Long Out of town Poems
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It's a wonder young children still turn out all right
With the stuff that gets crammed in their heads every night.
Things like visions of sugar plum fairies and sprites,
Or a thousand tales of Arabian delights,
A frog who turns prince with a kiss from a lass,
A girl who goes dancing in slippers of glass,
A cow that gets high and jumps over the moon,
A crockery dish that elopes with a spoon,
A boy who can fly but refuses to grow,
A difficult girl who plants maids in a row,
A magician who wants to trade old lamps for new,
A woman so poor she must live in a shoe,
A waif who sells matches out in the cold,
A king who can touch things and turn them to gold,
A dog, an old woman, a cupboard that's bare,
A girl locked in a tower, a ladder of hair,
A magical wheel that spins gold out of straw,
A guy helps a lion with a thorn in its paw,
A girl wearing red visits grandma who's resting,
Finds a wolf in her nightdress and Granny digesting,
Three kids and a wardrobe, three men share a tub,
A brave tailor kills seven mean flies with a club,
An archer makes merry with men in the woods
While relieving the rich of their money and goods,
Kind huntsman, fair princess, a vain evil queen,
Seven dwarves, and a prince who gets caught in between,
Hateful fairy, a baby, a hundred-year snit
'cause her name's accidentally left off a guest list,
A piper who lures out of town rodent varmints,
An emperor with new but invisible garments,
A farmer's wife butchers three handicapped mice,
A house drops on top of a witch who's not nice,
While another with gingerbread children seduces
Then gets baked by some twins in her own savory juices,
A giant and a beanstalk, a cat who wears boots,
A wolf who's outfoxed by three pigs in cahoots,
A bad little boy who sticks fingers in pies,
And another of wood whose nose grows when he lies.
There are others, of course, far too many to mention,
But I hope these will serve to excite some attention.
With stories like these knocking 'round in their heads,
It's no wonder if kids toss and turn in their beds.
Yet throughout countless ages these stories survive,
Kids listen, and dream them, and still wake up alive,
No worse for having been charmed or affrighted,
Imaginations are stoked, little minds are ignited,
And continue to hold them in dear veneration
As they pass them along to the next generation.
By faith we can kiss the feet that wore the shoes that the latches we are unworthy to loose leave our burdens with thanksgiving sweetly cry ~By faith we can reach up to the nail scarred hands that led the blind man out of town in the way keep looking up to the eyes that wipe away all tears ~By faith receiving His love with and without fears it is written love Him He will lead in the most excellent way living to die dying to live it is by His strength we stand ~By faith we can lean upon Jesus' bosom with listening ears hearing the heart beat of God the small voice saying the Love of God shall never die ~By faith waiting for the horses they fly Lord Jesus the one leadeth with staff and rod the fruitful bow that forever blossom's ~By faith as Jesus heals the blind man looking at His face the blind man looking around saw every man clearly Love is of God we must not from their lovely faces hide ~By love our brothers and sisters we have seen so dearly the brother we have seen on the street stumbling by the knowledge of His saving grace for whom Our saviour died ~By grace of the Lord Jesus in the morrows by and by be that pure and perfect lovely Bride "Who is my mother, or brethren." Jesus said we can By Faith
My name is Gary Fields
And I am at the Poetry Convention
Their are a myriad of Poet's
They are all in contention
There are so many that I may
Want to mention'
So, pay attention
Fore they must do this
In abstention
At my table there are three
Their are four including me
The second choice in my contention
IS Dr. Ram Mehta
He is such an easy catch
He is a voice/a reflection
He shares' so much love and affection
Being one of so few words
His disposition is the best
And his Human Psyche will
Never rest'
Could this be some sort of test
That his deepest guarded secret's
Are guarded close to his chest
Being a doctor and all
It is unlikely that he will ever confess
Third at the table is the X DESTROYER X POET
Due to the lack of word's
She always' have something for ya
And will certainly destroy ya
If not, then simply ignore ya
Fore she deserves' to seat here
And not just on the foyer
It is a main bone of contention
There is no reason why I can't enjoy ya
Or at least releave the tension
With her advanced degree
her suplituding pensoin for Poetry
It seems' that her messages' are
Aimed straight for me
She give's to this her all
She never seem to miss a call
And to past the test
One may think that
She seem's to be a little obsessed
Most of all
She keeps' her secret
Buried so close to her breast
And what wonderful breast they
Might be
Only saving for us
The one's she profess to be the best
But never the less
She rises' among the rest
Fouth at the table is Ms. Sweetheart of Poetry
Wish she will spend more Poetry with me
And plain not just ignore me
Because I'm a fan of her now
She introduced me to this race
She is all ways' on the case
She is fully comfortable in her space
I just hope that she won't have to use
All of her mace,
She composes' herself with grace
Fore this is so much an adventure
And not just some silly old Snail Race
If I haven't said enough by now
Then it is because I am running
Out of space, or being run out of town
But, there is always one next year
Same time, manybe not
The same old place
GF
Gary Fields
Dr. Ram Mehta
X DESTROYER X POET
LINDA Marie/Sweetheart of Poetry
Carol (Next on Deck)
*******For the Contets "Tt The Convention
JUNE 2011
It was now growing dark as the sun was going down
When a stranger rode into Soup Creek, a frontier town
No one could see his face, he was all dressed in black
An old boy was heard to say "I think he's come back".
