Long Gunning for Poems
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He never loved me
Well damn I just found out
Took a shot to the heart
Don't know where I should start
I guess I musta been strung out
Cuz I was straight up on his arm flashing that smile like aint no brother like the one I got
Saying girl I'm so lucky
You just jealous
Whatchu mean he's cheating
Ahh shut yo mouth
Making plans, writing poetry, letting his hands be one with me
He was free to play games with me
With my identity
When he was through with me
I barely recognized who she was cuz she was not me
But I was forever high
See I
I planned our wedding in my mind a million times
Yeah I said we'd name our first kid Tasha
Or prolly Sasha
Even after his great grand aunt Hadassah
Kiki or prolly Eloise
He could bend me over
To his whim or his fancy
Deeply committed was I
To this guy
I didn't care about the why
I just cared about his smile
How his face would light up when he saw me
And just how it was all so wild
Mild
was never a part of our loving
heavy from the get nicca always had me coming
To him constantly running to him
Gunning for him
Loving just him
Giving never ex-pec-ting
He didn't love me
See I just found out
One day it came to me when I was walking around the house
It came to me
How I'd put his needs before mine
Put ma money on his hustle
Saying everything would be fine
Cuz I would be-ne-fit
Joint bank accounts
Cleared out savings
Warning signs begged me to put an end to the ish
But I just couldn't quit
I could not forget
He was that 9-5 that I just could not leave
So I worked tirelessly hoping the boss would recognize
My efforts and promote me.
Promote me?
Dumb me
Strung out
Oh boy kinda good turn out
Everyone showed up but sanity
Cuz I musta been crazy to letchu play me
and sway me to your mindset
Wet, my heart with regret
turned me cold a reject
Deject-ted I stayed that way for centuries
Soul moment suffering through comments
Holding on to moments
Dead to emotion to me anomaly
He never loved me
WELLL I JUST FOUND OUT
I was silly blind trying to find
Reasons for his indiscretions
His lack of confession
Why he never let me in
Musta been ma sins
saying be more forgiving.
He never loved me.
...Burke grabbed Aura and they both ran out,
riding double on his trusty horse.
The word raced quickly through the town,
a posse was formed, as a matter of course.
So Burke pushed his mount, more and more.
They couldn’t go back, despite acts justified,
not when two men, one a sherriff, had died.
So they rode, pursuers hot on their trail,
until they reach a ranch high the peaks.
Burke pulled a gun while Aurelia seized
a new horse, both study and sleek.
The rancher fumed, too angry to speak.
Burke apologized, gave him all his gold,
then sped off again into mountains cold.
Two days passed, the posse drew close,
and both their horses started to flag.
No longer able to outrun their hunters,
Burke mad camp high up in a crag,
where he could shoot safely if they attacked.
The posse appeared in the meadow below,
lead the by the sherriff’s oldest, known as Milo.
“Surrendor now, or we’ll shoot you down!”
They shouted it as they stared to climb.
But before Burke could even open his mouth
the air exploded with shrill, Indian cries.
A horde of Bannocks their arrows let fly!
They swept into the meadow, circling fast.
The posse died quickly, not long could they last.
Burke and Aurelia hid low in the rocks
until the last of the Bannocks had left.
Not much was left of the posse below,
they lay still, and were mostly scalpless.
But one figured crawled amongst the dead.
Burke climbed down, still clutching his gun,
and loomed over the sheriff's bloodied son.
“You won’t believe me, but I’ll say it now,
I acted only out of self-defense.
You’re father and Grisby were gunning for me,
and Grisby was putting his hands on my friend.
There choices brought them to their ends.”
But Milo just snarled, and crawled away,
Burke and Aura sighed, and left him that way.
No one from Tillico ever saw them again,
even when Milo put a bounty of their hides.
Some say they made for themselves new names
and peacefully lived out their lives.
Others said, like most outlaws, they died...
And if you all liked this tale that you just heard,
Tell your friends about me, Bruce Bowden the Third.
