Beyond the hills, the storm,
oh, yellow queens they quake;
poor Autumn aspens feel
old weight of weakened leaves
the hostile winds will steal.
Beyond the hills the storm
it brews, like coffee black.
A bitter sky will fall
—dainty saintly sunlight
a martyr for the squall…
Beyond the hills the storm,
My dreams in strobe-light flash.
Engage in shadow dance
the clash of sane and bane;
a silk and burr romance.
Beyond the hills the storm—
yes banshee gonna wail!
The gray steel rain a strafe
a suitor six-shooter.
My tongue; a silent waif.
~ Mary Fields…
Was born into slavery somewhere back east
she thought it was Hickman County, Tennessee
Growing up, she had learned how to read and write
though she'd spent her childhood in captivity
Came to Montana to live life as a nun
but learned she was better suited for fight'n
She stood six foot tall and weighed two hundred pounds
wore a six shooter she could draw fast as light'n
She had arms and hands looked like battering rams
she towered o'er most cowboys here in the west
She smoked cigars and chawed a tobacco plug
a flask of whisky hidden under her dress
She came to fame one day when a green cowpoke
said that no black woman could be his better
She'd laid him out flat when he went for his gun
Mary shot him before he could clear leather
In her left hand she could hold the reigns of six
of the orneriest horses you'd ever knew
while shooting a shotgun with the other hand
and could still keep them horses a runnin' smooth
She'd out shoot, out fight and out drink any man
Was mean, stubborn, cantankerous and scary
Specially if you was a meaning to steal
from a wagon driven by Stagecoach Mary
A shootout on Main Street at high noon, Buck
Bring your rusty six-shooter -- lots of luck!
You’ll need it, you see,
When up against me
Nobody survives calling me a schmuck!
FIRST PLACE WINNER
Written May 4, 2022
for "High Noon" Poetry Contest
sponsored by Joseph May
10-10-5-5-10 syllables
So, let us have guns and more guns in the USA
Pistols, shotguns, rifles, and AK-15s galore, I say,
Let those peace-loving pinkos scream and howl
I will blow their heads off if they get in my way.
Let’s go back to the good old days out west
Where shoot-outs in the street worked out best,
Every dude carrying a six-shooter gun in his belt
Where justice was prompt with a shot to the chest.
Let’s teach our children how to play with a gun
So they can have he-man, sportsman type fun,
Never worry about accidentally pulling the trigger
After the shots are fired they can take off and run.
I say we need more guns out there on the street
In case two people of opposing views meet
To settle their differences right then and there,
Someone lying in a pool of blood is such a treat.
Written April 21, 2021
For “Guns” Contest
Sponsored by Anthony Biaanco
The Beauty And Essence Of A Pretty Cowgirl
Although she wraps herself in soft leather,
Wearing her pointy-toed cowboy boots,
She delights in darkest stormy weather
And banging sounds her fast six-shooter shoots;
But hurt her and she just barely whimpers,
She is a lovely cowgirl through and through
Best to flee fast if rousing her temper
For she may stomp and beat you black and blue.
Yet gently hold her hand and give a kiss
You she may then gift a romantic night
You shall next wake unto heavenly bliss
But lord man, don't you ever pick a fight!
Although she wraps herself in soft leather,
She delights in darkest stormy weather.
R. J. Lindley, June 26th 1979
Sonnet, ( That ravishing beauty wearing cowboy boots )
Note: 7- 02- 1979
Met a cowgirl at the club, she was absolutely gorgeous.
We rode together all weekend. No saddle needed.
She left me that Monday morn, saying- "maybe again next year"..
Note: 3-11-2021
There truly are some that are totally unforgettable..
Just to the left of Texas
In the valley of beyond
Is where sanity up and left us
Deciding it was best to move along
Hitched up horses and a wagon
Six shooter strapped to its side
Passing through all the Wild West cackling
Knew this would be a rooting tooting rough ride
Because it doesn't take long once sanity's gone
For the "In" to move right in
So it made its escape for its own sake
Not daring to come back here again
It turned and waved from the horizon
As the Loony Tunes theme music played
Where you could hear a slight voice in the distance
Th-Th-Th-Th-Th-That's all folks...have a nice day!
