The only child
but favorite
of two ‘outlaws’
mare and stud
He bucked each
gelded moment
on their wild ride
of love
Until that day
he up and left
their branding iron
of pain
To wander high
and lonesome
mongst the free
and tumbling sage
In search of one
last bronc to mount
that one last
horn to make
And spur the wreckage
of his youth
as Angels
— pull the Gate
(Pendleton Round-Up: June, 1993
Elko Nevada: Cowboy Poetry Reading: January, 1994)
Thank you for this dance,
This chance to experience,
You from a distance.
Resistance the tool,
Used to teach a fool,
A universal school,
Guiding the pool.
Grab a stool and sit,
Get yourself ready for it,
You're about to get hit.
Get that fire lit,
It's come time to use it,
Darkness sits all around,
Burn it to the ground,
So only truth is found.
Now you're safe and sound,
Round up the courage,
To face the scourge,
Let the body purge,
Feel purity surge.
An urgent need,
To cleanse the greed,
Spread your seed,
The Title and Deed,
Has been decreed,
This is your garden indeed,
Time to pull out the weeds.
The Lep, has washed hands of St. Pat’s, does lean
and fiddles in space, against tree, routine.
The pot at the end of sun,
was found a bit late; one won.
Lep’s blind to the coot who handles gold-green.
After his fiddling, is over and done,
Lep gets to a-counting, his coins, for fun.
He scratches his head, and blows
his stack, as he rips his clothes.
On hunt, Lep will go, round up rat, with gun.
Not fair, when the sun has gone down; coot cheats.
Now poor, Lep must find ev’ry coin on streets.
The pot, has been stirred, like bees;
emptied by the rat - he’ll seize.
Lep’s gun (is a cane) - an instrument that beats.
The fool and Lep’s money was found..tick-tock.
“If you found my gold, before snooze of clock,
then all would be fair…it’s not.
If I have a gun, you’re shot.
Instead, you, I cane, outline you with chalk.”
Old coot, parts with gold, awakens dizzy.
He coughs, and he laughs, at the Lep’s tizzy.
Next year, he must beat the clock.
and keep, in pocket, a glock.
For gold, the rat baits; the fiddler’s busy.
I have a problem with my eyes
Being bigger than my brain.
I mean I have a weakness
Of owning more books than water makes rain.
I purchase them by the dozen
Whenever they’re on sale,
At the local bookstore I buy them galore
Smiling inside without hesitation or fail.
No subject too large or near too small
As I stack them high on shelves and walls
In bedrooms, closets
And out in the hall.
They’re down in the basement and the attic as well,
I admit I’m addicted to even the smell
Of an Emily Dickinson, Thoreau or Frost,
Or MK Rawlings, whatever the cost.
I love a good mystery
But history’s my fav
While God, religion, and good grammar
I always crave.
The problem I have is reading them all
Cover to cover whenever they call,
Morning or evening, midnight or midday
Surrounded by books and all that they say
Keeps my mind moving and grooving along
And points to some places I’ll go when I’m gone.
The day when the angels come ‘round up my soul
I’ll think of these books as silver and gold.
And leave them to someone who
Might even see
Between all the pages
A man like me.
Lights are glowing gently
The curtains have been drawn
The radio plays softly
An old, well loved song
The summer night is calm
With the moon on the rise
Racoons head for the corn
Much to no one's surprise
Darkness coats the hillside
Cattle have settled down
Village streets are emptied
'Till morning comes around
A new day approaches
Sun will rise in the east
Towns and farms grow active
As daylight is increased
Swimming pool is open
Picnics are in the plans
All the white skinned children
Are working on their tans
Life keeps rolling along
Through all the summer days
Young kids hit fishing holes
Farmers round up the strays
Woman start preserving
From artichokes to plums
Will be food a' plenty
When the hard winter comes
Soon baseball and swimming
Gives way to football games
Then there is harvesting
Between the autumn rains
Kids will return to school
For studies and class plays
And all will tell stories
About their summer days
Round up all them sweet wallflowers
don't let them sit alone for hours! :(
You're having fun-- I've got a hunch ;-P
They're sick of watching, drinking punch
P Propelled into the war after tora, tora, tora.
E Escalation arrives in Oahu, paradise explodes.
A Amorous and hula skirts set aflame at once.
R Reveal of a takeover plan, pot shots extreme.
L Lucid nightmare lit with oil and screams.
H Hear it! Smell the scent that still reminds us
A About the cost of freedom; the belch of deep
R Roustabouts who have settled into their sleep.
B Bust out! Ring the knell until it comes alive.
O Odor lingers! We must bring it to the surface.
R Round up the freedom fighters of the deep!
