Long Knowed Poems
Long Knowed Poems. Below are the most popular long Knowed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Knowed poems by poem length and keyword.
"My dear Hannah: We're camped nigh a town called Gettysburg tonight.
I take pen in hand to write to you, my love, by the flickerin' candlelight.
From afar I hear the beat of Rebel drums preparin' fer battle on the 'morrow.
Oh, my darlin' Hannah! I ain't never knowed such loneliness and sorrow!"
"How I long to be with you and the children 'round our family hearth.
Ya'all mean the world to me, more than anything else on God's earth!
I recall so many times biddin' a sad farewell at our humble cabin door,
And marchin' off with my home brigade as we faced the cruel war!"
"I'm a-thankin' ye fer the chicken and apple pie you sent last week.
I shared it with my friends - it brightened our day which elsewise was so bleak.
This evenin' I read from my tattered Bible the Twenty-third Psalm.
We shared it many times at our family altar - it gives me such great calm!"
"I 'spect to be comin' home to help bring in the crops later on this fall,
And sit 'round the board to enjoy a bountiful Thanksgivin' with ya'all!
So fatten up old Tom Turkey, make some dressin' and sweet pertaters,
A couple of yer famous punkin pies and serve some fresh termaters!"
"I reckon I'd better close this letter 'cause its a-gittin' purty late.
Pray fer me, Hannah! I'll leave ever'thing in God's hands as to my fate!
Hug and kiss the children fer me tonight as you tuck them in their bed.
I'll see you soon, dear one. 'Til then, I remain your lovin' husband, Jed."
Alas, the Scythe of Death reaped Jed's soul upon that ghastly field of strife.
The hopes expressed in his poignant letter would ne'er be shared with his wife..
It was found in his tunic pocket as he was lowered in his hallowed grave,
As his comrades honored him for his service and the life he freely gave.
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
1111… he says, more fun.
And last year already,
I gave him the One.
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
To remember in November is the way to play…
Row row, row your boat,
Gently up a stream…
Wilson rowed, and so he knowed
And said it was like a dream…
Madison, you said, more fun…
So Grover’s clover came undone,
And Willami, the honeybee…
Well, just so you know…
SHE, played nic nac paddy wac
And when Ben got back…
A wish was Granted.
Four fun…
is just what the doctor ordered.
Jackson came and the fun began…
In thanks again,
Linkcoln brought a Ham.
George ol boy… great game today!
Come join the fun, bring along TJ!
So the fun began and the boys played ball…
The sun shined bright,
There were smiles on them all.
A Great game it was!
The ball bounced and whirled,
aTeam focused to score…
And then along came a girl.
Odd little thing… they stared in doubt.
Scratching their heads and looking about…
She wants to play?
Is that what she,
what she has to say…?
Rockin’ on her heels
And swaying back, two fours…
She Looked at them all,
And she said, “Of course”!
Now its purty well knowed that cowpokes prefer to ride a horse,
An' movin' pitchers show 'em astride prancin' horses of course.
But Hank, a cow-puncher fer many years ain't like th' usual pack;
He prefers to mount a cantankerous mule that he calls Jack!
Ol' Jack sets th' rules in most matters, keepin' Hank on his toes.
Its joked 'mongst his pards that he's bein' led around by his nose!
Jack has a mean kick leavin' hoof marks imprinted on Hank's chest!
Hank's a stubborn one but in stubbornness, he comes in second best!
Jack'll sit on his haunches when Hank tries to tighten th' cinch.
Hank'll yell an' cuss tryin' to saddle him but Jack won't give a inch!
In his own sweet time Jack'll rise on all fours allowin' Hank astraddle.
What a sight they is gallopn' along, Hank tryin' to remain in th' saddle!
When Hank tries to lasso dogies, th' rope gits tangled in Jack's feet.
(Th' trail boss gits irate with Hank usin' language I dare not repeat!)
Both Hank and Jack is useless in th' corral on annual brandin' day;
Says th' boss, "Both you an' yer mule git lost an' stay outta th' way!"
I reckon cowboys who use mules fer ridin' th' trail is mighty few,
But them that does says tho' they is 'mulish', they is steadfast an' true.
When he gits ornery, Hank'll whisper sweet nothin's in Jack's ears,
Like bein' put out to stud for the enjoyment of his retirement years!
