no cowboys in stock on this side,
but acrid fishermen provide
marine lifelines, hamlets sustain.
Spineless seas they ride, shark's terrain.
pre-dawn cowboys of Waves arise
early wranglers trawl for the prize
through murky waters or in plain.
Spineless seas they ride, shark's terrain.
catches of chub, snapper, and sword
concoct dinners we may afford.
praise the fishers, saddled with strain.
Spineless seas they ride, shark's terrain.
rank as sins, veiled in ocean scum
nets shoulder-slung, descendants come
off the tides, firm ground to regain
Spineless seas they ride, shark's terrain.
Categories:
wranglers, community, culture, fishing, ocean,
Form: Rhyme
You might know me by my wear;
Sorely I stand before me, yet the me not really me, yet surely be
if you were to open door therein is hangers full of clothes that’s just there...
Shirts, cargo pants as well as regular pants by George ™
Matching flora, colorful plaids;
Hanging on hooks and Newspaper Boy Caps™ and Tams™;
Love me some denim jeans and cotton
Light blues, pink, reds, browns, tans blacks and white
Flowered, neon, purples and violet, yeah still in them 70’s seams
My closet full of also Walmart George Wranglers™ and Levi™
Mustn’t forget them T-shirts by TEMU™
You might know me by my wear
7/15/24
For Sartorial Self Portrait Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Jaymee Thomas
Categories:
wranglers, analogy, appreciation, character, funny,
Form: Free verse
We were pleased to claim this land
for Jesus.
We raised cities that were bear free.
Our faith in 'better and bigger' soared;
meth fueled crime leapt still greater.
Cracks appeared where a garish paint
had weathered the sky.
Plaster flamingos crumbled,
angelic limbs hung down
caught in ceiling fissures.
Plastic arrows littered pink concrete.
It was a Mall dream; it was our dream.
We began to covet the uncollectable.
In far off lands worker ants labored
to deliver all things desirable.
Homespun was undone,
yet plaid clad truck wranglers
still wrote their country songs.
Impedimenta impeded the improperly taught.
Log cabins transported themselves
to theme parks,
too little hope clogged casinos floors,
rage stalked the freeways uncaged.
God spoke to us,
urged us to fill storage units
with long raked-over junk,
holy relics in duct taped boxes,
all piled most neatly
in that persnickety old-timey way
of the Midwest.
Categories:
wranglers, poetry,
Form: Free verse
(In the summer of 1960, filming began on
"The Misfits". Shot on location in the Nevada
desert, the picture was enveloped in a weird
atmosphere of doom from start to finish. For
the three stars - Marilyn Monroe, Clark Gable
and Montgomery Clift - it would be the last
film they ever completed.)
Desert Hearts
What do you think of this?
A motion picture, wrought
in a wilderness, about a woman
loved by Gay, Guido, Arthur, Perce,
a woman who draws men
as thoughtlessly as breathing,
but whose beauty is her curse.
And what of three wranglers,
in the drum of the washing machine,
who live for chasing mustangs -
the dwindling mustangs,
whose fate is to be slaughtered
as food for dogs,
and whose destruction
draws nearer each time
they are chased?
Come with me to Reno,
the town with no water,
the zone of single strangers.
Meet five doomed characters,
moving through a slow gavotte
one deadly summer,
dancing on the spot
finding out anew what
they've really always known: how
to have and have not.
Categories:
wranglers,
Form: Free verse
I never get tired of being on fire for Christ.
Let hell turn to ice.
The second coming is close.
Your an eternity away from being toast.
The teer from your eye is a light year into life.
Just don't use a knife.
Christ payed the price.
You don't need to shed blood.
You'll hear a thud.
You mean something.
Eat a green bean.
Your life is worth it.
You'll regret it.
This world is mean but if your clean you will be in paradise.
Christ was sacrafised so we can be pure.
Its very cruel how this world works.
The American dream is God's team.
The winning team.
Angels are all around you.
