Long Straddled Poems
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Buster had traveled the rodeo circuit fer nigh on twenty years,
Bull ridin', bareback ridin' and ropin' them frisky steers!
He wuz a lanky feller wearin' chaps, jeans slung low on his hips,
With a Bull Durham roll-yer-own a-danglin' frum his lips.
He drove his battered pickup towin' an air conditioned van,
In which traveled in style his cuttin' hoss, old faithful Dan.
This wuz to be his final rodeo, his final cross-country trip,
Vyin' once agin fer a few bucks and a national championship.
In the bull ridin' event he straddled a brute called Dynamite.
That old cuss did all kinds uv gyrations to the crowd's delight!
But Buster hung on as Dynamite tried to unseat him frum his back.
He'd rode him before and knew he wouldn't cut him any slack!
In the bareback ridin' contest he drew a bronc called Killer.
He twisted ever' which way - that ride shore was a thriller!
Buster and old Dan wuz amazin' when it come to ropin' steers.
They broke the standin' record, a-bestin' all their peers!
Buster'd had more'n his share uv broken bones and sprawls,
And uv dust, mud and the mind numbin' overnight hauls.
He retired to a little spread in Colorady to enjoy his leisure.
Old Dan was retired as well to frolic in the pasture!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Although the kiss was brief
The sensation seem to linger,
His eyes still closed when he felt a pain
As she ran the razor sharp nail of her finger
His eyes popped open as he looked at his chest
She hushed him and stroked his hair while whispering “rest”
He found that he was laying on the floor
Surrounded by snow, his chest was bloody and gore
“What you doing?” he begged
“Hush I said.”
“All will be revealed in time,”
“Rest you’re now mine.”
He panicked and tried desperately to move
But could not, as if his body had been removed
She sat next to him as her tail caressed his face
The scent of a woman was pleasurable, her tail like a silky lace
She spoke “ Do you remember long time ago,”
“The beginning of your people’s sorrow?”
“Yes,” he replied
The reality of his situation dawned on him as he deeply sighed
“The sacrifice should have been from the chief’s fruits not a bearer,”
“Yes,” he replied, “A male child not female that’s what brought our terror.”
“What Happened to Little Irit?” she asked
He hesitated for a while, “She was taken by Coyote,” he said at last
“Probably eaten, how should I know.”
She whispered “That was not so.”
“I am Irit the sacrifice, not little anymore,” “They now call me Irma.”
Child of Coyote, Goddess of Devolma”
“Although you killed my father, his spirit lives in me”
She straddled him, sat on his belly leaned forward and said “Look in to my eyes and
see the fate I have for thee”
Her eyes were pools of fire
As he saw his fate, the terror made him scream out and perspire
Her fingernails slowly pushed under his chest deep inside
Slowly tearing the skin open wide
He screamed but his body did not move
He passed out, she stopped and waited until he was fully alert before continuing the
skin removal
“Medicine man where is the one that should have been given in my place?”
“Show haste and I might spare the rest of you and your face.”
The pain was to much to bare and thought he would die at that moment in time
But her words echoed in his pain “YOU ARE MINE”
“His in hiding in the great towns,” he screamed
The exposed muscles to the air was like no other pain but she had hot water on the
fire which steamed
“Hush, this is only the beginning for you medicine man she whispered….
To be continued….
The archers’ line was straddled,
By many a shapely calf.
The Marshall called the nocking,
And winked at the pretty lass.
The Maiden drew the bowstring back,
To her ruddy cheek,
As she fired her fledgling flights;
They heard the fair Maid "Eek!"
Chorus
"Sing Hey Ho, best beware!
Hey Ho have a care,
If ye've any pretty parts,
Ye'll keep them out of there!"
The bowman smiled and nodded,
As the Maiden struck a pose.
"Try again M'Darlin' Dear,
"But watch out for y'er nose!"
The Maiden rubbed her forearm,
And looked back with a glare.
Nocked another arrow shaft,
And hit the bull's-eye square.
Gentles all they tipped their hats.
The Marshall cleared the field.
The Maiden went to fetch her flights.
The men trod close at heel.
Returning with a manly stride,
Yet again, she took her stance.
The bowmen's eyes all glimmered,
With mischief far in advance.
Chorus
Pulling back her bow string,
To her crimson cheek so close,
She let another arrow fly free.
The string hit her in the nose!
Tears welled in the Maiden's eyes.
All the gentlemen rushed the Dear.
Wiping the pretty lassies face,
Of every single tear.
They brushed the few stray auburn locks
From before her green-brown eyes
Handed her the fine longbow,
And heard her sorrowful sighs,
"Do try again M'Dear Mistress,
But for your form we fear,
So, be very, very, careful Maid!