Good morning Poison Squirrels,
Today I am going to address your bowel problems
My class groans.
We don’t like to think about them.
We are teens.
Your mouth chews up food, right? Asks Mr. Lee.
Our science teacher is way too cheery in the morning.
One student out of thirty-one nods.
Mr. Lee focuses on her.
Saliva lubricates the food then sends it down the esophagus.
He draws a saxophone-looking cartoon on the board.
Muscles of the esophagus propels the food into your tummy!
He says this with a flourish, and shakes a couple of red pompoms.
One girl laughs. Same girl.
She must be gunning for an A.
Your stomach muscles breaks the food down into smaller pieces.
Actually, turns it into a paste much like poi, it is called chyme.
“Why don’t we call it poi?” asks a student who never is interested.
“That’s an interesting question!” Mr. Lee says.
“A very interesting question.”
A small giggle starts from somewhere.
He gives me a sharp look, and I realize it was from my throat.
“Sorry,” I say, not meaning it at all.
He nods.
As if I was serious.
Maybe I can still keep my C
“Next we have the small intestines,” says Mr. Lee.
He has continued to draw on his cartoon.
Does anybody know what organs add the digestive juices?
“OOOOHHHH!” someone says in a disgusting way. Dang it! It was me!
“Liver?” Miss I-shall-get-my-A says.
Science guy nods.
“Anybody else?” He asks hopefully.
“Heart?” our other class clown says.
There is a shriek of laughter.
Actually, several.
Now I wish I had said that.
Mr. Lee is not looking quite as happy.
“Pancreas?” Another brown-nose yells out.
Mr. Lee nods. “And Gallbladder,” he adds.
The drawing looks almost done, and he is getting toward the bottom.
“The large intestine is next,” he says.
“Anybody care to guess how long it is?”
“Seventy five feet?” the clown yells out.
We all laugh.
Mr. Lee is looking a whole lot less happy.
We finally get down to the part where the rectum evacuates.the waste.
I wisely put a hand over my traitorous mouth.
The debate between free will and fate has taken a hard right
turn to neuroscience, Brodmann area 4 the primary motor
cortex of the brain located in the posterior frontal lobe
(the one cut out of the one who once flew over the cuckoo's nest).
This area of the cortex has the pattern of an homunculus!
a little man, a troll, the all-wise, mandragon, the golem of Jewish folklore.
This little man has a that, when fully engorged, is
equal in size to his entire body. However, diseases
such as Parkinson's, Alzheimer's, Huntington's, Lou Gehrig's and
Creutzfeldt-Jakob
are gunning for him. His basal ganglia are garbled
and he ends up giving poor advice and making bad decisions.
Who can say what happens to his soul or cells or if all will be given or
well?
I was listening to the famous astronomer on public radio
who expressed the certainty there is no death, your soul
is immortal, it exists outside of time (but not space?). That's because
time exists only in the human mind (as does the universe
including the professional baseball season which is canceled when
you're dead).
By Spring, my problems will be solved or ignored, either way is good.
Groundhog holds the knowledge of death without dying
for man needs help from every creature born.
Will the holocaust wipe the smile off the face of our romantic comedy
or will laughter outlast the outburst?
About the dark times will there be singing?
Yes, there will be singing and some of the songs will be sidesplitting.
Solving the murder reveals the city. Nature of kinships and economic
sustenance,
who loves whom and why, when things happened and how they lost
and found themselves
in what happened. Because a meter-making argument cannot appear
from nothingness, purposelessness, just cold.
He does not go where he was supposed to go. He is in the desert,
Sonoran desert, counting cactus buds and ocotillo blooms.
This is the afterlife for which he has always longed.
Have Mac - Will Travel!
I have iPhones slung low on each hip for fast draws.
Nope, you won’t see white gloves on this tenderfoot’s paws.
