A child…in a foreign land.
Where we come from—it's all just sand.
Deserted the desert...
but still feeling tethered
to the place that feels
forever home.
Yet—that place
we can no longer roam.
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Left the home land with legislative laws.
As they contained loads of legality flaws.
The colour of my skin cutting at me like a saw.
No jobs, no work, it was my last straw.
Left the land I knew to go and find more.
Knowing that the Foreign Land would have something better in store.
When I moved—I thought my troubles would be soothed.
But found other trouble,
my persistent presence made the locals grumble.
Looked at as an immigrant,
but every day—
a defendant.
"They are stealing our jobs!"you say.
"They are stealing our wives!"you convey.
You never stopped to think—
That just maybe...
we're trying our best?
Yet...
we will always
be seen as less?
At home,
we've got families to feed,
we've got people who are in need.
But what you fail to understand—
We can't help them...
unless we are in the Foreign Land.
I'm bewildered by what I see yonder,
Now hold yer horses, let's cease to wander.
We're fixin to meet yer coffee boiler.
He's the new one who's not a straight shooter. Whoah!
I reckon he's got an excuse for it.
And he will tell me why he didn't quit.
I'm stumped why he bamboozled you last night.
I thought I'd be cashed in for that big fight.
But I thought we should cowboy up!
You know I'm gonna call that wrangler's bluff.
We'll not run from trouble and skedaddle.
A strong man must sit firm on his saddle.
Grab a bandana, and fetch a canteen.
Nobody's guessed where this trail's gonna lead.
I once road down a lonely darkened road.
The burdens that I carried formed a load.
But I stood determined to cowboy up.
To set my trail straight and clean myself up!
That waddler will learn to ride for the brand.
By my wise warnin' and wisdom's command!
Those punchers all hat, surely no cattle,
Soon learn wild broncos make 'em chew gravel.
Cowgirls too!
These days, cowboys must learn to communicate!
And get the best result negotiatin'
Big change is ridin' hard across the range! Whoah!
Joe Outlaw, has done now; much too
much time, in prison...No sense
or reason, neither rhyme'
I call to you Joe.' I am aware of your plight' your
Stout hearted protests, you've got some
clout' and fight ! You have scaled the
rooftops, and smashed up some glass,
against a brutal system, you
display some real class, I give you
Joe Outlaw people,.! Remember His name.' To
The authoritys regime, he's caused some
Pain.' And thats well deserved, its
clear and plain'
Shout out, spread about the truth
my friends..For it will out.' Joe Outlaws
Name. Is well worth the shout.)
Henry McCarty (1859 – 1881)
a.k.a, Kid Antrim – ca. 1876
a.k.a., William H. Bonney – ca. 1877
Of Irish ancestry
New York-born
orphaned at 15
from his family shorn
repeatedly asking '¿Quién es?'
around midnight 14th July 1881
entering Maxwell's bedroom
their mutual friend but Billy without a gun
in Fort Sumner where by Pat Garrett
(1850 - 1908)
take my word I kid you not
age 21 sadly Henry the outlaw
in the chest was badly shot
for reputedly killing nine men
but for the posted bounty of $500
it took the Sheriff 369 days to collect
the reward promised by Governor Wallace
(1827 – 1905)
the 1934 model 40 B Fordor deluxe sedan idled outside the gas station
Inside was Clyde Barrow, who was robbing the place
His moll, Bonnie Parker, sat inside the car, holding a shotgun
these notorious robbers were deemed “Robin hood figures”
This was the Great Depression; their crime spree teased imaginations
Stories and rumors followed them from Texas to Missouri
They took their gangster car to Oklahoma and New Mexico
Robbing gas stations, and small town banks
People liked watching them shoot things up and act wild
They were famous for their daring and their pizzazz
Bonnie was only twenty four when she died
Clyde was twenty-five, but they are remembered
and weirdly revered, even though they were gangsters
who terrorized people and small town bankers
they outsmarted the police for twenty-one months
their crime spree was a subject of books and a movie
which has continued their legacy; making them forever famous.
It seems that the truth is never quite square
it’s just a bit catywampus you see
All about the way that the cowboys lived
back in them old westerns on our TV
Them outlaws and sheriffs had old six guns
that could shoot forty-nine times on a load
Look real close and see them telephone poles
running alongside an asphalt paved road
Good guys always wore white and bad guys black
with their pearly teeth that sparkled like snow
It just took a minute to saddle up
and get anywhere they wanted to go
They could quick draw and fire their six shooters
And hit a nickel tossed into the air
But they just could never hit the outlaw
till he got to where he’d fall down the stairs
When being chased by a few Indians
they’d throw bullets out the end of their gun
If they did run out of ammunition
that’s when they’d just throw their pistol and run
A hero could get shot right in the chest
but never a drop of red would you see
The next day he’d be out riding his horse
while chasing the outlaws with his posse
At the end of it all the good guy wins
he would get the horse, the dog and the girl
He would live happily ever after
in his black and white TV western world
Odious transgressor,
Often wearing face masks.