Keep those nipples out of there!"
Chorus
'Twas 'pon the final flurry,
As she drew string back to cheek;
"Thwack" went the taunting bowstring,
And again the Maiden "Eekked!"
Her cheeks they blanched a deathly white,
'Pon her brow there came a frown;
Still, when the Marshall called count;
She gamely shot the round.
"Sing Hey Ho, don't be scared,
Hey Ho just take a care,
'Tis simply a friendly warning
Not to put ye're pretty parts there!"
You puckered up your lips
You went and cut your Beatle fringe
You squeezed in your bikini
And you trimmed your ginger minge
Your shadow on the beach eclipsed
The bathers on the sa-a-a-a-nd
Oh Tru-u-u-udy! You're out to bag a man
.
She lazes on the beach
Down by the Purple Dolphin Bar
She dribbles down her chin
While ogling hotties from afar
And even though you're thrice the size
You started out to be-e-e-e-
Tru-u-u-udy! You'd have two of him for tea
.
She spies a clueless victim
As his glasses hit the ground
She gaffs him with a tender look
And the sturdy rope she'd found
Though it's not gold nor money
That will cure this Turtle Dove
Oh Tru-u-u-udy! It's just buckets full o' love
.
She straddled him, his legs so thin
Then she began to pout
For it took half the fire brigade
To pull her victim out
Then he began to run as soon
As his feet touched the ground
Now Tru-u-u-udy, he's nowhere to be found
Night goes wrong gone by gone
Eleven sharpened by bell tolls
Last wipes failed in scrambled line
Shake the grip till bleached
Squeezing of faith blows a worship dirt
Night closes sins by wrong summon
Twelve pointed by curved hands
Silence gasped with dark lullaby
Trivium lied about lines and curves
Engaged big rhetoric wrapping logic
Night designated as a place curse
No more clock numbers shown
The bell blinded all clangs
Agony straddled a hundred murmurs
Fro and prone wrecked in pieces
Ante meridian written out all loads
Sketch phobia noticed panic
Galloped dimes to the Lord
Mashed five fingers full of tones
Here you are debris clings
Belonging to the forenoon or moon
Since the first as scratches furs
Marked colors both kiss and prick
Breeches of crying goes blotto
Stoned drawing flashed hustle soul
Thrones and domes breed fleet
Grinding wave of anon pruned bristles
All red and reddish
Aware the morning lapped rest
Mopped silhouette of you
Most people notice my sunny disposition,
one that can cause blindness & irreparable skin damage.
They remark on the fact that all of my poetry
is so cheerful and positive,
wonder how a person who finds everything so funny,
could ever be sad about anything.
But what they don't know is that,
I, like most other people,
have encountered my fair share of difficulty.
How my brain is an inhospitable residence
I only stay in because I was forced to make my home there.
However, what goes on behind closed doors
remains a mystery to the ignorant.
As a child, I laid prone on the floor,
organizing my toy cars,
and later, books on a shelf.
Flying into a frenzy when someone messed them up;
invariably causing more disorder in my wake.
Anxious moments spent, gnawing on fingers & toes,
nails chewed off into jagged calcium crescents.
Nervous air-drumming when I'm writing or stressed,
or my bouncing knee when I'm patient or
trying to quickly get through a book.
Not so fond memories of standing alone in corners,
away from the crowd,
when having confidence was an unrealized
pipe-dream I feverishly entertained.
No man's an island,
but I've been a peninsula
who took pleasure in his eroding shores.
What normal kid talks to himself and has night terrors?
What 6th grader has an identity crisis,
especially to the extent of believing he doesn't exist or
is incapable of going back to a way of being
that made him comfortable;
how he felt like a stranger to himself, family, and friends?
The weight of depression straddled me to the point that I
wished for a broken leg like a horse running the gauntlet.
Warnings of ed up family members--
therapists, mental institutions, lives of reclusion...
how close I ran the risk of becoming like them.
But, at least, I have the perfect conditions for making art.
Even if weird thoughts sometimes strike at inconvenient moments...
I wouldn't wish being normal
on my worst enemy,
because I once wished it on myself,
and I've finally realized I can use my tendencies to my benefit.
Maybe Tomorrow Night?
by Odin Roark
Early last night
thinking got heavy.
Uncomfortable feelings crept in.
The mix was,
I don't know…
Revealing, I guess.
How much?
How much is one person supposed to carry?
How strong this body thin?
Have I not hammered enough nails,
untangled enough twisted synaptic vines?
When will it be finished,
this lean-to in the forest of high-rise expectancies,
these mindscapes where insomniacs of abandoned conscience
meet persistent awareness in flames?
