Spurs Poems - Poems about Spurs

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...

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the twang of her country boots slipping, sliding on peanut shells spurs are loose, on the run her tongue like a silver bell ...

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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...

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Hank had cowboyed and rodeoed fer nigh on forty years, Ridin' in sleet, rain and snow a-herdin' cantankerous steers. His hide was tough as leather and his legs was slightly bowed, But brandin' dogies and fixin' fences was all he ever knowed! His gut was made of iron from a diet of taters, beans and bacon. Many times he was...

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OH BE THIS POEM AS SACRED AS HER NAME Often I am compelled to hover over her shoulder Each letter formed, each thought defined For she has poetry on a leash And walks it, pray I, at least three times a day For she owns words that are her property Well, not so much ownership but instead just rather properly When roars...

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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...

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“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...

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Endurance is not of your nature, Solidity glides in wavering motions upon my pitiful neck, Now brazen silver does linger, Trite lance, ravenous knife does make one last, Sorrowful trek... I know you'll adore each compassioned endeavor, And your canvas lay pared, splayed and sculpted tissue. You've rendered such precious jet-black clouds... They drape their vile vined misted shrouds... Within my gray eyed gaze, Such...

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