"lawman" poems
Ladies and gentleman skinny and scout
I'll tell you a tale I know nothing about
The admission is free so pay at the door
Now pull out a chair and sit on the floor
On one bright day in the middle of the night
Two dead boys got up to fight
Back to back they faced each other
Drew their swords and shot each other
The blind man came to see fair play
The mute man came to shout hooray
The deaf policeman heard the noise
And came to stop those two dead boys
He lived on the corner in the middle of the block
In a two story house on a vacant lot
A man with no legs came walking by
And kicked the lawman in his thigh
He crashed through a wall without making a sound
Into a dry creek bed and suddenly drowned
A long black hearse came to cart him away
But he ran for his life and is still gone today
I watched from the corner of the table
The only eyewitness to facts of my fable
If you doubt my lies are true
Just ask the blind man, he saw it too
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 1:31 PM UTC
it’s a god-awful small affair
to the girl with the mousy hair
10,000 hipsters stand in the square
with ***** makeup and ****** flare
prayers fly into the dim lit sky
as a generation asks god ‘why’
it’s a god-awful small affair
to the girl with the mousy hair
I sit here in despair
for a god of whom I did care
well, just a man with a master’s eye
for making all of the people sigh…
and now I sit here with my head in my hand
just trying to understand
what this world has come unto
can there ever again be skies of blue
and while swishy in her satin and tat
frock coat and bipperty-bopperty hat
there can never be another like that –
the morning news brought a cold chill
as the icon of us undesirables
came to be laid at rest
it’s on America’s tortured brow
leaving us to sit solemn
as old records spin
telling tales of space men
and life on mars
a little china girl
and one man who feel to earth
it’s on America’s tortured brow
the fashionista of glam rock
the birther of Ziggy
the man who sold the world
forever changing
chameleon
in smart shoes –
spinning grooves
and scattered cd’s
tears slipping away
as memories already start to fade
it’s the freakiest show
look at those cavemen go
will they ever know
just who left us
take a look at the lawman
beating up the wrong guy
it’s a god-awful small affair
to the girls with the mousy hair
now she walks with a sunken dream
and the cream that once rose so high
so too will come the time to die
and as all of us let him go
there can be a bit of hope for those
who carry a torchy flare
to the girl with the mousy hair
and will sing in the dead of night
with face paint and a big spot light
******* and the party boys
come out with their fancy toys
but it’s a god-awful small affair
if you find you’re too square to care
‘bout the goblin kings sad depart
from this earth and from hipster hearts
see these kids have no loyalty
to a man who helped define me
when the world gave me a frown
for kissing boys in a dainty gown
ole Davy gave me peace
with a confidence that never ceased
oh Mr. Jones I’m in debt to you
for turning my grey skies to blue
now I’ll forever carry this torch
from green valleys to my own front porch
but it’s a god-awful small affair
it’s nice to know some of us care…
about the earth and sun and stars
and yes
there is life
on
Mars –
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 4:39 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 stranger rode up
as we sat round the fire
it was burning down low
and we were beginning to tire
He tied off his ride
By some brush by a boulder
He was just a young lad
Though in the dark he looked older
We offered him coffee
said sit down, have a cup
We said if you're hungry
There's still food to sup
He accepted and thanked us
Said he'd got lost on the trail
With the north winter winds
Bringing on early hail
He pulled up a stump
I saw a slight flash of tin
I said "you're a lawman"
he just gave a grin
I'm from up in Kansas
was back to my home
Had to visit my mama
she's all on her own
I poured him a coffee
And I told him what's what
I said it isn't the best
But, it's sure as heck hot
I smiled at his lie
And I stoked at the fire
I thought to myself
This man's a liar
I said "in this here circle"
"we may not all be friends"
"so, toss a log on this fire"
"and we'll hear how this ends"
He reached for a log
