Long Gunslingers Poems
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Buck was a tough man
very fast with his gun
always just one step
ahead of the law
He rode from town to town
never staying all that long
because as soon as word got out
the young gunslingers would come
Now Buck was not a man
to go looking for trouble
but it seemed that some how
it was his middle name
Really all he wanted to do
was marry his sweetheart
and raise a fine family
to live peacefully with them
He had a small hideaway
high up in the Rockies
a simple log cabin
where he could hole up
Not the place to take a bride
far too isolated and bare
talking to Betty he asked her
to purchase some land
Make it down in lush valley
he told her, we can raise cattle
a few horses to start a herd
maybe some hens and geese for eggs
Betty found a prime piece of land
with a cool bubbling spring
trees to shelter and give shade
sweet green grass to feed them all
Buck and Betty got married at last
soon built a fine house and barn
with a corral and stables
yet all too soon their bliss shattered
Young gunslingers heard where he was
dropping by to chance their luck
ending up in wooden coffins
because Buck was real fast
Until one day the townspeople
rode out to see Buck
they wanted him to be their sheriff
to protect them from the bandits
Buck agreed to wear the badge
and rid the town of the bad guys
each day he patrolled the territory
many baddies he lay to rest
Yet he felt he had no real peace
that his life was on borrowed time
he wanted to live his life quietly
tending to family and his ranch
This seemed a wistful thought
as still yet more gunslingers came
one day he knew he'd meet a faster gun
and end his life face down in dirt
One day while build a nursery he got
Betty to chop while he held the logs
well Betty missed and got his fingers
cutting them clean off only stumps left
It was his gun hand that was hurt
soon the word went around
the young guns stopped coming
no sport for them now
Buck finally got his dream
and lived to a ripe old age
siring five fine children
and many grandchildren
Against all the odds
he died quietly in bed
his last words to Betty were
"That was the best miss you ever made"
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
West Texas is a vast, wide-open area, dusty, windy, and dry. Many a time I hid the mostly unbranded calves I took from the herd on the XIT ranch behind the tumbleweeds that had built up in the small valleys across the open plains only the moonlight could see. I tried to move at night as much as I could because rustling cattle had become a dangerous occupation as I was finding out. Cattle barons had hired gunslingers and trackers to bring justice to outlaws like me and they were on my trail. Hoping the wind would erase my tracks I moved as many miles as I could, stopping only when water was found which wasn't often enough and the cattle, I stole were gettin' weak. I was halfway through New Mexico territory trying to get to the Magdalena cattle drive to sell my stock to wranglers I knew but I had to let the calves go and save myself. I could see four mounted cowboys on the mesa under the clear blue sky with me in their sight. I ditched all the weight I was carrying except the rifle and Colt on my hip as I headed into the Sawtooth mountains when a shot rang out. My horse, spooked by the noise reared up, throwin' me off onto the hard ground below as another shot rings out. I feel a burning sensation in my side as I get up to run for cover in a grove of gnarled trees' close by. Bleedin' from a gut shot, I know I won't recover as I hear the four cowboys drawing near. "Give it up boy, you aint goin' nowhere, this is the end of the line" the cowboy said. I replied "go to hell lawman!" as I fired from my Colt hittin' one of the riders. I tried to run further in the brush when I was struck again through the back. Mortally wounded, I thought about home and the woman I loved there. The cowboy on the black steed said "your rustlin' days are over son, anything you want to say?" "Give me a drink will Ya". The cowboy dismounted and handed me a bottle of whiskey, I pulled the cork with my teeth and took a swig. Handing the bottle back to him, it was getting hard to breathe as I said "grant me my dying', wish will Ya". "What is it boy" he said. With my last struggling breath, I said "bury me in Datil".
while working one evening at the plant,
an older man began explaining to a younger man next to him
just how easy it would be for him to get away with
killing someone.
the young man,
now more attentive than ever before
(once the older man mentioned that he would have no problem
killing someone),
sat there while the older man laid out his plan---
he explains that he would use an older rifle that he has hanging in his
house (one whose make no longer exists),
and that he would simply drive up next to the house of the person he
hated,
and while waiting with a scope on the rifle,
from a distance he would pluck his enemy’s life right out of them
as to him it would be
“just like hunting a deer.”
