMB and DEE saying “Howdy and Fiddle Dee Dee” to the
arses who claim to KNOW, ‘cause I know, you know,
NOTHINGS as it seems………..
*Dedicated to Jeffery Cohen from one anarchist to another
**This would be my Alice poem ;)
Night's grassy fields furrowed beneath starry bait,
calls us to cast ourselves upon the straw,
above the Pointillist's daubs spark a hungry slate
to entice our soul while we chew our chaw.
Where we render ourselves like straw
we skew limbs and mimic far-off Orion,
enflame our heart while we chew on chaw
and drink ourselves numb on Milky Way ions.
Limbs askew we guard like Orion,
count falling stars and bargain our wishes,
drunk on Milky Way ions,
we battle mosquitoes with snaps and swishes.
Counting falling stars that grant our wishes,
we poll the planets and ignore Man's moons,
battle free of mosquito's little bitty swishes,
we hope for snipe, snipe and settle for morning loon.
Planet's poll finished and ignored void of Moon,
let's us cradle beneath stardust flaring Bourealis,
until our hope for snipe is settled by morning loon,
when we rise on frozen limbs heated by sun's kiss.
Heart cradled within stardust-flaring Bourealis,
mind drifting on Pointillist drape of hungry slate,
no longer wobbling on limbs heated by sun's kiss,
we're content night cultivated our star-mad fate.
Sheri Fresonke Harper
for Paula Swanson's Pantoum Contest due 12/10/2010
Silent sage and chaparral
Gather ‘round the old corral,
Like the cowhands way back then
When the Old West did begin.
Too soon gone are all the days
Of the cowboy and his ways—
He’ll be herdin’ now no more
Like he did in times before.
He’ll soon sell his saddle, too—
Thinkin’ now that he’s all through,
But he lingers ‘round the gate
Still uncertain of his fate.
Though no wages does he draw,
He still works for grub and chaw
And still by the fire at night
He tells stories of his plight.
Too soon gone are all the days
Of the cowboy and his ways—
He’ll be herdin’ now no more
Like he did in times before.
Yet, still he comes ‘round the spread
Like a phantom of the dead—
We let him stay in the bunk
To spin windies and get drunk.
But his days now dwindle fast,
Still sad those times did not last—
But that cowboy never dies
In our songs and words and lies.
Too soon gone are all the days
Of the cowboy and his ways—
He’ll be herdin’ now no more
Like he did in times before.
Silent sage and chaparral
Gather ‘round the old corral,
Like the cowhands way back then
When the Old West did begin.
A Cowboy's Journal
By: Tom Wright
10/10/98
The old corral stands,
silver and smooth from no care.
From years of neglect,
in the crisp mountain air.
Earlier covered with frost
now black and wet from the thaw.
I saddled Sugar Foot, my Mustang,
then searched my vest for a chaw.
Finishing up with my Mustang,
I checked again old Jack.
He was packed out with water,
along with a full winters tack.
It is Molly's first pack trip
and her load fits like a glove.
Now, it's off to the Line Shack,
beyond the ridge top above.
Snow to Sugar Foots belly,
I had to ride through.
With ice frozen to my stirrups,
but what's a Cowboy to do.
I'll keep the fences mended,
even rounding up a stray.
and on cold winter nights,
keep the Wolves at bay.
Then alone at night,
by the fireplace I'll sit.
Listening to the fire talk,
while I whittle and spit.
As Christmas approached
I had myself a real treat.
For I bagged a big Elk
and had fresh camp meat.
Enough meat to last
beyond next springs thaw.
When I'll pack out my animals
and head back down the draw.