Long John wayne Poems
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I went to the Hollywood studio meeting
Paul, Steve and Sandy gave me a warm greeting
I was there to advise them, hired from Spain
My motto in business was no pain, no gain
So we sat down to the business at hand
Their movies were sinking, like stones in quicksand.
"How about a cowboy movie," I said...
"Good guys and bad guys with the latter shot dead!"
A gasp of wonder spread to them all
"Why didn't we think of that?" said Paul
Said Sandy, who though rich, struck me as obtuse
"It has to be woke, it must have juice
The cowboy, we'll call him Abdul McPherson
No, wait, we should refer to him as a CowPerson
His love interest should be black or brown
A birthing person, the soul of the town
The villains name could be Donald McKnight
A Donald Trump stand-in, got to be white."
"Wait," said Steve, "cis-male is a relic."
Abdul should be tender, gender-fluid and angelic."
Steve looked at his reflection in the table of mahogany
Added "How about hints of consensual non-monogamy?"
Sandy said "No! We must push the edge with our fans!
Every character, even the horse, must be trans!"
I was sarcastic, I said "for a true creative spark
We know Spielberg had a hit long ago about a shark,
Maybe stick one in the film, somewhere in the sagebrush
A gasp spread around the table, an awestruck hush
Paul shouted, "that's it! Cowperson versus Jaws!
A fable about transgressing natures laws!
Lets start shooting tomorrow, drop that Batman remake:
With this kind of theme, we can't make a mistake!"
Despite guaranteed payment, I was feeling sick
I already knew there was no hope for this flick
But they got so thrilled, they made their bet
Sunk investor millions, their studio further in debt.
I gathered my fees, went back to Spain
And "Cowperson versus Jaws" circled down the drain
To my horror in the credits, they mentioned my name
I was jeered in Madrid, couldn't face the shame.
Paul, Steve and Sandy did fine at the bank
Woke investors kept funding, though the movie stank
Though audiences felt under a dentist's drill
The Critics said the movie was epic, groundbreaking, a thrill.
Geologists say that one day, California will fall into the sea
Its already happened; Hollywood is a parody
Showdown at Noon but no Gary Cooper, can't find John Wayne
Woke Bandits have stolen the gold off the movie train.
So you think you know just how us cowboys should behave
But listening to your jawing, I hear Chisholm spinning in his grave
A Cowboy who don’t drink or cuss, I’ll tell you that’s not right
Ain’t you heard of Old Whiskey Row, Where two cowboys got tight?
To go to tying knot’s in the Devil’s tail took more than lemonade
There’s been liquor on the bar in every movie John Wayne made
Back when Chisholm blazed the trail & cattle claimed the West
It was music round a campfire, as the hands settled for a rest
They’d often talk of home or sing a tune to pass the time
You’ve seen that in the movies, when it only cost a dime
They sang of Laredo, Lil Joe or maybe Annie Laurie
Right then & there you decided what a Cowboy ought to be
There are some things we might share with Hoppy, Roy & Gene
But real cowboys won’t ever be like those on the Disney scene
Any buckaroo can sure clean up sharp for a Saturday night dance
Even be persuaded to use pretty words when sparking a romance
We pick a little guitar and some can make that harmonica wail
But you’re just as apt to hear La Bamba as you are a song of the trail
Those cowboys that you talk of, all slick & squeaky clean
All pressed and starched, with proper speech, they ride a silver screen
You see that feller in the corner, all tattered & dusty, that’s the real McCoy
Battered old Stetson, mud & manure spackled jeans, a bonafide Cowboy
He might be rough around the edges and his language a bit coarse
But when he sets to working cattle, You swear he was born on a horse
We are only human after all; sometimes we just need to cut loose
Shoot out the lights, kiss all the ladies; drink our fair share of the booze
We still love our mommas and say grace with most meals
We just don’t handle being boxed, can’t stand the way it feels
Those who don’t tolerate a lot of rules choose the cowboy way
Much like this cowboy you see here before you today
I can see you are trying to sort this out in your head
For all you know of cowboys is what you’ve seen and read
I surely hope this little talk about cowboys made it all a bit clearer
The only one we answer to is the maker and the face in the mirror
I hate to burst your bubble, still you best here it from me
Cowboys can’t be pigeon holed; they must be wild & free
Catherine Lilbit Devine © September 19, 2005
*Image of Seasons Of The Year by Pixabay.
