Panhandle Poems

Hobosexual

You use sex to live as a means to pay
Attention not to mention evade escape 
Any responsibility in bills mortgage or rent 
Pretending to love like you are heaven sent

You’re good at what you do making lovers a fool
Only thing you own between your legs a tool
Like butter your words melt like moth to flame
You sleep earn your keep playing mind games

Often attractive at least in their ebony eyes
But what if wisdom strikes they denim decide
To face teal truth look within them within you
find what is worthy of being used blue truth

You say you watch the kids instead of work
Not to say homemaker’s job isn’t God’s work 
But you’re not an asset rather a dependent 
You’re healthy not wealthy without even tent

Too lazy to work you don’t even panhandle 
The nerve to be a jerk feelings manhandled 
You’re like a lime leech sucking money green
And resources you eat don’t provide anything 

You must grow inside pull your own weight 
Have you ever tried to be an adult any day
Mental health issues are no excuse to fake
If I see you others do too make honest way

Panhandle Pop Up

Panhandle pop up,
food wild as a hurricane;
Mini Big Easy.

Mister Nobody

My name is Mister Nobody,
Because nobody knows my name.
Just a shadow on the wall,
And just a ghost in this game.

Was abandoned as a child,
I grew up hard on the streets.
A vacant lot for my home,
A cardboard box for my sheets.

I panhandle just to eat,
Search the dumpster for my clothes.
Use newspaper for a hat,
And wear shoes without the toes.

When I die, I'll die alone;
And my grave will read the same.
Here lies Mister Nobody,
Because nobody knew my name.

Melrose

Melrose, 
     a colorful flower of motley verse;
  Eccentric baffling moody contradiction; 
               Coffee, Ocean, Music 
               Euphoric excitement  
               Solitude and calm
            Freedom and adventures       
            Shadows and emptiness 
     Ireland, Seattle, and the pyramids; 
        Dreaming in the Florida panhandle; 
          Do not try to analyze a poet,
revel in the words that so briefly let you feel.

Overload

Fire raged through heavy wooded terrain,  
Blizzard hit the panhandle hard,   
Bad windstorm slammed the western plains,   
Mudslides hid hundreds of backyards.   
 
Brutal sandstorm swept through arid plains,   
Fierce  hurricane aimed at the Keys,      
Havoc descended on tornado lane,  
Earth’s warming threatened baby seals.  

Crops were at risk in fertile farm fields,   
Crowds assembled for protest walks,   
Northwest reached one hundred ten degrees,   
Earthquakes possible near the fault.  

Hospitals were overfull with the sick,     
Medical teams were at wits end,     
Some thought the nation’s flame left the wick,  
Would never find its fire again.   

People had the lowdown newscast blues,      
Some feared apocalyptic end,       
The anchors said it was breaking news, 
And we looked for someone to blame.

Fool's Goad

Little lemmings,
beware of the Yukon yodel
Don’t ear swallow the Arctic shiny yellow
Fake eureka disclosure: It’s jingle hollow
So, enamel blowflake please,
place not your panhandle hope
in Ivory Boast fool’s goad

I, ebony breath beg of thee,
be not glutton belly-button led
by a cold, glittering scold
Don’t covetously follow down that 
moral bankruptcy road
In pocket phantom search of 
the vapor Mutter lode

Me true mouth reveal 
You con artificial treasures,
lip sin-thetic as can be
Buried deep 
in hidden veins of avarice, 
a fraudulent rush of pulse greed

Little lemmings,
has your metallic lust minds
been pricked 
by the spiked-tongue,
prospector stick
Well, that illusory discovery
is sho’ gonna make you
empty riches sick

You’ve been mine shaft collapsed warned:
With an amber hair air of wavy mirage con-fidence,
scratch not shiny pockets of leper loins
Don’t dare hoard collect 
pubic counterfeit canary-colored coins

This project Private D be  
pitch black ink hurling free,
five-star ingot spit
Can you dig it!

Rare Darkie wisdom uttered 
be Ghetto parable 
Nugget knowledge unstuttered — 
Sambo Spade told

Homeless Hearts

Hearts of homeless shadows abound
Dreaming in doorways without a sound

Forever teasing through tainted trash            
Panhandle for bleeding hearts clash  

I willfully ignored them all the time
I now examine their faces’ every line

And delve deeply into their ebony eyes
Curious why wonder wouldn’t rise

If hate or hostility is not their host
If embarrassed enough to act a ghost

I ask if I can make their day
With funds that fancy to startled bouquet

I grew up dissecting city dwellers 
My latent luster may stage to stellar

A smile, a thanks, or maybe a caress
For my homeless heart to coalesce

A Panhandle Christmas

The snow was blowin' and the cows roamed free
Outside Amarillo in fifty three.

It was Christmas eve, my fingers was froze -
I swore and cussed at this life I had chose.

Then, of a sudden, there appeared this sleigh.
He said,"Howdy, boys, I have lost my way!"

I laughed at this fat man rubbin' his toes,
And said,"Old Timer, where's Rudolph's red nose?"

He said,"Son,in fog he saved my gizzard,
But he ain't no help in a blowin' blizzard."

I was surprised that this really was him,
Told him that I'd help and my name was Jim.

I said,"Santa, this wind's from the North Pole,
We call it a Blue Norther sure as your soul!"

He said, "Well I'll go home buckin' this wind,
Ain't sure I'll see this Panhandle again."

