Long Wyoming Poems
Long Wyoming Poems. Below are the most popular long Wyoming by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Wyoming poems by poem length and keyword.
You can lie in Wyoming,
they don’t care in Arizona,
you can mislead them in Mississippi
but don’t mess with Georgia.
You thought us “hicks from the sticks”
but we were wise to your tricks,
we just recorded your words,
now you’ll get what you deserve.
Your threats and fraudulent incitements,
have earned you several indictments.
You came down with your whole freak show,
so they charged you under RICO.
Come back to Georgia, Mr. Trump,
it turns out you were the chump.
Because we’ve got lots of new prisons
and DAs with surly dispositions.
In Georgia we don’t mind high flyers
but man, we hate traitors and seditious liars.
While many, it seems, fell for your blusterous aura,
you screwed yourself good by messing with Georgia.
As the story goes
The stomach of hunger wants a feed
It was a cross country Hound bus journey
The Greyhound bus gateway a vacation entry way
Through the scenery of highways and mountains
It was a stop at the EVERTON DINER in Everton, Wyoming
A lunch stop our Greyhound bus made
Upon entering nothing but a small town
You didn’t see any town’s people walking around
The owner of the Diner stated that he had limited Food as many Greyhound buses that made stops cleaned him out
I was hungry
The owner only had one hamburger left and nothing else
Fortunately, I got the only hamburger
However, there were flies all around, and the owner kept squatting flies with his squatter
The Owner was turning me off in getting the burger but I had to eat
Our Greyhound Bus Motor Coach Engineer announced as we should eat now as there will be a clean stretch with nothing for miles until we reach Salt Lake City, Utah
The driver was right all highway and mountains with no rest stops nor any eateries
Open road stretch
We arrived into SALT LAKE CITY, UTAH that night
Everton Diner I will never forget
Just wished he had food of variety is my only regret
That diner was a Greyhound bus oasis
My final destination was Los Angeles, Ca
Everton Diner forever remembered.
Don’t know when it all went bad and sometimes I just cry
Feeling lost and lonely since the day she said goodbye
Choices made were all so wrong the bottle not the bride
So I lost the woman long before I ever lost my pride
But today I got that letter and I felt like a brand new man
She said I still love you, if you got it beat you can meet me in Cheyenne
It’s been so long, singing the same old song, and the battle seems to never end
Clinging to that whiskey bottle like it was a long lost friend
I lie once more she doesn’t know the score and I tell her That I’m fine
But my hand still shakes and my body aches So I still can’t walk that line
Where do you go when you feel so low that sometimes you want to die
The rain pours down on this side of town, never stops and I don’t know why
Through blood shot eyes and nightly highs, I’m doing the best I can
Someday I pray, I’ll get away and meet my woman in Cheyenne
The shelter down on the end of town is the only home I know
I’m standing out on the highway and don’t know which way to go
Feeling numb I put out my thumb heading for that Wyoming line
Searching for all I had before I chose the whiskey and the wine
In Cheyenne I believe she’s waiting there and all my dreams come true
But the choices I made and the games I played are things I can’t undo
So there’s a bottle in the paper bag that I’m holding in my hand
Leaning against a wall trying not to fall in an alley in Cheyenne
When the west was young
Town’s people among
Mountain high and Sunshine warmth
Rugged detail
Vast land landscapes
As miles could see
The Stagecoach days
History from then to present
Breezy sir
Flying prairie dust
Reminder when horses were the ride
Gunsmoke atmosphere
The Cowboys and Sheriff who were connected as foes
Railroad sounds in the distance of Steam driven engine smoke announcing passenger arrivals
Drunken environment of Saloons
The memory of Cheyenne, Wyoming
Western style
As the sunset fades and the prairie dust kicks up
The ride into the distance towards the sunset
Town people’s chant, “Y’ALL COME BACK
Dreamin' with my eyes on these Montana skies
Blue as the plaid in my plum good shirt
I got the mitten by a beauty queen smitten
By a flannel mouthed tenderfoot from the Wyoming dirt
I’m just a waddie but a big hearted fella'
That rides strong and long – I’m in apple pie order
I’m a good hand at fencin’ and herdin’ and tell ya
I chewed some gravel trying to court her
I’m sorta' like my hoss who’s an owl headed steed
Keep looking ‘round and can’t talk the skinny
Like the clown brute from the Wild West Weekly indeed
I’m tongue tied by words of love sorta' like a horse’s whinny
Stella hooked-up with a sweet talkin' two-bit chiseler
Who got his wiggle on the moment he saw her
He made his shuck and I ran out of luck-Oh Calf Slobbers!
