Slinger Poems

gun slinger

The  Gunman

In Montreal, in a bar frequented by shadowy 
people who used French phrases, making money
fraud and mayhem, I bought a revolver that still 
had five bullets in its chamber
The next morning, our ship was bound for Japan. 
I worried about the gun, perhaps used in a heist 
where someone got killed, and there was
 The Kennedys are still in our memory 
Chief, they said, you look absent-minded, what's
 Wrong, nothing is wrong. I have a slight cold.
Near the Sea of Japan, I threw the weapon overboard
because I knew if I had a gun when I was growing up 
I would, in my anger, have used a gun
I threw the revolver overboard, and an hour later, the 
cartridges I didn't want they to meet up 
The next day, I was my old self, free of guilt

LOCKED OUT

You cheated in our relationship
You said one thing, and it was actually for another
Supposed to be number one
Turned out into no number at all
I was put on pause
You were the cause
Always stepping out
Here and there all about
Mr. Swinger and Ms. Slinger
Decided to investigate
Catch you in the act 
Wasted no time
I found your address book
It wasn’t hard taking a look
Went on the mission quest
Spotted you sitting at the bar with some other women
Drinking to your heart’s content
Time was my pursuit
You acted surprised
You didn’t realize, but a camera pointed and now there is proof you cheated
Every excuse you tried
Nothing you said made any sense
You were busted on the spot
Now who is locked out now
Your female split and left swiftly
Never to return
When will you learn?
Now have a new attitude
As for you, now a conclude
Found someone else who loves me for me
He knows how to soothe
His dancing is ever smooth
A cheater locked out and loss
I was the forbidden force
Alone in your mess
So long sucker, you didn’t do your best
I could care less.

Slinging Stuff

Slinging Stuff

The Book of Judges talks of slingers.
Seven hundred strong, all left- wingers.
The Bible tells us they were terribly feared.
They could split a hair on an enemy’s beard.

And besides the ability to split a hair,
The force of the stones, flying through the air,
Whatever it hit, didn’t have a prayer,
The equivalent of a.44 to bear.

How far, you ask, could these stones kill?
Almost 400 feet with moderate skill.

In the Roman army, the slingers drilled holes,
In their bullets with specific goals.
The sound, was found, when the stones would fly,
Shrill and buzzing, made the enemy’s throat dry.
More accurate than troops with bow and arrow,
The slingers were feared, to the enemy’s marrow.

We’re reminded of David, the young boy shepherd,
Also a slinger, killing wolf and leopard.
Goliath was slow and feeble of sight.
He never had a chance of winning this fight.
So the real story is not just David, the boy.
It’s about a slinger the Israelites managed to deploy.

Word-Slinger Duel

dawn dual duel
two  poets
a face-off  duel joust
free verse  rhyme verse
a modernist  traditionalist
mull and muse   tell it true
prompt a reaction   lay it out there
lover of words, jarring  lover of pattern, rhyming
readers response individual  readers all delight alike
anything goes on loose lines  strict punctuation and meter
memories jogged and jangled  memories lovingly recalled
stark and confronting language  beautiful nice melodious words
leaves reader's questions unanswered  readers cherish the poems like songs
10 free steps  10 syllables
bang  bang
both  dead
duel  done
babel babble

Not a Humorist

This poem is not a Black Lives Matter hashtag
That it will seek justice for George Floyd
It is not a racial stereotype
Or a free the back  hype

This poem is not to seek bail
For the black in jail
It will not in anyway
Bring back Khalili to life

This poem is not for the *****
Or for the pale blonde general
It`s content is not to make 
A  turn into a slinger

This poem is not a humanist 
That it will bring back humanity
It is not a humorist
That it will amuse your eternity 

This poem is a plea to the racist
To stop racism 
For humanity is lost in materiality

Epicure

He ate a caterpillar sandwich
Just to prove he could do it
He just gritted his teeth and
Chewed his way right through it

He washed it down with turpentine
Which he preferred to any wine
Ate a chunk of matured horse 
As his favoured second course
His dessert was a trifle smelly
Being served in an old welly
Frog legs steeped in prunes juice
Just to keep his functions loose
If it was edible he would try it
Really liked a varied diet
His fame grew as a gourmet minger
Celebrity status as hash slinger
Every week with language obscene
He appears on your TV screens

He doesn’t care what you think
Doesn’t need respect or thanks
Just keeps checking his accounts
In his five or six offshore banks

Words

 
Words
scribbler
ink slinger

When my father passed
found a poetic voice
to create word symphonies 

"Love your words before you pen them."

