Long Street Poems
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It was high noon in Dodge City, Kansas on that hot and sultry day.
The sheriff was makin' his leisurely rounds on Old Dan, his faithful bay.
Rowdy cowpokes was wettin' their gullets tossin' whiskey down.
That mornin' they'd herded their steers to the railhead jes' east of town!
After bein' on the trail fer weeks they was ready to go on a drunken toot!
The sheriff had been through this before and was ready to settle any dispute!
He was lanky with a leathered face and wore a .44 slung low on each hip.
He was fast on the draw as shown by a dozen notches on each grip!
The cowboys convened at the Long Branch Saloon when an uproar was heard!
They was settlin' an issue with Slick, the resident gambler, that had occured!!
They was yellin' and cussin' tryin' to git their paws on that miserable cheat!
A brawl erupted and shots was fired - the fight spilled out into the street!
The sheriff arrived on the scene and expertly drew his blazin' guns!
After the smoke had settled, three fellers was sprawled upon their buns!
Their pals, havin' seen the odds, hopped on their hosses and took to hoof!
The gallant sheriff triumphed once agin and thus ended the daily spoof!
When the swirlin' dust had settled and the billowin' smoke had dissipated,
The tourists who saw this excitin' event cheered those who had participated!
I reckon you thought a bit of history was bein' played out in old Dodge City!
(If I "steered" you in that direction with this bull, what a doggone pity!)
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
The reader of the stars who lives just down the street
looked in her crystal ball and said, “Your future’s sweet!
The man you’re dreaming of—I see . . . he’s now in view!
He is prince no doubt, fit for a princess—YOU!”
I said, “Someone like me can hope to find a prince?”
She said, “I’ll see you meet this grandest of all gents!”
“You KNOW this guy?” I asked my sis. “I DO!” she said.
Like you he’s looking for THE soulmate he can wed.”
So--she’s no reader of the stars, but she’s a gem!
Thanks to dear Sis, I have a lovely life with him.
September 4, 2020
Max 12 lines, poem-inspired prompt poetry contest
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
Walking down the street I saw
Both bumblebee and fairy,
Vampires, witches, and some monsters
Scarier than scary.
A gladiator strolled beside
Some high-heeled sexy nurses,
And several aliens who came
From distant universes.
A firefighter and his friends,
All hero-types in tights,
Escorted princesses and queens,
And several elves and sprites.
Such simple costume magic
Formed this Halloween display,
To lift us from the daily grind
And keep the drab at bay.
Reality’s suspended,
And we cross into the realm
Of wonder and enchantment,
With a dreamer at the helm.
So dive into this haven’s
Pure ethereal delight;
To fantasy, surrender,
If only for one night.
The iron bell in the back of
Bramble's Toy Emporium
chimed midnight with a dull,
metallic clang.
From the dark shadows of
the clearance aisle, a gaunt
figure slithered out, its skin
the color of bruised parchment.
It was the Ghoulish Ghoul, a
creature made of discarded
stitching, stuffing, and old,
forgotten playground dust.
He gathered the skeletal
remains of old porcelain
dolls into a circle and cleared
his raspy, rattling throat.
"Gather round, little plastic
souls, and listen to how the
toys here stay alive," the Ghoul
whispered.
"You think children buy dolls
because they are cute, but the
dolls actually choose their owners."
His yellow fingernails tapped
against a hollow wooden rocking
horse, making it swing violently
back and forth.
Every time a child hugs one
of us tightly at night, we steal
a tiny sliver of their warm, living
breath.
A shelf of mechanical monkeys
suddenly began to softly clap
their cymbals in a slow, rhythmic
death march.
By winter, that child grows paler,
slower, and colder, until they
can no longer jump or run or
play.
The Ghoul grinned, exposing rows
of sharp teeth carved out of rusted
metal jacks and broken dice.
Then, while the house sleeps,
the doll slips out of bed and drags
the child's hollow shell down the
stairs.
The glass eyes of a hundred
Teddy bears glinted in the
moonlight, staring down at
the empty room.
They bring the empty child
right back here to Bramble's,
down into the cold, damp
basement workshop.
He pulled a heavy, silver
needle from his velvet coat,
threading it with thick, black
twine.
"We stuffed the hollow skins
with cotton candy, sew the lips
shut, and pop in two shiny, black
buttons for eyes."
The Ghoul pointed a crooked,
skeletal finger directly through
the storefront window, out into
the empty street.
"Look closely at the window
display tomorrow morning,
little ones, and see if you
recognize the new stock."
The jacks- in- box in the
corner began to turn their
cranks by themselves,
playing a distorted, slowed-
down melody.
