Long Pistol Poems
Long Pistol Poems. Below are the most popular long Pistol by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pistol poems by poem length and keyword.
It seems that the truth is never quite square
it’s just a bit catywampus you see
All about the way that the cowboys lived
back in them old westerns on our TV
Them outlaws and sheriffs had old six guns
that could shoot forty-nine times on a load
Look real close and see them telephone poles
running alongside an asphalt paved road
Good guys always wore white and bad guys black
with their pearly teeth that sparkled like snow
It just took a minute to saddle up
and get anywhere they wanted to go
They could quick draw and fire their six shooters
And hit a nickel tossed into the air
But they just could never hit the outlaw
till he got to where he’d fall down the stairs
When being chased by a few Indians
they’d throw bullets out the end of their gun
If they did run out of ammunition
that’s when they’d just throw their pistol and run
A hero could get shot right in the chest
but never a drop of red would you see
The next day he’d be out riding his horse
while chasing the outlaws with his posse
At the end of it all the good guy wins
he would get the horse, the dog and the girl
He would live happily ever after
in his black and white TV western world
(This is something different. Playing around and having some creative fun. One word per line, three lines per stanza. What do you think? Tear it apart and share your thoughts, opinions and criticisms. Thanks)
Another
Work
Day
Alarm
Shower
Coffee
Husband
Wife
Goodbye
Driving
Car
Work
Neighbor
Wife
Bedroom
Coffee
Sex
Cigarettes
Forgetting
Husband
Laptop
Taking
Off-ramp
Next
Crawling
Traffic
Congested
Turning
Car
Around
Driving
Home
Again
Parking
Driveway
Home
Panicking
Wife
Disbelief
Hiding
Neighbor
Closet
Approaching
Husband
Door
Greets
Husband
Door
Kisses
Wife
Entry
Smelling
Husband
Cigarettes
Smoke
Wife
Doesn’t
Searching
Husband
Suspicious
Increasing
Husband
Anger
Backyard
Cigarettes
Found
Questioning
Husband
Livid
Denies
Wife
Tears
Investigating
House
Yelling
Following
Wife
Pleading
Searching
Bedroom
Threatening
Approaching
Husband
Closet
Intercepts
Husband
Wife
Pushing
Wife
Floor
Tearing
Wife
Hysterics
Opening
Husband
Closet
Standing
Neighbor
Closet
Pleading
Wife
Tears
Holding
Husband’s
Pistol
Trembling
Neighbor’s
Hands
Infuriated
Husband
Roars
BANG
BANG
BANG
Ringing
Ears
Smoke
Hysterical
Wife
Crying
Stumbling
Husband
Floor
Closing
Neighbor
Husband
One
Head
Shot
Pooling
Blood
Floor
Bleeding
Husband
Dead
Shot
Own
Gun
Sharing
Husband’s
Bed
Adultery
Wife
Whore
Coward
Neighbor
Murderer
Scarlet
Wife
Accessory
Awaits
Prison
Both
(Based on a true story. This happened a few blocks from my previous residence. I took some creative liberties with the story, names are fictional.)
I.
Carter Gray was a retired marine,
who’d done two tours in Afghanistan,
discharged at thirty, he moved to Utah
to raise cattle on a big spread of land.
He’d worked dawn to dusk every day
for two years to make it thrive,
when the money came in, he struck it big,
‘organic beef’ commanded prices quite high.
One day in town at his favorite place,
an Italian restaurant with great chicken parm,
he caught the eye of a pretty waitress
when by accident he brushed her arm.
She had olive skin and raven-dark hair,
soft, brown eyes full of deep mystery,
“Sepidah,” was the name on her sweet lips,
when Carter asked who she might be.
The next time he went out on the town,
this lovely woman was upon his arm,
they talked all night, with no awkwardness,
he was hopelessly lost to her charms.
This went on for weeks, until on spring day,
Carter dropped to his knee with a ring,
Sepidah smiled, said,”I want to say yes,
but before we do, you must know something.
“See I was born far away in Tehran,
but was raised here, eighteen years a Muslim.
when I dated a boy not of my faith
my life turned to the brutal and grim.