placed it in, didn't throw
didn't reach for the poker
moved it round with his toe
"The rules of the fire"
"Is that the tender regales"
"The rest of the members"
"with a song or some tales'
"since you just got here"
"and the fire is hot"
"tell us a story"
"give the best that you've got"
He shuffled a little
Took a sip, and began
And it just took a minute
To hook us all, every man
He talked of the rustlers
He'd been chasing around
How they got in a shoot out
How, they'd all gone to ground
He lived life a plenty
For a man of his age
He was just twenty three
But, he spoke out like a sage
He'd regaled us with stories
As the fire burned low
We were all getting tired
But, we did not want to go
He pushed at the embers
Again with his boot
He finished his coffee
And he lit a cheroot
For two hours he talked
Since the fire rules said
that the fire was his
Till we chose to all bed
When we woke in the morning
We found he took flight
He left our small fire
In the dead of the night
The fire was burning
And there was a fresh *** of brew
But the stranger was missing
And our saddle bags too
I was right when I reckoned
That he was telling us lies
I could tell from the way
He didn't look in our eyes
The boots didn't fit
He was just stretching them out
By heating them up in the fire
and moving about
He sure was no lawman
He was a teller of tales
Truths , half truths and lies
He had them by the pail
We packed up our camp
Tried to pick up the trail
Of this campfire thief
With the devilish tail
We knew we'd find him
For liars repeat
He'd come back to our fire
And we'd give him a seat....
Oct 24, 2015
Oct 24, 2015 at 1:51 PM UTC
On a filthy street corner
in a town on the outskirts
of the City
we congregated
I was the only white
& was dressed in my usual
tattered finery,
ripped jeans &
a silk shirt
halfway undone
I imagined myself
a sea rover of the Spainish Main
silver 38.
tucked in my
back waistband
I glanced at my 3
comrads, gangsters
of the lower class
sagging jeans
dreadlocks reeking of ****
I imagined myself
a rover
but in truth
we were nothing
but societys corrosion
words were exchanged
by my comrad
& another rover
from down the way
louder
&
angrier
until shots
rang out &
shattered the evenings trance
snapping into action
fire was returned
we held ground
until music
from the keepers
of law
sang down the street
we scattered
I sailed to
the train tracks
but was pursued
I turned & raised
my silver 38.
but the lawman's bullets
took me down hard
the last thing I remember
was the sky
beautiful and orange
with the coming of dusk
the most beautiful evening
I had ever seen
Jul 16, 2012
Jul 16, 2012 at 9:00 PM UTC
I met her for the first time at a downtown bar in Denver
On a Friday night while sipping Shiner beer.
We drank and danced and mingled and she told me she lived single,
In a small room at the Rustic Pioneer.
What started as a one night stand turned out to be a double;
I finally left on Monday about three.
If I stayed any longer I would have to face the trouble
Of a love affair that wasn’t meant to be.
On a trail not far behind me rode a lawman from Laredo,
With my picture on a poster and a price.
Dead or alive made no mind to the dead I’d left behind,
Who had died cheating at cards or playing dice.
I left her in Colorado; headed straight for South Dakota.
But I lied and said we’d meet in Santa Fe.
Should the trail lead him to her bed and he acted on what she said,
I’d gain several days sending him the wrong way.
But the bravest hearts are fools for love when fate has dealt the hand
And I headed back to Denver at full speed.
I returned there for the misses, who had won my heart with kisses,
Taking no heed of the danger in my deed.
Back in Denver I was taken by the lawman from Laredo.
But there is no hero in this tale of vice.
At a downtown bar in Denver the girl shot me from a barstool,
In her hand she held a poster with a price.
With a bullet in my shoulder, my gun never left the holster
And the lawman moved to quickly save my life.
I met her for the first time at a downtown bar in Denver
At a jailhouse altar she became my wife.
Jul 31, 2011
Jul 31, 2011 at 8:12 PM UTC
I fell into a volcano
this my alibi
When the sheriff
flashed a badge
demanding explanation
of my fire eyes
Ok so I danced
around many fires
And fire became my sister
and I a brother
but to the embers dying
I am a shaman
So **** off
Mr Lawman.
