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 Mar 2020
Roger Turner - Poet
I'm a graying aged gunfighter
Time to get out of the game
I can not see to shoot my gun
I can not see to aim

I used to be the best there was
The top of every list
Now I can't hit a **** barn door
I shot at one and missed

I could out draw anyone
Who faced me on the street
Now, I'm more than likely
To put a bullet 'tween my feet

I play a little poker now
Spend my days just passing time
I break even mostly
The way I play, well, that's a crime

No one round here knows me
They don't know about my past
To them I'm just a codger
I don't do one **** thing fast

I noticed things were changing
Ten years back I'd say
I had a gun fight in Dodge City
And it didn't go my way

I threw down with some punk kid
He was drunk and really ******
I got my gun stuck in my holster
He fell down, he shot, he missed

I walked to him now laying
In the street, out cold, not dead
I took his gun and holster
And then went home to bed

A gunfighter of substance
Would have killed me where I stood
Was I lucky he was drunk then?
Or was I losing it for good?

I packed my stuff up in the morning
I left the town later that night
The next fighter might be sober
And I'd not survive that fight

I took off for the desert
Made plans just where I would go
A state where I could hide out
Where my past, no one would know

On the way I stopped and practiced
Shot some cactus and some trees
I was shooting though at rabbits
I can't survive here eating these

One day, a rogue coyote
Came and took me by surprise
I shot a tree, it fell on him
I aimed between his eyes

The sooner I got settled
The safer I would feel
Too much longer in the desert
I'd end up some varmints tasty meal

I rode on in to where I am
I can't tell you just what town
I've got to keep it secret
Or I may just get shot down

I have a small room at the hotel
I play cards to pay the rent
I speak with a slightly muddled accent
I try to be a southern gent

I've been here now for near six months
The town is growing fast
So, my time here might be cut short
With the future, comes my past

For now I just play poker
An old gunfighter at heart
One day I know they'll find me
I'll go to boot hill in a cart

I'm an aged old gunfighter
There's not many still around
I'm hiding now from my last gunfight
That will put me six feet in the ground.
 Feb 2016
Roger Turner - Poet
Pa ran inside,
All out of breath
Ma said "slow down"
"you look you've seen your own death"

He shut all the windows
Closed the shutters, the doors
He went to the cellar
And locked the trap doors

"Out on the hill there",
"You can see by the tree"
"It's a horse from the Devil"
"And it's waiting for me"

Ma said "you're crazy"
"There's nothing outside"
"Least all a horse"
"That the devil would ride"

I went to the window
To check for the steed
Pa said "Don't open that up"
"That's all the room that he'll need"

"He's come from below"
"To take my soul down to hell"
"And his horse is the warning"
"I know...I can tell"

The mustang stood waiting
On the hill, all aflame
Was it devil or horse
Were they one and the same?

Pa was still shaking
He had sure had a fright
There was no way that we
Would get to sleep on this night

Pa then told Mother
Of the deal he had made
With the Devil himself
In the cool of the shade

A prosperous ranch
The envy of all around
With all of his problems
Put six feet underground

Dad said he'd reckoned
That the deal was all done
When the crops out the back
All burned up in the sun

He knew that the Devil
Was calling in for his share
When he saw the horse burning
While no one else gave a care

"I have to get through now"
"To the morning past dawn"
"Then the horse will return"
"And the deal will be gone"

We listened intently
We were sure Pa wasn't sane
But, we knew from his tale
He had nothing to gain

We'd take shifts in the night
Keeping the devil at bay
Only twelve hours to go
Until the next day

It would be an adventure
We would trust in our faith
Of dad's tale of the mustang
The flaming horse wraith

The night was a battle
The devil tried to get in
He worked on our hearts
By making deals sweet with sin

Do we turn in our father
Or do we fight till the morn?
Could it just be a ruse
Burning one field of corn?

