"gunslinger" poems
how many generations can
lay with you in your bed?
Matriarch Mama,
honorific due you,
title earned, not learned,
and now a teaching PhDs of
Matriachal Science
let us have tea,
a tea party in you garden,
and the granddaughters
dressed in their church finest,
running noisy but that's ok,
mass is over, and the party
is now a backyard affair
me, a recorder,
standing in the corner,
invisible observing,
leaning on that old banyan tree,
smile playing on
my eyes,
counting
cousins daughters sisters,
and best of the best,
grand babies wilding in their Sunday finery,
even seeing
invisible fathers standing beside me,
but espy only one
Matriarch Mama,
sallying forth,
gunslinger of poetry,
nobody messes with Sally,
she is the brood defender,
poetess not
of the day
she is a
generational inscriber,
an author of a
gene pool of life's best,
her existence,
from heaven, sent a manna,
to feed-across-time
just one family,
an ordinary,
if such there was,
Matriarch Mama
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 2:01 AM UTC
What bad could happen to a boy of sixteen, walking through the woods trying to find a nice spot to smoke and read Slaughterhouse-Five?
But now that I'm thinking about it, Stephen King may or may not have written a book about this exact question, more or less.
And as everyone who has read The Gunslinger Volume Six: Song of Sussanah, knows, everything Stephen King writes happens. Stephen King is God, in this sense.
Nevertheless, I found a nice spot, next to a dried out creek bed, complete with a gallon bucket and the scent of lavender.
And so I sat, and rolled a couple cigarettes, and dove into the mind and time traveling of Billy Pilgrim.
Sitting there, on that bucket, old Kurt spoke to me.
The previous owner of this copy of Slaughterhouse-Five also spoke to me.
With highlights and underlines he allowed me into his mind and thought processes while reading this book.
He underlined every passage that had to do with the Tralfamadorians views on time and the coexistence of every moment.
Soon, it became dark and I could no longer read, having only one cigarette left, I headed home.
Fifteen minutes later I was home, and if Stephen King had written about this event he wrote it as it happened. With no harm and no foul.
And maybe I dislike him for that
and maybe I don't understand why he did that,
why he would wrote a boring tale of a boring boy going on a boring walk in some boring Northern California forest.
And this writing does not feel complete but the Pabst is starting to kick in so I think I'll leave this one alone for now.
And Stephen King **** it, I can't even think of a title for this piece of ****
Nevermind, I got it.
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 11:13 PM UTC
Godspeed, Gunslinger
May your gunshots ring
in distant thunder
while the angels sing
Godspeed, Night-Walker
May your axe bury
in Hell's vile stalker
with a great fury
Godspeed, huntress
May you bring vengeance
in the great Aggress
bringing forth penance
Godspeed, Death's Aeon
May you smite your foe
in midst Hell's Legion
bringing forth the woe
Godspeed, Lord Ever-Dark
May your shadows find
ways to make their mark
etched within the mind
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 8:18 PM UTC
His shadowy brim tipped down and in
No face to place, no trace of chin
Revolver cradled loose and low
Cylinder whirs, chambers roll
Trench coat long, dark, and lean
Black boots gleam with choicest sheen
Right hand rested 'round bony grips
Left hand fans and never slips
Who are you?
What do you want from me?
Why are you here?