Jan 18, 2016
Jan 18, 2016 at 10:26 PM UTC
Many days go by, many nights come through, when I haven’t the faintest, slightest inkling of you. I rest my head easy, hardly do I become queasy, over the memories of what made my love for you so true. Have I ever felt blue, when pondering you? You bet your bottom dollar, though don’t expect the remotest holler, even on the nights when I’m mildly missing you.
How could you, do me the opposite as I have done to you? How could you do the things that I could never do to you? What makes you, so tamelessly shrew, and fail to miss me as I have missed you? What could I possibly do, to know that it could be true, that you have treasured me as I have treasured you?
That’s why I was through, because the moment I found you, you never made me feel as grand as I tried to make you. Complete as you’ve made my heart, you had a particular knack for tearing it apart, and that is why it is left shattered in its own aortic goo.
That’s all on you. That’s forever what will make you the best and worst of you. To be so ruthless and nonchalant with the damage that you do, and play it as though you had no idea that was all you. Now I’m left blue, pretending to be through, when all that I’ve sacrificed was due to this idea that I had of you. To slave in an asylum, to be a lawman and a wild one, a future as bright as a bullet shining out of a gun. That was all for you, my thoughts on tangoing as two, for the rest of our unhappy lives that would have been happier, if only you knew.
Who exactly are you? Who were you to this man who is now blue? Was it your pleasantries, so few, or was it a universal coup, toying with my hopes and dreams, of meeting and ending up with someone like you, someone I thought I knew?
My head is now a zoo, filled with starving animals and poo, moaning and groaning over this animalistic swine flu, that pillages my spirits and slices me in two, all from the memories that lead me to missing you. But I told you to shoo, after your silence asked me that for you, many moons of endless begging for anything to come out of you. In solitude, I’ll watch the drops of the morning dew, condense on my windowsill as I reflect on the person that came from you.
To love such a love, I have experienced so few, the dreams of this young man, who has dreamed a little of you, where I am kissing those sweet, darling kisses of you, in my head as I recall, on the nights when I’m missing you.
Jan 9, 2024
Jan 9, 2024 at 1:15 AM UTC
*They say that all is fair in love and war
But is all fair in the war of love?
Is there temperance amidst the virile and the delicate?
Or is it just a guise shielding us from the bitter truths of love?
Dear brother of mine
Bold lawman in the making
Had a young sweetheart years apart
He was climbing up fast
With the promise of a bright future
And she would only be the start
But two summer days
Of ecstasy and pleasure
Were all it took in the name of time
For the young sweetheart
With his heart on a hook
To tear apart the cord of his precious spine
Now his reputation, his hopes, his dreams are on the line
Because of a young heart whose blood was replaced with slime
How can this happen to a man of pure heart and mind?
Such a burden to my dear brother will never be a friend of mine*
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 6:23 PM UTC
I know you always saw yourself a knight
But I did not realize for a long time
That I was a page.
You were my sparring partner
Who taught me to come at the world
Gun drawn
So no one could out-shoot me.
You told me,
And I know,
That Justice wears a blindfold because
She slashes her sword indiscriminately,
And looks at that scale
Never.
You always saw yourself a lawman
I always saw you as a fool.
I never realized I learned law
At your feet.
Fallacies and ways of
Drawing out argument and diatribe,
Loopholes of morality through which
We spin.
You taught me to be technically correct,
The best kind of correct,
Always exploiting but
Always within my jurisdiction.
I only know now I was a deputy
To a sheriff of ridiculous stature.
You taught me THE ART OF WAR.
It was engraved in stone for me
Like an all-caps Roman monument.
THE ART OF WAR
Is sprawled across a stone archway in my mind
Where you came, and you saw.
It marks your conquest.
You made it my way of loving,
Of relating to the world and the people around me.
