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SøułSurvivør May 2015
----

Sometimes they take over
The rhythms in your head
Nuances of rhyme schemes
The lines your muse has fed
You want to use a smaller word
Pontificate instead
It gallops through your consciousness
A wild horse - unlead!

The hooves go on like thunder
Upon the steed you ride
Tearing up the page
Pen in hand - astride
You are without a bridle
Legs grip the mustang's side
He has his own way
He is a beast with pride!

No - he has no stable
No - his blood flows wild!
Fed grass of the planes
He's restless as a child
A stallion - yes! A bucking bronc!
Unbroken - never mild!
Get into his rhetoric
He's always getting riled!

Write like you're a MUSTANG!
RIDE ON!!! You have no reins!
Get into his rhythm
The rhyme scheme is unstrained
Your footing is unsure
In uncertain terrains
Playing echo chamber music
Those cacophonous refrains

Bust that bronc!!! He's waiting -
Your own head unrestrained!!!


SoulSurvivor
(C) 5/19/2015
I can't get this rhythm
Out of my head!

---
Devon Baker Aug 2011
The fuzzy hug that never loosens its grasp
Clutching as a barbed wire hugs and puppies cuddle and love,
whiskers and noses nuzzling, the straitjacket loves your mind,
wishes it could just squeeze the nightmares out and streaming as juices from an orange,
but its might only pressurizes, the more you fight the more you hurt,
bruising our precious straitjacket heart, he’s here to help us
take the tasks of fettering hands
just to hug and coil about us
Learn to love them, the society blanket,
the crazy snuggler, the bunny constrictor
Crazy’s not useful and our little straitjacket cures our woes
strangling us within linen cotton folds
simmer our fires
breaking our bronc
hushing our tantrum cry
It’s the mother we Learn to love
Kin that keeps us in heavenly grip
The Straitjacket’s here for all our insanists
Alex McQuate  Dec 2022
2023
Alex McQuate Dec 2022
Fight, Love, Look, See,
Take in such a beautiful brawl that stars you and me,
Flying chairs and broken glass,
Blackened eyes and much-kicked ***.

One more time around that big ball of fire,
What will this trip bring this time around?
Some mud and hard to trek mire,
Or gold and diamond laid ground,
An easy path ahead towards we joyfully bound?

Such wisdom must lie in the future,
Startling realizations and obstacles we approach,
Yet stretches onward like a magnificent azure beacher,
That one might upon first glance be wary to broach.

But saunter forth we must,
With the trodden gait of some war-weary old sailor,
With a rind of salt crust,
Who has been both Captain and Bailer,
Lost-Limbed and near broken.

Such a great journey this last trip was,
Such changes it has brought,
With a son I learned caution and to be more kind,
Abandoning my careless risks,
To have more presence of mind,
To weigh my options and be more careful with my money,
And to always be more kind.

But roots you should not forget,
To take chances still,
To still live life with no regrets,
For no flour is made in a place that is a still mill.

Love this world,
But don't hate the things you can't change,
Fight for those things,
With tooth and claw,
For those things will be the most relished victory of all.

I sit here typing this,
A bittersweet adieu to the year 2022,
For death rung in the year,
And leaves me with the gift of a new life,
The start with a startling pain from the stab of a knife,
But ending with the approaching of joy that is oh-so-near.

