Long Colorado Poems
Long Colorado Poems. Below are the most popular long Colorado by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Colorado poems by poem length and keyword.
Ford score and...Chevy
five years ago,
my Model A strapping
handsome big bro,
(who sped like one
speeding Triumph font lee, crow),
wing, & swooping Thunderbird, with
bold face observers whistling Geronimo
(Holy Jeep), this meant war
whooping Comanche
decked out as armadillo
kicking up red feathery
colored dust devils
rivaling the fastest Alfa Romeo
(while choking, gagging, loo
sing russett sputum
flecked with true grit
mouthful size of Colorado)
easily mistaken for masked Zorro
speeding across rugged
terrain of Durango,
ah recall and reminisce,
and if cup ear just so
can still hear (albeit faintly),
a toy Yoda Echo
wing nsync with
Lake Woebegone prairie
home companion, the little known no
nonsense visiting drag queen racer
Noah N. Gin poe
cur face (born that way)
originally from Malibu, a beautiful
Corvair with Corsair, now resembling
groveling growling Gremlin, in slow-mo
what with his Smashface
ugly enough to scare Apollo
the ghost of David Buick,
a poor entrepreneur, who
never did make good profit re: Coupe,
and could not Dodge nor shoo
away, the Stealth fearsome curse
of Aries nibble Viper moo
ving fast as greased lightning,
(whereby an Eagle Talon
flashed like Spitfire akin too
Austin-Healey Sprite)
full Caprice out of the
(sir really yon) blue
celestial vault outer limits, hue
mans avoided only
brave Caravan Voyager Goo Goo
Doll dared (only fools rushed in,
ignoring, and dodging Fiat,
where angels feared to tread), a Motley Crue
shielded with Fisker Karma (credit),
no matter last payments way overdue
sought out (with Escort
in tow) - actually two
yup, that ever elusive Holy Grail,
thus needed to Focus with much ado
about nothing, while
brows scrunched – mad as Jew
pitter by Zeus snorting like
angry red Taurus bulls - do
tee fully kicking up Tempo
like nobody's business ready
to serve their Mazda at heart,
a Legacy Sub (burr rue)
tricked up as a gnu
that's all Volks-wagon
bidding adieu before
I Escalade from ridiculous
to the sublime.
Later that night, Ike and the others arrived
for a gala they held every first of June.
To be filled with dancing, feasting, and fun
with a full band to play people tunes,
inviting every respectable person they knew.
But before the part, to Prent Ike came,
Saying,”Now brother, we must hide your shame.”
Prent raised an eyebrow, truly confused.
“Now what every can you mean brother”
Ike said,”You know full well what I mean.
That little girl with the savage mother.
We don’t want good folk to discover—”
But before he could say another word more
Prent knocked his brother flat onto the floor.
His siblings came running to see the fuss,
and stared on quite incredulously.
Prent said,”Now, it’s all coming back,
all the reasons I decided to leave.
I see what father would have made of me!
I came here worried about my daughter’s fate,
but bringing her here was my greatest mistake!”
Annabeth gasped, and began to argue,
but Prent shot her his best death glare.
“I’ve had enough disdain to last a lifetime,
so dear sister, you’d better not dare.”
He kept her pinned there with his stare.
“But of you gala, you need have no fear,
tomorrow we’re going far away from here.”
Sure enough they were back on a train,
he in skins and her in traveling clothes,
Prent took great pleasure in seeing Nell smile,
her little face still pressed to the window,
riding back west to their home, Colorado.
Knowing fully that this was the end,
he’d never see any of his family again.
III.
When the stage reached town Prent took Nell
down the road towards Sally’s Café.
He’d had a whole ride to think of the words
that he desperately wanted to say.
Course talking never was really his way.
How he’d ask her, he didn’t right know,
they walked in and Sally went pale as a ghost.
She turned quickly from all her customers
and scooped up sweet Nell in an embrace
The girl smiled and hugged her tight,
showering kisses on Sally’s face.