Seasonals
~~0~~
Time of heaven's anointing fertile grounds,
fertile nature, and beast surrounds,
Hail, 'tis springtime here a blossoming,
buds are blooming everywhere,
Hark the juveniles from the towns,
frolicking yonder the fairgrounds,
Awakening comes into being,
comes into being the heralds of spring,
Playing happily here rounds and elsewhere,
cheerily sounds, frowns drowns,
~~adults abound at hare and hounds.
~~0~~
Heightening sunlight burning daylight truly,
nigh in the noon hour stand high,
Flowers' mood-matching shades of golden brown
from bluish green trades,
The exclusive facade reaches bone dry,
bone dry as warm air is blown dry,
They sweltered till all screamed for ice cream
as their dessert melted away an "s",
Gods and goddesses tans apply, amplify fans,
swim summer ray goodbye,
~~by and by, May, June, and July.
~~0~~
Here, hear it came, rustling leaves a-tumbling,
a-tumbling down the country lane,
Reddish ocher spread out all a-flustered,
all a-flustered every which way,
Autumn rain drenched down leaves that drain
neath the woods where they have lain,
Ebbing its crimson crust chilly ashen dust
blankets shyly amidst the gust,
Rustic western host John Wayne,
all else subtleties pens Mark Twain,
~~larks in vain, come, Abel and Cain.
~~0~~
Fall mist snaps wide-awake, anew sorta undertake,
an outstretched lea windbreak,
Holiday treats, festive retreats,
time for family and friends to gather,
Turkey and ham, and bellyache, chats, and drinks,
and aspirins for that aged headache,
Winter's here once again, bringing joyous cheer,
looking back to this good old year,
The afterglow of the fireworks show, slake coffee,
and cheesecake, new year break,
~~strive worth to make, thrive earth God's sake.
~~0~~
2022 July 22
Nutter Butter. Almond Joy, Mounds Bars, and Cherry Mash.
Those candy manufacturers know how to name to get their cash.
We contenders scoff; we snicker and sneer.
The toymaker crazy idea brigade has just arrived here.
Someone throws out, Betsy Wetsy, Tiny Tears, Shrinky Dinks!
The contest is on, we are throwing down our inks.
Uh-oh. Star Wars George Lucas has entered the fray.
R2-D2, Han Solo, and Chewbacca have paved his way.
I do not mean for imaginations to get crazy, you all.
But is that manly cowboy, John Wayne, giant and tall?
Whew. Relief. False alarm. Just an advertising man.
From the 50’s, with a Marlboro cigarette in his hand.
“See the USA in a Chevrolet,” he screams loud and clear.
“Winston takes good like a cigarette should,” Trixie screams, and all hear.
What are you doing? I hiss, slightly embarrassed, and fully miffed.
Garfield comes in next, with his pal, Heathcliff.
A haughty sixty’s model brings in Beatniks, Hippies, and Happy Faces anew,
Informing us that the 60’s and 70’s was where words really came into view.
What about our urban dictionaries? The 1990’s delegation screams.
We invented words faster than a Mattel toy-namer figured out Barbie in her dreams.
The contest is on, now, the whole imagination convention is dancing and twirling.
My dendrites are hopping, clogging, doing somersaults, flipping and swirling.
What about those music videos? White-gloved Michael Jackson asked.
When his creative prowess enters, everyone promptly is aghast.
Are we doing words, ideas or what? I hear a contender scoff.
Three prissy judges get mad, and two promptly walk off.
No matter what, the creative committee is having a field day,
Meeting in Room Sixty-Two thousand ideas, and we all want to play.
Here’s an idea, one screams loud and clear.
Let’s just throw out some words, and scramble right here!
Trixie is ready to drop our hat into the ring.
She jumps right in there, to do a bit of Jell-O wrestling.
I am proud of my muse. I give her the wink.
She grabs Donald Duck, and she gives him a twink.
Her medal is all over the place, in shades of yellow and pink.
We are having a great time, our ideas on the brink….
With John Wayne snarling at me
from the television screen,
I quickly glance at my watch;
five minutes to the end
of a year’s journey through
what the Psalmist would describe
as the Valley of Death,
and what Dante would describe
as a descent through hell.
The little small ball of white fur
whines at my feet,
his almond dark eyes
begging for the last bit of cheese
I have in my hand.
Take him out now
for his nocturnal constitutional,
Or wait until three in the morning?
It is not a difficult choice.
The puppy and I head for the door.
The puppy runs hither and yon
around the yard,
sniffing and searching
the frozen ground
for the perfect spot
to make his nocturnal emissions.