Lace up your boots,
******* your pack,
Take a seat,
Buckle in,
7 seconds left on this bucking bronc,
A last kick that will bring a few more knocks,
But will bring in the new year with smiles that lets the last stings of death defrocked.
Sheryll H Feb 2014
Not into what if's but men ask
What would I do if you weren't tied to old dude?
wear shorter skirts to reveal my **** legs.
wear lower cut tops to show off my larger, firm and natural assets.
walk into clubs alone and get surrounded by ***** guys pdq
all looking to ***** or spend a ton of cash and time on me.
That **** happens to hot eye candy a lot. : )
give great head to men I like and maybe date them.
I'd do all in the bedroom to satisfy a body.
You up for being ridden like a bucking bronc.
Yee haw cowboy! : )
Content with my man until he kicks.
Could be soon.
If he kicks gonna miss old dude spoiling my naughty pink ***.
Kurt Philip Behm Nov 2016
The Camp Cooky’s singin again outa tune,
  about turnin 60 today around noon

"What good is there in it?" I hear him say,
  and it got me to thinkin . . . seein it was his birthday

It seems bein 60’s got two spins to that tale,
  one frittered and wrinkled, the other covered in shale

The one who’s 60 if truth be told,
  is still younger than all those 61—to real old

In the campfire’s crackle of light I can see,
  how everyone younger, is likely dumber than me

So if my hands struggle with the knots and riggin fer sure,
  the knowin and the tellin to those younger’s worth more

Havin outlived many a cow horse, while lovin them all,
  the awnry and skitterish, the short and the tall

The summers ridin drag, and the worst winters mendin fence,
  with a slicker full a holes, and that ol dog with no sense

And while the cuttin and the brandin seems boring to some,
  it’s the importance of their nature and gettin things done

When the hats and the spurs and even the saddles are all gone,
  and the sun sinks over that last mountain, like in Dusty’s ol song

I’ll remember the good times, lettin go of the bad,
  and think back on the pards and the ladies I’ve had

Because just like for Cooky, it happened last year to me,
  and turnin 60 seemed ranker than any bronc could ever be

But like that new Visalia saddle the boss man said was now mine,
  I've found somethin that’s different, somethin gentler and kind

The speed and the strength ain’t been traded for free,
  and somethin woke up that I guess was sleepin in me

And as I yell to the wrangler “Cut me one gentle and nice”
  without loosin too much pride I ask, “Can you help Ol Jim
  cinch his riggin real tight”

Then once more in the dark I ride off in search of the herd,
  singin that one favorite cow song every real hand has heard

And as I inch up on the lead steer whisperin mellow and low,
  “Yippee ki yay, Ol Fella; you ready to go”

For maybe one last time we push North thru the dark,
  the sun still two hours off to the right of our mark

While in the distance a wolf howls, as that lead steer catches my
  eye, and in that instant I know I’m still needed—a long ways
  from g’bye

(Dewey Montana: Circa 1990) Read In Elko Nevada, 1993
Ken Pepiton Apr 2024
The evidence reviewed, this  a half time later.
"a man can
make up his"
own mind, my, me mine
myme mine mymemine nine iterations,

expand the basic concepts of topological
space time, in the neighbourhood
south of all three bridges into Saigon, on the roof

Make it up, make it all up, and wait fifty years.
Whiteface.
And the mime in the street keeps the beat
silently reciting Kerouakoan streams.
'Tryna get to sunny Californy' -
Boom.

Canned Heat, sterno still, sip it,  get back
Beatles became something akin
to a window left open now
fifty years, since January 1969, Radioman
and Tom Green on the Panasonic
music from the other side… the joke
'Look Fred, that man by the road'
Some *** fiend got in print in 1968

Get back, Jack. And that

started the whole world crying,
from the commonwealth to common woe,

-- Interesting times upon us, oh yeh

A hook, in a song,
Forty Million Frenchmen Can't be Wrong
- ah, allusion, get back, prophecy
- right, fifty years ago today, soon
- Ringo says Forty Million Churchills, back then
or late, lately as the topo-logical-ournearity
gets back to optimum
later there, we were, on the roof
of that old fishnet factory
dangled there before, me,
the deal, if you want it, come and get it
better hurry cause it's goin fast,
ping
ricochet -
Highschool History, 1963,
Forty Million Frenchmen can't be wrong?