the younger man digs down deep within
for that part of him that feels could kill
and responds to the older man:
“i know could kill somebody & get away with it too---yep, just like
killing a deer”
the two agree that after killing whomever it is that they want dead,
they’ll feel better because said individual will no longer
be around to annoy them.
and the gunslingers build up their stocks of
guns & ammo
they breed their sons to love guns & if they don’t go off to war
after being spoon-fed grandiose amounts of patriotic
excrement
which will prepare them for being
hired killers
somewhere else in the world,
they stay at home within these borders &
fester.
the american gunslinger is a special kind,
one whose history comes from the celebrated
“wild west,”
and who shook fear into others that would stand in their
way---
these psychos want to be able to parade around with their
big cocks out
so that all the world will see just how much of a man they
really are
(in their big trucks with their big guns, compensating again &
again, so obviously, for their itty bitty peenie weenies).
as an inward, xenophobic, extension of the empire,
directed within
at itself---
they are doing a bang up job!
Sitting here casually thinking to myself, wanting to pen something new,
I visualize that I could easily write about anything.
I could write about you and the way her smile sparkles so brilliantly,
And the way her hair flows elegantly and shines.
I could write about how we tolerate and handle others in so many ways,
Yet if you notice we mostly never read between the lines.
I could write about how the use of a God can be a way to control others,
But for my higher power he will always be the one true creator.
I could write about literature like Brutus and the famous line stated,
“Et tu Brute” and how to Caesar he was a painful traitor.
I could write about while sitting in the driver’s seat foot easing the gas,
and I sense the open highway’s vast freedom within my car.
I could write about how on a clear, magnificently sparkling starlit night,
Gazing astonished I notice that one glorious falling star.
I could write about the Wild Wild West with gunslingers like Wyatt Earp,
Doc Holiday, even Ike Clanton bursting into the amazing gun fights.
I could write about some hilariously funny and catchy movies like,
Idiocracy, Hangover or even the one called Men in Tights.
I could write about love, hatred, and almost any of these emotionally,
Manipulated, misconstrued and yet confusing things.
I could write about some puppets and this can be explained in any way,
Seem to always be controlled by hidden secretive strings.
Then before my pen ever falls against the paper or my fingers hit the keys,
Noticing nothing has changed I envision I truly could write about anything.
. for public domain
All Day Tomorrow
( a cast of characters in song )
Homeless Jo and Jane:
We've got all day tomorrow,
to wait by the New Jersey shore,
to beg for a nickel
'cause we're in a pickle.
No end to us being so poor.
Tonight let us rub off our bruises,
tonight let us sing bright and gay.
We filled up our bellies,
the storefront has telly.
Tomorrow may bring a good day.
Parson at the pulpit:
We've got all day tomorrow,
to dry all the tears we will shed.
Our Blessings are fickle.
'cause we're in a pickle.
We can't count the hairs on our head.
Tonight let us kneel with our Savior,
tonight pass on worries what may.
Hand all of our cares
to Jesus upstairs.
Tomorrow may bring a good day.
Children:
We've got all day tomorrow,
for skinning our knees out at play.
We've no butter brickle.
We haven't a nickel.
We're poor as the kids in Bombay.
Tonight all our bellies will grumble,
tonight, while the folks are away,
we'll run through the halls,
and mark up the walls.
Tomorrow may bring a good day.
And so on, and so forth with Parents, Fire Fighters, EMT's, Police Officers, Imam's, Rabbi's, Old West Gunslingers, Suffragettes, Pig Farmers, Bankers, Bad Guys in dark alleys, Peppermint Patty, Goldilocks and the Three Bears, Odin, Cats, Screen Guild Members, and the Shadowy Neighbor next door who no one wants to meet.
One or two of us
Were home on leave;
For the rest of us,
Christmas came by mail.
Our callsign: Gunslingers.
Our Military Transition Team
Was embedded with
The "Triple Deuce" Iraqi Infantry,
For a year our home
Was LSA Diamondback
Mosul, Nineveh province,
In northern Iraq
A Team member's wife
Gave us all Santa hats.
I have an old photo
Of us standing on top
Of an old Iraqi bunker,
Bearing pistols, rifles,
And those Santa hats.
My wife sent a small
Plastic Christmas tree,
Which was decorated
In the Gunslingers' office.
My mom sent a warm quilt.
When you're acclimatized
To wearing battle armor
In the high 90s and 100s,
80-something feels cold!
