"laramie" poems
The lone rider
left the station at high noon that day.
Sadly, it was something he had to do.
He knew he might not come back,
there had been an attack
a few weeks earlier,
all had been scalped,
with no survivors.
His ample-provisions
of salted jerky & biscuits
were stowed away
in his leather saddle bag.
He carried a .44 along
with his trusted notched-rifle.
Snugly on his head,
he wore a black drovers-hat,
a faded red bandana
was wrapped loosely
around his neck.
It was going to be a long ride,
but he hoped to make it to Laramie
before the next sunrise.
His keen-eyes scanned
the desert horizon,
you could tell he was pondering.
He seemed a bit worried,
but did not give any inkling away.
His girl hugged him goodbye,
kissed him on his grizzled-cheek,
then turned with tears in her own eyes.
She did not cry for she knew
he would have been upset.
Then like lightning,
he was up on Ranger,
his spurs jingled,
thundered off in a flash.
He rode headlong,
leaving a burnt sienna dust-cloud
swirling behind.
She watched him disappear,
stood there all day long,
until the sun
began to set,
to sink low
in the western sky.
Reds, oranges, yellows and pinks
shot, splintered the skies,
then faded to pitch,
there was no moon.
As the stars began to emerge,
she smiled,
thinking twinkling beacons
for her cowboy lover.
She closed her teary-eyes,
held her hands in prayer
& made a wish,
but somehow she knew,
she had a strange gut-feeling,
they would not return.
And they never did.
That day was the last time
anyone would ever
see the lone rider & Ranger,
again.
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 3:56 PM UTC
I aint no ***** I aint no tinker; like a tinker would think. Im just an old cow poke with no leather to sink my teeth. Been riding for days aint came across the first drop to drink.
Sure is nice of you mam to let me in by the smell of my stink.
You see; I lost my cattle about a few miles back. We got seperated by a sand storm. Boy this coffee is about as thick a pinewood sap. Mam, please dont take offense; I sure do appreciate the gesture. I suppose a cool glass a water might do the trick.
Now as I was saying, I was on my way up from Wyoming to drive a herd for a bargain. Well I guess I would say I got started early this morning.
I got me a ranch out in Laramie. Well actually a buddy of mine does. We started up and then it began storming. I haven’t seen him since. Mam could you do me a favor if he does. If he shows up; could you tell him I have gone to gather up them horses.
Could you ask if he could stick around, what matters is that we’re safe and that’s important. We can regroup in a couple of hours. Head on back on up the trek, make up for lost time and try to save our appointment. If that ain’t no burden to you misses?
-RSC
Mar 8, 2022
Mar 8, 2022 at 7:23 AM UTC
If I met myself in a gas station in ten years
it would be in Laramie Wyoming
The fog forming a translucent lavender blanket
Drops of hail hit the gravel
like shots raining down on school campuses
Nov 23, 2016
Nov 23, 2016 at 4:01 PM UTC
and just how far have you gone for the sake of your "camaraderie," my friend?
their half-glow hearts and prejudiced minds could have swallowed you whole,
or abandoned you, wit be-damned, and genius be-damned, you
might have died a pauper—
I hear they’d **** a man much more guarded than you, they might string him up,
tie his broken body to a fencepost, leave him ******
satisfy a tyranny under the watchful eye of a loving God,
trade a boy in Laramie for a jet-black brutal odium,
**** a kid and wonder what his mother did to steer him wrong—
but still you wrote of calamus and of holding hands and handsome lovers,
still you gave us songs to sing back to our lovers, gentle songs,
despite the shame and censorship they cursed you with, despite
the threat that everything could be undone, despite the scripture,
well I must say, dear Good Gray Poet, before I fold my hand,
thank you, Walt, for giving us what you never had.
Feb 23, 2019
Feb 23, 2019 at 9:31 AM UTC
Dedicated to Matthew Shepard RIP: Matthew Wayne "Matt" Shepard an American student at the University of Wyoming who was beaten, tortured, and left to die near Laramie on the night of October 6, 1998. He was taken by rescuers to Poudre Valley Hospital in Fort Collins, Colorado, where he died six days later from severe head injuries. 1976-1998
To overcome early in the morning, with iron, and with a dog 's squeeze, she spoke of the spirit; and he the vagabond Jews, Teen Witches, he has them, I am he, standing in the sense of the abstract apart from a gun, who terms them of citizens of Lucius Aemilius, thou, Maecenas
Laura it was huge **** and thy face of the fingers, acting as a madwoman, almost the head of a living doll turning away from the hot, I will kneel down to perform a ****** banana football and all the songs children might turn faint to a degree of heat USA, air kisses with vitamins and attacks on the snow's sense of color skin star guard; that was already yech, remember walked cool itself king of the teenage body changes Levi Sherebiah also ******* taken; AH!
Was not large enough to speak of, to cause movement in the region of the pain of his own but only those parts of the via Dolorosa where the OT, n is the manufacture of woolen stockings than into the memory and in the chapters on the first commentary in the cold of: O of the body, it is not enough; more often.
The memory of the pain of the body, not only the head of the weakness of the fall by the sword; The Museum of the Sacred to Venus, the body, the body of vitamins, learns from the common cold to the point of comprehending in a man the need to be assisted and to listen to them as she kissed.
Oct 27, 2018
Oct 27, 2018 at 8:52 PM UTC