Your purpose is hidden
Your message unclear
Never a word muttered
Not even a sound
It's always the same
When you come around
Got to find my keys
Get out of this place
I'm weak in the knees
My heart's losing pace
Jump in the car
Pedal meets metal
Check my rear-view
For signs of that devil
At the stoplight
A peripheral glance
A sideways glint
A figure askance
Shotgun rider
A figment with a plan
The devil may care
But my mind made the man
©Jason Cole
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 7:45 PM UTC
Tearing up I-75 like bats outta Hell
The radio jacked up to MAX
to be heard to the roaring of the wind,
Seeing as the top is off of the jeep
Zeppelin and The Who
Van Fleet and The White Stipes
Generations of rock
Shared by the elder and the young
Different problems faced
Yet shared circumstances
The pace is rapidly set
Like invaders they ride
Or gunslinger of the old west
Buying into the legends of their own immortality
Like a final ride before closing that part of the past for good
Even some of that Seattle sound trickles in
A much younger and angrier Pearl Jam
Sometimes even the garage rock get a turn in the spotlight
Their pace exponentionally increases like a runaway train
It's end destined to be in a glorious and terrible wreck
The road trip is on
These rockers of all ages are on the warpath to a good time
God help us all
Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 11:51 AM UTC
Orangey so tangy loosely
her words flowery so
rustic fun* erotic*
the panic straight
jacket going ginger
snaps her ticket
*Pocketful of sunshine
in your pocket*
****** the maestro
In the stars of the cosmos
On the edge but earthly
Let's go slow
Did we miss the
whole entire glow
"So Tickle me Pink"
The stardust funds
of the trust
Having a light fuse
The picturesque
Fields so mystique personality
Lights up unique
Your word against mine
In a matter of fact were in
It's your cue waves pull me in
If so the sky does it remain
always blue such a variety
Of cookies no outrageous
Time for Oreos
What's inside its outside
Cleopatra's eyes snap away
Like a masquerade
Don't rain on my parade
Love of Virginia innocently
Love is the drug
insanely
Scrapes on her knees
The western front
Ginger Snaps
Those bottle caps and buzzing
honey bees Tangerine trees
Galavant like General Lee
Ginger the gunslinger
She's the singer
eating Saralees
Whats to boot
But getting closer
To the naked eye
to the surface be wise
"Owl Hoot"
So lovely genuinely
He's husky and ruly
Apps Gingersnaps
Exchanging cat naps
Her lips in higher
states of trips
Trying to get there
Bohemian Rapsody
The Queen of the
economy
Photo editing Unicorn pony
Another brainless wedding
We are the champions
What a snitch like a witch
Bad luck switch the lion's den
Topiary timeless good luck Zen
Loud sirens
Drug trafficker morons
The plastic Surgeons
Backstabber persons
Blue jeans snap taking a
Sniff Shiba Uni howls
To be loved in beauty
My Mom Judy good
earth bounty
Tall and sleek every week
Smells of Ginger
no danger
The earth on her cheeks
Can love be any truer
Into the Gala the apple
of her eye never goodbye
Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 8:17 AM UTC
I'm a vampire girl and you're my meal,
you know that you are.
I'm ******* on your neck,
like it's happy hour at the bar.
Wait, that doesn't make sense,
who drinks alcohol through a straw?
To each their own, just as long
as your quick on the draw.
Gunslinger,
shooting down clouds like *****
popping pills,
turning fake nerds into mince-meat.
Shepard's pie,
with extra cheese,
thank you very much,
did I forget to say please?
Where are my manners?
You know I adore you,
I'll do that thing with tongue
and you know I'll show you.
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 12:59 AM UTC
Been on this forum just a short time
Found amazing talent from all kinds
Makes me wanna dub this creative flow
As the greatest ever, if you don’t know
Thus my admiration has been sparked
To write mad verses with a flaming mark
You are the ingredients of this unique brew
That I’m now calling the “Quintessence” crew
So here’s to the “Q,” your words have weight
More than silver and gold, ’cause you’re my mates
Here’s to the eyez of earth’s celestial Angel
X-raying minds to diagnose and become less tangled
Here’s to the fury of the beast, a.k.a. Animal
Ripping at the life we sometimes take for granted
Here’s to the western gunslinger, holla Pug
Blasting us with the creativity from them slugs
Here’s to the sweetness of sista Sara
Walking the mule as a humane barer
Here’s to the Feminine heart of a special Poet
Grounding us to reality, a toast from a glass of Moet
Here’s to the petals from the Y2K1 budding Rose
Missing the nectar to feed the bees and in those…
Here’s to the shiny armor of gleaming love, the Arhanghell
Giving us adventurous tales, ready to drop more coins in that well
