"clopped" poems
His old mare cantered into to town
The covered wagon followed
A boy's first trip to town alone
He took it in, and swallowed
Penny candy dreams last night
And sarsparilla floats
The ladies' parasol fineries
The men in pinstriped coats
Perhaps a whiskey, what the hell
Today he was a man!
But first the livery stable for Brownie
For oats and a water can.
The .30-30 saddle gun would come with him, of course.
He also grabbed the belted Colt from the pommel of his horse.
The warped board sidewalks led past stores
His worn boots clopped along
He strapped on the .36 Navy Colt revolver
And fastened down the thong
He clopped down to the first saloon
Laid his rifle on the bar
A sporting girl sat next to him
With the unlikely name of "Star"
"A milk for the lady.
Myself as well,
Barkeep, if you please!"
A cowhand howled out raucous laughter,
Flipping up Ms. Star's dress, to well above her knees
"That little pup, he wants some milk
So Star, give him yer ****
I'll bend him over, spank his ***
And then give YOU a treat!"
The young man's vision doubled, trebled,
The shame clear on his face
As tears welled up in big blue eyes
A witness in every soul in the place
"Aw, the little ***** is bawling! WAH!"
The cowhand bellowed out
And all false mirth left his expression
And he gave the boy a clout
The boy just sat and sobbed and watched
As Ms. Star joined in the joke
But cowhand was already 3 bottles in,
In a flash, her nose was broke
Cowhand reached across the boy
To grab that sweet, sleeved rifle
The boy grabbed cowhand's wrist just then
And twisted it just a trifle
A yelp and howl from cowhand's mouth,
"YOU BROKE MY ****** WRIST!
NOW you're ****** you little sprat"
He took a swing, and missed.
Red faced, clumsy, humiliated
He drew leather on the boy
Dead to rights, he had the kid,
He realized, with grim joy
An explosion, a thump, on warped pine floor
Blue smoke curling in the air
Utter, vapid, vacuum silence
Patrons cemented to their chair
The tears were gone from those blue eyes
Blue steel as his gaze fixed
A hole had grown in cowhand's head
The size was .36
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 1:18 AM UTC
Helen pushed
the second hand
doll’s pram
over the bombsite
off Meadow Row
Battered Betty her doll
was tossed
from side to side
there there
Helen said
can’t be helped
you walked beside her
practising drawing
your silver coloured gun
from the holster
your old man
had bought you
from the cheap shop
through the Square
you hit back
the hammer
one two three times
just like that
I can’t get her to sleep
Helen said
stopping by the ruins
of a bombed out house
she tucked the doll in
with the woollen blankets
her mother had knitted
Mum said to take Betty
for a walk in the pram
but she still won’t sleep
you put the gun back
in the holster
and pushed back
the black hat
your granddad
had given you
have to keep her quiet
around here
you said
there might be Injuns
and they scalp hair
off babes and kids
and such
Helen looked
around the bombsite
looks deserted to me
she said
pushing the pram away
from the bombed out house
you never can tell
you said
they hide
and when you’re least
expecting it
they come screaming
over the plains
Mum said you’d make
the best husband
for me
Helen said
coming to a halt
opposite the coal wharf
you drew out
your gun again
and fired shots
over your shoulder
that’s nice of her
you said
twirling the gun
over your finger
and then back
into the holster
Mum said
you would make
a good dad
one of the horse drawn
coal wagons moved away
from the coal wharf
and clip-clopped
along the side road
perhaps
you said
we could get our own
house on the prairie
or one of those houses
off St George’s Road
with the big gardens
Helen got
Battered Betty out
of the pram
and rocked her
over her shoulder
patting her back
and said
yes and I could milk
the cows and you
could hunt buffalo
and we could sleep
in one of those
big beds
with buffalo skins
over by the main road
a red number 78 bus
went by
and dark clouds
crowded
the less
than blue sky.
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 3:05 PM UTC
Caligula, wise man of course,
Sought due promotion for his horse:
With no prerequisite debate,
The beast became a magistrate.
And then one day, without a groom,
He clopped into the Senate Room,
Followed beastly intuition,
Became an instant politician.
Without regard for poll or slate,
He soon demolished all debate.
And senators called out for more
When he did wonders on the floor.
With misdemeanor as the rule
He was a true unbridled fool,
Guided by a brute suspicion,
Stamping out all opposition.
He was reviled by common folk,
Democracy was deemed a joke;
To quote the ancient anecdotes,
He once said, "Let them all eat oats!"
Now that he's passed beyond declension
His legacy deserves attention:
Some politicians to this day
Still emulate the equine way:
They clop and neigh, they snort and roar,
There's always something on the floor;
They pound their desks, they're downright corny
Making all the issues thorny.
Don't wonder when they clown around
And seem so shockingly unsound;
Just trace the madness to its source:
Caligula adored his horse.
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 5:50 PM UTC
The Olde English poem,
The Holy Rood,
Was mystical and new.
The courtiers liked what they heard,
The troubadours sang out their truth.