“My father Selim and one of my brothers
thought that I’d brought the family disgrace.
They found me one day walking with John,
and stuck a loaded pistol in my face.
“John jumped in front, he died for me,
bought me the time to run away.
My brother, the shooter, was given life,
but for lesser charges is my father’s stay.
“He has sworn that he will never rest
until he’s made me ‘pay fore my crime,’
And he’s already proven that he’ll go after
any poor boyfriend of love of mine.
“To make things worse, he doesn’t know
about how afterwards I changed my faith,
For his Christian daughter he’ll be enraged,
True Believers must kill apostates.”
To make the point she motioned to
the pistol she carried in her purse.
He nodded and said,”I didn’t know,
but to be honest, I have fought worse.
“And I won’t give up the love of my life
because her dad’s a damned extremist,
to do that would be a surrender to
the designs of a damned terrorist.”
So he put the ring upon her,
to marry her would be his honor.
CONTINUES IN PART II.
the kids are going nuts
one almost keeled over
one inquires about the whereabouts
of the large-caliber pipe pistol
one gives the spheroid
a handshake and hug
the arm like an tartarean
eclipse with a surreptitious
star-nosed mourning
mole on the end of it
one gives the projectile
a high five, invented by a
basketball player with
four fingers
but what about him?
who is he under the
cycloidal velvet? how did
he get this gig?
did he expect models
draped over vintage tanks?
rubenesque ladies straddling
the missiles?
can he take the costume home?
who is responsible for it's wash?
does he put a cancer stick
in his touch hole in the car park?
does his lady-indoors
own a rammer?
he wishes the day would end
go home for a grapeshot
that he could be elevated
at forty-five degrees
and sent airborne towards
the automatic doors
Verse 1:
Asked the hangman, “How they hangin’”
He didn’t even crack a smile.
Said, “Boy, the court is not in session.
You’re gonna have to hang around awhile.”
Pre-chorus:
Then there I was walking down the street
Shootin’ the breeze with Pistol Pete
We jumped in a sailboat to take a ride
But we had to jump off ‘cause the wind had died.
Chorus:
Things can change when you build new fences
Things can change when you tear old fences down
Gotta watch out for those consequences
A small mistake can make for shaky ground
Bridge:
Hold your horses, Palamino Joe
you've been to places you shouldn't go
the NSA and the FBI
they've decided you've gotta fry
Repeat Chorus.
I stood there helpless not knowing what to do as the crowd began to swell and the message began to spread. I found myself in a crowded place and strange people running all over the place group together and going on a mission to kill the devil. They were armed with long hunter’s rifle, pick axe, sticks and stone and base ball bats, dressed in black and white suites and felt hats and long beard sticking out below their chin. The angry mob descend down the street chanting hateful words that stir dust in the street, and somewhere in the corner the victims of the intended assault kneel quietly in the dark praying to Allah for mercy. They were the fathers and grandfather of the village men whose sons have gone into the city to fight with the mercenaries and return once in a while to eat and share their success with wine, the mob was going there but the grand fathers and fathers were unaware, they could feel the tension but they could not tell where it was coming from. The children were out playing in the yard and the women were out in the field gathering wheat and the men were bundle up in the village mosque across the street chanting the afternoon prayer. The mob landed in the village, and the children began to run in all direction calling their mama and papa but they were not there, and shots began to fire and little bodies fell in the street and cries rise above the hill and the universe felt the chill. Blood gushes out of their head and innocent souls lie in the street dead and the birds cover them with their wings. They descended later in the mosque and in seconds another massacre began. The men had nothing to defend themselves so they had to take the bullets in their heads and lie on top of the dead and pretend too, to be dead, and just when I thought it was over the mob marched into fields to get the women but they were no match for them, they were all arm with pistol and they fought it out in the fields before the grease palmer arrived to end the bloody sacrifice. A few women got bullet graze but none of the women were killed, the mob accepted the offer and quickly left the place. The mercenaries were out of town but their children and parents were homeward bound and the village was stained with blood.
