Long Cowgirl Poems
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I’m a bit of a sensualist.
First, let me emphasise emotional resonance,
there has to be an emotional base,
not just an appreciation of hotness.
Then, there’s a sense of longing and mystery—
that male unknowableness.
Don’t forget the hard strength of those rough male edges,
you know, the feeling that he’s kind of sculpted from
a marble and you just want to run your hands over.
And this jet-black hair, the curves and the spiky bits,
casual, careless, not fussy or particular,
and his warm firm and Implacable hands.
Oh, God. Gimmie some.
“Sensuality is connected to desire, ya?” I asked the room (Sunny and Lisa are there, studying).
“It sure is,” Sunny said, flippantly, “and you just need that hot boyfriend of yours to spank it out of you.”
“No,” I winced, shaking my head no, “that’s not true.”
“Ooo! I love this song” Lisa said, as ‘try’ by BETWEEN FRIENDS began to play on our Echos.
.
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Songs for this:
this is what falling in love feels like by JVKE
golden hour by JVKE
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Our cast
Sunny, (suitemate) 21, a (pre-med) molecular, cellular, and developmental biology major, is a cowgirl from Nebraska (seriously, she has a quarter horse and barrel races). She’s an outspoken fem-facing ladies-lady.
Lisa, (roommate) 21, my bff and a high society princess, who grew up in a 50th floor Central Park South high-rise. A (pre-med) molecular biophysics and biochemistry major.
Your author, a simple, multinational, upper-crust, trust-fund baby from Athens, Georgia who's also a molecular biophysics and biochemistry major (pre-med).
I found the truth like a snake in the grass,
Quiet and cold, but it cut like glass.
He’s with someone new, laughin’ free,
While I patch up dreams he left in me.
It hit like thunder through bone and skin—
How easy it was for him to begin
A life without us, like we were a storm
He outran for sunshine and someone warm.
But I got a baby with eyes just like his,
And she don’t know what forgettin’ is.
She still asks why he don’t ride through,
Still thinks her daddy’s heart beats true.
And me? I break in the dark sometimes,
But I hold it together with nursery rhymes.
‘Cause she deserves a whole momma, not half,
Not one buried in sorrow or lost in the past.
So I lace up my boots when the mornin’ is grey,
Breathe in the Lord and push through the day.
I ain’t done cryin’, but I’m learnin’ to stand—
With a Bible in heart and a child in hand.
I kiss her forehead, whisperin’ low,
“Love sometimes leaves, but you’ll always know
That you were chosen, pure and bright—
Born from love, raised in light.”
She don’t need a bitter momma with shame,
She needs one strong enough to stake her claim—
That hearts can break and still beat right,
That women don’t fold, they learn how to fight.
So no, I ain’t healed, not all the way,
But I smile a bit more with each new day.
And when she laughs, the hurt fades some—
’Cause I’m not just a cowgirl…
I’m her momma. And I won’t come undone.
In an ol’ deserted village in the wild wild west
Stood only the wreckage of flattened log cabins
Where a young cowboy came to take some rest
As the sinkin’ sun tinged his silken cinnamon skin.
His dark tan horse stood still amidst the settlin’ dust
Through which approached a riding rancher rough
For the cute cowgirl to satisfy his licentious lust
So the enraged cowboy forced for a duel in a huff.
At the edge of the dry prairie in the gleam of twilight
The two confronted each other, both duly thinkin’
“I’m gonna win for her this formidable fight”
But the cowboy knew how to act as fast as lightnin’.
From his hand flew in a flash the shot like thunderbolt
Found the surprised target in the blink of the eye
As he delivered instant death from the revolvin’ colt
That was the way the guy of the ranch chose to die.