He took his horse to the stable, then went to the boarding house
Before he went in looked across the street, to the town jailhouse
There was a familiar figure sat outside, in a rocking chair
Cradling a Winchester and the stranger, felt his cold stare.
He'd returned after all these years; he had something to prove
And just after a few days back in town, he would make his move
But Sheriff Koplin is no fool and he had planned up far ahead
And had formed a posse whilst the stranger slept in his bed.
Three fiesty girls from the saloon, Jan and Jenna, Tania too
And a Texas ranger called David who was just passing through
With gambler Milton who was deadly, with a colt forty five
And Tom the undertaker who looked more dead than alive.
It was the evening of the showdown; the stranger came out of the saloon
The sun was now setting but the tension had been building up since noon
From his holster he withdrew his pistol and then fired shots up into the air
The stranger was not one for living a peaceful life and he just didn't care.
Sheriff Koplin approached him and said "Hand over your gun"
And the stranger replied "Lighten up man, I'm just having fun"
The stranger was laughing now and looking down at his feet
The townsfolk were nervous and had disappeared off the street.
Then behind the stranger came a shout in a loud Texas drawl
It was Jenna disguised as an old woman, covered with a shawl
"You heard the sheriff " she shouted, "Put your gun on the ground"
The air was now thick with tension and you couldn't hear a sound.
Then from nowhere the rest of the posse appeared pistols in hand
They abhorred bullies and conflict and were prepared to make a stand
The stranger realised he couldn't win and threw his gun down
Walked to the livery stable to get his horse, and rode out of town.
The drama was now over but it could have gone either way
Sheriff Koplin and his posse restored peace, and had won the day
It was now days end in Soup Creek in that peaceful frontier town
All you could hear were chirping crickets as the sun was going down.
Written on 20th May 2022.
So what brought you back here after twelve long years; what brought you back here when you don’t have any good news to share?
You run the company bone dry and suddenly took off to the sky. You have been living a life filled with luxury, hosting executive dinners and weekly exorbitant party. Pretty women dining on your lawn and men caught up in a brawl, exhibiting colorful socks and advertising their mother’s frock, the moment was rare but there was more to share.
So what brought you back here when you have nothing to fear, what brought you back here when the message is already clear? You have made a fortune from me to access my personal diary, you have used all my thoughts to buy house, land and property, limousine and an island across the stream and a big development called mountain of the past.
you have manipulated my words and distribute it around the world and when you get rich you throw my document in the ditch and then you come back here to continue your ridiculous irony.
See the cabinet sitting over there, it is filled with documents dates back for more than thirty years, you have build bridges and factories, trains airplanes, buses, trucks and van, development across the land and construction dating back for more than thirty years with my word running down those pages.
The words that make you into a man the words that cause you to stand, the words that send your family to school and the word that provide your daily food.
For what reason did you come back here? to drag me out into the street and disrupt my heart beat? I am just an island sitting in the sun without an amour or a gun, you have been so discrete, and I will not stop until you settle every penny you earn in the street and the sleepless night I stood on my feet, you will have to answer to the sky and compensate the people before you die.
See those people standing in line, that reaches the center of the universe, they are willing to stand there until daylight just to mark the x to remove you from that artificial intelligence desk.
Let your conscience speak to tend to matters, let your consciences speak to deal with what is proper; one group is moving out of town and I don’t know where they are bound , they are honking their horn but destiny will meet them before dawn for what reason did you come back here.
I’m drunk, but you’re beautiful,
a line I used to rehearse.
The Dreamers’ artistic longing felt noble,
but it came with a curse.
I bought the ticket when I didn’t know better from worse.
Now I’ve got a tale of rebellion,
and I’ll share it in verse,
it all changed one Star Wars Day,
when my thirst reversed.
May the Fourth, and I felt matured.
