Long Yeller Poems
Long Yeller Poems. Below are the most popular long Yeller by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Yeller poems by poem length and keyword.
Remember boys you can pull the trigger but one thing you can't do is take back the bullet Empty chamber empty dreams momma's eyes full of tears Give a dog a bad Name, and he'll soon be hanged. I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it It is not like when old yeller died and I cried Off the porch but he is just a man running from his pain more mercy shown from the dog that licked the leper's wound Men be sure of the values you are aiming at to own a gun does not mean you are on the run when pleading for life a cry for mercy make you a dog Love God love your brother and whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them: Teach your children to respect life and that of others then watch for the slide If they will take your rights they will take everything The law and the prophets Remember boys you can pull the trigger but one thing you can't do is take back the bullet Empty chamber empty dreams momma's eyes full of tears
When strollin' by the ol' saloon,
on chairs they kept outside,
I spied a dried up, lonsome sort
folks walked by, but eyed.
He had a faithful doggie
with head laid on his knee.
The ol' man stroked him softly,
kind, devotedly.
I stopped an' took a seat nearby,
then shared a cut of chaw.
I thought his story might be good-
he reminded me of Pa.
I asked just where he hailed from,
he didn't bat an' eye-
looked off in space, took one deep breath,
prob'ly thinkin' up a lie.
Come from ever'where, Son,
been places you ain't dreamed.
I settled back to listen.
He relaxed a bit it seemed.
An Indian fighter, I once was,
rode with the Cavalry.
Met ol' Yeller Hair himself
in eighteen, sixty-three.
Was wagon master for some folks
seekin' land to claim,
leavin' homes an' fam'lies east-
thought the West they'd tame.
Had a wife I sure 'nough loved,
two daughters an' a son,
the cholera took 'em all one year,
my driftin' then begun.
Did some drovin' 'hind the herds,
eatin' miles a dust,
catchin' strays, an' keepin' watch
for rustlers we could bust.
Owned a ranch in Texas
but never got no rain,
the drought, it lasted six years,
no reason to remain.
I killed a man in Denver,
the bugger had it comin',
he kicked my dog, stole my horse,
broke the guitar I was strummin'.
Cut trees out in Wyomin',
lumber-jacked a bit.
Camp bully always threatnin',
my throat he'd like to slit.
I rode the rails a piece back then,
an' dern near froze my tail,
sittin' in them boxcars
thru' rain, an' wind, an' hail.
Now, I'm nigh on eighty,
an' comin' to my end.
I thank ya Son for listenin' ,
ya seem 'most like a friend.
I reckon that I've lived some,
an' ain't sure now I'm done,
I just take one day at a time
'cause life ain't easy, Son.
was sitting in a crowd but felt so all alone
No communication, everyone staring at their phone
I just wanted to return to the life that I had tasted
No more electronic robots, I guess I'm technology wasted
Back to Bobbi socks and bobbi pins
Big hellos and happy grins
Culottes an pedal pushers, Friday night dances
Back seat in the drive in, teenage romances
At the amusement park in the penny arcade
Ferris wheel rides and pink lemonade
Walk hand in hand, sometimes act like a fool
Talk to each other as you carry her books home from school
Up in the balcony with your hands on her hips
New worlds to discover, lips touching lips
Yelling from the sidewalk can Jim come out to play
Riding down a hill while standing on a sleigh
Hanging from monkey bars, climb a tree in the park
Playing ball in the street until it was dark
Roasting potatoes on a campfire at night
Running and laughing while flying a kite
The smell of a bakery with bread baking at dawn
Lying in the grass, transistor radio on
Cotton candy at the County Fair
Butch wax or Brylcreem to train your hair
Flying high on a swing and then jumping down
Medicine show at the end of town
Picking blueberries for grandma's pies
Watching Old Yeller with tears in your eyes
At the drug store for a burger and shake
Skimming stones across the lake
Hot dogs and hamburgers on the old grill
Chase tag, hop scotch and King of the hill
Hang at the diner everyday after school
Meeting your friends at the community pool
Yes, take me back where talk wasn't a crime
Take me back to a simpler time
For all this complexity. I don't give a damn
Technology wasted is what I am.