Hank hired on fer a dollar a day an' found.
He wuz knowed as th' best bronc buster around.
They wuz allus a roll-yer-own a-danglin' frum his lips,
An' he wore his jeans an' chaps low on his hips!
He wuz lean an' lank an' had spent years in th' saddle,
As bow-legged as pliers, spending so much time astraddle!
Wearin' an ol' slouch hat an' well-worn boots,
He'd rode many a wild bronc out uv rodeo chutes!
"Thar stands th' orn'riest critter alive!" th' boss implied.
"Thar ain't no mustang 'round I cain't tame!" Hank replied.
Other cowpokes ambled to th' corral to enjoy th' show,
An' with knowin' grins watched Hank earn his dough!
Th' bronc jes stood there snortin' with fire in his eyes.
Hank could see trouble! Boys, wuz he in fer a su'prise!
Sech hossflesh he'd never rode! He'd never seen sech gyrations!
His ol' bones had never experienced sech sensations!
He wuz throwed, stomped an' wedged agin' th' fence.
With his pals cheerin' him on an' things a-gittin' tense,
He 'lowed, "Boys, I give up! He's beat me good!
I reckon I'd better find myself anuther livelihood!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Cowpoke Hank hired on fer a dollar a day and found.
He wuz knowed as the best bronc-buster around!
They wuz allus a roll-yer-own a-danglin' frum his lips,
And he wore a pair of 44 shootin' arns on his hips.
He wuz lean and lank and had spent nigh thirty years in the saddle.
He wuz bow-legged as a pliers havin' spent all that time astraddle!
Wearin' an old slouch hat, bandana and scruffy pointy-toed boots,
He'd throwed a ton uv steers ridin' outta county rodeo chutes!
"Thar stands the orn'riest critter alive!", the boss implied.
"They ain't no mustang 'round I cain't tame!", Hank replied.
Other cowpunchers ambled to the corral to enjoy the show,
And with knowin' grins watched as Hank earned his dough!
The bronc jes stood thar snortin' with fire in his eyes!
Hank could see trouble brewin'! Boys, wuz he in fer a su'prise!
Sech hossflesh he'd never rode! He'd never seen sech gyrations!
His old bones had never experienced sech joltin' sensations!
He wuz throwed, stomped and wedged agin' the fence.
With his pals cheerin' him on, things wuz a-gittin' tense!
He finally allowed, "Boys, I give up! He's done beat me good!
I reckon I'd better find myself another livelihood!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
Have you ever heard of the most mysterious book?
No? Well, get online. You must have a look.
I would venture to say that you've never been gripped
by a more inexplicably strange manuscript.
Can you imagine the curious joy which
you'll experience with the Manuscript, Voynich?
Scribed in the fifteenth century (precisely, first half),
it was written on the reluctant skin of a calf.
Of course, as I tell you this, in this sense, I kid -
the calf was quite dead at the time it was did.
It was written in a language that nobody knows,
and has pictures of plants that nobody grows,
plants that have in no place have ever existed,
except in this encyclopedic codex, quite twisted.
What explains this tome now in Yale, institutional?
Was it written by a lunatic, mad and delusional?
Or, if the author didn't suffer that affliction,
could it have been old-fashioned science fiction?
Maybe it is just gibberish or gobbledygook,
in which case, a few scholars got took.
Is it in a made-up language or a code,
or a real language that nobody knowed?
Was it just a fifteenth-century hoax,
perpetrated by monks or unsavory blokes?
Often, mysteries are resolved on the very last page,
but some leaves have been missing since the medieval age.
If you check out this document, and you understand,
tell me and the world, and I'll shake your hand.
. for public domain
(after listening to Wolfmother Vagabond, rhythm lifted without permission)
The wind blows down the railroad track,
it blows on down the road.
The creek flows down the gully out back,
to where I never knowed.
I'm just sittin' on my own porch swing,
sippin' wine.
I'm just grinnin' on my old porch swing,
feelin' fine.
I'm just sinnin' on the old porch swing,
passin' time.
I got my house, I got my dog,
I got my blue suede shoes.
Pitless cherry in a cherry pie,
no cause to light my fuse.
I'm just sittin' on my own porch swing,
sippin' wine.