I post mostly rhymed poems, they’re metered, spit-shined
and can dazzle one’s boots off, leave critics consigned
to hawk snow cones to children at Sputnik’s State Fair
(if they keep up at all, still can rock in their chair)!
There’s no passport for purchase on poetry’s range
and no fences to bypass, things open to change.
Some prefer to grab fruit that hangs low on a tree
(there's investment or risk?) What ‘don’t rhyme’ is called “free?” (1)
Fruit one reader calls “orange,” another calls “peach,”
to my taste bleached, cracked seashells (life's poop on a beach!)
Such are haiku some laud ‘cause their content’s so vague
with fake seasonal words (Smells like death. Was it plague?)
I like haiku I do, when they rise from the ground,
like a blossom that's chock-full of bright-colored sound.
I am gunning for you if you think you’re a pro,
think your faith is real knowledge, that God’s yours to ‘snow.’
There are bullies (I’m not one) but know hypocrites
when I see them (all puffed up), sad brains on the fritz.
I am loaded for bear and you’re barely a cub,
so run back to your momma, I’m warning you, Bub.
I will blow your butt off if I see you again.
Let me move my lips slowly, we’re not talking chin!
Long Tooth
May 8, 2022
Poet’s Notes:
The Paladin of Poetry for President! Yahoo!
(1) “Free Verse” suggests almost zero discipline to me. That is not to
say that it has no value, however. Even “elevator music” and ocean waves have a kind of easy beauty to them that is pleasant to the ear. Ha!
A coyote pack was howling as the sun crowned
Zack Waverly was weary, he'd travelled around
Zack takes up the narrative, better I found.
High noon, I rode the bay into Rotgut town
With fixed intention, I weren't playing around.
A spurt of tobaccy I spat on the ground.
To finding my quarry was where I was bound.
Saw lonesome Jake sitting outside the saloon
Playing his harmonica, a doleful tune.
No time for pleasantries, gunning for Calhoun
As I went in, I collided with Muldoon
I threw him head over heels into Main Street
Then in turning to draw the bullet was fleet.
I checked Muldoon was dead by kicking his feet
Lonesome Jake squealed and beat a hasty retreat
The bar tender nodded as I caught his wall eye
A bargirl sidled to my side and said "Hi".
With her arms 'round my neck, I did not reply.
So I swept her aside as she exclaimed "Why?"
Downing a shot asked "Seen Calhoun hereabout?"
Bar keep Sam Finnegan said "With this here drought
gone find watering hole with Indian scout"
In anger kicked a table, then came a shout.
“ Waverley, you yella belly rattlesnake!"
The saloon emptied leaving 'us' in their wake
Saw Calhoun run up the stairs making them quake.
Turning, he aimed, an easy target did make.
Double barrelled gun smoke then filled up the room.
Grabbing his legs, hissed "I'd put him in his tomb"
I punch him through a winda and grabbed a broom.
Then came a 'free for all' with goodness knows whom.
The director shouted "Cut, print, great work guys"
As my girlfriend, the bar girl, said "Hey, surprise"
As she dragged me to trailer batting her eyes.
Don’t call Moses a liar he was much more than that
There are no sands of time just time and sand
(and not enough of either in this land)
Just one way is one too many ways skin a cat.
Peter denied Jesus thrice and he still got a booking
Space is hurling through us not the other way around
Don’t look for the Arc it’s…just stop looking
(it will never be found).
Better to not be a fly on the wall lest disaster strikes
The Sun doesn’t set never sets it’s on the other side
(something none of us really likes)
Lollipops don’t pop no matter how you’ve tried.
The Titans are still pissed over losing the war
(and they are gunning for revenge)
When rain falls its not f'ing tears its more
Pyramids weren’t built by people nor Stonehenge.
Man has designs on woman and it will always be
The rib wants home the home wants another rib
(don’t ask me)
Marriage is indentured servitude for the glib.
While we’re at it love: ill-fated concept for mammals
A tree falls you’re not there it still makes a sound
(quite a shambles)
And yes the egg came before the chicken was around.