No Padawan—now Jedi Master,
just a little unmoored.
Met some friends inclined for chilled wine,
drinking enough to feel ruthlessly divine.
That hazy day, glazed in the usual sway.
That familiar vortex, melancholy perturbed.
Soles stained deeply by the absurd,
fermented grapes, chaos,
and the dark side assured.
The dark side calls as we sit with the thirst,
but Skywalker’s force starts thinking first:
“Unlearn what you have learned.”
Yoda’s wisdom, unrehearsed.
I needed a change, something absolute.
Had to break old habits
and reroute my pursuit.
Flip the script, exit the Aristotle loop.
We can still have fun.
Still embrace the absurd.
Someone said, “It’s Star Wars Day,”
and a spark then occurred.
We found a weird café,
celebrating in cosplay,
and somewhere in that moment,
a new hope was incurred.
Arriving at the venue, a little out of town, we found the clan,
Princess Leia sold us tickets on the door deadpan,
no droids allowed, no stormtroopers,
but there was a sandman,
Inside were Wookies at the bar, slamming shots like my mum can.
Han Solo in carbonite poster hanging on the wall,
Kids having lightsaber fights with bar stools, humming bishoooom loudly down the hall.
Glass cabinets with falcons and dioramas were neat.
Cantina soundtrack playing curiously on repeat,
Grabbed snacks, Empires on screen, so we found a seat.
We wandered deeper past merch and collector cases,
through aisles of toys and cosplayed faces.
The type of folk draw to these kind of conventions,
You know the type without me having to mention,
They filled the room with joy beyond pretension,
I watched them just be, and I wanted that,
but I found I had to be patient.
I don’t have to keep falling for the trap,
it’s not just escape, it must be more pure.
I lost a friend that day, and yeah, it’s still sore.
He bowed out—boozehound chasing the score,
while I found experience, absurdity, and something more secure.
By faith we can kiss the feet that wore the shoes That the latchets we are unworthy to loose Leave are burdens with thanksgiving sweetly cry By faith we can reach up to the nailed scarred hands That led the blind man out of town in the way Keep looking up eyes that wipe away all tears nigh with rod and staff mounted horses they fly from wrath our King is awesome bringing to earth saving grace olive tree one the fruitful bow forever blossoms by faith By faith can lean upon Jesus' bosom listening ears hear the heart beat of God the still small voice love shall never die By faith receiving his love with and without fears It is written love him he will led you in the excellent way Living to die dying to live it is by his strength we stand By faith as Jesus once again heals a blind man his first lovely face see The blind man looking around saw every man clearly Love is of God we must not from their lovely faces hide By faith the brother we have seen on the street lying stumbling by knowledge of his saving grace Love our brothers we have seen dearly witnessed in due time all for whom our saviour died By grace of are Lord Jesus from heaven may by and by be that pure perfect sinless Bride who is my mother and brethren blessed is Jesus who lighteth mankind said we can by faith
Well, the FED was in. A light. Dude, he ing didn't die. His brain came out, but he ing was fly as came up says, I know what, what the problem is, and I'll fix it right away. We got IRS for this. We got FBI for that. We got CIA, you got.
We got NSA for to watch your while you're gone and out of town. Well, we got mothering, uh, We got an insane policy to act like clowns, you know, and rap about it now. Well, you didn't know what, I didn't know who. So, uh, who are you and quadrupina.
for ing nothing. Nothing that you do. Cuz, uh, in the '60s it was rocking like it was. Clit, rocking clit and licking it too. Licking that pussy till it came through. Looking at that pussy that said dude. So, hey Jude, you don't make it bad. Just tell her she had a good time.
So, hey Jude. Hey, Jude just leave her that ing liver that ing kidney with some Rhymes. Good rhymes like good rhymes. Good Rhymes, good Rhymes. Deliver that ing internal organ to the bank. Cashing in for some body parts and tank. Take that tank to Frank's and have Frank Stein.
That tell you beard, Comes out and ing shanks with Shanks for cutting. Your Shanks will ing, uh, nothing. You just shake your hair and ing ing clubbing. Yeah, ing ing nothing. Oy bands. Got ing something oil, advanced rocking, rock and rocking. I like ing. Exit, ing Not essential.
It's extra body wrap. I'm like essential. What is essential? I'm not listen to I'm a body. Somebody with brain body with the mind and body, insane, and body body, all the time. Body on pain, body on Fame. She's living there now. Right? She's doing that thing. Right? Well, why is she looking at me like that?
