A cowboy from Van Horn named Tate
claimed, “Darlin’, I’m Texas’ fate.”
He swaggered so wide
you could drive alongside~
then his spurs got him stuck in a gate.
One, two, three, four
Hardwood seeds planted on the floor
Trying to get to the final round
Championship bound
Who is your pick?
Cavs or Knicks
Garden parties are always filled with fame
WKRP broadcasted CBS’s Street manipulated game
Late night tape delayed
News wondered if Vietnam POWs completed the trade
Newly launched ESPN, soon took charge
Captaining the NBA barge
Cruising a hoop dream
Love Boat holiday network floated up stream
While Peacock’s spurs shine
Thundering, shaking the western spine
Enjoying an entertaining time
That cannot be declined
Or denied
Since the audience will find
Two winners survive
Not saying their seasonal goodbyes
Wanting to extend
And defend
The scoring message they send
Larry O’Brien’s trophy is for the best
Acknowledging acing basketballs premier climatic spring test
‘We are the champions’ winners will sing
Sporting awarded new flashy rings
Say senora to the winter blues
And welcome summer leagues with air condition that is cool
The Feisty Chicken
prowls up behind that blind fool
Sneak attack! He rules!
though they sought the gentle verse
a wracking pain drew up their purse
as thoughtless sovereigns hissed their curse
the dollars drained; their feign- rehearsed
this tragic dismantling
ever-torn fabric seams
flowing a pious demand of the feed
groveling majesties
planted their effigy
cordially under the pew cushion seats
stating repeat
loving the myrrh
silent decree
ebony spurs
the twang of her country boots
slipping, sliding on peanut shells
spurs are loose, on the run
her tongue like a silver bell
Jimmy fringed suede
swaying side to side
this cowgirl raves
with a wink and a down-home grin
simplicity cascades
from her resplendent crown
her slender fingers strum
her cordial gee-tar
yee-haw, the crowd lauds
loud and proud of the star
she twinkles and soars
high-fiving the lights of the ebony sky
11/14/2019
I used to ride from dark to dark
For wages that were thin
Then saunter up to Shorty's bar
And he'd say."Where you been?"
I'd drink a lot and tell some lies
'Til I got drunk of course
When I ran out of cold hard cash
They'd put me on my horse
Then one day my hair turned silver
I lost a step or two
I thought about how much I'd learned
Surprised how much I knew
I hung up my spurs, coiled my rope
Threw my hat in the ring
Got elected to our congress
It was a wondrous thing
I think of Shorty now and then
And I still tell some lies
But I get paid for doin' that -
Nice to be old and wise
6-8-19
Contest:A Contest on Aging
Sponsor:Emile Pinet
A poem written on the spur of a moment taken furtively
from another busy day slipped into a secret pocket of
a too over voluminous jacket slipped on to cover a
favorite silk shirt. A mixing of double meanings designed
to thwart casual critics and entice the cleverer into time
wasteful mind games that entertain with ever twisting wit
and rewarding salutations. Sunday leisured pleasure
twixt sips of spiced black char.
Cooling too swiftly and biting at tongue roots
in stinging frustration as the day ever screams
to be used in more suitable ways of activity
Spurring momentously in anguished flailing wrath
As the memory taste of the last dregs fades into
sugar salt bitterness of sweet saliva
“Ya got some mighty fine spurs to wear,”
My ol’ grand pap used to day.
When I came up shy when braidin’ hair
From my ol’ dun horse or bay.
It was just his way of tellin’ me
That I come up a bit short,
In some endeavor I could not see
And did not care for a snort!
I did not quite know what grand pap meant
‘Bout those spurs I did not have—
I thought it just some talkin’ ill spent
To heal my young wounds like salve.
But on that sad day my grand pap died,
I knew the truth of his words—
He gave me those silver spurs and cried
As I heard the sound of birds.
“Ya got some mighty fine spurs to wear,”
My grand pap said on that day,
“So wear them proudly and do not care
What some fool folks just might say.”
And though those spurs are ol’ and tarnished,
I wear them with all my pride—
‘Cause grand pap told the truth unvarnished
On the final day he died.
“Ya got some mighty fine spurs to wear”—
Those words stick now in their way—
“I got some mighty fine spurs to wear”—
My son will wear them some day.
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