Objective - get money.
Ominous demeanor,
Offensive behavior,
Out maneuvers the law.
Ostracized by good folk.
A new sheriff in town named Shaw
Came to get rid of an outlaw
They would slap leather soon
Around the time of noon
Sheriff was faster on the draw!
5-3-2022
The Scales of Justice didn't tip my way,
I figure from the dues I've had to pay.
While thumbing down to Shaky Town
I thought I turn my luck around,
At a drugstore in Salinas on a cold September day.
The Wheel of Fortune, rolled out the door
With the owner tied and ordered to the floor.
As from the till the larger bills
I grabbed until my pockets filled,
A gunshot woke the morning on that cold September day.
My Guardian Angel flew out of town
As my body wretch’d and tumbled to the ground.
There close to death I came to rest,
A sheriff's bullet in my chest.
My ticket back to prison on that cold September Day.
Never caught a glimpse of Lady Luck.
But that ain't going to make me pass the buck.
After 3 to 10 in Folsom pen
And wondering where my life has been,
I walked out in the sunlight on a cold September day.
The Horn of Plenty wouldn’t blow my song,
But somehow through these years I’ve got along.
While never holding nothing more than
Inside straights and hotel doors,
I'll sit out while you dance with life this cold September day.
Dedicated to Guy Clark, Townes Van Zandt and John Prine.
Man’s intrinsic apathy's negligence-justified frown
Is the actual defining substance of a mortal clown;
Who with hollowed prejudgments fellow men slays,
And likens to hallowed duty his thoughtless decays.
He is evil's meekest martyr by doom's onus bound,
The cold-blooded outlaw donning dark's lucid veils;
His the bounden call to trim unwary lives that thrive,
His a sworn charge to hit to halt sea's merriest sails.
They're hell's happiest saints of true devoted cadre,
Obstinate desperados who without real reason hate;
Theirs rare glories for wanton vitriol by meanest fate
Met on innocent casualties of villainy's vicious adder.
What grand gratification fills world's cruelest hearts
That sting undeserving souls in most delicate parts?
Why do allegedly feeling minds grow numbest to cry,
Whilst their pleading victims in iron malevolence die?
How can life’s most cognitive kind find sweet preys,
In other creatures alike in mien and all visible ways?
The evil he did nobody saw
he was the right was the law
but judged with nonsense
gave a deceptive sentence
would he be a judge or an outlaw?
When you pulled those stitches out,
You left a scar, a stain,
To remind me of that illicit year,
Of living with insane,
Of knowing that we stole each day,
Like criminals in plain sight,
We danced our dance with all we had,
But then would come the night,
And we’d stay awake in different beds,
In different rooms and different homes,
And fret the day we’d cut each other,
When our love would be exposed,
So now I have a simple scar,
After my chest was slit apart,
A scar that doesn’t want to heal,
Tattooed across my heart.
Crow
Steals my
Fountain pen
Outlaw escapes.
He won’t bring it back;
Still I give chase.
Lucky me,
He’s dropped
It.
Wallowing to the echo of faded dreams,
We bite our tongues to hide our screams.
Swept away by the blur of time,
One must ask if we've done a crime.
For if I am eternal where have I been,
What have I plundered and who do I sin.
Am I an outlaw at the fringe of existence,
A slippery worm well versed in persistence.
One thing I know is that I don't know much,
So when wisdom whispers you must hush.
I'm always trying to get behind the curtain,
Scoping out the situation so I may be more certain.
Certain of what I don't know,
Perhaps why should I stay and where should I go.
Life leaves much to be desired,
Days drag on leaving one tired.
But I suppose it could be worse,
Officially I am under no curse.
Still though it's all so strange,
The Universe comes with quite the range.
From the ant to the whale,
The dark to the pale.
There are those young and old,
Some are cowards while others are bold.
A mysterious world waiting to be exposed,
An open door that can't be closed.
I step up to the question,
That what has humanity forgot to mention.
Racism kills
Outlaw racism
Racism deprives
Outlaw racism
Racism deceives
Outlaw racism
Racism steals
Outlaw racism
Racism manipulates
Outlaw racism
Racism distorts
Outlaw racism
Racism ultimately denies someone else's rights and entire existence
Outlaw racism
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