You wear wranglers like Brett farve the Jet carve.
Or Dale on the rail at Daytona.
Like Jonah who got eaten by the whale he probably heard a bell.
Sins are thrown into bins to get recycled.
Everyone is entitled.
Pray for another day.
Pray for a high way.
Pray for a blue jay.
Give your life to Christ you won't be sliced.
You'll spend entirety with God and you may get a hot rod.
Angels fly.
We can see the sky.
Its very high.
We have love from heaven above.
Categories:
wranglers, inspirational, jesus, rap, religion,
Form: Rhyme Royal
Take me home winged beast,
powered by engine and motor oil.
to relish in the home made feast,
towards east to love and spoil.
crossing the seven seas of myth.
let in only with a paper slip,
so trivial but of so much power.
after the insults and treated like filth,
as baggage into economic for the trip,
constant knocking and bumping strangers.
taking pleasure in packed food and cheap wine.
back home greeted with suspicion as wranglers
bearing the shame, some other day to shine.
so close to home but faraway on the road,
to the doorsteps and to knock on the door.
dawn and down, the few more miles to brood,
final few steps and thoughts of what is in store?
Categories:
wranglers, pain,
Form: Free verse
The dungarees I used to wear
Were Levis, Wranglers, Lees;
There were no upscale denims then,
With fancy pedigrees.
They hugged my hips and fit real snug,
With bottoms flared like bells.
I wore them ‘til the hems were frayed
And then said my farewells.
Today I cleaned a closet, finding
Jeans in every shade –
Light ones, stonewashed, dusky blue,
Enough for a parade.
Some are baggy, others tight;
Most have legs quite straight.
Several hit the thrift store pile,
Sorely out of date.
As I tried them on, I thought,
I wish that I had kept
Just one old pair of dungarees
From days gone by, except…
You cannot resurrect the past,
So what would be my goal?
The girl who wore those Levis out
Was strictly rock and roll.
I still love rock but also jazz
And Mozart, I admit;
And sad to say, my current jeans
Seem like a better fit.
Categories:
wranglers, nostalgia,
Form: Rhyme
Walking down a dusty trail
Leading his horse along
You can hear the jingle of his spurs
As he bellows out a song
His boots are muddy and broken down
His wranglers, worn and dusty
He smiles and pushes his stetson lower
Dreaming of the gal he's soon to see
He's country, full of country
From his hat down to his boots
He's country, full of country
Rockin' his southern roots
The stars have been his blanket
The open range, his bed
There's a gorgeous sunset in the west
As he pushes on ahead
Although he loves this life he has
He's been on the trail too long
For nothing compares to the beauty
Of the one he misses when he's gone
He's honest. He's a family man
He loves the Lord his maker
He'd give up all for those he loves
This cowboy, he's no faker
He's country, full of country
From his hat down to his boots
He's country, full of country
Rockin' his southern roots
Categories:
wranglers, cowboy-western,
Form: Rhyme
you may have lost your Stetson
you'll always have your boots
you're still wearing them Wranglers
and you still like to shoot
you still love the mountains
and all of them country tunes
you may not have a Stetson
but you still have cowboy roots
maybe you don't rope and punch
there are oh so many ways
that you can be a cowboy
on your best of days
with the kindly "thank ya ma'am"
and your beat up truck
"cowboy" is just a label
and that label is stuck
Categories:
wranglers, cowboy-westernmay,
Form: Verse
His surreal cerulian cherubic blue eyes
are to die for cause they tell no lies
The way they look in the moonlight
never departs his heart's soul plight
His blues sing without singing a word
his heart is heard in his soft caresses assured
The cowboy walk of his style is not east coast
cause he has that southern drawl boast
In his dream he's a southern man down south
in my heart he's an east coast boy gone south
sporting them wranglers singing the spangler
purple mountain he sits majestically arranged there
All the while singing the blues....
All the while singing the blues....
All the while singing the blues....
Categories:
wranglers, song-lyricheart, heart,
Form: I do not know?