You made me a martyr and mercenary,
Standing atop a hill in golden armor,
Sunlight behind me and wind in my hair,
An avatar of Durga,
A disciple of Joan of Arc,
A four-year-old poses in chainmail
You wrought for her.
Illusions of grandeur such as your own
Come with this territory.
You taught me
As your mother and father
And grandparents
Taught you,
THE ART OF WAR-
That love is just begrudging words of sweetness
Issued only after ruins lay all around
And both parties are sufficiently vulnerable,
Their bricks having been pried away with crowbars.
Love is only an apology given to mollify
The wounds you have already wrought.
The only privilege loved-ones are afforded,
Is the bandage that covers up the customary
Destruction
That is your normal face.
You and I only ever knew love as
You clipping my wings
And I breaking free to spray
The shrapnel of those chains
Into your face.
We added to each others' pile of scars.
It was so rare for us to run into battle together,
On the same side,
Voices as one in a battlecry.
I don't even know how long it's been since
Us soldiers-for-hire got hired
By the same team at once.
You cast me out of steel
Like a sword.
And now I am the legendary blade
Destined to clash against you for all eternity.
We will only ever know ceasefires
Of a day in length.
We will run through the flame,
And we will practice the art
You taught me.
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 2:49 PM UTC
there was a little wolf and he just long to be
a cowboy in the west riding high and free
he bought himself a stetson and some cowboy suits
then he bought some stirrups and put them on his boots
bought himself some guns of the very best
then a sheriffs star and pinned to his chest
he mounted on his horse a nice big dapple grey
then off into the sunset the wolf he rode away
he became a lawman in the great wild west
then became a sheriff of the very best
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 12:18 PM UTC
I am a mask.
I am the face of soldiers, murderers, monsters, heroes...
Though I guard one man from stealing eyes
I am the last thing many see,
From the gallows to the shadows
And the depths of the sea.
Savior, slaughterer, sacred, scarring,
And yet I have no eyes with which to cry.
I am a mask.
I am the shield of the weak,
Protector of the fearful,
But people look down on me.
They call me a coward, but then I am showered
With praise when the crooked see.
Needed, never noticed, nervous,
And yet I have no eyes with which to cry.
I am a mask.
Used and thrown away,
Used again another day:
To raise a gun and rob a bank;
To shield the lawman stopping a criminal;
To blind a man who walks on death row;
To hide the executioner's twisted smile.
Lawbreaker, liberator, litigator, life,
And yet I have no eyes with which to cry.
I am a mask.
Jul 30, 2012
Jul 30, 2012 at 9:21 PM UTC
There are guns all over the country aiming at you.
There's a lawman on your trail who'd love to surround you.
Bounty hunters are encroaching all around you.
Billy they're just never going to let you be.
It seems that there's always some stranger sneaking glances.
Could he be some trigger happy fool willing to take chances?
Having a price on your head brings many threatening advances.
Billy, you're not in jail but you're still not free.
You're enemies and politicians want you to be put down,
so they've hired Mr Garrett to go and hunt you down.
He says he'll either bring you back alive or put you in the ground.
Billy, you're always going to be on the run.
Everyone says that Pat Garrett has your number.
So sleep with one eye open when you slumber.
Every little sound you hear could end up being thunder.
Thunder from the barrel of his gun.
Looking over your shoulder from sunrise to sundown.
Never being able to take root somewhere and settle down.
Billy it must make you feel even more low down
to be hunted by the man who was your friend.