January 30, 2021
Contest : Cowboy Poetry
Sponsor : Line Gauthier
Can you hear my heartbeat
To the sound of little feet
Running around me meowing
Like a cat or barking
Can you hear my jilted fears
Pealed away like green pear skins
Rebuked by real and imagined sins
Flipped like a pancake drenched in syrup
Then like a cowgirl in stirrups
Ridden past green trees and tumbleweed
Until the heartbeats aren’t tumbling
Into the abyss of a denied kiss
I can hear it in my ear
Strong steady ready for what comes
Will you be the mystery mahogany inspiring
My hearts beating all odds
Humor me and sing a melody
Share and care dare to be
Red bleeding heart on a sleeve
Mary Six Pack Pistols staggers through time portals drunk
Pretending to be a priest but she is not a mister or a sister
To the old west saloon through double doors she glides
Drunker than a nun on steroids swinging rosaries from her side
Into a smoke filled room in rusty spurs and fake mustache
Presenting herself as a monsignor from another time and place
Cowboy boots caked in mud with love she blesses them
Introducing her two guns from underneath a long black dress
It is a curtain, a robe, a nun inside a habit for blasting baddies
There must be a shower outside which indicates a storm
The spittoon in the corner of the room needs emptying
She feels the weight of outlaws in her midst
From here to there the crowd looks innocent
But Padre knows better so shoots them all to death
To kingdom come and back again through the chest
Through time corridors we suspect they must be dust
Mary Six Pack says a prayer and drinks some holy water
From a whiskey bottle in another time dimension soaking wet
Then returns from there to here less sober and less blessed
Charged with a misdemeanor for impersonating a monsignor
We both agree that we're friends but last I checked, friends don't call at one in the morning. Friends don't pretend that they're not friends. Don't pretend not to know each other and friends don't look at each other like we do and tell me why everytime I do, it makes me want to cry but we say we're friends but never act like it. We both agree that it's nothing so why does it always feel like it's something? So are we strangers or friends? I've asked you this a million times and you always say the same stupid line, "I just don't want her finding out". "It's one little white lie". Sound familiar? Every time you say that, it makes me sick inside. I don't want to hide this anymore. Don't want to take her place being yours. Not saying that we should end this, not saying that we should keep on hiding this either. But it's fine though right, because you're leaving for Texas and this'll all blow over? Well news flash-it won't. The past will come back to haunt you like your shadow eventually always does. If we're just friends then why does it feel like it's nothing and everything at the same time? I don't want to be your Barbie doll, playing dress up, pretending to be your cowgirl when that's not my place.
This isn't even my race to run in. We should've just stopped before we even heard "Go!". So what's the prize when we both lose-strangers or friends?
she used to recite poetry to me
while making love cowgirl style
chanting TS Elliott’s Macavity
wearing nothing but a smile
its hard to appreciate the words
with breasts before your eyes
and your body being gripped
by soft warm controlling thighs
when she started on the wasteland
she would pick up speed and drive
thundering out his words
and i would brace to survive
as she screamed to the climax
like a banshee running wild
until her face relaxed with almost
the wonder of a happy happy child
the gentle word of Daffoldils
fluttering in their breezy weather
brought a much kinder ending
for us to gently share together
so many years passed since then
somehow we drifted apart
but she and the poetry still
hold a special place in my heart
Desperado..
Searching for my fate
Lost and traveling
Trying to redeem my reckless ways
I'm kicking up the dust
On this dusty ol' back road
Searching, seeking
To redeem my outlawed soul
At a lonely crossroad
Fleeing from my broken past
It's a lasso around my neck
But I know it's something
Any cowgirl can surpass
I'm going to hightail it
Just as fast as I can go
They can eat my dust
I'm doing what needs to be done
You can't catch me, desperado.
Town to town
As I come and leave
To me, nobody will speak
But I hear their whispers
Through the streets
"Bandit, robber
That slippery eel..
Running from the law
Cold hearted, never shed a tear."
My heart may be rusty
But it sure had my mind torn
What kind of crook
Do these people take me for?
Truth is
They'd never believe
A word from the mouth
As some as misunderstood as me
I'm not who I was
But I still ain't quite me
I guess I'll pack up
Until my demons let me be..
I'm not a burglar
A crook
A con
Or jailbird
There's more to
What you see
I won't hang up my hat
Til' you believe
There's more to me
Than you could ever learn
I've put out my fire
I know it's my turn
Don't look at me and see
No, I don't want to be
Oh, I don't want you to call me
Ms. Desperado..
on our way~to our ranch in town,
galloping horses, sun burnt brown,
a trail of dust greets evening sky,
our hearts are young but love still shy,
on our way to meet girls to date,
shall find me one if luck be fate,
what to say as opening line?
“I love you so, will you be mine?”
or should I ask her for a dance,
may be she will pick with a glance,
should I act macho and aloof,
blow cigar smoke rings at the roof?
nervous slowly we walked in,
sat on a bar stool ordered gin,
as we eased in to ambience,
we looked around for dating chance,
bevy of girls sat across us,
If winked at, will they make a fuss?
soon the music got us on feet,
were moving to rap of drum beat,
laughter, singing echoed around,
kicking feet we made tapping sound,
soon shyness lost love took over,
I kissed her under bell tower!
thirty years since the day we met,
treasured moments hard to forget!
4th placement
Written 20/01/2021
Line Gauthier sponsor
Cowboy poetry contest!
26 lines rhyme aabbccdd....
8 syllables each
Eve T.M.M. is a sweet Canadian gal
A product of the wild wild west
Living between Edmonton and Calgary
Imagine as a cowgirl she's dressed
Riding frisky stallions and lassooing steers
Roundup time on Circle M Ranch
With the majestic Rockies off in the distant
A loud Yippy-Ki-O she does chant
Now my friends, I could be totally off base
Eve may just be a simple city girl
Perhaps just a sweet down to earth real lady
Sending rancher's heads in a whirl
Well I'd like to think she's a sophisticated lady
With servants at her beck and call
Wearing a diamond studded evening gown
Dancing the night away at the ball
Eve T.M.M. is a sweet Canadian gal
A product of the wild wild west
© Jack Ellison 2015