I have swept the sidewalk and watered the flowers- the yard is perfect you see
Afforded the time to swing in the rocker and drink southern sweet tea
As I sip from my favorite old fruit jar- a steady northern breeze accommodates
My thoughts wonders back to recall the best remembered days-
of youthful summer s gone by
What precious memories to an old man like me- whose senses have dulled – now denied
I gladly endure and believe in the best of cures- the wonders and joys of youthful age
So I will tell you heartedly what cannot be forgotten- senses of my summer youthful play
The sting of my palm while playing catch with my older brother-
who died when I was thirteen
Or the flicker of lighting bugs caught in a Mason fruit jar –imaginative fairy queens
A croaking daddy bullfrog while fishing on Pine Lake – just Tom, Dad and me
The earthy aroma of freshly cut grass before playing ball at the little league
The sweet watery meat of a stolen watermelon-the farmer knew it was me
A dip in Pear Creek wearing nothing at all- with a summer’s kiss from Mary Ann-
- when I was fifteen
Playing pirates and Tarzan in the back yard- under the laughing- weeping willow tree
Or the July Ozark Mountain visits to grandmother’s house - I still believe she loved best- only me
The carefree rides- wind in my face- on my new Schwinn bike with my best bud Steve
The mournful tears as I watched Old Yeller- when I thought I was too old to cry
I will stop for now- there are reddish clouds with filtered flashlight beams filling a dusking night
For it’s time to eat my bread and wash for bed- I hope my dear wife will not be snoring tonight
[Inspired - with much gratitude - by Jan’s poem
There’s No Knocking On Heaven’s Loo Door
and Caren and Tom’s comments on it]
***
The toilets in heaven are cold on your ass
The angels believe that they’re all made of brass
Turns out the reason the lavvies are cold
Is that all those loos are eighteen carat gold
Heavenly shoppers had been sent to Earth
And told to buy goods of exceptional worth
The best baths and basins and showers and so on
But do not return without something to go on
One of those shoppers was sure in fine fettle
Sought out some toilet pans in precious metal
He came up one short of his gold toilet goal
He needed another so that one he stole
The owner told me that that richest of loos
Was nicked by a bloke with a beard and no shoes
One million pounds for my loo that was yeller
I said Jesus Christ! He said yeah that's the fella
So that’s how there’s toilets of gold up in heaven
They said there were two but there’s actually seven
But heavenly humans are not a bright species
And built up an accumulation of feaces
They looked at the task from a different angle
And now drop it in the Bermuda Triangle
Sailors and pilots are frequently struck
And turn up in heaven all covered in muck
Although they’re in heaven they never seem happy
As they use the bathroom because they’re so crappy
It might be a rumour but what I’ve been told
Is they often cry out…
THESE TOILETS ARE COLD!
I suppose we take for granted - except when we are stung -
The intelligence of those busy bees that largely goes unsung!
The little critters pollinate flowers and such, and, moreover,
Create for us combs of ambrosial honey from fields of clover!
The drone has a most blissful job - caterin' to the queen.
Once he's done his thing, alas, he passes from the scene!
Workers toil long and hard to glean pollen from the field,
Then, some inconsiderate dude has the gall to rob their yield!
Honeybees are a bit more docile than the grumpy, yeller jacket.
Beware of the wily wasp - when agitated he'll create a racket!
The bumblin' bumble bee, their lumberin, bulky cuz,
Somehow aviates through the air - I often wonder how it does!
There ain't nothin' more entertainin' than a scholarly "spellin'" bee.
Can you think of anything more creative than a ladies "quiltin" bee?
Dexterity and hustle are required for "cornhuskin'" bees.
(Wonder who came up with that ridiculous reference to a "bees-knees"?)
I'd reckon that bees are nature's most maligned creatures.
Most probably due to its stinger - one of its most fearsome features!
But hold on! Before we decry the bee, here's the buzz:
It's obviously the most productive pollinator that ever wuz!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Summer is over and the farmer now rests from his toil,
Having labored hard to wrest his crops from the fruitful soil.
Fall has arrived and all the crops have been gathered in.
The corn, wheat and soy beans lie dormant in the granary bin.
It was a good year - his farm was favored with abundant rain.