_______________
June 02, 2022


Poetry/Verse/Pyramids/Words
Copyright Protected, ID 06-1461-190-02
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France


Written for the Standard contest, Pyramids
sponsor, Joseph May, Judged 06/18/2022

Plastic Ants

His artistry is unpolluted 
the way he pushes color across his world
is a miracle.
Whorls of potato people dancing  
blots and dashes of undiscovered animals
black lightning streaks strike 
a squarish-lemon meringue sun
orange finned tuna flying without fins..
A crucifix lies within the letters of his name.

He's wielding a slashing strong palette tonight.
Prolific slinger of colors you are
your mind must be tiring-mine certainly is
but yours never seems to quit
one last fit of color for the night
always well outside the lines

He finally bows to a milk and cookie sunset,
his fingers stained beyond recognition
a rainbow's premonition.
He's sleeping like a cherub...
beside a giant plastic ant-

Due To Being a Mudslinger

Might be due to being a mud slinger,
Which had looked like a humdinger;
When viewed,
Clothed or nude,
Then down house was a big bringer.

Jim Horn

Pressing the Button

Don’t press the wrong trigger,
or you’ll get hit by a truth bullet
Peep sound advice:  Don’t pull it ...
caliber of proof gon get bigger

Press your luck, if you want to —  
false bravado can only cover so much
Twitchy touch get shaky in the clutch,
‘nother slinger paid: No can do

Poster child ain’t cash on the barrel head,
the hired guns come and they go
Some draw fast, and others slow
Can’t get the Judas reward if you’re dead

Chase the rope ... life last longer that way
Swing the holster over the saddle,
stone hands can’t spur skedaddle
Press the panic button,  then start to pray
				
Red buttons on a Simba cat white coat,
stained reputation gotta go get dirt buried
Guns & Roses:   Cold viols getting married 
Press E button down as last blues note

Mud Slinger

bone idle 'hippo'
wallowing in self pity
least your mud bath’s free!

In the context of THIS poem personification could also be used as the form.

05~17~17

Mightier Than the Pen

Who'd have thought it so easy to run a great nation,
No requirement for Congress or Supreme Court confirmation.
All you needs a Twitter handle and Executive Orders,
That's his guarantee to secure our fine borders.

While the Constitution is one thing you shouldn't discount,
It appears to be one notch below his Facebook account.
So put down your protests and give him his due,
If the President tweets it you know it is true!

So far it's not been so great, maybe we've been took,
By a bigly bull slinger who's probably a crook.
With mindless occupation on hits, likes, and views,
Don't you need a fake president to dish out fake news?

The guy beaks off like a loon...his thoughts meander,
But sauce for the goose make sources for slander.
We may even glimpse hope every now and then,
Too bad YouTwitFace is mightier than the pen.

Sanity Masquerade

The air slipped onto the gramaphone the needle cutting me bleeding on the floor as mannequins watched with there masquerade masks sewn on took my arm saying "care to dance my lady" as we waltzed into the night transcending emotions filled the room with essence as i laid head rested on his shoulders looking up around surround sound saying " i didnt think mannequins could tarantella like that " in the ballroom swinging in symetry.



Blood clotted dirt in the wound muddy dark night, disfigured body parts the flicker in my mind goes out again like a light in an obfuscated room, Drug fueled visions bottle hanging through whos that climbing through the windows fingertips single flick of the light switch painting of that ditch under the morgue worn torn asunder plunder linger gun slinger sling your hook look the parties over.

Just When We Thought

Just When We Thought
By Franklin Price
2/29/2016

Just when we thought that politics
Had reached the lowest it could go
They've stopped slinging mud by hand
Resorted to a big back hoe

There's only one who's good at it
Has done it from the very start
The other two for catching up
Are trying now sling their a part

They're digging holes and not a ditch
It's evident their mud is thin
Hard to throw, and will not stick
Thin mud slinging cannot win

Sadly equipped for taking part
Apprentices who should not linger
Get back to the issues quickly
They're up against a master slinger

The White Man

He was young,
Had his guns on his hip.
Walkin the streets,
With a cigar on his lip.
The town folk were scared,
They knew what he could do.
They have seen what he done,
To a chosen few.
The leather he wore,
Was stained from the powder of his gun.
A sign of the battles,
That the slinger had won.
A family moved in,
That no one knew.
A white man,
And a wife that was sious.
The young man decided,
The lady would not survive.
Because of her color,
She would die.
In the street,
In the middle of town,
This is where the slinger,
Where he gunned her down.
The white man,
Anger in his eyes,
Decided to give the slinger,
A surmise.
Leave this town,
Be gone by noon at best,
Or feel a bullet from my gun,
Deep in you'r chest.
The slinger smiled,
I am too fast,
You are an ole man,
You'r time has past.
You'r time has come ole man,
Take you'r stand,
But I tell you now,
Better have a fast hand.
When the smoke cleared,
The slinger lay on the ground,
With the white man,
looking down.
The slinger had just one last request,
How did you learn to shoot that way?
The white man answered,
I'm the son of Doc Holiday.

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