Now my moon is hung low in my heart cuz’ I lost her
My saddle feels like a hoosegow-my gitty-up gone
I’ll hang fire and yarn the hours away
But my heart is as empty as a Montana prairie song
That I yodel everyday like some gypsy castaway
January 21, 2021
Cowboy Poetry Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Line Gauthier
Glossary of Cowboy Terms:
Plumb Good: the most well liked – the best
Got the Mitten: rejected by a lover
Flannel Mouthed: smooth talker
Tenderfoot: an inexperienced newcomer
Waddie: hired farmhand to tend cattle
In Apple Pie Order: top shape, high quality
Hand: a worker
Fencin’: building and mending fences
Herdin’: herding cattle
Chewing Gravel: to be thrown from a horse
Hoss: horse
Owl headed steed: horse that keeps looking around everywhere
Skinny: to make someone wink, laugh or smile
Chiseler: a conman
Shuck: lies and mistruths
Hoosegow: jail
Gitty up: to get up and go
Hang Fire: To procrastinate, delay
Yarn the hours away: tell long stories
Alan Simpson,
a Wyoming Republican,
not known for his socialist ways
nor his sacred communion means of public discourse,
cried out in our Great Dark Night
of white bold
and climate cold
fragility,
"Money's dominance over politics
isn't merely one problem of many
our country faces.
It is the problem!"
Perhaps neither Wyoming
Republicans
or Alan Simpson
would mind this contextual paraphrase,
Capitalism's competitive
LeftBrain cultural and educational systemic dominance
against healthy multicultural empowering politics
isn't merely one complex problem
of many win/lose communication complications
our 2020 Species faces,
Yet does not RightBrain see and hear
as absence of WinLeft/WinRight cultural
and climate
intersectional wisdom.
We have become LeftBrain predative
partisan capitalists;
THE win/lose,
degenerating toward lose/lose economic-political
climate problems
of either/or partisanship,
religious fundamental bipolar creeds of elitist bad faith,
tolerant of secularized apartheid
Devoid of sacred active win/win communion
for organic ecological theology
or theologically health-metaphoric
muse-metaphonic
music-polyphonic
harmonic metapathic
resonant polypathic
resiliently co-empathic
co-passionate ego/ecology.
All of which
strangely reduces Alan Simpson's original version
to a summary democratic constitution
condensed milk of RightBrain both/and flexible resonance
urgently, yet more warmly,
seeking health/wealth rememory
regrowing out and in climate cultures
toward expanding win/win global family.
Many people were licking their wounds in force.
Others counting their dead after the World War
Summer Olympics were held in Paris, of course.
Mussolini created Fascism, making Italians sore.
In USSR there was a new economic policy.
Many liked the idea of private enterprise now.
Of course it was touted to be more than it could be.
The limitations put on this made it less than a wow.
Japan was angry with the USA, felt it was not being fair.
Wanted to continue to fight them, put planes in the air.
Christian Nelson put in a patent for Eskimo pie,
Which is still made today. Still sweet with a sigh!
Snowfall caused a Washington theater to collapse, so….
Ninety-eight people died in this Knickerbocker fiasco.
Forty-eight states were in session in the USA.
Wyoming was the last one to join “back in the day”.
It was 1922, and the movies were made in black and white.
The neighbors had different opinions about flappers all right!
Women were smoking cigarettes and being lose back then.
All to the delight of many eager, amorous, fascinated men.
Conner woke up in his hotel
and looked to the small clock.
He’d slept through his early alarm,
it was later than he thought.