Is there only sitting alone on empty subway cars
careening through express stops,
where ghosts of ancient ether float suspended,
waving their giddy hands as the blur passes,
where the burning midnight oil insistence
searches for better light,
illuminated dream signs,
visions that never cease?
That was before I reached the last stop,
climbed the stairs into midnight darkness,
listened to my cacophony of silence,
pushed through that familiar door,
straddled my stool at O'Riley's,
made my pencil write,
while five and dime glassware
became faceted crystal of my dreams,
sloshing melted memories about,
elbowing their way into napkin after napkin,
crossed out words after crossed out words,
caramel river after caramel river,
finding my liver oh so accommodating.
Later last night,
I found my perch atop the familiar railing.
You know,
the same one as before,
and before,
and before,
studying the arc.
Did you know water runs deepest
when you know it's really the right time?
And they keep telling me two-hundred feet
allows plenty of gravity to collect.
But…
They've got me in this awful green room again.
Took my pencil.
Gave me a crayon.
Black this time.
Words don't care.
Curls and lines.
Paper doesn’t care.
Late last night,
they said i had to stay awhile.
Again, you know,
‘til I convinced them, again
that I'm all here,
all together,
just a little lonely,
no harm.
You know,
I'm thinkin'
there's gotta be another way,
you know.
Better than making you up all the time.
Maybe we could meet,
you and me.
Coffee.
Nothin’ fancy.
Just...
Maybe early
tomorrow night,
before my believin’ gets heavy again.
Maybe?
Sweetheart?
Time and Time again
Uncle Poppy sat on Brutus's back
Brutus stood still never to move a jot
So in order to offer an inducement
In the lead was Molly sent
Uncle Poppy mounted Brutus,
__sat on it's back----
Then flanked Brutus
----gave it a slap-----
Worst thing he ever did
Instead going up the hill
Down the incline he sped
Bolting, dropping Uncle Poppy on his head
Rolling and sliding on his belly
Greening his clothes and splitting his welly
Denting his ego, scrambling his brain
Wreaking havoc with excruiating pain
He groaned and writhed, cussed his luck
Swearing me to secrecy of the act
Of Brutus's bad behaviour and open defiance
Shattering his trust and forged alliance
But as fading memories eases ancient pain
He recovered lost memories and tried again
Once again mounted Brutus, straddled his back
Brutus moved neither and inch nor forward a jot
Such an enchanting spectacle was gleaned
By Pusey a friend from many adventures shared
Who shouted," get down, I will take the ride
A mule is a mule, a ride is a ride
And gingerly jumped on Brutus's back
Flanked Brutus ---gave it a slap---
Brutus swayed and turned, bucked and kicked
On the concrete hard ground was Pusey shipped
Then suddenly motionless as if dead
We poured cold water over Pusey's head.
Brutus had that look on his face
Daring any other to take Pusey's place.
Molly shook her head as if to say
How can you entertain a mule who doesn't play?
How can you get on a mule's back
Flank it, give it a slap?
Mules are meant to be stubborn and free
He is the son of Molly the mare
And Rufus the Jackass
Hardly pedigree
Wouldn't you agree.
Minute by minute,I saw my preciuos
existence slip away with the speed
of a stupendous shooting star across
a promising life...yet so unfulfilled and hollow;
wasn't my birthright relinquished
to an undeserved punishment and sorrow?
Why wouldn't anyone be resilient and
alleviate my agony and atrocious pain...
to confront a stark and unfair fate?
I can remember the unjustified hurt
clinging to many unacceptable exscuses;
and weren't there spendid dreams,
flourishing amid lonely and uncertain days,
wanting to ascape and become real?
Years by years misfortunes made me
give up all the incredible joys,of a naive boy,
that I longed for desperately;
I straddled to neither please life nor me,
to see reality wrapped up in mystery
constraining my neutral pesonality...
Breath by breath life allowed me
to live by its harsh rules...to teach me
unlearned lessons and I paid the highest
prize of all; and was it really worth
putting my trust in that confident voice,
and neglect the purpose of my strides?
Looking back,with regret,
on a wasted childhood that made me lame
by a blunt destiny;
languish and lament
impoverished my sentiment:
chocking me with their final,implicit word!
I decided to assume
the role of dreamer without dreams,
to take on the appearance of winner:
relying on vague assumptions
that turned me into the silent weeper,
who watched its thin shadow loom...
SHADOW STREAMING
irresistible
silhouettes
unswayed
&elusive
spaciously
bright
&shiny
seclusion
flourishes
is
savoured
cultivated
calendered
yet
always
moving
in
straddled
spangels
with
illustrious
outline
endless
shifting
beyond
bearing
shaken
wistful
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.