I'm just grinnin' on my old porch swing,
feelin' fine.
I'm just sinnin' on the old porch swing,
passin' time.
The sun is way up in the sky,
the moon is up there too.
and if you've got a mind for fun,
I singin' this with you.
We're just sittin' on an own porch swing,
sippin' wine.
We're just grinnin' on an old porch swing,
feelin' fine.
We're just sinnin' on an old porch swing,
passin' time.
It was pretty late in September
and I was over the Billings way
I was riding fence for Freddie White
on the west end of the Rockin Bar J
Well night time can fall pretty early
come along bout that time of the year
I started me up a little fire
and was cleaning up some of my gear
That's when I heard a "Whoo-up in camp"
softly floating over the pine trees
At first I thought it was ole Freddie
come a ridin' out to shoot the breeze
"Come on in" I yelled right back to him
my hand sittin firmly on my gun
When in rides this old bearded cowboy
looked to be bout a hundred and one
Well he said his name to be Johnson
so with that I passed him my name too
Asked him if he'd like to sit a spell
maybe share a little of my stew
For I had gauged him up to be a
decent and right honest man you see
‘Cause he seemed to hold himself just right
and by the soft way he spoke to me
So after we tossed down our bedrolls
and we had hunkered down near the flames
That's when Johnson pulled his red eye flask
we started toasting old cowboy names
Those names like Billy Brooks, Bose Ikard
Goodnight, Conrad Kohrs and Otto Franc
Olly Loving, John Chisum and with each name
we tipped the flask and drank
As all the old cowboys tend to do
we reminisced ‘bout the olden days
And all the things we used to do
while living the good cowpuncher’s ways
How these here youngsters nowadays ain't
got no clue ‘bout how things used to be
When a man could go from here to there
live and ride the range completely free
Johnson had seen just fifteen summers
when he started his first cattle drive
Sixty more winters have passed him by
he said his luck had kept him alive
For him riding herd out on the range
is the only life he's ever knowed
He said he would never trade that way
for no diamonds, jewels or gold
Well just about dawn the next morning
after we shook hands and parted ways
I knew that I too would never leave
behind me, these good old cowboy days
So when you find my bones out on the range
with my gun and saddle by my side
Just know I was still living the cowboy ways
when I took my final ride
While strolling through the graveyard the other day, I was drawn,
To a host of stones with creative and pithy epitaphs etched thereon!
Such flowing poetic verse is deemed worthy of recording for posterity,
Due to its peculiarity, sincerity, rarity and macabre hilarity!
"Here lies Gus riddled with lead! The high sheriff shot him dead!"
"He brewed the finest booze in the county! 'Til a G-man shot him for the bounty!"
"From his horse Red was throwed! He was the finest feller we ever knowed!"
"His jealous spouse cut short his life! With a twelve-inch butchering knife!"
"She slipped on a derelict banana peel! The bump on her noggin failed to heal!"
"He failed to slow down and swerve! Lost his nerve and missed the curve!"
"If you think this place has no appeal! How the heck do you think I feel?"
"Here lies the late bullfighter Umberto! He was fatally gored by el toro!"
"Clyde owns this piece of real estate! Or that's what he claims, at any rate!"
"Barnstormer Barney has flown the coop! He failed to negotiate an outside loop!"
"Cowpoke Pete has bit the dust! From his wild cayuse he was abruptly thrust!"
"A slug ended the career of gambler Steve! Seems he had some aces up his sleeve!"
"Too much cholesterol is how he met his fate! Docs warned him but 'twas too late!"
"She met her doom skating on the ice! Tried to do the triple axel thrice!"
"He always enjoyed a nickel cigar! Alas, his flame died out due to too much tar!"
"Upon my stone let no bird alight! Should that happen, please clean off the blight!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
If there's one thing
my parents knowed:
It was we had
a moral code.
Though mighty poor,
we behaved rich.
With manners taught
o'er a hickory switch.
At the table,
or sittin' on pews,
We sure as heck
knowed t'follow the rules.
Stealin ' and lyin'
just weren't a choice.
Nor cheatin' and fightin'
or raisin' our voice.
The children today're
no better or worse.
Though they might shout
And they might curse.
And though they might
have gone out and lied.
Fact is folks,
morals never have died.
Thankfully...
morals
never have
died.