Long Saloon Poems
Long Saloon Poems. Below are the most popular long Saloon by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Saloon poems by poem length and keyword.
Welcome to Gutter Ball Saloon
Where careful words waft through the tavern;
Serpentine swirls with evil intentions.
Watch your step and pocketbook.
Observe the chap in the derby hat.
No, the other one.
No, the other one…with the honeycomb vest.
That singular sap is one of kind.
Or one of ten; a soldier-still pin at full attention
Standing in formation on the glossy maple
Eager to be wrecked, toppled head-over-heels.
Spare.
He’s been gassed, you see.
Some fancy bouquet of honey perfume
Mingled with cheap cigars and one too many.
He’s feeling lucky and takes a gamble.
Throws in his hand and a couple of dice for good measure.
Snake eyes!
Just look at that dame.
Her dark velvet accentuated physique
Candy apple lips that drip pearls
A string of words she drapes about his neck
Intoxicatingly beautiful.
The phrasing…and she’s a bit of a looker too.
A real up-and-comer with a knack for bowling.
Spare.
A quick spritz and yank of the string.
I dare you to look away.
He’s choking…but of course he is.
He never had a chance in that bowler hat.
Just look at those red cheeks.
Flush.
She’s got him by the balls.
Snake eyes.
Now if you’ll look closely…
I’ve got your wallet.
Strike!
4/26/15
You shut yourself away
Very little on display
It started small
But now you have built a massive wall
You won’t show any emotion
But don’t see the erosion
You don’t communicate much
You are loosing touch
The enemy is your shadow
Your way of thinking has become narrow
You are letting the shadow control you
And alter your world view
You have shut everyone out
Your body language has put me in doubt
About how you are actually coping
There is no laughing only moping
You say you don’t feel safe
Then lockdown the case
No words just walking away
Pushing everyone the opposite way
You have been sick for a long time
I have been caring and patient on the decline
But when you shut down
You make everyone drown
I hope you leave your shadow soon
Before it takes you to the last saloon
Deception In Soup Creek
There once was a town called Soup Creek amiable and quaint
Filled with all these characters, a perfect picture they'd paint
It was founded to protect the innocent
Where one was welcome to come visit
A bold western saga exquisite
A Mayor, a Sheriff, a saloon proprietor
A bar owner, also a realtor
What comes next you can’t make it up, is true
A charlatan Sheriff who already knew
The saloon owner was a phony too
This is the tale what we thought a young fem,
Claimed she was being stalked by men
who used different user names
All the while she was doing the same
Many here feel used by her deception
Manipulated for her own protection
Even I was dragged in
To keep the adventure going
I was a bit overzealous
Got a vibe she was jealous
Cause I added a twist
And then there’s this…
Whose face is it?
Someone off the internet
Identity theft is what I saw
Or is madam above the law
I uncovered a foul devious charade
Just ego and hubris on parade
Meanwhile she had
Told a few folks who also were played
Madam’s her old self, and is back
With fists ready to attack
Writing about the value of friends
Pshaw, a victim again, it never ends
I don’t have the time for this
I’ll give it to you quick, Ma`am, Miss
What were you thinking, is it mental illness?
Tell the saloon owner, who invites us in for a drink
What in heavens name would Milton think?
I know I should move on gracefully
But it just didn't settle right with me
If lies and deception are your lot
At least you can try better not to get caught
In an Old West Town of no repute
Came a rider on a horse as if in hot pursuit.
Into the saloon he ran and shouted aloud
"BIG RED'S COMIN' "...which brought down a shroud.
Out the doors and windows they were flying
Even some sturdy men were seen leaving crying.
So now there was dead silence to be heard
With only a small man behind the bar, shivering and scared.
The huge figure came riding on the back of a Buffalo
No saddle needed, for this gunfighting pro.
A thick stubble covered most of his face
And the oversized sombrero keeping the sun in its place.
Double bandoliers crisscrossed his chest
Which was so swollen, you could not see his vest.
Two big revolvers hung at his hips
While the scowl spelled doom as he pursed his lips.
The big spurs clanged "KA-CHING", "KA-CHING" as he crossed the wood
Then stopped abruptly as before the saloon doors he stood.
With one fell swoop they came unhinged
As he came through and the barkeep cringed.
"Gimme a Whiskey" he said to the guy
Who was afraid to move, let alone try.
The big man reached across the bar and grabbed his throat
Bouncing him off the walls and ceiling as if he were a coat.
He threw him back behind the bar to his dismay
And repeated himself, "I said Gimme a Whiskey"!
With shaking hands the barkeep put a bottle up
Watching and cowering like a poor little pup.
Grabbing the bottle with little more than a frown
He broke it open on the bar and "GULP", "GULP", "GULP", the contents went down.
A big slurp could be heard as he wiped his face on the sleeve of his shirt
Quiet at last, and no one really got hurt.
In his frail little voice you could hear the barkeep say
"DDOOO YYYOOOU WWAANT ANNNOTTHERR?"
The Big Man answered, "Nah, I Gotta Go...I Heard 'BIG RED'S' Comin' This Way"!
The young must know that they are loved
For there is goodness in every young person
Give me souls--the souls of young people
These boys are not bad, these boys, they need me
In their midst I feel completely at home
I learned the hardships of an orphans life
In this new town where I had to support myself
Laboring in everything from being a blacksmith
And as a tailor, waiting as a waiter and shoemaker
All that to ease my mother's burden
Every Sunday I'd meet the boys in a different place
It didn't matter that it was a city church,
a cemetery chapel, or an empty lot
And during the week i'd tour the city shops,
Making sure my boys hadn't forgotten my instructions
I bought an empty lot and a dilapidated shed
Next door was a saloon, across ,a hotel of shady reputation
but what did it matter to me the oratory ground was sacred,
for it later came to me in a dream
That it was the burial ground of the Martyrs of Turin.