I remember the nights--
Dark, but full of stars,
With Orion's belt
On the horizon.
Soldiers made bonfires
In the oddest places:
By a concrete shelter,
Or in classified burn pits.
Once exiting my office,
I saw a fire in the sky.
Soldiers were on top of a bunker
Drinking near-beer, singing.
Another night, I stood
Just outside of the light
Looking at some troops,
And the chiaroscuro image.
I went back to my "choo",
And penciled the scene.
To complete the masterpiece,
I inserted myself
Roasting marshmallos.
I went back to visit them,
Showed them the drawing,
Then completed the picture
By searing a marshmallow.
Christmas was what we made of it.
painted in black from head to foot
like a mourner
why not a veil and snowy white
showy wedding gown
after all, nunsense knows
that we are the bride of Christ
while we are at it let’s glue
some angel’s wings and halo
to our ensemble
and heigh ho purchase
a white horse of course
the nuns are coming
fast like gunslingers
but prettier
and the weapon of choice
the two-edged sword
no, nunsense knows, it’s sharper
the good book
open all day
what nunsense knows
you might suppose
is that God
really knows it all
and might suppose
if he really does
that we might want to
glitter-gold plate
our fingers in the endowment
of the Great Creator
of the paramount groom
his word is his promise
Christ’s grand promises are always kept
and on point
is that brothers and sisters in Christ
from all lands
will wear white
and inherit all, beside the lion and lamb
fill your lamps with oil
don’t spoil your marriage
when it’s dark you need your supply
of extra oil
the nuns they ride
as they hear the groom call
as they hear him call
too many nuns are left behind
in mourning gowns…
They sit at your house like gunslingers
well too bad I rent an apartment
you lost it pal try again later
black coffee
got a latte I was sipping on and it just hit me
no bite no vigor
just weak soft creamy syrup
yeah there’s wind in the sails but no catharsis
maybe that's what's wrong with kids these days
they got their iced coffee Frappuccino bull
no gumption
no Moxy
they want their cream and their sugar
maybe that's why I’m bitter
bitter coffee straight black like my soul
even the crema betrays its true intention
god the kids these days just wouldn’t understand
maybe its just over here in the states
I wonder if the kids in the UK still partake in tea time
guess I should read up on this or maybe just strike up
a conversation ha yeah right. Talk about on brand
nothing too relevant
I like the sound of that
makes me think of how poetry ought to keep itself
or at least the poems I write
need to read
need to go to the library
I need to feed once again on the blood of knowledge so that I might fill my veins
with more of this sweet sweet writing juice
out to sea
countless miles hand to the tiller
to find that brief moment
on the crest of a twenty foot breaking wave
as a nor'easter wilds the sea
when you glimpse it
in the stillness between heaven and earth
she hid in her bedroom
looking at a late fall paris passing rainstorm
and on the run down east side facing the setting sun
she could just make out another lover fleeing town with
his creditors in hot pursuit
he owed so much for the words he had abused
up on paris's boothill
the gunslingers and thieves wouldn't have ya
it was in that darkest hour she glimpsed it in the mirror
under the bewitching stars
in the anvil of desolation's wasteland of high desert
on the cusp of the suns imminent rise
you can see it in the broiling fire
as the edge of the world itself appears to burn
you can see clearly that this end
of your little world
is but a door which you stand at the threshold
many times in your life
step into the fire or frying pan
step into the next world you will live in
or try vainly to escape into the past
It looked unassuming and quiet, but when I walked inside
I saw gunslingers and aliens, and a bear dancing as he imbibed.
The gunslingers were shooting, so I dove behind the bar.
The bartender was hiding there, he told me hush my car.
Yes, my Lincoln came with me, and was now zooming up and down.
The dancing bear peeked over the bar and gave me a little frown.
I was snatched up in his giant paw, and he sniffed me up and down.
I was sorry I had ever heard of Zootlefritz, this bar in weird town.
Expected to be eaten, but instead she said “Let’s dance!”
Thought she was a female for she was wearing girlie pants.
We dance up and down the room, but the car ran into her leg.
The aliens snatched it up and took it way past Winnipeg.
Zootlefritz is the place I recommend if you ever feel too uptight.
The gunslingers will humble you by giving you a cowboy fright.
I actually truthfully cannot guarantee the aliens will be there.
But since she is the owner, you will meet my dancing bear.