He leapt up and quickly dressed,
for he had a job to do,
so he pulled on his camo pants,
and readied his rifle too.
A problem bear wandered about
this small, Wyoming town.
A grizzly, it had killed three dogs,
twas his job to bring it down.
The bear population had thrived of late,
so this happened more and more,
Fish and Game would send him out
to do what some deplored.
Like the protesters who’s dogged him
the last two days on the trail,
making noise so any close game
would hear them and turn tail.
They said killing the bear was cruel,
they were here to protect it,
so Conner had tried to wake early
to avid them on this trip.
He expected to see all of them
when he went out to his truck,
Instead he saw nary a soul,
he cold not believe his luck!
He drove then to a patch of forest
near the town’s big campground,
sightings here had him convinced
that the grizzly was lurking ‘round.
Into evergreen woods he strode,
past boulders gray and tall,
though steep ravines and parklands
wearing the coat of early fall.
For two hours he had no luck
looking for tracks or sign.
No scat, no fur, nothing at all,
he feared he'd wasted time.
Then he saw a trail of fresh prints
straight through the piney duff,
and from a thicket to his left
came a raspy, guttural huff.
He peered deep, saw the brown head
of a massive grizzly’s bear
If fed on something, big teeth stained
with a slick, crimson veneer.
It paused then, sniffing the air,
seeing not Conner on the hunt.
He hoisted his rifle, sliding left,
carefully sighting the gun...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
Jenna lived in rural Wyoming lands,
where grass rolled over small ridges and buttes,
a small town way out in the cow country,
where the ranchers still throw lassos in loops.
She was driving out to see her boyfriend,
who owned a ten thousand-acre large spread,
he had a big house, riders and a herd,
and was a keeper, all her girlfriends said.
It struck her funny that he'd done so well,
since her man had not been born around here,
they said when we came here eight years ago
he'd shied away from a mustang in fear!
She supposed he must've overcome that,
since now he rode like a weathered cowboy,
he'd bought his own place, made himself a name,
and had brought Jenna no small bit of joy.
He wasn't expecting to see her now,
but she knew that Calvin would understand,
the diner had been sheer hell this morning,
she'd even been groped by a sketchy man.
She needed a break, to hash this all out,
Calvin always had a way to comfort,
and he liked to say that she was his world,
she was sure that he would be there for her.
When she pulled up the whole ranch was quiet,
the hands must have been all out in the hills,
but she saw Calvin's horse at the corral,
had he decided to just hang back and chill?
If that was the case, it was good for her,
she would've hated being here all alone,
so Jenna walked up the big farmer's porch
and noiselessly entered her boyfriend's home.
She was tied, didn't bother to yell,
just padded upstairs to his big bedroom,
the lights were off but a translucent glow
seemed to pierce through the darkness and the gloom.
Inside she saw a bipedal figure
dressed all up in Calvin's battered work duds,
a flat-faced being with a slit for a mouth,
and two huge eyes, both the color of mud.
The skin was smooth, with no human blemish,
a vibrant, bioluminescent green,
and when the figure turned to see Jenna
she loud out a truly terrified scream!
“Jenna, what--”the creature began to say,
speaking the words in Calvin's own voice,
then slumped down and muttered to itself,
“Well I guess no I don't have any choice.”
There before her eyes the green skin shifted,
the figure became Calvin once again,
he frowned and awkwardly looked to his feet...
“Well, I guess I should explain all this then...
CONTINUES IN PART II
She wandered like a gypsy to Wyoming,
Where she settled in and sojourned for a spell.
She found herself a billet at the Hog Ranch,
And son, there weren’t no high-tone clientele.
It was just a soiled dove’s privy crib
Where Martha Jane set up her chicken coop.
She was a cowhand’s heartthrob,
All buckskin and sutler whiskey.
She could drive a team of oxen.
She could drive a man to sin.
Times she frequented Old Bedlam,
Drillin’ with them soldier boys;
Some were galvanized Yankees,
Some were mere tenderfoot lads.
When she wasn’t barkin’ at a knot,
She’d be somewhere raisin’ sand.
She considered each calamity
That buggered her contentment
As just another maverick to brand.