If you want to no, she don't want to you. Why she's doing that. Why is she going through that? Why she's giving those faces? What's kind of ing increases? Uh, uh Explain all the ing places that we lost, at least a ing, a gram and a half of ing of, uh, you know, fetty fetty and I'm just going to say it Betty.
He lost a bunch of fetty half a gram of fatty full. All right. Some people get all spaghetti on that. I don't I get crystal clear, rock ass hard and ing cult on that. Yo, I'm saying it's not all that Renault ing business with the engines and the oil and the ing transmissions, and the spoiled ass kids to ing said, it was a mission.
A lonely rider traversed the sand upon his sturdy mount,
Beneath a sky so filled with stars that no man might ever count.
A dangerous dash across open land on a night without a moon,
A last ditch chance for absolution before his brother hangs at noon.
He pushed on harder than he should until his pony found a rut,
A broken leg and a bullet played it seemed fate had punched him in the gut.
He went on by foot and prayed to God “Please let a stagecoach happen by,
Or a cowboy with a horse to lend, Dear Lord don’t let my brother die.”
“It weren’t he at the house that night that poor Lizzy got herself kilt,
I knowed all too well because it were me, I alone bear up the guilt.”
“I loved her all to sweetly Lord but my affections were each one spurned,
So on that night I took her life and waited for her true love to return.”
I laid in wait to bushwhack the varmit whoever the cur might be,
Along the trail that led to her house behind a big oak tree.
“It were my intention to shoot him down and lay him at her side,
I then seen him on the dapple gray that only my brother’d ever ride.”
“It struck me like a thunder bolt to think that I broke my brother’s heart,
So I lit clean on outa Texas with my hope of making a brand new start.”
“Her pa swore to the judge that my brother deprived dear Lizzy of her life,
Because she told him the night before that she’d never be his wife.”
“It t’were me that he’d heard talkin’ the night that Lizzy passed away,
Now I got to get back to that town, Dear Lord, to have my final say.”
“It seemed that my brother was luckier at love than ever he were at dice,
But I had dashed his hopes each to the rocks and left him to pay the price.”
But as he prayed and walked along a rattler took him by surprise,
And as the poison run it’s course the murderer closed his eyes.
And in his mind he could see his kin dangling from a rope,
So as the snakebite did it’s work he took one last stab at hope.
He drew his buck knife from his boot and opened up his shirt,
To carve out his confession was his aim so with a cry he went to work.
And when they found his body in the morning just a half-mile out of town,
They found the note that he’d carved on his chest, “I shot Lizzy down.”
Geena Davis in Cutthroat Island
Generously endowed with ***** and spirit, GEENA
Engaged a most unusual leading lady role. And DAVIS
Ever so skillfully brought the audience right IN
Not one scene was lacking and it was definitely CUTTHROAT
At death, she shaved her father's head for the treasure map to Cutthroat ISLAND.
Delightful costumes enhanced her role as a pirate, never better PLAYED.
And it appears that no expense was spared to make this fantastic movie. For THE
Violence, explosions, fistfights, and duels are blasting packed, UNPRECEDENTED.
If ever there were awards for the most fun movie to make, this one would be LEADING.
So often, her laughter reminded me of a child pretending, playing the pirate ROLE.
If I were a movie critic judging on entertainment in action, I would give Geena an A.
Naturally, I, who love fantasy, like her in this role; she was: pretty, happy, and FEISTY.
Clearly, she looked like a lady, but a lady would never fight a man with her FIST
Until she was seen on a wanted poster in Jamaica, there had been no SLUGGING...
Then, the pirate, Morgan Adams, and her newly purchased slave, Shaw, needed a GUN.
The Governor's militia started surrounding them; soon bodies were SLINGING,
Her getaway met stealing the Governor's carriage and fist fighting without a SWORD,
Relentlessly pursued, fired upon by cannons with the carriage teetering, SWINGING,
Over ruts, out of town, wide eyed, escaping, and laughing, the epitome of RUTHLESS,
Real passions for a good fight, challenges, and she made pirating seem fun! AND
Throughout the action, suspense captivated; scenery and costumes were BEAUTIFUL.
In the end, she killed her murderous Uncle Dawg in self-defense using a CANNON
She saved Shaw; remained behind briefly with the treasure. No guns were FIRING.
Luckily, they dove off of Dawg’s ship before it exploded, watched by every PIRATE.
After the explosion debris had settled, up from the ocean emerged both he and SHE
Next, a marker barrel popped up. The treasure was brought on board; oh, the WOWS
Divvying was postponed; pirating would continue with Capt. “Morgan” . . .gutsy to ME!
© Name withheld for contest
February 17, 2010
Poetic form: Acrostic and End Line Word