Jul 9, 2010
Jul 9, 2010 at 2:51 AM UTC
the sun setting on the high mountain passes
brilliant colours in the sharp cold air
he rode slowly along the path
holding the reigns in one hand
the other resting on his colt revolver
his dark coat pulled up
covers his face
from the biting cold
some hours from now
further down the trail he will rest a bit
before pushing on
make the rio grande before the week is out
make the border and freedom before
the hangman can claim him
he shifts his weight on the saddle and
his horse flicks a worried ear
his appaloosa was his friend
too many miles shared and they had come to understand
and know eachother too well
from the desert towns dry and bitter
to the rain swept mountaintops of colorado
from saloons and dancing girls
to the long hard chase of the lawman following
had seen more miles than care to think
such a sweet tale
such adventure as he had dreamed of
when he was a boy
robbing trains and gunfights with bad man
but mostly he thinks of his country rose
and her little house near topeka
and how she said that there was always be
room for him in her bed and heart
with the hard won smile she gave him
rough round the edges but she was soft in every way
that a road weary man like him could hope for
thought of her now
all these miles away
as the sun sets on the high mountain passes
so deep with winter snows
so silent under crisp moonlight
her face there in his heart
as he drifts through the darkness
drifts through the years and miles
forever more
one hand on the reigns
the other on his colt revolver
some men were born never to rest
born never to know a home
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 8:22 AM UTC
I saw my first killing
At the tinder age of thirteen
Two men fell outta the towns saloon
And commenced to fighting in the street
It was at that very moment
My Momma she grabbed me
But Momma couldn't keep me from seeing
What it is I seen
It broke my heart when Momma
Stood on that dusty street and cried
But I still went about my business
When she covered up her eyes
I grabbed the dead mans gun
That's when I told my lie
I told my Momma that I'd be home
Later on that night
But my Momma she never saw
Her young boys face again
'Cept on the wanted posters
Nailed up by many a lawman
Many a lawman lately
That's gunning for my hide
'N' to think it all got started
When the first owner of this here gun of mine died
My killing spree started in Colorado
Then went south for a spell
Every town that I rode up on
Became a living hell
A living hell that no one ever
Had the nerve to give me back
I almost feel sorry for the men
Who ever dared to cross my path
No matter how far or fast I ran
Death was always close behind
In his right hand he holds a flaming sword
On the handle engraved the name is mine
The name is mine
And he knows it well
Deaths one desire
Is my soul in hell
I was twenty one years of age
When a coward shot me in the back
Shot me in the back
Cause it was courage that he lacked
The courage that he lacked
Stopped my deadly run
As fast as it all got started
The day I pick up that dead mans gun
Mar 30, 2013
Mar 30, 2013 at 7:05 PM UTC
the villain of the shadows cringes
and cries out as hard things do when they
behold themselves in such places
as in the true light of the fair maidens eyes
mercy is often found there
compassion and love too
but what he see's is a sale to the highest bidder
he steals away with the key to her heart
steals away with the treasure trove of
a fair maidens hopes and dreams
before the dawn can reveal his track
to the lawman who now follows in slow pursuit
he gathers himself and his plunder and sets off at a dead run
the lawman is a cold customer from times gone past
and he knows that twain shall never meet lest there be blood spilt
knows that the cold hand of justice serves none but its own
it lives to see others die
so he sets off at a dead run
as dead as his soul seems to be
as all his days have been
running from all his yesterdays
at a dead run
as dead as the lawman's heart
he stops for the night in the empty wash of an old stream
makes a fire by the water worn rocks
entranced by the lines of their ancient and dignified past
it troubles him so
he looks upon his ill gotten treasure
looks upon the fair maidens heart trove
and for the first time sees the beauty there
for the first time he sees what compassion's gentle hand looks like
the firelight jumps and leaps like dancers
he lay down and dreams of ceremonial dances and golden idols
dreams of a people for whom riches are in the heart
dreams he lived as one of them rich with love and happiness
he wakes with tears in his eyes
the lawman spends his night tracking slowly westward
he will not rest or sleep till he gets his man
he never dreams of anything but the cold hand of unjust justice
no compassion no soul to be tainted by hope
