Tenderfoot Poems | Examples

Kess-kess

Sine Wave replicated the Hand whistle, a drum and
bass and tremble  guitar fused with a funky mix of 
 in opposition tothe fella's camped further in the distance.
There a banjo and fiddle were played while a crooner
 serenaded the dust clouds kicked up the drunken
cowpokes. 
While the Elders sleep or were to drunk to refuse them
wise mid twentyish people grabbed instruments and
went into the barn and began to
fuse there style
with sounds that were never heard before. A member
 of the orchestra used his influence to
convince these busy hard working people
to make time to get together
and create music. The way music needs to be appreciated.


Night hides the meanest of day
but moring tell the true story
if she'll go
or if she'll stay
Regional flavors
Capsicum Annuun
Hot Peppers and Milk
Pizzicato wash your hands
begore you pull
them strang's
Headdresses and Cowboy hats
Hazing a Tenderfoot

flurries

words form in a flurry
bleeding saccharine too too much 
all the crushed kaleidoscope colours
signature pastels and sparkling vibrants, 
a tenderfoot cherry, with little of life yet to go by, 
still art, that one is full to the brim with stitched up wisdom,
bleeds like watercolours across canvas melting messy hearts like chocolate,
la Ingénue’s cup overfloweth with abortions of sugary poésies
plumbed ripe and read, dripping black currents
legs wrapped around broomsticks of diamonds






Candide Diderot. ‘24

Canary in a Coal Mine

She wandered like a gypsy to Wyoming,
Where she settled in and sojourned for a spell.
She found herself a billet at the Hog Ranch,
And son, there weren’t no high-tone clientele.
It was just a soiled dove’s privy crib
Where Martha Jane set up her chicken coop.
She was a cowhand’s heartthrob,
All buckskin and sutler whiskey.
She could drive a team of oxen.
She could drive a man to sin.
Times she frequented Old Bedlam,
Drillin’ with them soldier boys;
Some were galvanized Yankees,
Some were mere tenderfoot lads.
When she wasn’t barkin’ at a knot,
She’d be somewhere raisin’ sand.
She considered each calamity
That buggered her contentment
As just another maverick to brand.

Silence Is Never An Option

The wild, wild, west he shot his last gun,
the big bad felon that thought he had won.

His boots are now kicking his big toes,
He's left a trail of nowhere to go.

The dusty road has all blown away,
No longer a tenderfoot, that's what they say.

This is what I know, this is what I send, 
there is always a means to the end.

There are people who are artist, 
nothing to do with talent, it's the farthest.

Taking a life or someones money, 
to them it's all still funny.

There are people who are rotting, 
deserving what they've gotten.

The bars they used to drink in,
are now bars holding them.

Ones whose punishment escaped them,
they will surely pay.

There's still alot to say,
And she along with God...will someday.

Sunset Squeeze

squeeze of fresh orange
sundive into the ocean
horizon to shore
olympic hotshot’s fleet swim
tenderfoot sails through the shine

7/28/2021
Bite Size Poem no15
Sponsor ~ Line Gauthier

Heartbroken

As I remember my quondam days,
I contemplate, I ruminate,
The musings of the bygone time,
Cleaves my heart apart,
With a sharp twinge.

I was tenderfoot, budding,
blossoming.
A bit naive, obtuse,
Savored euphoria in everything.

Being born under a lucky star,
In the cornucopia of,
Love, happiness, and blissfulness,
Was incomprehensible of the,
Forthcoming quagmire.

It came all of a sudden.
Like a bolt from the blue.
Snatched everything from me,
Ripped apart all the bonds,
Left me wreaked, shattered, dismay, lonely.
Those memories haunts me,
Like terrible phantasm.
Fancy to be over the moon,
Yearn to be as happy as a clam,
But how could I?
My Seventh Heaven,
Got burried under jinx.


Date of submission: 19/03/2021

I Am

L ynn is how my name’s pronounced
I ntegrity and imagination the ideals
N otably nostalgic on occasion
E clectic maybe even a little eccentric

M otivated by a playful muse
O pen-minded at times obstinate
N o fancy pseudo nom de plume
I ntolerant to painful platitudes
Q uality time ideally by a fireplace
U nbridled passion for photography
E mbrace uplifting peaceful views

G rateful a constant state of mind
A rt aficionado to the core
U nconventional and proud of it
T echnologically challenged tenderfoot
H appy hibernating in cozy hideouts
I nfatuated with the infinite and all that’s zen
E nergetic when it comes to writing poetry
R acing to the finish line to leave a legacy



AP: 2nd place 2021, 3rd place 2021, 3rd place 2020, 3rd place 2020, Honorable Mention 2025, Honorable Mention 2023,  Honorable Mention 2020

Submitted on April 30, 2020 for contest I AM: A LIST BIO CHALLENGE sponsored by ANDREA DIETRICH  -  RANKED 2ND

Dayse of Sun

Sunny days

This is a beautiful warm day after a cold night
I chanced it and went for a walk to the woods
the track was now widened for cars.
The pace ended abruptly by an iron fence.
I could see no house, but someone had made 
a statement – nolle me tangere.
I found another track the lead into the next village
but it was too overgrown, and without my dog
to lead the way, I gave up.
  I strolled across a field where sheep were busy eating 
  All the red flowers, the scene looked like a painting
  I leave it up to you to guess who?
 Saunter among olive tree; they are so old make me
look like a tenderfoot; my feet were back on the asphalt
Road, tired they were needed a rest, so, we strolled home.

