Six Gun Poems | Examples

STAN THE SQUIRREL

STAN THE SQUIRREL

In Texas, there lived a squirrel named Stan,
with his six-gun, he defended the land. 
     He challenged coyotes to duels,
     and outsmarted the local old fools,
wielding justice with his special brand. 

With a hat made of leather, quite grand,
     he scampered and leapt like a cowhand.
He chased off bad guys and crooks,
     with his acorn-filled hooks,
outdrawing the best, Stan’s in high demand!

A Wannabe Cowboy

Well, I’ve lived in this Montana country
guess it's been pert near fourteen years 
I call myself a cowboy though I ain't
punched no cows or branded no steers

Ain't broke me no fiery eyed wild stallion
Or pushed cattle across open land 
Never fended off a mountain lion 
nor killed a grizz with my bare hands

I ain't wrangled some ornery rustlers
with my rifle and colt six gun
Haven’t spent winter alone in a line shack
or been in a bar fight just for fun

But I got me a hat, some chaps and spurs
went and watched me a rodeo 
I learned that to be a real life cowboy
is more than putting on a show

Don’t need to wear a Montana slope hat
to live the good old cowboy way
It's more about how you respect the land
and always mean just what you say

You believe in traditions and honor
love, nature, honesty and song
A person who follows his commitments
though he may have to ride alone

If you want to be a cowboy my friend
then it's having the fortitude
to stick to convictions and do what's right
That is the cowboy’s attitude

Six Gun

Outlaw
Walking down the wrong path
Letting the world feel my wraith 
Wasting my time  looking in the past
Each day I think is my last
Six guns a blazing
Their eyes are glazing.
Battle worn 
Bullet torn
Fighting my way to hell
Since from the light I fell
The future to me is lost
In the end I will pay all cost
Six guns a blazing
Till my eyes start glazing
Battle worn and bullet torn 
Looking to escape the past
But my six gun was too fast
Now I'm hunted like a wolf on the prowl
My war cry i howl
 my six guns go to blazing even as my eyes are glazing
Battle worn
Bullet torn.
Knew it was my last fight
And slowly faded the light
On my way to hell
But I already know it so well
No more six guns a blazing 
My eyes are done glazing
Cause I'm battle worn
Bullet torn

Sarah Neighed For Charlie Daniels

(Quick off the top of my haid)

Da dibble go down to Georgia
A town in Texas, who knew 
He went on de run
He took his six gun
Lookin' for to doo wacka doo.

He comed across a young sure-shot
Targetin' a hickory stump
Dibble feelin' sly
Slithered up to this guy
And patted him upon the rump.

"What you doin' mistuh?
You hyeh lookin' to die?
We'll duel then you'll
End up a dead fool
For layin' yo' hand on my thigh."

Dey faced off and Johnny drew
But de dibble had drawn his too
They pissed in the wind
They humped and they sinned
And de dibble got his koo koo ka joo.

They Don'T Make Em Like They Use To

They don’t make em like they use to

Seventeen shots from the old six gun
Bad guys wearing black
Robots made from cardboard boxes
Destroyed then coming back
Impossible odds in the good guy fights
One against a hundred
A cavalry charge to save the day
Over the hill they thundered 
Spaceships flying through starry sky
Hanging on some string
Gun fire then will take a rest
To let Roy Roger’s sing
Cannon blasts from the pirate ships
Tarzan on his twine 
The good guy wins—gets the girl
It’s Saturday matinée time

Just Another Day

Better don your leather chaps it's going to be a rough one
Pack extra roll caps into your Six Gun

Ask for double shots to compliment your Starbucks
All that's left now is to wish you good luck

Bring an extra pack of Bottle Rockets if you have them
Monkey wrench and needle nose pliers if you can find some

This could read as the last page to the final chapter
In what we anticipate as the Happily Ever After 

Do all you can do to bring the water balloons
A cassette if you could of your favorite Show Tunes

Add extra sugar in your Slurpee from the 7-11
This ain't going to be easy is what I am guessing

Get a tight grip on your Thingamajig
Loosen the top on the Pickle jar lid

We're about to go through another life lesson
Which ain't nothing new if I was a man betting

Pack your bags for another day in the life
Extra padding would help for the bumpy ride

Think we've thunk of it all there's no more to say
We're now more than ready for another day

The Quick and the Dead On Tour

I hope to heaven that when I die
I meet Woody Guthrie in the sky
and then upon a dust-bowl cloud
we'll find the grace to sing aloud,
and that the Heavens won't debar
the using of a stringed guitar,
though usually the angel choir
prefers to play  the harp or lyre. 