To see how it ended
You must come out here and see
The scorch marks in the grass
On the hill by the tree

You can believe what I've written
Or hear what Pa has to say
But, it was the Devil's Mustang
Came that night for to play
 Aug 2015
Roger Turner - Poet
Behind the evening's golden glow
The skies are hiding early snow
The road leads homeward toward the glow
Day is done, it's time to go

The gold shows ending of the day
The clouds show snow is on the way
Time to ride and not to stay
I've got to put this one away

Amber fills the autumn skies
Signalling the storm behind it lies
It's time to say our fair goodbyes
And be serenaded by coyote cries

The golden sheen is the sign
Your day is done, as is mine
I'm heading west along the line
Back to the ranch "The twisted nine"

A golden glow before the clouds
filled with snow, a winter shroud
I know the wind is getting loud
So I am off to beat the crowd

Behind the evening's golden glow
The skies are hiding early snow
The road leads homeward toward the glow
Day is done, it's time to go
 Jul 2015
Roger Turner - Poet
It was known just as "The Tree"
It was on the fence line of Jade Ranch
And on the wizened, hardened oak
Was a limb, known as "The Branch"

On the branch hung seven ropes
Of seven different lengths
Depending on the sentence
They chose one of seven strengths

Now a posse and a lynch mob
Are two completely different groups
You may always end up hanging
But through two different loops

Get caught with someone else's horse
By someone from on the ranch
Then you'll face Western Justice
And end up hanging from "The Branch"

Western justice it was called
And lynch mobs had a thirst
To see you hanging from "The Tree"
If you didn't meet the Marshall first

Get caught with an extra ace
You'll be called out as a cheat
You will never make "The Tree"
You'll get gunned down in your seat

But, have a horse, that's not your brand
And a lynch mob's soon around
Western Justice will prevail
With you ten feet from the ground

You'll sit upon the horse you stole
No one hears your weak defence
One slap and the verdicts in
You'll hang on the ranch side of the fence

Shoot a man in town and you
Will end up in the local jail
But, shoot him where the Law is not
And Western Justice will prevail

Seven ropes of different lengths
Take a man on to his death
Once the horse is slapped to go
No one will hear your last breath

There's a lynch mob and a posse
You don't know just how close they are
One does what they think is right
One feels the same, but has a star

"The Tree" is there in waiting
For the next rope to be strung
If you aren't caught by the Marshall
From "The Branch" you will be hung
 May 2015
Roger Turner - Poet
The firelight was fading
The shadows grew in size
In the distance if you listened
You could hear the faintest cries
Of coyotes and of timber wolf
Signalling the end of day
Howling at the growing moon
Keeping night spirits at bay

The last piece of the sagebrush
Was burning to it's core
The flames that danced as quicksilver
Now, they danced no more
The fire, once was blazing
It's flames a dangerous height
Was now a nest of coal chunks
to warm us through the night

Four days out and three to go
We'd be in two days ahead
The scheduled trip with this years herd
And we'd be back in our own bed
A smaller group of beef this time
But, that's the way it goes
At least we'd leave the mountains
Before the early snows

Coffee from the morning meal
Was still sitting in the ***
Two minutes in the embers
And it was steaming hot
The first round of watch was up
And the coffee was re done
The second watch, for wolves and things
Needed coffee and a gun

Two went down the first night out
We heard the wolves, but missed them all
They'd been following us for three days now
And at night you'd hear them call
They signalled that the day was done
And that the herd was staying still
The darkness was their element
It was time for them to ****

The fire was near finished
The flames were all but smoke
but that cup of cowboy coffee
put life into this old grey cowpoke
If the wolves kept at a distance
And just kept howling at the moon
We'd lose no more beef tonight
And be home two days from noon

The fire spit and crackled
The night was damp and cold
The stars were silent beacons
To the wolves so quick and bold
We heard them in the distance
Howling loud as if to say
Will you make it through till morning?
Wait until we come to play.....
 May 2015
Roger Turner - Poet
Gonna be a rough one
Weather moving in
Time to mend some fences
Before it's too late again

Horses loaded for a week
Got my son with me this time
We haven't really talked in years
I guess, the fault is mine

Time to mend fences while out mending fences
Just me, the dog and my son
Time to mend fences while out mending fences
Before my time here is done
Time to mend fences while out mending fences
Of all I regret, it's the one
Time to mend fences while out mending fences
Before my short time here is done


There's a chill in the air
And it isn't the wind
It's the tension I feel
between me and him

I pushed him away
And now, I need time
To fix what i've done
The fault is all mine

Time to mend fences while out mending fences
Just me, the dog and my son
Time to mend fences while out mending fences
Before my time here is done
Time to mend fences while out mending fences
Of all I regret, it's the one
Time to mend fences while out mending fences
Before my short time here is done

If nothing else happens
At least we'll both know
The fences are mended
Before the first snow

It's time to mend fences
and fences I'll mend
I lost not only my son
but, I lost my best friend