Prent knew then that this was his place.
He said,”Sally, I think you were in the know.
back when you told me of good women right close.”
CONCLUDES IN PART IV.
Santa hasn’t drunk cocoa tonight,
and he’s not dressed in red trimmed with white.
In blue denim so cool,
he is toasting the Yule
with a drink surely not mixed with Sprite!
Santa’s drink was a little too red,
and I think we have something to dread,
for he’s now in the sky
and he’s flying “too high”
as his sleigh widely veers overhead.
Had been use for the Humor Contest of Carol Eastman
* Slab City is a snowbird campsite in the Colorado Desert in southeastern California, used by recreational vehicle owners and squatters from across North America. East Jesus is part of its artistic community.
Many are the sounds that are so pleasing to these old ears.
I now treasure musing about them in the autumn of my years!
How I cherished hearing my bride say, "I'll always love you, dear!"
The laughter of our little ones who brought to our home so much cheer!
As a lad I recall hearing the wailing whistle of the midnight train.
The rumble of the thunder and upon the roof, the softly falling rain.
I've heard the singing of telephone lines strung on poles along the road.
The birds in the meadow lifting their song in a cheerful, choral ode!
I'm in awe of the haunting honk of geese winging their southward bourne.
Hearing the clarion bugle call of "Taps" for a fallen hero causes me to mourn.
I've heard the soothing hymn of water flowing o'er rocks in a mountain stream.
I look up in the pristine Colorado sky and hear majestic eagles scream!
Ah, to relax and listen to the beautiful harmony of a hundred violins!
Have you heard the fans cheering when the hometown ball team wins?
I've heard the vagabond winds soughing softly through the towering yew.
I've heard the dissonance of His beasts howling and roaring at the zoo!
Alas, I now hear the creaking of my bones when arising from my bed!
Oft I've heard that still, quiet voice as I thank Him for my daily bread!
All about us are pleasant sounds to savor if we take time to hearken!
(That is if you can tune out that mutt down the street that's always barkin'!)
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Colorado is renown fer the majestic Rockies a-reachin' fer the sky.
Now, 'tis better known fer sittin' 'round, smokin' pot and gittin' high!
Visitors used to come to see Pikes Peak and The Garden Of The Gods.
Nowadays, they seek out cannabis shops wherein to spend their wads!
Some fellers gave up plantin' corn and melons to grow marijuana,
To reap the profits sellin' maryjane to folks a-seekin' their nirvana!
Now, in lieu of the scent of pine, the odious odor of pot pervades the air.
Glassy-eyed dudes stroll about pollutin' the air without a worldly care!
I'm chagrined to travel out-of-state sportin' a Colorado license plate.
Makes me real 'proud' to be called a denizen of The Centennial State!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
in memory of my great friend
Rudi Rubberoid
Grossialdo! Grossialdo!
Rip the face off Uncle Waldo!
Scare that fellow once too often!
Nail 'im in a wooden coffin!
Plant 'im nicely six feet under!
Leave 'im there and let 'im wonder!
Dig 'im up when heartbeat ceases!
Cook 'im for his giggly nieces!—
Yuk! Old Waldo's brain is oozy!
I can't look! It makes me whoozy!
Ship the corpse to Colorado!
To his mother! GROSSIALDO!
.
[This poem first appeared in a mail artist magazine edited by Rudi Rubberoid, Nomo the Zine Spring 1994. It was collected in my volume Daisy Zoo and Other Punk-ass Nonsense.]