When Woody asks how things have bin
in the world of strife and sin,
I'll say  spud soup's 'bout just as thin
as  when on earth he  still could  sing.
(Them politicians can see through it
Like a lump of mama's  suet) 

Robbers at home  less often use
the six gun than back then
for they prefer the gentle ruse
and still the fountain pen,
and still the fountain pen. 

Mick Jagger and Bob Dylan,
may join us by and by,
And though they sure are getting on,
may they live long ere they die,
may they live long ere they die. 

And then we'll do an earthbound tour,
in stadium, field or  sewer,
for like Joe Hill we'll return
from grave or tomb or dusty urn
as long as workers claim their right
and songsters yet acclaim their fight.
till everything is globalized
and unions have been pulverized. 

Till then, till then, we'll sing along,
till then we'll sing our song.

Zack Waverly Vol 6 Page 10

My hand slipped off my boot
and ran along the ore 
as the sun made all the gold 
glare much brighter than before

The piece that I had palmed
and positioned in my hand
reflected so much Sun
it would blind most any man

With the glare now in his eyes
the Sheriff couldn't see
He found it very difficult
to point his six gun straight at me

I saw him fire off a shot
as he stumbled to the grown
and hit his head upon a rock
the moment he fell down

I jumped up from the ditch
as I stood there by his side
I saw him take his last faint breath
Close his eyes and simply die

I stood there for a moment
half in shock and disbelief
but I managed a slight smile
Cause my soul was now relieved

So I walked up to the wagon
tied the Sheriff's horse on back
loaded up some gold
that I collected in four sacks

I was careful when I left there
not to leave a trace
but I didn't take much time
To leave that crazy place

The end.....   Watch for of Zack Waverly's adventures

Stable Boy

He stumbled up the rock slope
To find the breaded man.
A six gun waiting at the ready,
The bastard’s flesh to brand.
A rock came loose
His foe came round
A stray bullet 
Struck in the group
He could not believe his good luck,
His vengeance was at hand.

The race was on around the ridge
He chased that rustler scum
Until atop a stony knoll
He aimed his heavy gun
The shot rang out
The foe went down
The echo washed
Over the town
He stood over the silent corpse
Tired, raw, and stunned

He trudged his way back to the town
Finding faces froze in shock
The though that he might win the day
Their minds had wholly blocked
He gave a shrug
And walked on by
To Red’ Saloon
And Lorelei
He cared not what her job might be
He’d ask her, ready or not

She saw him coming down the hall
And wept their at his feet
Then led him back into her room
For things I can’t repeat
The stable boy
His pa avenged
When none would
Step up to defend
And claimed a wife all on the day
Fellows, that’s no mean feat

Repel the Amendment

attract attention
attract and repel
repel the invader
repel mosquitoes
mosquitoes carry malaria
mosquitoes bite
bite the bullet
bite the hand that feeds
feeds on animosity
feeds on carrion
carry on your luggage
carrion eater
eater of flesh
eater of words
words to live by
words of wisdom
wisdom teeth
wisdom comes with age
age of aquarius
age before beauty
beauty is in the eye of the beholder
beauty is only skin deep
deep sea diving
deep six
six hundred threescore and six
six gun
gun collector
gun control
control yourself
control freak
freak out
freak show
show no emotion
show and tell
tell no tales
tell the truth
truth or consequences
truth or dare
dare to be dumb
dare to keep kids off drugs
drugs and drinking
drugs, sex and rock 'n roll
roll out the barrel
roll over beethoven
beethoven ludwig van
beethoven's fifth
fifth amendment
fifth of whiskey
whiskey 
amendment

High Noon At Karnak

Tex’s shadow defines him—cut-out 
from the heat haze of Karnak’s quartz, 
a scintillating contrast to Egypt’s questing sun.
He slouches among the other black castings of 
denser composition mottled with grays, 
and Prussian blues, incongruent in a cowboy
hat. This six-gun scenario’s frame
disrupts the crafted precision of 
a chiseled arch.

****-kicker, lizard-skinned, boots point 
toward the desert’s dunes—death hides.
Needing no words to enjoy a taste of antiquity,
Tex shuffles sighs and takes a draw on
an American cigarette. With a flick of his fingers,
he deposits the butt alongside the others
in the white sand. His contribution
to posterity. 