Memories of childhood
flooded my mind as I rummaged...
through dusty white elephants
and keepsakes in the attic. Frequent gasps
of pleasant astonishment
upon discovery of long-outgrown clothes;
old birthday gifts I thought
were lost forever.
Especially, a water pistol,
which took me...
back in time when
I used to play cops and robbers
with other neighborhood kids
Ah, those were the days!
Suddenly, I felt like a child again.
Dusty Old Memories Poetry Contest (Winner: 1st Place)
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Date written: 08/02/2020
(ah miss bing amiss with former mistress)
Oh Glenda (Miz Gee gee)
years elapsed since, I didst hawk
verboten fruit adrip
from yar verdant bough,
thy strong craven raven
doth still twitter and flip
sans thy testosterone switch,
where woody pecker missus grip
ping re: egret ting prospective
relationship nixed thee
as gull friend material, hip
mistress, though heron eye did pay lip
service verily org*s mic* lee quip
yes...wren doer ring
more'n commit Freudian slip
which peeping cardinal tip
towing thru nested tulip trip
gave balled oriole peck whip
ping lil s*x pistol be
friending chirping pu**y riot
inserting thingmabob
after pants sigh did un zip.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Egg gad unlike rob bin duck cradle
yar mature red breast all aswirl
asper a stationary dreidel
ma** aery ducts mine mouth pursed
yar nipples mine gums did ladle.
Only in memory, aye
hungrily thirst and thirstily hunger
fort deux aureole dye
still affecting this gab
bird, who didst deign
as milquetoast guy.
Whenever this birdman alone
his thoughts metaphorically drone
worm wayward toward
pubic thatch, where
hello kitty doth purr and groan
of quintessentially
kinky coiled hair moan
ning softly as thee
bared naked lady lies prone
admiring pinkish puckered
def flesh tone.
Ain't An Ornery Yahoo
Old widow lady of ninety-two
Lives by herself with nothing else to do
Except sit in her chair next to the window
And stare out for hours with dreams of her past woe
I reckon she ain't ornery yahoo
With a few bricks short of a load
Doing nothing but fuss and talk for ever and tells tall tales
Ain't no telling of those tall tales are true
Whaddya think?
She sits in her chair next to the window
And stares out for hours with dreams of her past woe
Seasons have come and gone with the flowers,
Grass and trees changing colors
She's ran off all her children, family, and friends
Doing nothing but fuss and talk for ever and tells tall tales
With a ruckus if you don't agree and resist
She gets riled up lifts up her clenched dukes and
Lands an uppercut to the mug she’s kissed
Whaddya think?
Y’all want to stay out of her crosshairs if ya can’t resist
Cause y’all open a can of worms if you persist
She carries a small pearl handle chrome plated
Stup nose 22 pistol in her purse
© 7/22/2015
Contest Name: Colloquialisms
Sponsor: Laura Leiser
...The next day’s sun a posse brought.
By noon all the Anders Gang was shot,
Except for one, no longer there,
The path to their place, Sam had lain bare.
In exchange for this they let him go,
And give him on thousand in gold.
But he did not rush to spend the haul,
In fact he didn’t spend it, not at all.
Instead he rode to the home of Bud Fielding,
Where the poor Pitkin’s girl was recovering.
Fielding walked out, with his rifle drawn
“Ride on filth!”the good man warned.
But Sam he just held up his hands,
Saying,”I come here to kill no man.
I came here to, in some small way,
Make up for what happened that day.”
The girl limped out, her eyes afire
Chicago Sam then felt old, and tired.
He took his gold-pouch off his belt,
And at the feet of the girl it fell.
He said,”You remind me of a girl, back when
I was something of a better man.
That money won’t fix a shattered heart,
But at least you can make a new start.
“I do not expect you to forgive,
The things me and my comrades did.
But I’m here today to even the score,
For you and the memory of Glenore.”
The girl looked on through swollen eyes,
His purpose still, she did not realize.
He sighed and said to her,”I’m sorry.
That I ever caused you pain or worry.”
Those were the last words that he said,
Then he placed his pistol by his head.
Twas the only way to make good, he figured,
So he took a breath, then squeezed the trigger.