Long Roping Poems
Long Roping Poems. Below are the most popular long Roping by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Roping poems by poem length and keyword.
Looking for a brand for our growing herd
Nothing fancy nor absurd
Just something to let em know their mine
Rain or shine
Getting them to water.
As days grow hotter
Long lonely nights
Avoiding the lights
Keeping them out of fights
Yep, takes nerve
Feelings held in reserve
To ride heard on any kind of chicken critter
Some seem down right bitter
It takes sand
But back to our brand
Chickens need a tiny branding iron for sure
No cure
I've watched them grow
I want you to know
Ain't easy roping them tiny necks for one.
Waking up before the sun
Crazy roosters trying to claw your eyes out.
No matter how loud I shout
A rooster is a dangerous critter
Grabbed my friend and bit her
Never know when they will start stampeding
There's no impeding
There's no helping you then
Mauled by a lunatic hen
You won't win
They are clucking crazy when riled .
Can go from meek and mild
To totally wild
In nothing flat
They drop the hat
That's right.
No sleep at night
All they do is fight.
Pooping my breakfast what can I say
That's my day.
Past a peaceful day out Western Trail way,
Our lowing herd settled on coarse sand bars.
We hands bunched under prancing prairie stars,
Once clean grub tins and cups were put away,
For tall yarn desserts, dance, and campfire songs.
Lit by burning buffalo chips and sage,
Our campfire blazed hot, challenging the dark,
Holding at bay the prairie wind’s chill bark.
Night herd began with strums of a guitar
Backed by a fiddle and an Ozark harp.
Cowboys sang of Betsy from Pike’s sweet charms,
Dancing do-si-dos with scarves on their arms.
Two waddies circled our bedded down herd,
Singing Old Paint to the beat of horse hooves,
Echoing us boys’ songs by the fire
As coyotes chorus to the sparkling sky.
Past riding drag, eating dust all day
Worn waddies could cough up a few tunes.
Our homesick cowboy choir danced and sang
Then tiptoed to bed rolls for a few winks
Until our turns, on the down low, to croon
A sorrowful Red River lullaby
For trail weary doggies laying at rest,
Promising fresh rich grass in the Big Sky.
At the break of dawn, we were up and gone
Roping and riding; trying not to yawn.
A clear morning sky offered welcome news
No thunderstorms, floods, or frosted-up dews.
A stove-up drover that morn did advise
“Savor your quiet nights and be trail wise
For a cowboy’s work is never to cease
Before the railhead and cattle’s release.
Some year, long paired iron rails must appear
With barbed wire strands to encumber our way
As Progress closes up loved cattle trails,
Dooming open range to vanish away.
As the parched summer grass, we too shall fade,
Our names lichen covered on graven stone,
But breathing as legends we shall live on,
Riding trail bred tales our kids will hear.”
Roguish reincarnated ribbing raconteur...
Ruminating, while rustling, and roping
regular riff raff galore
with deliberate intent tomb ache
mummy dearest laugh
till she falls down Mariana Trench
deep down on zee sea floor,
where tears trickle thence pour
down her cheeks
causing flash floods that did roar
back in the day of dinosaur
triggering erosion plus extinction regarding
"terrible lizards," unwittingly
opening figurative door
regarding wild speculation
by George, i.e. ninety eighty four
bajillion years ago maya
inca ling extempore
rainy us hypothesis,
whereby this troubadour
posits sketchy jaw dropping conjecture
synchronization, superstition, strangulation...
roaming contra band predecessor
rock hitted rolling stones
hook, line and sinker
gathered no hardy moss, nor
grunting gripes re: ain't
got no satisfaction store
reed prehistoric bipedal hominids
embarkation commenced way before
führer set to even World War I score
back hazy mists time immemorial
vulnerable scattered shortish,
nasty brutish primates bore
ring, measly, niche indeed
kickstarted guttural folklore
fierce predators heavily outnumbered
lacked aptitude to deplore
chance fluke circumstances
take out boxed survival diet of worms
held in escrow to check
propensity trending cocksure
bazillion future generations, when
forebears would explore
comfort zones outer limits,
meanwhile mine and your
great great great... grandparents
kept low profile learning hardcore
bare necessities to shore
scant population uttering primal bonjour.
How quaint to contemplate,
when proto humans continuity
at mercy of indiscriminate fate
where unavoidable, uncontrollable, unpredictable...
forces decreed demise
contracting early death versus to dilate
envisioning disadvantageous, horrendous,
precarious tenuous...
toehold *****sapiens descendents I equate
with apocalyptic unpleasant fate
predicated pitching humanity
teetering on brink, where
self destruction will accelerate
unless species doth ameliorate
weapons of mass destruction
while doomsday clock ticks closer to...