I reflect upon the arrival
of another year In Anno Domini,
with dread, or is it anticipation?
Another year of grace
is what they always say about
the turning of a new year.
Like the puppy running from
one frozen turd to another
in the yard, I, sniff and search
among the heap of promised
“grace-filled moments?”
from my past year.
The church bells begin
to peal out the old year
as the puppy stops and
stands poised upon a
strategically chosen location
to unleash the grace
contained within himself
upon the frozen ground.
I appreciate my puppy’s
brilliant metaphor of
crapping out the old year
to make room for the new year.
There are some years indeed,
in which grace is bestowed
in abundant quantity.
And, there are some years indeed,
in which one must sniff
and scratch to find the grace
hidden within the dung heap.
The church bells cease their tolling,
as the puppy, in a triumphal display
Of accomplishment,
kicks with his hind feet,
bits of ice, snow, and fecal matter
high into the air.
The puppy, head held high,
small tail wagging, and I,
retreat from the frozen yard
toward our house.
Warmth and a hope for new grace
greet us as we enter the house.
And, as I close the door,
I glance once more at the frozen yard.
I leave the old year
and its promise of grace,
lying in a heap
upon the frozen ground.
I loved you John Wayne!
I wished you were my father
or maybe an older brother
who’d tutor me to be tough
when manners weren’t enough
and toughness was needed
that civility be heeded
and not to brag or complain.
O I loved you John Wayne!
As soon as I was old enough
to earn the price of admission
I saw your films in succession
at the first run houses down
in the big deal part of town
and enshrined each one on a list
taped to my bedside wall
and read about the ones I’d missed.
Shucks, I loved you most of all!
Fort Apache and Red River
took pride of place on the page;
they’d eaten up my weekly wage.
I missed the Yellow Ribbon;
I hoped I’d be forgiven.
At the Rio and the Broad
(in a dicey neighborhood)
I atoned with films you’d done
before I was even born.
Western after Western
and tales of oil and whiskey
and scheming ladies, O so risky!
I hoped I’d be excused
when I compromised my muse
by adding well-built gals
to Duke and all his pals.
Montez, Russell, and Lake
made my hormones quake.
O I loved you, John Wayne.
I could feel your bashful pain
When the pretty lady roped you
and hat in hand you’d bow,
the furrow deepening on your brow,
and utter monosyllables plus “Ma’am,”
no longer a ram, more like a lamb.
O I shared you pain, John Wayne!
And still I loved you John Wayne,
your true grit and donnybrook,
your menacing brow, the look
that said, “Enough, my friend.
“This bull is going to end!”
You swaggered? (not quite it--
as if your boots didn’t quite fit?)
You took him by the horns and shook;
Plomp! Down went the snook!
How I loved you, John Wayne!
And I love you still when again I see
the doughty Duke on my smart TV
as much as Papa’s lone old man,
with fish chewed down to the bone
loved Joltin’ Joe Dimaggio
when the Clipper’s legs began to go
and he was hobbled by his heel.
John Wayne, you were the real deal.
I was talking to this sexy
girl on the net ( I cannot tell you her name )
I’ve seen her picture on facebook
A pic that will make you sweat.
We were talking naughty pics
Don’t ask, the subject just came up one day
Ok it was just quick flirty comments
If I must say
Then two hours later
An email comes through
Saying a private naughty pic
Just between me and you
Now this woman is hot
Worth the burns on and hands
But you know me :-)
I had to stop the pic from stimulating any glands
So I thought
I would kill two birds with one stone
I’d have a cold shower
While I have a private viewing at home
Out came the extension cord for the laptop
As I balanced it on one hand (does it matter which hand?)
In a cold shower
I slowly panned
Reading the message
I scrolled and paused
It said
Here I am dressed as Santa Clause
With a wet finger
I scrolled with eyes wide
And saw a cartoon pic
Of Daddymas shaking his but cheeks from side to side
As I read the inscription
“Gottcha now get back to work”
An electric power surge went through me
Which made me berserk
I bounced off the ceiling
The floor and walls
And landed on the edge of the bath
Right on my Sidney Halls
Me wife rushed upstairs
And when she saw this, beat me some more
With her faithful
2X4
Now it’s ok to have
A 1970s Afro in some cases
But for a bald man like me
It’s not, especially in the wrong places
The electricity made me hairs stand on end
Under me arms and me private bit which drove me insane
Particulally when it makes you walk
For a week like John Wayne
But the good thing is when we eventually
Made love in the dark
I made her eyes light up
And even spark
Well I learned me lesson
And won’t do that again
I balance the laptop in the basin
And try to use a stick to scroll, which is a pain.