Then Beowulf gave it design;
A plot with characters,
Some nearing divine,
With beasts and bravery bounding;
A new literature was sounding.
Soon Canterbury clopped along,
Lyrical poetry became song,
And morphed into Paradise,
Lost and found in common meter,
With angelic imagery, good and evil,
Undone in metaphysics.
Round the Lakes the poets roamed,
Windermere, Grasmere, and Dorothy's home.
They walked in beauty, day and night,
Warned the world was too much with us,
That nature was our friend.
Gave intimations of our end,
We still need listen to.
Jan 2, 2018
Jan 2, 2018 at 11:11 AM UTC
Lantern on a Rock
Sometimes I would look at him and know--
by his focus in the distance--
more often than we knew--
Alone
and far off
in the hills of Hatfield
walking with a stick
and can of bait in hand
Past some fields of corn and shade tobacco
like a **** along the road
he made his way
Sometimes to accompany the sun
toward its western home
He lay across Old Jerry's withers
as they clopped along
watching it set over the Connecticut
that curled its orange meandering
around the mountains
of imagining
its contentment
Later
after mother made the diner
with all the colors of a summer's glory
he went fishing in the moonlight
of his youth
with dearest friends
Lantern on a rock
of memory
to light the way
Jun 17, 2019
Jun 17, 2019 at 6:09 PM UTC
A DIFFERENT LIFE ON THE TAPE, NOT MINE
BUT SOMEONE ELSE THIS TIME; THE HOUSE
SMELLED DIFFERENT: LEATHER, TENDED FOLIAGE
AND FRAGRANT AIR IF YOU TURNED OVER A PAGE,
MY SHOES CLIP-CLOPPED ON THE FLOOR AND
AN IMAGE STOOD FRAMED WITHIN A DOOR,
CLOTHES WERE GOOD AND A VOICE BECKONED ME
FORWARD FOR DINNER, FOR COMFORT, FOR MANY
THINGS AND ALL THE WARMTH THAT A SMILE BRINGS,
HOW HAD I MISSED THIS BEFORE WHEN IT WAS
ONLY HIDDEN BEHIND A DOOR, NO MATTER -
I HAVE MY OWN SMILE, OWN PLANTS, OWN SEAT -
IN FACT I'M THE NICEST GUY YOU COULD WISH
TO MEET; BACK IN THE BOX I SEE ANOTHER TAPE.
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 2:10 PM UTC
*The year was so long ago
far too long to remember.
I can feel the breath of forever
on the nape of my neck.
Still in silence between then and now
you materialize again.
I never believed in love then.
I was too young
dreaming in forever's.
then I saw you at the opera house
the sounds of your voice invading my heart.
Each single note cutting me like a knife.
I waited outside your stage door,
in the pouring night rain
wet to the soul.
waiting until you came out.
you noticed me
under the bloom of the gaslight.
you saw my need my want.
And touched my cheek softly.
Why are you here in the cold wet you asked.
I had to see you I whispered.
You took me in the Hanson cab with you.
The horse clip clopped on the cobblestones.
We arrived at your flat in London
And you led me to the bathroom
ran a hot tub for me.
And then placed me in it.
Have you eaten you whispered
you look so thin.
I do not know Miss I answered
you dried me in your towels
and fed me .
why do you wait every night
after my show she asked .
because I love you
I looked into her beautiful eyes.
So many men have said that she said.
I look t the ground
She needed warmth
and held me to her breast.
You are so young
so young she sighed.
Softly we made love
She was quiet
tears in her beautiful eyes.
Its your tenderness
where did it come from.
From my heart I whispered.
A year later
The royal command performance
was a success she was magnificent
She held my hand tightly in hers.
You were beautiful my Love I said.
I love you so much Milady.
We must not stay late she said.
In a voice that leaked
promises into my heart
Our baby is waiting
for us to tuck her in.*
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 10:00 PM UTC
The bristles on the boulevard clicked and clopped
splattered into flat rain drops
sped to join bodies with other playmates
now rushing to the rivulet gathering
into a big bang of floodwater
which nobody watched
with physics and formulas.
The pin-striped drops that caused
a rising revolution, spears dangling
for brief seconds in a war cry of splosh-splashes
finally raced to lower ground
to bring down the dam and city
and invade peoples front porches
and backyards
armed with mud and silt
and strawberry colored slime.
The night was camouflaged
with raindrops on the roof
all with the same intention.
Children went to sleep
as parents drank whisky and prayed
for such a thunderous night
of rhythmic staccato symphonies.
Tomorrow the rain would recede
and the fields would be fertilized
down to the roots. Or so they thought.
The flood crept up to their toes
and emptied the refrigerator
of its half-eaten sandwiches. The carpets
soaked up the spilling sauce
and ironically the windows locked
tight to keep out the rain!
As the floods subsided
the newspaper got their headlines:
ONCE IN FORTY YEARS!
it shouted for a dollar and twenty
Everyone read the papers
on how the neighbors got caught.
Cruel ********
always poking into other peoples business.
Two days later the sun returned
to cause a heat wave.
And everyone prayed for rain!.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 3:45 PM UTC