the villain of shadows begins to hear echoes in his mind
things that remind him of summer breeze and a girls pretty smile
her hand in his in the pouring rain
ages ago before darkness consumed him
now he begins to see a new path for him
if he can escape the lawman
now hes at a dead run to stay alive
now hes at a dead run to return the fair maidens treasure
if even a villain of shadows
can be redeemed
perhaps i may find some small coin of hope
but its hard to do at
a dead run
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 10:07 AM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
They were men of conviction
But one of ‘em wound up dead
When he refused to obey
What the lawman said
Stand down was the order,
“I’m placing you under arrest”
Captured on a tape recorder
So no one could contest
Members of a militia
Hold up in Oregon
Who were on a mission
And the thought never dawned
Their stand-off couldn’t last forever
Though they thought it could
But they should have know better
Than to think they’d be understood
They were men of conviction
Taking matters in their own hands
But you could have made a prediction
They wouldn’t achieve their plans
They were men of conviction
Fighting the government
Ignoring all restrictions
Because they were hell-bent
On getting their point across
And they weren’t about to relent
Unless their cause was won or lost
Was the message they hoped was sent
These were men of conviction
At least they said they were
Facing eminent eviction
But that thought didn’t occur
They were prepared to die
If it came down to that
But you have to ask yourself why
Would they take it to the mat
They were men of conviction
Taking matters in their own hands
But you could have made a prediction
They wouldn’t achieve their plans
Caught at a traffic stop
They were placed under arrest
Told to let their weapons drop
Only one of ‘em did contest
And so he wound up dead
With a bullet wound in his chest
For ignoring what the lawman said
Who prevailed nevertheless
They were men of conviction
Taking matters in their own hands
But you could have made a prediction
They wouldn’t achieve their plans
Cedric McClester, Copyright (c) 2016. All rights reserved.
012715cm
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 12:34 AM UTC
I want to be a thieving rogue who hunts behind curtains for treasured "gold".
I want to take
and grab
and ******
a hooded figure no lawman can catch.
They'll search for me beyond the seas while I am just grinning in a tree ,
waiting for the alarm to give up the fight so I can vanish into the night.
But please, dear friend, don't make the mistake and assume you know the treasure I crave,
for no diamonds are twinkling behind the eyes of the mischievous hunter,
this garish knave.
This thieving soul wants only to steal the hearts of those, chained to their woes, and all other torturous lingering foes.
So quickly I'll sneak and risk you away;
then show you, perhaps, a different view.
So tell me.
Will you
let me steal you?
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 11:34 PM UTC
In the silt
the milt
the making of man,
the coming of dawn
the morning begun,
the run through the trees,
the taking,
invoking the spirits to please,
smoking a peace pipe
wearing a second stripe
we're all in the war of what went before and
what's not here yet.
In ten thousand years they will dig up my bones
professors will view me and talk in hushed tones.
I'll be in the museum, some, will come down to see me,the fragrance of history etched in the memory of lines scratched by bullhorns,when the lawman kicked in the door man and that can't be right man.
And for now we will take it,we get used to the bullshit,we
were brought up on horseshit,in the spitting my way through the saliva today,
I walk upon tainted water, turned to ice, think i oughta use a ****** to slaughter the unborn of the daughters of the devil who sort of knows exactly where I'm at.
In the vat where the system is rising unbidden to fall and be hidden
I stir and stare at reflections.
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 6:13 PM UTC
When in Rome
In the Fontana Dei Guattro Fiumi in the piazza Navona
I had a cooling dip after coming out of a smoke filled
bar, I stripped, but modestly kept my underwear, on and
watched over by an elderly patrolman, who wasn’t looking
for promotion, he knew everyone on his turf and when
needed he didn’t see a thing which was good for keeping
The peace. Dawn and the local market opened, I had oven
fresh bread and cheese; coffee, also a grappa to stave off
A slight chill after my shower I sat with my eyes half closed
listening to the voice of humanity and it was good to be alive.
Walking back to my little hotel I saw the police officer
again he was spoken to a ********** she smiled and said good morning
I did like-ways; it’s handy to have a friendly lawman on my side.