Ectopic Wanderings
Born far from where
I was supposed to be,
nearer to the end
I chased the beginning
throughout my life
—forever going home
(Red Lodge Montana: September, 2021)
18kt Memories
I’ll wear a Rolex
once I’m dead,
as accolades surround
The past what’s left
of what was right,
buried in the ground
Beneath my dreams
above my hope,
one wish to tell the tale
Of life now lived
with death in charge
—new gold among the shale
(Ouray Colorado: September, 2021)
As Darkness Fell…
I got in the door
when no one was looking
and stayed
as the world looked away
I crashed every feeling
borrowing dreams
awake
in the afternoon’s mourning
(Ely Nevada: September, 2021)
Together Alone
Wisdom and love
in conflict they wed
to sleep through the darkness
—alone in the same bed
(Gardiner Montana: September, 2021)
Rent To Own
Once you move past
the imagery and symbols
vision stays constant
—connection secure
(Thermopolis Wyoming: September, 2021)
She was a wily cigar chompin' gambler with the moniker of Poker Alice,
Renowned throughout the west for her skill in many a gamblin' palace!
Poker Alice had a good head for countin' and with her very cunnin' guile,
(Plus her beauty), she mesmerized her opponents, amassin' quite a pile!
Poker Alice worked in saloons across the west as a faro and poker dealer.
She worked in Creede, Colorado for Bob Ford, that notorious stealer!
Because of her pious rearin' as a girl, she refused to work on Sundays,
But she was back smokin' a two-dollar stogie and dealin' cards on Mondays!
She drifted to Deadwood, South Dakota, where her notoriety was well known,
And married a house painter named Tubbs who was a deft gambler on his own!
Later she established a brothel near Fort Mead Army Post with her ill-gotten gain.
The place was small and she needed funds to fix the 'house' on Pleasure Lane!
To expand and recruit 'soiled doves' from Kansas City she applied for a loan.
The banker scratched his skull sayin', "I dunno! That's a risk into the unknown!"
She convinced him notin' that The Grand Old Army had an encampment near,
And for the soldiers' bent for visitin' hog ranches, he had nothin' at all to fear!
Things didn't go well since she plumb forgot The Methodist Preachers' Convention,
Convened each and every year and she hadn't figured on that intervention!
Poker Alice's fame and notoriety followed her well beyond her wanin' years.
She died after a gall bladder operation with her 'house' payments in arrears!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 4 in Don Johnson's " Your Old Ballad Or Rhyme - Best Of All Time" Contest
July 2011
I am the monarch of the sky
can outdistance by the miles
every insect, every time
heavy rain or bright sunshine
like a fearless horse I run
in the heart of boisterous winds
like a skater coast and glide
in my effortless cruising style
beauty queen of butterflies
smooth and waxy my chrysalis
green and gold heavenly spun
into a diadem to behold
a green drop of dew my egg
like a flower on milkweed stem
birthing life in green and black
golden gilded for contrast
curious strong alone I fly
gliding vales fields
and mountains
from lowland Louisiana
to skyscrapers Colorado
though alone all summer long
in the fall I flock along
with a million more to fly
for two thousands airy miles
on two inches of wings fragile
tracing shapes of butterflies
fluttering satin color clouds
beating chords of air so softly
into an incredible audible sound
of few millions wings in concert
greeting morning in Chincua forest
Second Place: Brian Strand-All Yours-6/1/019
Old Caleb Trotter had great plans for his town in Colorado.
For years he'd roamed the Rockies, finally finding his El Dorado!
He discovered glittering gold that would surely make him flush!
He founded Trotter's Gulch and soon there was a frenzied rush!
Cabins were built on plots that prospective miners selected.
Why, there was even a school and three churches were erected!
'Twas a bawdy place with the usual brawls and seedy saloons.
Soiled doves and gamblers invaded the town by platoons!
Time moved on and Caleb established a general store,
Figuring that the mining game wasn't for him anymore.
He made his fortune catering shovels, overalls and boots,
To hard-rock prospectors and other such galoots!
The population reached ten thousand and showed great potential.
It boasted a railroad station and other services essential.
It included three undertakers, five blacksmiths and ten preachers,
Four doctors, two newspapers and twelve well-respected teachers!
Alas, the pay dirt around Trotter's Gulch soon petered out.
The future of the town was left very much in doubt.
'Twas soon abandoned and another ghost town was born.
'Tis no longer on the map - it now lies desolate and forlorn!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)