Here’s to the food from the Miller they call Keith
Dropping them verses like tender, tantalizing beef
Here’s to the endeavors of the newbie, a Creator of Love
Soaring the clouds fiercely with the freshness of a dove
Other members of the “Q” are still missing in action
Hope you come back to be part of this elite faction
So this dedication will continue to be unfinished
Not whole, but waiting to be no longer diminished…
Jul 23, 2013
Jul 23, 2013 at 10:09 PM UTC
*A darkness engulfs my heart
Devouring it's fibers
One big chunk at time
Am lost of a soul,
But a wondering spirit,
With a decaying body
I hate to love,
Love to ****
And **** for joy
I make bed in a den,
Where my head rests on skulls
Drowning in this pool of a nightmare
A young maiden,
Blooming,
With fair skin
Long dark hair
Swimming,
In a wooden bath
She smells of roses,
Standing within a flaring curtain
White, and lucid
She drips of innocence
Walking unto me
On the oak floor
She leaves tiny prints
Of her ****** feet,
Towards a canopy bed
Where white sheets fall
Like a stream onto the floor
With dotted petals of red
She climbs unruffled,
With a cordial smile
But salacious stare
Crawling slowly
To find my lips,
Kissing lightly
Feeling her cold,
Tingle my warm skin,
About the *****
Before laying gently
Her head on my chest
My hand about her shoulder
Humming to a heart's beat
The hymn of the fallen ones
The tale of a blood brother*
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 5:13 PM UTC
they danced as one
under the candles and mirrors
his dark gunslingers boots perfectly matching her steps
her hair flowing in the hot air round his face
entangled in emotion and motion
enduring in passion
they danced deep into the night as one
this was joy
the day a furnace of desert sun
the street a wander path for hardy soul
he sat in thin shadow
and breathed slow thick air
watching the slice of horizon
that he could perceive
he knew that someday his brother would come
from out of the wild country south of the borders
knew his brother would come seeking revenge
for the betrayal
the gunslinger and his lover rose
were the talk of the town
how she had tamed the wild man from the southlands
how he had saved her from a life of disgrace
everybody loved them
everybody wanted to be them
modern day romeo and juilet
but romance is no suit of armor
and danger was at the door
the lawman rode all night
and camped on a hill above the town
there by his campfire looked down on his brothers happy new home
saw the light in his brothers window
and plotted his move
last call at the saloon
and the townsfolk drifted out into the darkness
by one's and two
calling out their goodnights in voices
tinged by beer and wine
the gunslinger and his beloved rose
fell to their bed embraced in love
morning slipped over the horizon
the lawman walked slowly down the hill into the town
reckoning had come
his brother would have to face the gallows
for his betrayal
calling out the gunslingers name
calling out like a voice of doom
calling his brother out to face justice
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 8:59 AM UTC
The mysterious stranger rode into town with nonchalant style,
And entered the saloon for a drink and to stay a short while.
Our Hero wandered over and gave a quick glance,
And thought to himself, "this fools got no chance."
But he quickly realized he was the fool as he looked the man in his eyes,
He saw no fear, no angst. The man was Death in disguise.
For this man's lost everything, he truly had nothin',
This was our Hero's most dangerous test, so he'd better not be bluffin'.
Without another sound, not a whisper nor a word,
The two men swaggered off to the towns gathering courtyard.
For what seemed like an eternity, they stared each other down,
Not sure who's peacemaker would deliver the final round.
Then as quick as flash, the two men finally drew,
And from each piece's barrel, smoke and fire blew.
With cold fingers wrapped around cold steel,
There was no other single feeling to that of death that could ever feel so real.
When the haze cleared, our hero grinned, but then fell to the ground,
The young man's life ebbed away with one last fleeting sound.
The Mysterious stranger, with a subtle laugh, eyed his bloodstained cuff,
And said, "well kid i knew you'd give me a run, but you just weren't quick enough."
Soon the crowd could tell who had found there little town,
This man was a legend, but when it came to calm life, there wasn't one to be found.
He's said to have taken at least 50 rounds, all ripped through his chest,
But no one could ever lay him out, he was unfortunately the best.
Day by day, his life went on, but to him this was no life,
For every day he'd **** to live, to survive another hopeless strife.
The Legend rode away, but the despair he left still lingers,
This is his reality, the tragedy of the gunslinger.