This is your mind this is drugs now what to do?
(so many choices so little time)
If she has that look in her eye who is defining you?
And thus endeth this unplanned rhyme.
(click on the pic to buy my poetry book!)
It's too many different spirits within me
My personality is constantly shifting
I'm the most humble but act different next minute
I'll admit it I'm twisted
Tell me to act innocent on my living sisters I'll kill it
Dead ass until the point we get to speak and I kill it
Looks are deceiving no kidding
But we all have our days
And we all have our ways
Different character traits, we all have a part to play
We all got something to say
A Piece of me I can share
The rest of me I'm ashamed to show I pretend it ain't there
So I pretend to be open
I pretend to be clear
To the piece of you that's probably just pretending to care
When there's a piece of you judging me I can hear it in there
Hiding from a piece of me that a piece of you fears
Words they fly right out my mouth
But not as good as they sound
You pick it up where I put it down
You just another one down..
Yeah
You have to see where I'm coming from to get what I'm gunning for
I'd have to open up my heart and show you a couple sores
But until you uncover yours
I'm overprotective with that
I won't let you touch the soul
I won't let you judge the core
I'm sensitive
I know betrayal like I know my siblings
Like an insecure girlfriend knows a hickey
So it's hard to know which person to trust
So when you ask me about the personal stuff my response is always good as scripted
I choose to trust I don't owe it to no-one
Figured I might just be better off as a loner
It's crazy, world's getting colder and colder.
I saw my first killing
At the tinder age of thirteen
Two men fell outta the towns saloon
And commenced to fighting in the street
It was at that very moment
My Momma she grabbed me
But Momma couldn't keep me from seeing
What it is I seen
It broke my heart when Momma
Stood on that dusty street and cried
But I still went about my business
When she covered up her eyes
I grabbed the dead mans gun
That's when I told my lie
I told my Momma that I'd be home
Later on that night
But my Momma she never saw
Her young boys face again
'Cept on the wanted posters
Nailed up by many a lawman
Many a lawman lately
That's gunning for my hide
'N' to think it all got started
When the first owner of this here gun of mine died
My killing spree started in Colorado
Then went south for a spell
Every town that I rode up on
Became a living hell
A living hell that no one ever
Had the nerve to give me back
I almost feel sorry for the men
Who ever dared to cross my path
No matter how far or fast I ran
Death was always close behind
In his right hand he holds a flaming sword
On the handle engraved the name is mine
The name is mine
And he knows it well
Deaths one desire
Is my soul in hell
I was twenty one years of age
When a coward shot me in the back
Shot me in the back
Cause it was courage that he lacked
The courage that he lacked
Stopped my deadly run
As fast as it all got started
The day I pick up that dead mans gun
In the pit of the darkness it's midnight
Cross horizon lots of new day
Fluorescent wrong casualties of war
Spun out tires the interstate grows
Infatuated with the debacry
Fathom crew it's all that's lost to me it's new
In the pit of the darkness it's midnight
~
On the clouds of righteousness none of this fits
Caught up in the mirage of prayers
While even in the darkness they pedal their wares
While being strung out on life, embracing your strife
Providence is gunning for you infatuated with the democracy
Fathom cruise it's all that's lost to me and it's new
In the pit of the darkness it's midnight
~
Shall I get up to heaven in this fleshy tattered frame
While it's not about getting their it is more about staying there
For our God has unequivocally has said that there's nothing new under the Sun
For one day when the Son sets down on this terrain ground
Bringing with Him His warring angels to battle the sin ful strangers
~
From the clouds of His righteousness He commits
His merciful salvation yours you should accept
While being strung out on life embracing this strife
Providence is gunning for you infatuated with the bureaucracy
Phantom dues it's all you have left and to me it's old it's new
In the pit of the darkness it's midnight
Callus prospective hues what's true what to do
Turn on the lights, Why? Cause...in the midst of in the pit of the darkness
1/1/22
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2022