Can you remember when folks
waited to hear the facts of a case
to come out before rendering judgment
It wasn’t too long ago that what we’re
witnessing in Minneapolis
was known as ‘mob justice’
Something we thought ended with the
demise of cowboys and the wild west
big man big gun big heart
that's me in a nutshell
healin's my callin'
shootin's my insurance
guns run dry
my spear don't
rock don't lie
men do
I trust my pickax
my pa said shoot straight
and speak truth
I live by both
bang! ha ha!
did I get ya?
they fear my gun
they should fear
what's behind it
God guides my hands
medicine does the rest
In the rain shadow of Majave Desert I eat hot sand
I am singing with their Death Valley
I have allowed them to build my faith under a Joshua Tree
& I feel a pain in the little finger
leaning towards a withered language
I maintain the hollow of the dirty sky
I am split between the Great Basin & Province & the Sonoran Desert where the dark tower is a grave
from one hole to another I seal the capital of decaying with anesthesia
Road work had been finished
for the winter on an asphalt strip
north of town near a nature preserve.
I said good-bye to the hotel owner
and he invited me back
although the town was a lifetime away
from my home. We shook hands.
The town wore its history well
with a façade of an old west town
complete with a jail and post office
on its main street, as if it wanted
to live that life again.
Picture postcards were sold in a drug store
to be packed away and taken home.
Gates of fences aligning themselves
on either side of a highway
spoke of the last cattle drive.
I realized this was the west
where cowboys lived and died.
Reflections stirred of how we gave of our lives
for our dreams and for the ones we loved.
Hasn’t it always been this way?
Sandhills loomed to my side as I drove
on a two-lane east to another town
where I could see another historic site
then get onto the interstate and drive
to the next assignment.
The sky above the open land was an ocean
as I drove east toward the sun.
Marshall Dillon in Gunsmoke
Clint Eastwood as Rowdy Yates in Rawhide
Paladin Have Gun will Travel
John Wayne in bunches of westerns
the pattern was easy....
The cowboys always win
Hero wears a light hat
Villain is stuck with black hat
Indians never win
TV in the 60’s gave me new terms
Dance hall girl, sage brush, wagon train
I reminisce about the wild west I know
Dust swirls in Tucumcari,
Two shadows draw at noon,
Steel flashes, sharp echoes,
Silence falls, one man stands,
Desert sun claims the victor.
Pleasure and exposure, closure
All of you steams and then boils over
All of you gleams and beckons closer
Raised well, all “yes, sir” “no, sir”
Naked edges, hollow scratches,
Bear witness as your world collapses
Get wild, dip me into the ashes,
Share your ambitions and your passions
Wild west, child now, child then
Insults are your ignorance, lucky guesses — your sixth sense
Horse kicks out, is it reflex or self-defense?
He doesn’t speak, so why don’t you just ask again
Generations came, shame evolved the same,
Open wide, tongue twists into a molten ruby flame
Get wild, Honey, call me by your name
Find newer ways to stake your claim
Three bullet wounds, like full blood moons,
Gunpowder smell across sand dunes,
You loved my singing and my tunes,
You made me think that love was good
Dances, made up through our glances
Slick back our hair, as tough as gangsters
Get wild, write a couple stanzas,
Running won’t get your questions answered
Who are you
Dan McGrew?
You sound quite mean
If rumours' true
You lodged yourself
Inside his head
Some seventy years
Still, now you're dead
A tale of love
Of bars and booze
The wheel of fate
Alas, you lose
The west was wild
Back in the day
As danger framed
Each male afray
But what of Lou?
The lady fair
Of unkissed lips
And tousled hair
A broken heart
May never mend
A scar unhealed
Until the end
So as our story
Precious told
Still held in head
Though tired and old
A life not lost
No shooting here
Just words uncovered
Crystal clear
By man with joy
For life, 'tis true
May soon reunite
With his own lady Lou
A carriage stops by a water trough and an
empty roofed stable with a long bench. Driver
helps folks and gets a drink. He returns, tells all
they leave in one minute. A man of no rank says
why stop. Driver says, no stops for 150 miles and
no one wants to be near here. So, are we ready?
Whiskered wonders of the wild west of mine,
Wooly and whimsical, with whiskers so fine
Rode on a stagecoach not recognizing its line
Ended up in a Kansas town named Valentine.
Where tornadoes are plentiful and come a lot.
Their kibble blew away with their cooking pot.
Their catnip treats disappeared into the night.
Kansas is bad, one kitten said. It does not feel right!
The stagecoach driver dropped them off in Iow-AY.
You might have yourself a much better stay.
Best of all, the corn is a good place to hide for a stray.
He gave them a wave and turned back to Santa Fe.
[This is the poem that made me think ‘Hmmm… Sixgun Sid?’
Which led to a plethora of (at least one) ‘adventures’]
*
Cowboys and Red Indians they ride in any weather
Though one will get a soggy hat and one a soggy feather
And all that soggy headwear has been happening forever
Cos Cowboys and Red Indians are really not that clever
Cowboys and Red Indians they rarely get together
When they chase each other they ride horses hell for leather
And Sitting Fox seeks Sixgun Sid for he’s a scalp to sever
And Cowboys and Red Indians they rarely get called Trevor
Cowboys and Red Indians they simply wont endeavour
To shelter under canvas when its raining… No, not ever
Yet even when they're soaking wet they shrug and say “Whatever.”
For Cowboys and Red Indians will share a teepee never
Sam Adams was a cowboy
Back in the wild west
A badass gunslinger
For hire to the biggest bidder
Often working for the law
Sometimes working for the outlaws
He did not see much difference
He took the jobs
That paid him the most
Thought that if he did not do it
Someone else would no doubt
Sam Adams thought about death
As he shot those that needed killing,
Better them than him he thought.
~ Limerick-Style Political Verse ~
Let's defund the Police! We see the light!
Speaking Truth to Power: The Left is Right!
Coz they care about Crime
And don't want to waste time
Posses, Mob Justice ~ The future's so bright!
Strap on your six shooters or reach for the sky.
The police in Minneapolis are going bye bye.
The powers that be want the police department gone.
Be careful of what you wish for and the line that you’ve drawn.
Maybe we should stop paying taxes and see where that leads.
Defund our government and start wearing beads.
The summer of love in two thousand twenty.
A redo of the wild west in the land of good and plenty.
At least we are still armed and able to buy lead.
Our safety and security are quickly being put to bed.
Remember to lock your windows and both of your doors.
The criminals now rule in this political war.
Will we die from a virus or get shot in the street?
More lawless communities, now wouldn’t that be neat.
I’m disappointed and sick when I think of what’s next.
Our leaders are failing and need a reality check.
It is said that in the good ol' wild west
the promptest postal mailing was the Pony Express.
greatest agile riders in the nation
the ten-day journey of mail
what could go awry?
Johnny fry was the leading jockey
Mail deposited in a mochila saddle and
POW!!!
the explosion of a cannon signified the commencement
of the dash against trains.
Galloping onward at a near ninety miles per hour
the mustang relaxed to a halt as
Harry Roff seized the limelight.
And there you have it, cowboys and cowgirls
all the way to Sacramento
mail was delivered.
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