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 4:48 PM UTC
a silver of a gunslinger,
is a silver of gold
silver is a gunslinger silver of gold
gold is a gunslinger gold
gold is a gunslinger silver
a gunslinger gold is a gunslinger silver
a gunslinger is a fool of gold
a gunslinger is a fool of silver
fool is fool’s silver
fool is fool’s gold
fool is fool’s silver gold
fool is fool’s silver gunslinger
silver gold is silver silver
silver rule gold
silver rule silver
a gunslinger gold is his rule of gold
a gunslinger gold is his rule of silver
gold rule gold
a gunslinger rule gold
a gunslinger rule a gunslinger silver
a gunslinger rule a gunslinger gold
Jun 19, 2020
Jun 19, 2020 at 1:47 PM UTC
Sharp and dangerous.
That's what you think when you hear about them.
"They'll **** you quicker than you could blink"
"You'll hear the soft ****** of charms, spurs, and then it's over"
"The gunslinger- now he's straight from hell, no one could out draw that man, no matter what gun you have"
"I've always heard you had to watch the swordsman, he's like a ghost, never know where he'll be"
Now, I knew next to nothing about them.
Everyone they visited usually ended up dead.
Hard to confirm.
Standing here and looking at them though...
These soft men, all smiles, joking, relaxed.
I don't know about the stories but they're sharp and dangerous alright, etching their mark on my heart.
They aren't known for asphyxiation, but they sure stole my breath.
May 31, 2018
May 31, 2018 at 2:48 PM UTC
Today, I miss,
The gunslinger in your stride,
Toting a bootfall, swagger laugh.
The plump of a whiskered cheek
Turned sunny side up
Harley Davidson pony tail,
Leathered up decorum,
Wild Child riding in on a heart of gold
Every now and then
When the cowboys seem so small
I think of you
Long shadowed against the platform of my childhood
Hear the faint whistle of John Wayne on the wind
Calling the memories up like
An Ole Spice bear hug
And the loss
Hits like a gunshot
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 11:14 AM UTC
*** is a weapon
and I
I am a gunslinger
an assassin
the abuser
the abused
**** the anger out of me
flesh in my nails, down your back
that look in your eye
I know I made it so
I control it
control
control
lock and load
****
so simple
you are all so simple
tic tic tic
I know what makes you tic
pull the trigger, pull the clip
all the same
and can all be ruled by
one
weapon
****
you make me sick
Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 5:52 AM UTC
A flash, a crack,
Twirling smoke
Sharp smell of powder
On the fume, slight choke
A flick, a twirl,
A clinking sound
Empty shells
Upon the ground
Don't even try
I'm locked and loaded
Aug 9, 2016
Aug 9, 2016 at 7:59 PM UTC
Do the malevolent poltergeists of my past haunt your benevolent spirit?
When I ride through my ghost-towns like an old west gunslinger,
Will the ricochets shatter your fragile glass house?
If I slash through phantom limbs, is it your blood that I spill on the altar of revenge?
Do all the periods of falling leaves and sundowns I spend at the graveyard
Will away the only real wisps of life I know?
Dec 22, 2023
Dec 22, 2023 at 7:56 PM UTC
You’re a torn windblown sail
You’re the one test I fail
You’re the ghost in my nightmares
That’s ghastly and pale
You’re a deep buried splinter
You’re my long, dark, cold winter
You’re the bars of a dungeon
And the door I can’t enter
You’re a long broken chain
You’re my stabbing chest pain
You’re the dark clouds and lighting
With a single drop of rain
You’re the one who never stayed
You’re a double edged blade
You’re the cold breath and biting wind
Of winter’s gray fade
I’m a bird on first flight
I’m the dawn at first light
I’m a tensed jaw and clenched fist
Before first street fist fight
I’m a tree with no roots
I’m a cowboy with no boots
I’m a gunslinger with two guns
But neither one shoots
I’m a mournful groan
I’m a heart of stone
I’m a rider on the mustang
About to be thrown
I’m a song never wrote
I’m the burned bridges mote
I’m the broken hearted lover’s
Frayed last strand of hope
I’m a lonely soul
I’m the toll booth’s toll
I’m the twelve dots on the loaded dice
About to be rolled
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 8:05 PM UTC
My father once told me,
When all seemed well,
"Keep an eye on the sky
And an ear tuned to hell.”