I went to bed, a window open and white
curtains moving the breeze, listening to the outside noises,
and drifting on the ocean of dreamy sleep, I knew I would wake up
at noon by the aroma of Italian food.
Jun 15, 2017
Jun 15, 2017 at 4:58 AM UTC
I saw my first killing
At the tinder age of thirteen
Two men fell outta the towns saloon
And commenced to fighting in the street
It was at that very moment
My Momma she grabbed me
But Momma couldn't keep me from seeing
What it is I seen
It broke my heart when Momma
Stood on that dusty street and cried
But I still went about my business
When she covered up her eyes
I grabbed the dead mans gun
That's when I told my lie
I told my Momma that I'd be home
Later on that night
But my Momma she never saw
Her young boys face again
'Cept on the wanted posters
Nailed up by many a lawman
Many a lawman lately
That's gunning for my hide
'N' to think it all got started
When the first owner of this here gun of mine died
My killing spree started in Colorado
Then went south for a spell
Every town that I rode up on
Became a living hell
A living hell that no one ever
Had the nerve to give me back
I almost feel sorry for the men
Who ever dared to cross my path
No matter how far or fast I ran
Death was always close behind
In his right hand he holds a flaming sword
On the handle engraved the name is mine
The name is mine
And he knows it well
Deaths one desire
Is my soul in hell
I was twenty one years of age
When a coward shot me in the back
Shot me in the back
Cause it was courage that he lacked
The courage that he lacked
Stopped my deadly run
As fast as it all got started
The day I pick up that dead mans gun
Oct 30, 2015
Oct 30, 2015 at 6:11 PM UTC
Some wield their guns, all uniformed up
some a stun gun, a pistol on the hip, a truncheon like a symbol of their machismo sticking up out their shiny belt
a shiny peaked hat with shiny polished boots
a multi coloured car with flashing lights and sirens
this is the law all tooled up
and some of them can be so far from lawful, and so far from intelligence,
you never can tell what kind of lawman just pulled you over
but beware, they may well be having a bad day, and your innocence is the last thing on their mind, and they will fume that you may well be going to get away.... from them and yes, some of them do take it as very personal indeed.
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 12:29 PM UTC
The youth got on the tram
Was he coming up or going down?
Why was it so hard to smile
Was it the billions they’d spent on fireworks
Was it the famine?
Was it the lovin’
Hey Lawman, he said
Come May, don’t talk so loud, don’t talk so proud
Always will be always was
Seizures are so quick
Mine were the worst
I’m going to have to do something atomic
To kick the dead where it hurts
Always will be always was
And now that we’re are talking
How tough do you have to be?
To get free these days.
How much for a stroll on the highway?
Ever heard the story of Hammer Arm when he came to town?
They said the sight of him
And the streets would turn around
People spat out petrol and drank in sun
It was a weapon of choice
It was a day of fun
Always will be always was
What did it mean to teach the world how to be a world again
To teach the world about wonder and about peace
How to dream?
May 25, 2019
May 25, 2019 at 5:47 PM UTC
Summer night in Rome
In the Fontana Dei Guattro Fiumi in the piazza Navona
I had a cooling dip after coming out of a smoke filled
bar, I stripped but modestly kept my underwear, on and
watched over by an elderly patrolman, who wasn’t looking
for promotion, he knew everyone on his turf and when
needed he didn’t see a thing which was good for keeping
the peace. Dawn and the local market opened, I had oven
fresh bread and cheese; coffee, also a grappa to stave off
a slight chill after a bath. I sat there eyes half closed
listening, the voice of humanity and it were fine to be alive.
Walking back to my little hotel I saw the police officer
again he was spoken to a ********** he smiled and said
good morning I did like-ways; it’s handy to have a friendly
lawman on my side. I went to bed, window open and white
curtains moving the breeze, listening to the outside noises,
and drifting on the ocean of dreamy sleep, I knew I would
wake up at noon by the aroma of Italian food
Jul 30, 2016
Jul 30, 2016 at 11:44 AM UTC