Time to mend fences while out mending fences
Just me, the dog and my son
Time to mend fences while out mending fences
Before my time here is done
Time to mend fences while out mending fences
Of all I regret, it's the one
Time to mend fences while out mending fences
Before my short time here is done
 Apr 2015
Roger Turner - Poet
She was faster than a rattlesnake
She could split a log in two
She was better than any hand
I think I ever knew

She was famous all throughout the west
But, it really was a shame
She wasn't known for what she did
She was famous for her name

She could rope and shoot and ride
Better 'n any man I know
But laugh at this girl's name
And she'd hog tie you for show

Christened Patricia Bollinger
From Baltimore she came
She didn't like the term cow girl
So, Cow Patty was her name
kept channeling Jim Stafford
 Apr 2015
Roger Turner - Poet
wind is coming in
sun is just showing
horses are watered
fire is glowing

movement is starting
the camp is awake
cookie is working
there's breakfast to make

no fancy croissants
or drinks laced with toffee
this is good solid food
and strong cowboy coffee

it gets it's job done
it ain't always so nice
later on in the day
it gets served by the slice

mud, java, joe
it's got lots of names
and at each cowboy camp
it still tastes the same

grounds at the bottom
thick as coal tar
without cowboy coffee
you will not go far

eggs, beans and bacon
and bread texas thick
to wipe up what's left
and get every lick

here out on the trail
you won't find any toffee
we eat solid grub
and we drink cowboy coffee
 Mar 2015
Roger Turner - Poet
Everybody knows
Reading, Writing, and Arithmetic
as the Three "R's" you need
Without them
you'll go nowhere
and never will succeed

Writing...that's a W
and Arithmetic an A
so, who ever came up
With "Three "R's"
was having a bad day

Now, go and ask a cowboy
what the three "R's"
are to him
You'll get a different answer
I'll bet you
one to ten

Ropin', Ridin' and Rodeo
The cowboy's three R list
Reading, Writing, Arithmetic
the big three that I missed

But if they do not have the first three
They are not a cowboy
not a chance
they're just another townie
just another fancy pants

So, to be a proper cowboy
there's six "R's"
they must know
the first three
along with
ridin', ropin, and
rodeo
 Feb 2015
Roger Turner - Poet
Old Cowboys, forts and shootouts
Black for bad and White for good
With a spinning canvas background
And cactus cutouts made of wood
The desert sits behind them
Fifty yards away at most
The heroes don't ride horses
They sip drinks and sit and boast
About their celluloid adventures
singing songs all dressed in white
While behind them in the background
The stunt men do it right
A canvas background rotates
Through valleys, hills and streams
While the hero rides his deck chair
And the director yells and screams
Central casting fills the tribes out
With Italians, and made up stock
While our hero stops an avalanche
Of fake paper covered rocks
Cardboard Cut out Cactus
And heroes smiling in the sun
Most have never seen a cowpoke
Let alone shot off a gun
But, it's magic when it's finished
the dusters up there on the screen
All the fakery and snake oil
Are all hidden, never seen
The white hats beat the black hats
The hero sings and gets the girl
And the background on the spindle
Is still spinning, watch it whirl
A celluloid adventure
Cowboys no where close to what they were
But..watch the next show for a nickel
And don't forget your spurs!!!
 Feb 2015
Roger Turner - Poet
this is the story of cedric hyde-fleet
the most un-cowboy cowboy you ever would meet
cedric was english, not british you see
but, being a cowboy was what  he wanted to be

he was from england
as i said before
never ridden a horse
and well, what's more
his image of cowboys
was of those on tv
but, being a cowboy
was what he wanted to be

he was all set to travel
and leave his home land
out to the west
but, he was allergic to sand
the dust would wreak havoc
with his pale, flaky skin
ten miles from home
was the furthest he'd been

he had a six shooter
which he'd nicknamed Old Burt
but, he didn't have bullets
they made his ears hurt
the smell of the powder
and the noise of the gun
made cedric wonder
if this would truly be fun

he needed a cream
for the chafing down there
and a specialized hat
to protect his thin hair
a brush wouldn't do
he would need a nice comb
he reacted to flannel
so he'd get shirts from rome

he'd fly out from london
head out west to a ranch
find a town just like gunsmoke
and a bar....the long branch
but, his stomach was tender
hard liquor was out
and the salt in the food
would just trouble his gout

but, cedric hyde-fleet
was determined to go
to the united states
to join a wild west show
he'd start out learning riding
how to shoot, and all that
he'd learn about cattle
he had his own hat

he was the most un-cowboy cowboy
they would have in the west
but, with his dedication
he would soon be the best
he would get all equipped
from dolce and gabbanna
his shirts and socks matched
his silk plaid bandanna

now, cedric hyde-fleet
never ever left home
never got on the horse
or got shirts made in rome
the things that he wanted
were the things that he'd seen
and he forgot about cowboys
when he first saw ....The Queen
 Feb 2015
Roger Turner - Poet
Off in the distance
you could see the clouds forming
a blanket of white
on a canvas of blue
the wind was beginning
to give birth to some devils
and what was to come
only hardened men knew