Shuffle
For the Dealer above
May not find it hard
To throw down the deck
And let the cards
Shuffle
Deal their own hand
And let the Devil play,
With his fire and sulfur
And his drunken demon sway.
Shuffle
If drew from the cards
The man with his guns
And fire in his gaze
The Devil may run.
Shuffle
If the Dealer may wish it,
The Devil may linger
And play a hand of fate
Against a human Gunslinger.
Shuffle
Jan 15, 2012
Jan 15, 2012 at 12:57 PM UTC
I've been walking a tightrope through the world
but somehow the line has curled
and bent.
And I've spent the better part of my dreamscape
trying to find a cape to pin to my shoulder
use boulders as my paperweights
to stop these thousands of pages
opening up the floodgates.
I will never know how you managed that.
To pull a relationship out of a magicians hat
and say "Abracadabra!"
shortly before saying "Goodbye."
I ask myself this question as if I don't already know why.
Because we reap what we sow in this life
and the undertow that drags us down back to Earth
when we reach for the skies
is only gravity trying to remind us...
...
We were never meant to be Daedlus
because in being a genius
you run the risk of flying just a little
to close to the sun.
And you know you've won the human race
when you can no longer look into the face
of the ones you love.
But reach for the sky anyway.
As if you're being held up by the gunslinger
that we like to call 'Confidence'.
Reinvent bravery
and fall towards Earth when you're done.
Less like a shot down plane,
more like a fallen angel.
We'll all get to wear our halos eventually.
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 9:38 PM UTC
Go on, press record
Lift your phone to bloodshed
Lift your phone to the sound of hatred
Of bloodlust laid on a foundation
That was never really stable to begin with
Go on, film those frames
As you watch me beat the **** out of
All those who made me feel like ****
Worthless
Hated
Unloved
Alone
The final gunslinger, taking his stand
Draws his pistols, hipfiring
And in his stance, thumb through belt loop
Hat down over his eyes
Ashamed of his instant reaction,
His ability to **** and inability to remain emotionless
Go on, press record
Put it on Facebook
Let everyone know what you really are:
A cowardly bystander
Jun 30, 2016
Jun 30, 2016 at 12:34 AM UTC
Your eyes are the only blue in this desert;
gunslinger eyes, the kind of eyes that quench a dying soul's thirst
and turn nightmares away in the dark.
Behind those eyes is a heart worth a hundred Grails,
a kindred soul shot from Apollo's bow.
And I, broken soldier that I am, for all my courage and all my faith,
dare not stray too close for fear of rejection
or, far more frightening
acceptance.
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 9:52 PM UTC
The words I spoke
Painted soft hues in semicircles
That formed veins in vain
All the life the colors formed caused was pain
And disdain for this thing called breath
I would gladly welcome death
In the form of the devil kissing necks
Sharpening a dagger in geometric patterns
Slicing through my brain matter with a splayed tongue
Implanting THC in my frontal lobe with infinite precision showing me visions of misread Scriptures read by passive preachers and pastors not knowing the meanings of verses read backwards that sound like incantations for Satan
Drop.
Drip into my glass
Cerulean liquid so vivid it defies description
Even with these prescription lenses I can't tell the difference between what's okay to write but not say so today
I think
I'll take an AK to Pre K to educate the young with Guns
JFK would smile
Knowing I'm the last gunslinger and expander of minds destined to be assassinated for saying it before my time
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 12:15 PM UTC
He talked about his conquests as we sat hiding from the heat and every other ******* in between.
I'm a ******* gunslinger!
He exclaimed drunk from to many beers and his own backward ********
Well I said in a deadpan voice with your sparkling personality my friend you dam sure better hope that ******* never jams up on you.
There's never a truly relaxing place in the shade .
Sometimes I believe a ego was a dangerous as a loaded gun .
For a ******* seemed only to commit verbal suicide with every ******** line that spewed from his mouth.
I loathed a idiot when I was simply trying to catch a buzz.
Then he bought me a round and I thought well he's not totally void of a good quality .
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 3:08 PM UTC