What does that mean? I asked
Miss Dinas, who was plump, and cheery,
and she lived with Miss Some-name
I forgot
to notice, due to, the clue
in the way Miss Dinas winked, that one time,
not
at me, when she said
Forty Million Frenchmen Can't be Wrong.
-- look away
Some squared away artist cries, stop the lies!
Gray-ace, go fish
Wordsworth,
happy soldier character- no, Fernando- a bull
ABBA , not winking - snorting
at me, when she said
feed your head,
autistic community, com-unionize AI
timeandspace
re-
alize the musical, a means of saying things,
silly, silent
hints of splendor in the grass,
and weeds, and black-eyed suzannes,
growing in the road,
Tobacco Road,
down at the end of town, where
skid row hits the river,
long and wide,

milk and Hohner on t'othaside
sharp hone mama
Sioux wee, Sioux e- baby, be my baba now,
Humbaba, guard
my forest
sein, mein, wine and rosy days being wise
in thine own eyes,

as we warned, eh/ wahrrmmmnned edu
mcate edumacation, the deal was…
I was to learn to
become a maker of papermoney clips
from plastic straws on a trus'line, about to rupture
and spill guts
on gumption swallowed whole.
-------------------
Koans and Cohen and all
-- If it had been my will
I'd a been so dead, so long ago, I'd be
as if I'd never been,
-- If it had been my will

True rest, needs a weary mind,
to weigh its worth,
hangdown yo' head, Tom Green, duely done
do tie yer Jimmie Lee Jackson
Bronc Rider Trophy Buckle to m'line
let it out
come think a mile with me, let's
see what come to mind.

--whistle break
-- heads abobbin, we rock on, Sisyphus
the first,
agreed we got the message in the medium
evolved by will worship alone,
rock on, roll on un
aided, no doubt by the spirit advisor
to old Abraham Lincoln's jot on the margin
"a man can
make up his"… hmmm, his own mind, hmmm

wouldjaremind me, what was I thinkin'
"a man can
make up his mind to be as happy as he is…"

Free to be. I think free to be alive, maybe,
Lincoln was athinkin'
as a we, the people agree we do have title right
to life, awe
ja,
and liberty, I suppose, we must define, to refine,
down to the gilt around the frame,
on the back side, wasted glitter, thin film of actual gold
well
I'll be, did you ever see the like, a
con-
jurer or a presti-digital simulacrum truckin' on and on
sayin' come on
sing old songs, ones we ever
learned again
today
what you never thought possible, just a minute
ago,
as we ponder the effect of a silly millimeter longer
rising in a ribbon
past lips of an apple green shade,
Inspiring but fun with the tensecond leaps forward and backward
Neville Johnson May 2018
It’s an eight second partnership
The bronc, an angry participant
And me, I’m just trying to keep my legs in the stirrups
My hands on the reins
My wits about me
In one piece
Welcome to my world
It’s a family affair
Me and my sons, Troy and Dusty
Traveling day and night just to fight
For a living, one unforgiving
But exciting as the day is long
And to keep that ranch in Utah going
200 head of cattle and worries about enough rain
Are in our thoughts as we live the literal ups and downs of rodeo
We’re in the saddle for good
For life
Living our destiny
As we should
As we want to
As we have
Neville Johnson May 2022
It’s an eight second partnership
The bronc, an angry participant
And me, I’m just trying to keep my legs in the stirrups
My hands on the reins
My wits about me
In one piece
Welcome to my world
It’s a family affair
Me and my sons, Troy and Dusty
Traveling day and night just to fight
For a living, one unforgiving
But exciting as the day is long
And to keep that ranch in Utah going
200 head of cattle and worries about enough rain
Are in our thoughts as we live the literal ups and downs of rodeo
We’re in the saddle for good
For life
Living our destiny
As we should
As we want to
As we have
Kurt Philip Behm Jan 2022
Rodeo Poet,
bronc riding Sage
Arena unbridled
—dallies unfrayed

(Las Vegas: December, 2021)

— The End —