It is enough that you are young
And for you I give my life
bound by one rule, dedicated
to the double task of self-sanctification & care of youth
But first tell the devil to rest, and then I'll rest too
Do all the good you can
Thats why while I have time, I must work
My dear sir I tell you you are a good friend of mine,
but God comes first, first of all Don Bosco is a priest
So give me the souls, take away the rest
My mother would say when I become a priest
If ever became rich, she shall never enter my house!"
Thats why I am poor, penniless Don Bosco, a shepherd boy of the hills.
I have lived poor and shall die poor
I have only one wish, to see you happy and in the next
"I have been an instrument in the hands of Mary. She has done everything. Had I been a worthier instrument, I would have accomplished a great deal more."
The PO£T
Woke up this morning and made you some breakfast.
You didn’t want it, this I could tell.
You walked to the stove and started to smell it,
turned up your nose, and said, "what the hell!"
It's just humble fare like my grandma Edna
used to prepare out west on the plains.
She always swore it was better than dyin'
from the throes of severe hunger pangs.
I know you’re a cowboy from your hat and your buckle
and the way you hang your thumbs from your belt,
but seeing your face all green makes me chuckle
from cowboy vittles that you only smelt
My darling I believed you were the real thing
a genuine cattle hand through and through,
but now I'll have to go back to the saloon
to find another who'll eat possum stew.
11/19/2018
High noon...
somewhere in the deep west
a drifter rides into town in need of a fresh horse and some rest.
He carries two 45's
custom made to his taste
with pearl handles and cursed steel
many a man have tasted their fate.
He carries no badge, rides without a gang
and for a purse of silver
all he needs is a location and a name.
He asks no questions
don't care about the man or his crimes
if justice comes by way of payment
then it'll be done swiftly and on time.
The deputy gets the sheriff
the body found late that afternoon
the dead man seemed to like his poker
in the towns seedy saloon.
the sheriff pushes back the slumped over gambler
to see the dead man's fate
two in the chest, one in the head
funny, the deputy chuckled, he was holding five eights.
The gunslinger rides north
it's been hours since the cheaters fate had been sealed
it's a half a day's ride to tombstone
there he'll pay for a woman and a meal.
but for now, he'll stop, build a fire
and listen to the coyote's sing
this is the life of a gunslinger
haunted by wanted posters
and what tomorrow may bring.
Copyright © Kurt Kohls |
Page 4 The Lost Souls Saloon
With a wave of her hand
The cowhands all dispersed
Then she spoke to me some words
I'm sure were well rehearsed
She leaned a little forward,
placed her palm 'long side my cheek
Said, "I could be the one,
if it's companionship you seek"
I admit she put a smile
on my ruff and worn out face
and my eyes began to wander
down her corset made of lace
Then she grabbed me by my vest
as she pulled me from the chair
dragged me 'cross the floor
and made me stumble up the stairs
We landed by a door
when she pulled me by my shirt
Then slammed me 'gainst the wall
and said "please now make me hurt"
I was taken back and tongue tied
So I answered with a kiss
and though I've been with gals before
There was never one like this
Then I entered through the door
Seeking conquest and its glory
As cast aside my faith
In this place called purgatory
Don't want to miss page 7
coming soon rated PG
Ka-thump-a-loon, my pet raccoon,
sings opera in the woods at noon;
I love so much to hear him croon.
At night he carols to the moon.
If you are lucky you might hear
the songs he sings most loud and clear;
he plans to make it his career
with performances both far and near.
He will audition sometime soon,
accompanied by his pal baboon
who plays a really mean bassoon;
I know they'll make the critics swoon.
I guess I'll have to go along
and keep long lists of all his songs
and iron his wardrobe of sarongs,
protect him from the cheering throngs.
He seems excited, that's for sure;
he never has been too demure.
He keeps asking for a new coiffure,
a glitter mani- and pedicure.
Last night that crazy old raccoon
sucked on a helium balloon
and ate way too much crab Rangoon,
said he planned to change his tune.
He switched his genre to rock and roll,
thinks he can sing with a lot of soul;
winning American Idol his one goal
with its million dollar prize bankroll.
Things are getting out of hand;
the raccoon's plans are just too grand;
I wish he'd join the forest band
and forget this superstar status plan.
Success can never come too soon
to a want-to-be Las Vegas tycoon
who dreams of a big penthouse saloon,
Ka-thump-a-loon, my pet raccoon.
Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright, August 18, 2015
It was summer on a Saturday afternoon.
With a few bucks, I went to a saloon.
I made some decent progress with my third beer.
All of the sudden, a vision of loveliness would appear.
She was a brunette scantily clad in a bikini colored pink.
This girl looked young; not even old enough to drink.
Aroused men seemed to want to swallow her whole
as she erotically slithered like a snake around a pole.
The guy sitting next to me told me her name was Denise.
She just happened to be the bar owner's niece.
Closer to the patrons came this sweet little honey.
Denise pranced on the countertops as she collected money.
That's when I thought I should vacate my seat.
This girl might think I was a deadbeat.
To the nearest exit, I made a prompt dash.
I would have stayed longer, but I was out of cash.