He must have changed his mind come the next year.
Left me a note and a six pack of beer.

So you see, my son, Santa's on his way.
You get to sleep..tomorrow's Christmas Day.

12/10/2017

The Chase

On the plains in the Texas panhandle
The fight for survival is real
As I watched from the derrick 
On a short smoke break
A scene rather harsh and surreal

A cottontail bunny was having his way
In a pasture of gold knee high grass
When a hungry coyote, prowling late in the day
Caught his scent on the breeze as it passed

The bunny must have sensed, the coyote was near
He ran circles and made figure 8 bows
Confusing the canine, wound up chasing his tail
While the bunny escaped down the road

But nature has a way of being quite cruel
As a hawk observed from above
As he swooped down, the poor bunny froze
In a scene void of malice and love

With the rabbit in tow, still kicking and screaming
The hawk not making a sound
Somehow lost his grip, dropping his prey
Who died instantly hitting the ground

In all the commotion, the old coyote
Had watched and raced to the kill
Snatching him up and never looking back
Running swiftly over a hill

I stood there amazed, as the scene played out
This microcosm of struggles and strife
Then thought about destiny, no matter how hard you fight
The unfairness and the fragility of life


   by Daniel Turner

The Perils of Slim

The Perils of Slim


Slim works a drilling rig by day,
And drinks Lone Star at night.
He'd tried to rodeo before,
But nothin' came out right.

He'd cowboy'd in the Panhandle,
And by the Rio Grande.
He'd farmed a little cotton plot,
Got covered up with sand.

Tried his hand once as hunting guide,
But never killed a thing.
He joined a country-western band,
And found he couldn't sing.

And then one night in Abilene
His destiny came clear.
He found he was a ladies' man,
He'd just come in for beer.

He met a gal he knew was rich,
She had the Midas touch.
She thought he was the one for her,
He thought about how much.

He let her keep him for awhile,
Then one thing led to two.
Slim had a string of wealthy gals,
He'd nothin' else to do.

He did right well for sev'ral years,
And then one Springtime day.
He met a gal named Betty Sue,
Who's married as they say.

Her husband came a ridin' hard,
Because he loved her so.
He caught them in the hotel room,
And shot Slim in the toe.

Slim learned his lesson well that day,
But he still limps a mite.
He works a drilling rig by day,
And drinks Lone Star at night..

My Pacifier

The cold and the shakes are coming back 
And I know it's about that time. 
I slide the needle in and I'm on track
Because the sense of peace is sublime. 

My bank account is in the red,
And my supply has already run out. 
I know I won't stop until I'm dead
Because the need is a constant shout. 

Falling on hard times is what I fein
As I panhandle for your change. 
I need it flowing in my vein,
Or else my mind will derange. 

Itching for another hit
Panic sets in
Will I get it?
Will I ever win?

Finally I have enough for now,
But I will always need more. 
To its call I will forever bow
Because without it, I'd fall to the floor. (3)

Torn Dungarees

In alleys devoid of light;
teenagers sleep on the street.
And fear arrives late at night;
to feed upon their conceit.

Delusions exchanged for lies,
they panhandle in the park.
And tears trickle from young eyes;
watching hunger carve its mark.

Drugs ease their physical pain;
not their frustration and doubt.
For their monsters can't be slain;
on the fringes of burnout.

Scrounging in torn dungarees;
youth confronts brutality.
And fragmented memories
are lost to reality.

As hypocrisy walks by,
some street teens barely survive.
And if fledgling birds can't fly,
can they ever feel alive?

Sentimental Journey

When I was 21 
the bus didn't stop in West Virginia, 
such a small state 
and the Maryland panhandle only minutes away. 

I would settle in for another few hours 
completely saturated with resting. 
The slight early morning gray 
was like dust.

Going home; but not home, 
a visit with my parents. 
They would greet me and
I would be grateful.

Now, from the high standpoint of age, 
as if I look back from a high peak 
with thin clouds drifting under me, 
I realize that today 

is the time for play. 
I pull out my toys 
like I did when I sat 
sprawled on my parents' carpet.

Home Is Where the Heart Is

The State in which I was born is “Home”
It’s huge and all over it I’ve roamed
Born in Big “D”, so that’s where it starts
Then moved up to the panhandle parts

Moved East to  rose capital city
Love this town, it’s extremely pretty
 I attended John Tyler High School
It’s my “Home Town” and I think it’s cool

Attended college in Aggieland 
South in College Station, not too grand
Fort Bliss, way out West, for Army time
And then I left my “Home”, what a crime

A job with Boeing in Seattle
Into the traffic, what a battle
You can take the Boy out of “Texas”
You can’t take “Texas” out of the Boy 

Submitted by Charles Sides 
For the MY LAND IS MY HOME Poetry Contest

The Chicken Story

We had three large houses for chickens
Where we lived on the small farm
We got them when they were baby chicks
Kept them inside out of harm

We had a big bunch of chickens
Seemed like a thousand or more
They just reached the age of pullets
But there was trouble in store

Up in the panhandle of Texas
It could get mighty cold
It’s a must to keep the chickens warm
So temperature was controlled

If fact, there was an alarm system
Went off if it got too cold
It was night when the big storm blew in
Now let my story unfold

Found Chickens all stacked in the corners
They were all dead, no doubt
They huddled up, to try and keep warm
And froze from a power out

Just another tough time on the farm
Lost both the pigs and chickens
Good thing Dad had the business downtown
Or we would have had slim pickins

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