There are users, abusers
And bitter accusers
In the World of negative thought
There are legalistic, ballistic
And increasingly sadistic
In the World of righting the "not lot"
~On the other side~
There are roses, poses
And delivering Moses
In the World of fanatical dreams
There are hoping, doping
And constantly roping
In the World of sewing seems (seams)
~Still~
There are planners, banners
And worshipping fanners
In the World of Pyramid Power
There are groveling, dissolving
And situational involving
In the World of heightening bowers
~Til~
There are woulders, coulders
And moving shoulders
In the World of Imagination
There are accepting, respecting
And continually perfecting
In the World of growing patience
~Light Shining on the Darkness
Written by Trudy Schrader on 02-11-2018
Many years ago, I spent my life in vain
Yearning for peace nobody by himself could gain…
Groping wearily in that dark vacuum with pain
Oh! I was lost – in trespasses, I was slain.
Desperate was I in such unsure condition…
Keeping rituals and blinded by false religion
Needing God to free me from sins’ dominion
Only by His grace can I have assured redemption.
Wholly freed by God from the devil’s enslavement
Saved am I now through my Savior’s sacrifice-fulfillment…
My life He quickened, clothed with righteousness’ raiment
Yes, with His love, He took away my punishment.
Now, I gladly live for Christ* Who knows my soul’s need
Eternal promises He gives, no one can exceed
Enriched with His blessings, I praise and thank Him indeed
Deserving of my service, He – my God, I heed.
*Galatians 2:20 I am crucified with Christ: nevertheless I live; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me: and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself for me.
April 11, 2018
Edited on June 11, 2020
Acrostic in rhyme form
8th place, "Your Best Poem" Premier Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Chantelle Anne Cooke; judged on 6/12/2020.
This is one fine place for a stray....
Even if only for a one-moon stay.
No tight roping a burning fence.
No barkers belittling until I'm deaf.
The sun and shade treating me equally.
No red-hatted gnomes flicking daisies at me.
There're endless dips and nicks where I can hide.
Close my Egyptian Isis eyes and drift far away.
This is one fine place for a stray...
Oh yes.
The gray one reminds me of what I once had.
Good grub, rubber mouse, a good-hearted laugh.
A calloused hand to steady my midnight silhouette.
A wobble and sashay into that wildflower land.
Matter of fact, he once had a silky window cat.
Oh yes.
Lately he's been leaving tasty bits of food,
A rainwater bowl, a silly rubber mouse to chew.
But I'm much too gray for those kittenish games.
Maybe I'll give it a swat or two but only for his sake....
Oh yes.
Maybe, someday he'll let me in that big fancy shed.
Then I could rid myself of this purr-dicament.
Spend my final days in sweet, carefree opulence.
But trust is a precarious and most fragile thing.
Like a glass cat knickknack on the banks
of a dog-legged stream.
Oh yes. Oh yes.
Haven't seen the gray-caned one for many a day.
The raccoons cracked open my bowl of water rain.
The golden grass is bent and long overgrown.
Mr. bull thistle is kissing the Lady of the rose.
Maybe the gray one is searching both hi and low
for that mother of pearl in a forever home.
Oh no. Oh no!
IN AND OF SPELLBOUNDING AWARENESS
Pondering the journey,
It was as if God had
Put a spell on us
Until reality revealed
The truth of glorifying
Awareness of holy blessings
Of faithful determination
To mount the bucking
Stallion of oppression
And break out
Of the shackled corral
That fenced us in,
Without justice, equanimity,
And freedom,
Giving the devil power
To abort laboring birth
Of our liberation:-
Enlightened, we‘re now galloping,
With charioting forces
Over mountains, rivers, and seas,
Roping and challenging
All past and present vestiges,
Of that particular institution
That once imprisoned
Our ancestors,
And we shall no longer
Be victims of the shadowed spell
Cast upon us
By the devil’s wickedness,
For we are freed
From his mental shackles
And now control
Our own destiny
To justice and
Liberty:-
Indeed, “...a new natural mystic
Is blowing..,
And we are breathing
The air of its liberation,
Energized and directed
With audacious power—
Within and without—
To demonstrate and prove
That our Black Lives Matter
To us and the world;
For a new day
Is upon the horizon
With the rising sun
Arching Earth’s skies
With rainbowing liberation:-
So, wake up, America!