First Published in Spank the Carp Issue 21 2016

The Showdown

Into the street he sauntered one day
Might be his last, no one could say.

Wore a sassy Stetson, chaps and spurs
ring-jingly things, with raucous burrs.

A silvered six gun pressed his hip
a tiny tremble dressed his lip.

Tough as nails with firm resolve
he hoped this battle would absolve,

a hidden weed of secret fear
(kept to himself, so very near).

With nerves of steel he ambled along
his sober thoughts a mournful song.

It was not very far across the town
to the scene of the big showdown.

When he reached the square he gave a shout
to a lurking foe he yelled, “COME OUT!” 

But no man breached the lair’s cold door, 
so he lifted the latch, chilled to the core.

His enemy glanced up, with face in mask,
our hero blanched, crushed by his task.

His quick draw hand was not advanced
but a warm foul liquid filled his pants

For in the hand of his fated foe
was a killing tool, he’d soon come to know.

“Mommy!” “Mommy! “Mommy!” the gunslinger cried.
Thrice he pleaded, but was denied. 

For the quest he faced was not for thrill.
It was the dreaded, droning, Dentist’s drill.

The Coyote Song - Coyote Pronounced Ky-Oh-Tee

THE COYOTEE SONG
I'm just a poor lonesome cowboy.
Ridin' my pinto, out on the prairie.
I'm Roundin' up these longhorn, all day long,
Me and my pinto, and my rusty six-gun.

I love a floosie from Philly.
She got some eyes, that really turn me on.
She plays with all the  cowboys all night long,
Guess I'll shoot myself with my rusty six-gun.

Sing me a sad song Coyote!
Sing a sad song for me.
Yippy-Ki-Yo! Coyote!
Sing your sad song for me.

I'm just a poor lonesome cowboy.
Livin life in my Levys til its done.
I know that floosie won't remember my name,
But I'll always have my old rusty six-gun.

Sing me a sad song Coyote!
Sing a sad song for me.
Yippy-Ki-Yo! Coyote!
Sing your sad song for me.

I love your howlin, but your sound is as sad as can be.
If I had my druthers, I'druther have that floosie sing to me.

Sing me a sad song Coyote!
Sing a sad song for me.
Yippy-Ki-Yo! Coyote!
Sing your sad song for me.

Yippy-Ki-Yo! coyote!
Yippy-KiYo! For me!

© Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
aka Ron Wilson

The Continuing Saga of Zack Waverly Vol 6

Page 1

A badge laid there upon the desk
Barely shining thru the dust
and the six gun there beside it
neglected, full of rust

There hadn't been a sheriff here
For days or months nor years
and since that day the sheriff died
The town was gripped by fear

It didn't seem that long ago
It feels like yesterday
The streets were filled with people
and the children hard at play

That was until that stormy night
when a stranger came to town
Looking for the sheriff
with intent to gun him down

I was in the lobby 
at the hotel 'cross the street
asking for a room
and a place where I might eat

When I glanced out of the window
where the street lamp lit the night
I saw the shadows of two men
as they began to fight

I thought that maybe I should help
but I've been down that road before
I've learn to mind my business
It's just something that I swore
 
But lookin' back, I might have changed
the future of this town
Or ended up "here" for good!
six feet underground 

To Be Continued Tomorrow same time, same place
HeeeeYaaaaaa !!!

The Coyotee Song

THE COYOTEE SONG
I'm just a poor lonesome cowboy.
Ridin' my pinto, out on the prairie.
I'm Roundin' up these longhorn, all day long,
Me and my pinto, and my rusty six-gun.

I love a floosie from Philly.
She got some eyes, that really turn me on.
She plays with all the  cowboys all night long,
Guess I'll shoot myself with my rusty six-gun.

Sing me a sad song Coyote!
Sing a sad song for me.
Yippy-Ki-Yo! Coyote!
Sing your sad song for me.

I'm just a poor lonesome cowboy.
Livin life in my Levys til its done.
I know that redhead won't remember my name,
But I'll always have my old rusty six-gun.

Sing me a sad song Coyote!
Sing a sad song for me.
Yippy-Ki-Yo! Coyote!
Sing your sad song for me.

I love your howlin, but your sound is as sad as can be.
If I had my druthers, I'druther have that floosie sing to me.

Sing me a sad song Coyote!
Sing a sad song for me.
Yippy-Ki-Yo! Coyote!
Sing your sad song for me.

Yippy-Ki-Yo! coyote!
Yippy-KiYo! For me!

© Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet

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