Thankfully, there was no wind or hail, an anxious farmers' bane!
Pecks of onions, pertaters and carrots are preserved in the cellar,
Along with bushels of resplendent apples - golden, red and yeller!
The hogs are ready for market but he'll keep a pair for meat,
And he'll butcher a steer or so to ensure there's enough to eat.
His wife jammed mason jars full of beets, termaters and peas,
And there are a few honeycombs filched from the gullible bees!
He and the boys used crosscut saws to hew cords of wood for heating,
To warm their Victorian home from the winter's snows and sleeting.
There are jugs of cider to sip and ears of popping corn to pop,
As the family enjoys a roaring fire to reminisce with lore to swap!
The humble farmer was so grateful that on his knees he knelt,
To offer his gratitude to the Lord, a simple prayer most heartfelt.
A benevolent harvest moon smiled on the pastoral scene below,
Seemingly to bless the peaceful panorama with its mellow glow!
A Dog's Life
By Roy Merritt
He likes to pee on trees and smell his neighbor's ***
He likes to chase balls and roll 'round in the grass
And sometimes fight with others and have to run away
And still think tomorrow he'll maybe win the day
And not have his chums think what he did before
Makes him a yeller dog and someone to abhor
He likes to eat his food from anywhere and a bowl
He likes to chase cats and run them down a hole
And if he lives to be twenty he'll feel really old for sure
And you know for certain that he won't long endure
For one year to a man is seven for a hound
And if he reaches twenty he's lucky to still be around
He's lucky to be around and maybe still have his teeth
Twenty years long to him but to humans very brief
So though you may feel tough, alert and on your guard
Your arthritic dog is laying about the yard
He lays about the yard his eyes reflect despair
Like an elderly person rocking in their chair
Rocking in their chair nostalgic for their youth
Both wishing they weren't so very long in tooth
They wish they were young again young and full of zest
Back to that time when they felt their very best
Back to that time when enjoying the days that pass
Wondering if this the one this day to be his last
‘Round the bunkhouse and corral—
Seven years old, without sin—
My yeller dog was my pal—
It seemed summer would not end.
The warm days went by fast—
It was time for me to wean—
The good things just do not last—
I was all of seventeen.
Like a horse the years go by—
Twenty-seven and still free—
All the years they seem to fly—
It seems that some things must be.
I am thirty-seven now,
With a wife and hungry kids—
A ranch, cattle, pigs and sow—
And look back on what I did.
Forty-seven comes too quick—
All my days peel off like bark—
Half my cattle are all sick—
All my days seem bleak and dark.
At fifty-seven comes fear
Of the things now up ahead—
So you live life year by year
And hope you don’t wind up dead.
Sixty-seven shows its face
And it ain’t your best ol’ pard—
Others wait to take your place—
This ol’ life is just too hard.
Seventy-seven’s now nigh
And your bones are weak and old—
So you ask the Lord just why,
Things don’t go like you were told.
Eighty-seven was a dream
That you never thought you’d see—
But things aren’t as they now seem
And you’re content to just be.
Ninety-seven now comes fast
And it will not be a friend—
But you knew good things don’t last—
It seemed summer would not end.
5/18/17
Never have I been the best storyteller
An average speller
And easy going feller
Shoutout to 'Old Yeller'
Above, below and within any cellar
With or without the use of propellers
In areas considered interstellar
Props to 'The Clan of the Cave Bear'
Concerning everywhere
Realize life isn't always going to be fair
Regardless of if you're a million or billionaire
So keep on climbing to the top of the stairs
Stay aware and prepared
While still enjoying the view from there
Feeling puzzled?
It's no joke read 'The Jungle"
You wouldn't want to slip, stumble and take a tumble
Even if you are overly confident or humble
It took so much dedication, hustle
And muscle
To get through the struggle
As well as any trouble
Respect to 'Where the Wild Things Are'
Even if it was a little different and somewhat bizarre
Whether on foot, plane, bike or car
Keep on reaching far
No matter who you are
Believe that you will become a star
Look
I thoroughly enjoyed all these books
Including 'Life of Pi'
I just can't lie
It's in our best interest to try
Despite if we can't always find out why
Keep living your life, attempting to do right
During any day and night
By: Dalton Ogletree