A new mystic air is blowing,
And there is no mountain
So high
Or valley so
Low
Where bigotry
Racism and fascism
Can hide or abide:
Where the air is filled
With awareness,
Peace and love,
Fools of darkness,
And oppression,
Cannot breathe:-
On earth, God rules,
Heals and chastises,
Leaving fools roaming aimlessly
In the confusion down yonder:
Unmasked in the heated slime
And fumes of His retribution:-
Thus, let us not be spellbound,
But nourish in the wisdom of
Of the truth: “Be not deceived;
God is not mocked…whatsoever
A man soweth, that shall he reap.”
Let us continue to struggle
With audacious, triumphant faith
With our eyes stayed on the prize—
Sipping from the saucer of grace—
As our cup of grace continues to overflow
From generation to generation to come:-
The endgame
And the cemetery was
nowhere to be found
yet was so present
in the shallow depth
the graveyard of the mind
No tombstone unturned
fragmented torn and twisted
sorrow flowing down
encrypted alleyways
and Thanatos’ call
Searching to imprint
coffin’s nails on seams
of muddy icy prison
hammered chiselled avenues
creeping through and in
Dead alive and collocated
hell firing place and time
scorching cementing
looming crossing overs
to where and when to how
No monument just
monumental nothing
void oppression
endless loop’s demise
thoughts emotions dragging
Torrential thunders
roping in electrocuted lightning
nooses from the tree of
living emptied darkness
flowing rapids standing still
The cemetery awaiting
ashes urns and vultures
presiding over Ganges Styx
Caron caring like a
lifeless Buddha saddened
Giving taking suffering
unthreading tapestry graffiti
splashing on the canvass
sombre art in progress
oscillating back and forth
The reaper harvests harshly
the mindless soul and body
crumbling bones infested
carbons desiccation apathy
hedonistic pleasures dull extinct
Gravitation nudges wild
and gently roaring
culling sculls foreclosing scooping
offerings burthens memories
premature un-furbished epitaphs
Silent roaring rampant syncopal
admonished synergetic resolution
teasing fool and morbid jester
luring loosening resolve
apprehending lithographic scribes
And the cemetery blinding
obvious and for the taking
present not yet for embrace
remains a silhouette on the horizon
and life for now is stronger
May 18th 2016
Contest entered:
And the cemetery was... Broken Wings
Let me count the names
a bond here, a bond there
it sounds so cavalier
tossed around nonchalantly, just people I once knew
Pause while I reflect on a memory or two
Their faces appear, all of my kin
flickering in my mind, roping me in
A smile is seen, its beauty comes back to me
With eyes closed, it's true, I can see
I dig deeper, take a deep breath
They're never lost to me, not even in death
Voices now surround me, the barrier now broke
Their laughter echoes, words they've spoke
Past conversations brought back to life
The comfort it brings eases the pain and strife
Inhale, exhale again and again
I'm drawing them closer, letting them in
The scent of peonies wafts right by my nose
Circles around me just as the wind blows
Just like that I'm transported home
A marvelous reminder, I'm never alone
Hold still, hold tight, don't let them go
I'm imagining a hug, it just goes to show
Their embrace will always be longed for
Time escaped us and I'll always wish for more
Six relatives have lived, six relatives have died
Let it all out, I opened my eyes and sighed
Their memories stay strong, alive and well
Their legacies live on, in my heart they dwell
Pause while I reflect on a memory or two
This is the impact of these people I once knew
My love for them, never cavalier
a bond shared, a bond I wear
Let me count the names
I never understand why some people
use ‘cowboy’ as if it were an insult.
I think they’d prefer somebody who
in the background cowers and sulks.
Someone who goes along to get along,
and never dares to buck and strain,
but a cowboy is a hero true,
I should not have to explain.
Some seem to think that inaction
equates to the moral high ground.
They’d tell you to sit and wait,
even as it all is burning down.
As if somehow by avoiding chance
they’ll be exempted from any pain.
But a cowboy knows that a hero acts,
I should not have to explain.
Perhaps that’s why we don’t any longer
see him ride across the silver screen.
Those who hold culture’s levers
can’t make peace with a person doing.
The idea of sovereign action,
cannot compute in their brains.
As to why cowboys are heroes,
you can never to them explain.
Th cowboy knows the sometimes
a thing has got to happen.
They strip it down and cut through
the bureaucracy that’s sapping
the strength and clarity we need
to take on the vicious and insane.
That we could use some more cowboys
I should not have to explain.
As heroes they are bound to stay,
living by codes stronger than law.
Riding, roping, saving the day,
with a cigar in their craw.
Taking on an ever wild world
from California up to Maine,
the cowboy remains a hero bold,
I should not have to explain.