"cut loose the horses"
let them run wild
we'll get them all later
when the storm
has passed through
they'll be safe in the canyon
the ones that aren't broken
the devil is coming
and the sky still showed blue

lock down the horse barns
and lock up the cattle
the wind is beginning
it'll be here real soon
out in the desert
when the wind starts to howling
it'll bring up the dust
and it'll block out the moon

The temperature dropped
and the sky had changed colour
the blue was now gone
it was now kind of grey
the clouds were still forming
you could see there behind them
a funnel of black
the devil at play

once it gets going
nothing can save you
get inside fast
and hunker down low
there's a silence so eerie
before the train rumble
that only the older
cowboys do know

put out the fire
get low and stay hidden
the devils at play
and he'll tear you apart
the wind is his plaything
and you'll be his victim
he'll skin you alive
and he'll rip out your heart

the horses run wild
some may not make it
others will live
as they make for the caves
those we have broken
are at the mercy of nature
we'll know once we're done
just how many we saved

the wall of sand hit hard
a black sheet of horror
you could hear it outside
as it ripped at the wall
back in the corner
the young cowboys were shaking
the old one's stood guard
against the devil's strong call

for hours it raged
and it tore at the building
sand getting in
where the building  gave way
nobody spoke
until early next morning
they just sat and watched
the devil at play

silence, just silence
meant the storm was now over
the door was thrown open
the devastation was seen
the corral was empty
but, for two wild turkeys
and there was a single dead horse
where the stable had been

the devil spoke loudly
he sent quite a message
the horses are mine
they run wild and run free
i'll keep the storms coming
this was the fourth in a decade
leave them to run
or you'll all deal with me

the old cowboys looked round
and they took in the damage
lit up a fire
and said thank god we're alive
we've made it through four
and we'll rebuild even stronger
if we ever can hope
to get through storm number five

the will of a cowboy
and the will of the devil
one is much stronger
it's as strong as the land
the devil will fight you
it's just in his nature
but, the cowboy will win
because he's part of the land
 Feb 2015
Roger Turner - Poet
From the time that Billy was a kid
There was evil in the things he did
His mama knew it
And I knew it too

I told her that he needed help
I tried to avoid this evil whelp
I had to find out
Something I could do

Billy's teachers said he's bad
In fact the worse kid that they had
They sent him home
And kicked him out of school

I told his mama, he can't be mine
She blamed the Mogen David wine
we had when
we were on our honey moon

As he grew up, he wouldn't change
He'd spend his time out on the range
doing things
we didn't want to know

I told his ma, I've had enough
We can't keep hiding from this stuff
the folks about
will run us out of town

It's bad enough when I go for beer
The bartender serves me with a sneer
And the other's look away
Or just look down

I know Billy has a dedication
To certain kinds of medication
But nothing ever helps
The way he acts

We can't blame the Mogen David wine
I said Ma, I think it's time
That Billy left
and that's the facts

Mama cried, but knew the truth
He couldn't live beneath our roof
Or we'd end up
in an early grave

One night I went and said to Billy
You may laugh, and think I'm silly
but, son you have a week
you have to go

Billy nodded and kept on eating
This was a short,  family meeting
He looked at me
and said real slow

Pa, I know you don't love me
And ma as well, it's plain to see
We ain't the same
and I ain't moving on

I didn't argue, just got up
I couldn't eat, I couldn't sup
I had to end this
I had to get a gun

I knew I couldn't take him down
But, I'd find someone around the town
someone who would
Rid me of my child

No one came to help us out
I even gave the lord a shout
Help us god
our kid is just too wild

A fellow came, in a week, ten days
His name was Pat, to change Bills ways
He said he'd help
tomorrow night

He faced down Billy at high noon
Bill, dropped like a lead balloon
His ma and I just knew
That this was right

Pat, said things will work out fine
It wasn't Mogen David wine
that made Bill bad
It's just the way of life

He rode off in the setting sun
He'd killed our boy with his six gun
with Billy gone
it's just me and my wife
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