PS: Thanks Doris you owe me a new laptop
Happy thanksgiving
John Wayne movies have been a thing of mine,
But my "Top Ten" I think divine.
"Rio Bravo" as number one I rate,
The "Duke" and the cast were just great.
"The Searchers" is a close number two,
His unique portrayal of a troubled character so true.
"The Quiet Man" is next in line,
I have to see it, come St. Patty's time.
Number Four would be "True Grit"
He won an "Oscar" for his role in it.
At number five is "The Shootist" for me,
The old gunfighter facing personal tragedy.
"Red River" comes in sixth I'd say,
From young man to old in less than a day.
Seventh to "The Sands of Iwo Jima" would go,
A reminder of the sacrifices our parents would know.
"The Man Who Shot Liberty Valence" comes in number eight,
"Tom Donovan", a portrayal of values and love just great.
"North To Alaska" forget I would not dare,
The role he played with such comic flare.
"They Were Expendable" rounds out my ten,
The action and heroism portrayed then.
But I have to admit that this ten was hard to come by,
As he made so many great films...to my minds eye.
"Wings of Eagles", "In Harm's Way", "The Commancheros" all are there,
Not to mention "She Wore A Yellow Ribbon" would not be fair.
Let's not forget his breaktrough role in "Stagecoach" when
John Ford picked him to be one of his "Top Ten".
Oh, I could go on and on about the movies he made,
But it was the American character that he displayed.
Maybe that's what is missing from our lives today,
A man that will stand for something, and lives as he'd say.
As movies for us are but a relief,
Especially in these times of grief.
"The Duke" was a man who lived life and the American Dream,
A dream that he captured, time and again on the "Silver Screen".
She walked into kindergarten alone on the second day.
Blonde ponytails swinging, big smile, three freckles on her nose.
Miss Thee, our teacher, asked her name.
Merry Dee Singlewary.
Surprisingly, she was on Miss Thee’s list,
But no one remembered seeing an extra name the day before.
Where did you come from? Miss Thee asked.
Space, said Merry Dee, cheerful and assertive-like.
Two of us looked up.
“Outer space?” I asked.
She smiled. Her pony tails bounced up and down.
“Yes,” she said.
She was in kindergarten with us until winter break.
Her coloring was beautiful, in the lines. No scribbles.
She loved pink playdough, pushing it into extravagant villages.
She was a master manipulator of the sand table.
We followed her around like puppies. This is not your planet, Johnny told her.
We both laughed, and stuck our tongues out.
Friday December 18th there was a Christmas program.
Back in the 60’s we could use the word Christmas. Christmas. Christmas. Christmas. Christmas.
Merry Dee was Mary. I was a lost sheep, probably because I scribbled all over my paper and my desk.
Which ones are Merry Dee’s parents? I heard Miss X, our hawk-nosed principal, ask Miss Thee.
I have no idea, Miss Thee said. She always comes alone. I have never met them.
Merry Dee Singlewary hugged me so tight that night I thought my eyes would fall out of their sockets.
I hugged her back just as tight, and gave her a playful swat on her petootsie for good measure.
Back in the 60’s you could swat women on the bottom. Maureen O’Hara and John Wayne taught us that.
I watched Merry Dee walk away from that program alone, not realizing her parents were not there.
She was whistling and skipping, glad she was going to be whisked by space ship home to her own planet.
Moral of this story: Merry Dee, We, Miss Thee
they rode boldly across the silver screen,
these hero's of my youth;
they lived their lives by the "code of the west",
and honor was a part of that code,
truth and honor was in their blood;
my hero's lived their lives by this code,
they lived boldly up there on the big screen,
so much bigger than life;
yes,these were my hero's,
these brave men who rode on horse back,
and who carried the law in a holster,
while riding tall in the saddle;
oh how i eagarley followed their exploits,
men like Roy rogers and the Cisco Kid,
along with Gene Autry ,John Wayne,and the Lone Ranger;
these men kept the law in the wild west,
along with hop-a-long,and Tex Ritter,
and i anxiously followed their adventures,
until that sad,sad day when---,
they rode off into the sun set;
yes, they rode off into the sunset,
old John,Roy, and Gene,
they rode off into the sunset,and no one took their place;
how sad i felt on that dark dreary day,
when my hero's rode away,
but no one took their place,
and,no one took their place.