"Go to sleep now, lock your
toy boxes tight, and pray
your favorite doll isn't
hungry tonight."
With a wet, wheezing
chuckle, the Ghoul melted
back into the shadows as
The final jacks- in- the- box
popped open.
(This is a fictional poem but we really should help people who are down on their
luck.)
My cousin lost his job and his home and he had nowhere to go.
He asked his other relatives for a place to stay but they all said no.
It was wrong of his relatives to turn him away.
When he came to me, I gave him a place to stay.
He's a good man but he was down on his luck.
When they turned him away, it really sucked.
The way they treated my cousin wasn't at all nice.
When he asked me for a place to stay, he didn't have to ask twice.
I wasn't about to let my friend be thrown out on the street.
I gave him a place to stay until he got back on his feet.
A snowy splendor of freshly fallen white fluffy snow
Blanket everything that has gotten in its way.
It sparkles like glitter from the illumination descending light
Of the stars, moon, and lights of the street lamps.
A snowman sits in the front yard,
With a black top-hat, a scarf around its neck,
And an orange carrot nose, greeting visitors.
The spindly trees and its branches
Dress in white sweaters,
A vision of arms with fingers.
Colored Christmas lights decorate
And light up the home’s eaves for holiday spirit.
Candles sit, lit in the windows;
beacons for friends and those that are traveling.
A seat awaits around an inviting fireplace,
With warm quilts for their laps,
And servings of hot chocolate.
A fresh cut blue spruce stands by the window
Decorated with delicate old glass ornaments
Handed down from generation to generation,
Candy canes, toys, children’s handmade ornaments,
A star to light up the top of the tree,
Wrapped with strings of popcorn and cranberry garland.
Homemade cookies and cakes waft through the air.
Christmas Carolers out in the chill of the winter night,
All warmed in stocking hats, wool mittens, coats,
And snow boots, going door-to-door
Warming people’s hearts.
A Snowy Christmas a wonderful time of the year.
12/09/2014
Children Story
.................................THE NEWINGTON PRESS.........................................
VOLUME VVII NEWSWORTHY EDITION
$1.85 .......... STREET EDITION
June 10, 2001
by Gaffa Dame
reporting from the
Florence Palace Picture Show
the concession stand
venue show features many
variables in modern
culinary arts. styles
and cuisines from
many different cultures,
from all parts of the world.
difficult taste made simple,
by chefs who know
what they are doing.
Worlds combined together
to create and recreate that
" good ole fashion flair using
modern techniques and styles.
We serve turkey pochinni, algone' and
beef buise' and some pork and fish Brouise'
and some recipes that will make you
crawl and beg the chef for the recipe!!
get off your knees and dine type dishes!
I’d leave my workplace just before
The hands crept round to five once more
To race the clock and buy the time
I needed then to queue in line
To catch my breath in freezing rain
And board the bus back home again.
Then as those doors hissed shut behind
I’d feel a weight lift from my mind
And walk the aisle to find a seat
Just as the lights lit up the street
And by the time that I'd sat down
The last bus home was leaving town.
The years play tricks on all of us
So when I think back to that bus
And smile describing as to how
I caught it then but miss it now
I'm sure it's down to time's weird ways
I hated work yet loved those days!
Come Back
The air is thick
and hard to breathe.
I am tired of waiting,
but will never give up.
You have been too long,
but that does not matter.
I will pretend there was a reason.
It will be a simple explanation,
that has nothing to do...
with the bad "real" thing
that caused you to leave at all.
The driveway is empty.
I can see down the street.
Nothing.
You are not there.
You are not anywhere.
Come home.
I need you more now,
than I did before.
I know that God will bring you back...
if it is His will.
I am okay with that,
as he knows what is best.
Yet!
I am here,
and I will not let fear win.
I will sit here and spin,
round and round...
so I will not be let down.
Wherever you are,
be still and know,
that I will not go....
anywhere until you are
here.
Circled light from angels' faces dawning
traces the darkening way all feet must tread,
reflecting forgotten silhouettes on rain wet streets.
Old city lights beam bright pathways through the gloom,
resplendent pools shimmering luminous enchantment,
mirroring tear washed memories of distant pasts.
Buried beneath regret-slick brick roadways,
specters gather round glowing gas lamps--
modern street lights' ancestral flames--
ghost lovers lingering in shining orbed dreams, remembering . . .
trembling vaporous fingers tracing love across softly illumined faces.
So linked in melancholic splendor, lovers old and new,
ply life's sacred needle, stitching the golden tapestry.
Copyright, October 1, 2014
Faye Lanham Gibson