The Outs Have It

He is outstandingly out-of-bounds 
asserted the outlandishly outspoken outlaw
He can outshoot, outtrump and outride you.
He is outrageously outranked, the tenderfoot replied.

But he did feel outsparkled and outvalued.
And a little bit on the outs...
The outsized outsister tried to sooth the tenderfoot
but she was an unfamiliar outsider and not totally respected

So they both ended up being outwitted and outslickered
by the outspoken outlaw who outsmarted them 
The outlaw’s outlandish gang outroared their protests
Making them both feel outclassd and out-of-sorts.

Fifty Years Ago This December

Fifty years ago this December, I was taken to the nearby foothills, by the scout leader and his right hand helper, to complete part of the tenderfoot test.  It involved successfully tracking the two of them, as I would have studied that part of the scout manual.  It included the elements of backtracking, animal print recognition, and other tracking basics.  Similar to the childhood game of, "hide and seek", I had to close my eyes and count to a hundred.  After the allotted time,  I looked around and saw their tracks heading off into the newly snow dusted landscape.  Thankful for the white stuff that made it easy to see their footprints, I easily followed along, even through the heavier made backtracking tracks.  When the tracks took me under a large evergreen tree, the footprints suddenly ended.  I searched carefully every direction, and scratching my head I was completely confused, until I heard their muffled laughter... just above my head!


pictures of Sherlock
show him inspecting the ground
never looking up  

date:12/18/19
contest:December Haibun 
sponsor: Caren Krutsinger

Motion of a Fall

Leaves no longer held-aloft by their deciduous vaults
Clutter gutters and breezily sweep streets and rest 
On right and left road sides, bright and red. 
Tunnels formed by old trees meeting arc
Across city-streets and campus-sidewalks.

The bright red light shreds right
Through the quasi-dismal damp 
Fog and is mirrored in the ditch’s bog.
The yellow is less aggressive, 
More slow to say “hello,
Nomad, pause your show of bursts
Of fabricated steel and what is unreal.”
Trees colored green recollect when
They were tenderfoot, preempting
The Fall of unawakened Autumn, 
But tend towards following their peers.

Leaves stand in the back of a room, 
Stand in the forefront of the meteorological gloom
And trickle their color onto the gray   
Sidewalk once bland and wet as the sky,
Now leaf-littered and shimmering with glances of upright reality;
Colors whet on the watery walkway
By flattened leaves and reflections of trees.

Boy Scout

I cry at Chain Bridge
in my third year as a tenderfoot.
It's the same thing,
when father takes his time
showing up and the earth
gapes all the way to chaos.
It's when the money runs out
and the business fails.
The scouts all laugh
as they stand near their
neat packs with all their
plans piled beside them.
I am 13 in the dangerous
age of sissies. 
I wonder what 
the crying does.

Tenderfoot

Sun Furnace desiccating.
Man and Beast moving,
In crazed circles of Corral Mirages
Seeking shade.
Moisture-less Sky and Land.
Buzzards, certain of,
Meat Jerky repasts. 
Timing air currents,
Until the Western Buffet
Is finally stocked.

Levels of Expertise

diamante

novice
nescient, nervous
assuming, awaiting, assisting
tyro, tenderfoot / virtuoso, veteran
anticipating, advising, administering
erudite, exceptional
expert

Fantasies of a Lovers Corral Fairytale

Fantasies of a Lovers Corral invaded my mind
Pronounced reality I could no longer find
I didn’t know, one could be turned on so much
It was just my tenderfoot that he did touch
Forbidden thoughts excited even the most conservative side of me
Could this be?
It was electric, I mean electrifying…
With my mind open like the sky there was no denying… 
I was hooked… a sensational ****** explodes inside of me, like a clock striking twelve…
Alarms ringing, I muzzled pleasures moan, so no one could tell
I was imagining him as my lover, our bodies hot burning like fire
Passionately holding each other, his touch, I addictively desired
This was a disaster of the most brilliant kind
Although this is not reality, inside myself I did find
Deeply hidden lust covered by a veil 
Colored with a hint of wishful thinking while I ponder the Fantasies of a Lover’s Corral 
Fairytale

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