Where is America's 'can-do' attitude
when it comes to the 2024 debacle
If it's Biden against Trump again
won't we feel we've been shackled --
to a House of Horrors, chains on the left and the right
Why won't we Americans even put up a fight
Let's threaten the networks which air the debates
that we'll shut off our tellies at a minute before eight
And as for primary voting, let's all vow to skip that
If it's Biden vs. Trump -- How the hell can we stand pat
Let's round up some candidates who'll go to the mat for Ukraine
who are ready to dig pipelines and boost nuclear power again
Candidates who intend to balance the budget THIS VERY YEAR
not trick us with gimmicks, wherein massive deficits disappear
Candidates who know how to put the 'Woke' in their place
and let go of the elites' obsession with gender and race
No more Men or women who snub their nose at our laws
and berate those who challenge them with the lewdest guffaws
Come on Americans, let's dig in and roll up our sleeves
and round us up some Presidential timber before Autumn Equinox Eve
Top of the Morning to you
It is a beautiful day, right cousin Lou?
Until the parade starts, what shall we do?
We have to entertain ourselves ‘til two.
My idea is to buy corned beef for Sue.
She is the best cook in Kalamazoo.
While it is on simmer, here is what we will do
Round up your harmonica and my kazoo
Top of the morning to you Bonnie McDew
Want to watch the parade with us at two?
You’ve invited too many women already said Lou.
Mrs. McLeary’s cow Bessie went “moo!”
I asked Bessie “Where is your cousin Stew?”
They were always getting into trouble, these two.
The horse tried to tattle, but his super long snout grew.
So I knew he was lying about Bessie and Stew.
On a dark day like this
Normally, everyone wants to finish work quickly
And its human nature to want to go home
The woman was looking up at the sky
she was looking for a dragon's nest
Four seasons passing by
her smoky heart was always panting
She got on a light purple aerial work platform
lots of child ghosts
clinging desperately to its limbs
reddish crowd
Run through it to the right and left
A lot of prayers flowed
from those eyes that caught fire
The trailing clouds began to flicker here and there is
a visionary way of life that can be seen from
a single-line diagram
a street full of faded crane truck
Beyond that,
thunder is roaring now
The light purple aerial work platform
she rides runs right under it
To catch in these hands what should never be caught
In order to make sure to round up
The aerial work platform aimed right under the thunder
You were always crushing
your heart like grinding it with a millstone
ever since that night
Distant dark night sea sky
There you find a dragon that emits red light
ever since that night
Sitting in the darkness
Trying to find
Anything missed
Running it through the mind
Twenty five rounds
In a loaded magazine
All lying snugly waiting
Wiped and shining clean
Rifling oiled and checked
Pulled through with two by four
Working parts assembled
All in order once more
Gas plug checked
Firing pin in line
Pull action checked
All working just fine
Safety catch engaged
A round up the spout
Tension in the air
Squad moves out
Sitting in the darkness
Keeping self control
Always the waiting
The start of each patrol
Thanks to Lash for explaining what the real thing was like on active service, Bosnia.
I only experienced this on training exercises.
You know if I could, and I would most likely
Collect all the stars from the heavens sky.
Pluck the moon like a heavenly harp
Gather up all the whispering breeze
Catch all the comets that comes towards me
As I round up, and I collect planets and traveling
Galaxies.
As the fragrance spilling from the enchanted flowers
Notes from the birdsong spiraling Eddie's
Let the drops of felicity fall from the summers showers
I would wrap and offer you my feelings in a ribbon
I want to say this to you. I don't have alot of money.
I can be clumsy at times, I make so many mistakes it
Drives you crazy.
But I can ganentee you this, I can be your shoulder to
Cry on.
Thank you ?? ?? ?? ?? ?? ??
You know if I could, and I would most likely
Collect all the stars from the heavens sky.
Pluck the moon like a heavenly harp
Gather up all the whispering breeze
Catch all the comets that comes towards me
As I round up, and I collect planets and traveling
Galaxies.
As the fragrance spilling from the enchanted flowers
Notes from the birdsong spiraling Eddie's
Let the drops of felicity fall from the summers showers
I would wrap and offer you my feelings in a ribbon
I want to say this to you. I don't have alot of money.
I can be clumsy at times, I make so many mistakes it
Drives you crazy.
But I can ganentee you this, I can be your shoulder to
Cry on.
Thank you ?? ?? ?? ?? ?? ??
See, forty bucks in cold, hard cash
can fill your trailer with gin trash.
And for growing fine tomatoes,
forty's pretty small potatoes.
The big box products like Black Cow
will truly set you back, and how!
The cotton hulls and seeds and stems
ejected from the cotton gin,
stored a year in a giant pile,
makes the heart leap and brings a smile.
Earthy, loamy, a little sour,
magical black growing power.
By the barrow, then tilled under,
it's a veggie growing wonder.
Its Round-up contents raise concerns;
the pile's so hot, it nearly burns.
Big veggies are the things it grows,
but I'll look out for extra toes.
If I had a hummingbird, my life would be complete.
Gladys is eighty-six, dying of bone cancer.
I wish I could round up a bunch of hummingbirds.
But how would I go about it?
I fluff her pillow, and she moans.
I apologize, and she smiles, not able to croak out much more.
Everything on her hurts. She is on morphine. The end is close.
I hear the dreaded death rattle; I have heard it all week.
Her eyes close.
She is gasping, open mouth breathing.
It is not pretty.
Her eyes open. There it is! She says. My hummingbird.
End of this life, but a new fresh beginning.
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