I was thinking today
Of things in my mind that stay
Sunny days on my bike
Riding to the beach and back before night
Of shows on TV after school
With fun being the golden rule
There was Lost in Space
And The Monkees at their place
Don’t forget The Beatles singing their songs
With me playing the air guitar and singing along
Roy Rogers and Trigger riding the range fast
Cisco Kid and oh Pancho friends to the last
And the Brady Brunch was fun
Falling for Marsha was number one
Disneyland on a Sunday night
Bathed in clean pyjamas felt right
As Aussie children we had it all
Sunshine in the summer having a ball
And entertainment on the TV
We watched it lying down in front so easily
These happy things float in and out of my memory
Not wanting to lose those years being carefree.
© Paul Warren Poetry
Don’t be buffaloed it’s not Pancho Villa he’s dead
Just have’n a fling before what lies ahead
I respect Soup Creek and its laws
Although some have their flaws
There are no guns allowed where I am headed
Anaya’s Steak House, sure like the ring to that
A place of my own, where I’m no one’s door mat
On my way to the bordello
And then soon the rodeo
Mis campanero’s, I’m bringing my charro hat!
Mc Jagger’s swagger, a southern drawl, I fell for
He gets stupid occasionally, bad behavior
So I made him my sancho
and now call him Pancho
The Stones play as he struts through the back door!
Pancho Villa, Bonnie & Clyde
Billy the Kid, Green Men in Pants
Killers, Murdurers, Abusers
Criminals on the Run
Glorified by the bully hordes
Reflections of watery graves ~
These Earthly Lords
Slimy gloppy corn smut
Smeared on a tortilla
Tastes like a monkey's butt
Thank you, Pancho Villa.
Crows' hearts in chili sauce
Beer-battered crickets
Bad luck and double-cross
Ten dollar tickets.
Bar fight in El Dorado
Devil on the trail
Mule train in Colorado
Bandits of the rail.
Vampires and gunslingers
Snakes off the grill
Harlots, saloon keepers,
Ghosts of Boot Hill.
Dedicated to all the people who either gaze into the phone or it is permanantly stuck to their ear
Life is the same game, remorse, regrets and shame
Sick of the pain, the rain and the late train
Listening to the politicians with their same spiel
Turn off the TV, the radio, for a while
Listen to something new with a swing
A saturated robin in the wet garden, boy he can sing
The wind whistling through the air
Try taking a selfie of that to share
On your mobile phony
The sun breaking through warm rays
Those were the days
When people spoke face to face, oral communication
Before texting and messaging over ran the nation
So you have 8,000 facebook mates
Know them well do you, their birthdays and the dates
I can tell you one thing our kid
You don't really know Pancho Suarez from Madrid
He is a million miles and more away
Although you spoke to him today
Hell that's ok
He is only a phone call or a text message away
If you use your mobile phoney.
A Piece of Cowboy Fun
I know that once the West was wild
This I learned when still a child
The matinee on Saturday was the best
To see the cowboys clean up the west
My favourite was the man in the mask
‘Who was that masked man?’ I hear some ask
None other than the brave ‘Lone Ranger’
Who rescued all who were in danger
With Tonto who was his very best pal
And always there was a glamorous gal
There was Roy Rogers and trigger too
Cisco and Pancho, to name a few
Hopalong Cassidy, Tarzan and Jane (oops they slipped in)
And who can forget ‘Big John Wayne’
After the flick we came charging out
Galloping our horses and mucking about
Holding up buses with pretend guns
Hounding poor dogs for cattle runs
These days of innocent fun are gone
But in my mind they still live on.
there is this bar i went to once up north
it is called les pugilist.
it is a canadian dive bar somewhere
in the western province of quebec.
the parking lot is filled with large trucks
wandering in like steel framed geese.
their drivers touch down awkwardly on
cracked vinyl barstools.
they eat truffles and curse!
water boarding themselves with pitchers
of labbat blue and listening to french versions
of willie nelsons pancho and lefty.
at times their vision blurs and the criss
cross patterns of thier matching flannels
enrage each other.
the only solice they have is a cigerrette
machine over by the window that does
not vend cigerrettes but tickets to heaven
each seperatly blessed by the pope.
Been all over this map, from dot to dot
Red and blue lines, like his old tired eyes
Running late up and down every interstate
It is a living, like it or not
Another truck stop, burger and a order of fries
Rather hauling cattle or packing freight
A long haul from Laredo to San Pancho
"Dead heading", from there to God knows where
Flirting with a truck stop Cutie, a hot cup of coffee
"Sure Babe, make it to go"
Millions of white lines and little prayer
The country, he is getting to see
Over weight, got to dodge the scales
Chain up in Bozeman, slip and slide to "The Mile High City"
Maybe there will be another load
"Black Ice" everywhere, white knuckle driving, biting his nail
Co-pilots, little white pills with no pity
"I need to get off this damn old road"
Blow into "The Windy City" then on to Fargo
Half a tank of fuel, it is freezing in this old "Pete"
Wind a blowing fifty or more, drifting snow four foot deep
Driving all night, nothing but snow
Frozen to the core, no sign of any heat
He is a road runner...Beep Beep
San Pancho is Mexican border slang for San Francisco?
Some say that he was the "Robin Hood" for the poor in Old Mexico
Others say he was a tequila drinking horse thief, murderer to boot
One night on my great grand father's ranch in New Mexico, Villa stole their horses
Nationalist;
He died for equality
May be rest in peace
I was feeling a bit acrostic, and could not hide my dizain from that silly ekphrasis
skin condition they burned in elegy. So I sent an epigram to the seismology
department, where it registered on the epitaph graph. The ghostly visions of the
etheree spirits dressed in the latest Fibonacci made me wonder if the ghazal of
the African plains might have been held up by a Grook, in spite of the heroic
couplets the gay community presented in support. I checked the reading on the
iambic pentameter, even though it made me late for my kimo treatments. It got
dark, so I used a lanterne that lay about in McWhirtle's yard, and sure enough,
nonet, there was the mother ode!! Ghostly pantoums made me start to believe in
Parallelismus Membrorum, so I got a ticket for the quatrain engineered by the
Mexican revolutionary, Pancho Quintella. But he was busy rubbing Rengay on
his sore limbs.
to be continued
The Phantom called a meeting for he wished to unionize
the trucks had been delivering unloading their supplies.
Bat man and his robin boy came bursting threw the night
The shadow showed up early to find the perfect light.
The ranger with his six gun didn't come alone
Tanto rode up with him mounted on his roan.
Cisco came in swaying to his mariachi band
Pancho had his plate of beans and burrito in his hand.
When Zero used the bathroom it's there he left his mark
while the sergeant rode in circles all about the park.
When spider man showed up his shirt was all a mess
a pigeon on a window sill do-doed on his vest.
I tell you it was crazy when they argued over dues
all they did was sit and eat and drink the Phantoms booze.
When the meeting was adjourned the Phantom left the room
The heros followed close behind and left the place in ruins.
They should never organize, that should come as no surprise
one has but to realize, that's why they're all disguised.
"THE PHANTOM"