So there it was nigh on high noon
In the heat of summer's day,
When down the street walked the buffoon
While the town folk were napping away.
No one took much notice at first
Of the buffoon out on the street;
They'd not recognize his mighty thirst
While dozing there half asleep.
But into the sheriff's office he strode,
This buffoon once the laughing stock
And with his six shooter to unload,
The town folk woke to an awful shock.
Now the keys are his, the perfect trap,
Where once there was but a buffoon;
These town folk who too long to nap,
Will follow on the road to ruin.
Recall the Days of Yesteryear
Inspired by Lynn Yawn
By Franklin Price
1/15/2016
Recall the days of yesteryear
And the fun times that you had
Watching cowboys on the silver screen
Could tell the good one from the bad
The good one rode a horse so fine
Always healthy and well groomed
Could easily run the bad guy down
No doubt that he was doomed
The good one was the quickest draw
Which the bad one could not stand
Before the bad one got a bullet off
His six shooter shot from his hand
The good one wore a hat of white
The bad one wore the black
The good one sent the bad one
Off to jail not coming back
The good one had some talent
Could pick guitar and croon
Would serenade the ladies
And the cows beneath the moon
Those were the days of wonder
When with popcorn in your hands
You watched your cowboy hero
Ride across the western lands
Gone today that singing cowboy
But he's still within your mind
Riding off into the sunset
Where the clouds are silver lined
Sexy sensual silky smooth seductively smart Sebastian
Charismatic cool comet crashing creative chemical concoction
Over thinker overseer overwhelming
Revolving six shooter raw rhyme repeater
Purposeful and pondering the question of what's powerful
Intense somewhat intelligent always an irresistible individual
Oddball offspring enjoying an open water poetry philosophical odyssey
I'm a space cowboy
riding imaginary horses
with black light saddles
herding cows in my closet
my six shooter is my finger
making bullet sounds with my lips...
My ten gallon hat
filled with false optimism
borrowed from a circus clown
in a barnyard outhouse...
My posse are ghost riders
in the milky way
we lasso Taurus the bull
and have shoot outs
with villains
shaped as shadows
on the star dust trail....
~ ~ ~
Once in the ghost town they called rotgut
Seen mortician dancing dead mans strut
Six shooter brought Slim down
Black smith hurried left town
Guess hang by boots then when in a rut
Entry For Jerry's
A Town Called Rotgut
GL All
Rise Up!
Daylight's a-Burnin'
By the End of this Day
That Varmint Black Bart's
Fixin' to Be Learnin'
Robbing and Murdering Innocent Folks
Might Get's You some Nice Spurs and a Fancy Gun
I'm Fixing to Have You Hang For it
When All is Said and Done
I'm Gonna Keep On Riding
All Night if I Have To
Sticking Tobacco in my Jaw
My Horse Nightrider and my Trusty Six-Shooter
Is All I Need To Uphold The Law
They say it won the West, or lost it to a faster draw
Made most men brave. even a coward or two
Yes Sir, six shots of tequila and they all hit the floor
With the challenge of writing a poem in the now
I reach for my pen, a lightning quick draw
Gun slinging the page with a six shooter of words
Letters ricocheting off of the page, escaping the poems claw
Defeating all who dare to challenge my ink shooter
Walking tall in Poetry soup's Wild West
Poets work, slinging words left and right
We enter contest, to conquer and be the best
Today I'll spur the paper with cowboy up
Put my words down with the quickness
Winning the buckle of Glory
Riding this bull named "dirty business"
I'm riding off into the sunset another notch in my belt
The legend of the "Word Slinger" has begun
Conquering all from the east to the west
Riding in glory, clearing the dust second to none
------------------------------------------------------------------
Inspired by Matt caliri contest - Write now-
took me 30 minutes to write and type 8-19-09 had lots of fun!!!!!!!!!!
purely fictional :-)
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