"pecos" poems
somewhere between the fourth and fifth
load of laundry,
sometime after breakfast~lunch,
now served in the USA at home,
as an all day meal, per the edict of Mcdonalds,
start fixing dinner, take a break, walk to the mailbox,
retrieve the post and quick retreat back inside,
ah that Texas sun, bilingual chili hot,
toss the unopened on the prior weeks pile,
cause everyone loves company
the home-cold-brewed ice coffee needs a filling
for the fridge has decided not to help
by automatically refilling the pitcher
even if it could
I, busy folding,
needing two hands
and all my teeth
for folding my master’s rocket ship
sheets
my master observes with one of his alternating demeanors,
this one, super silent watching, announcing that I need a nap:
*“don't you always say, baby,
take a nap when you can, baby,
for when you need one, baby,
you probably won’t be able, my baby”*
with selected-hand-led fingers,
he lays me down to sleep,
bids me to slow slide to dreamland, dinner will keep,
curling inside my frame, hands a-cupping my *******
telling me a drowsy tale, inherited from his mother’s womb
and his granddaddy’s tongue, mindful of his family’s history
there, is where, they find us,
dinner fixings burnt,
me and my five year old baby boy,
still sleeping fast, around 5pm, bodies enwrapped,
tied by blood and entwined in old nursery rhymes,
Texas tall tales of Pecos Bill,
me and my very own
nap-ster master
<•>
p.s. and they call me by my other name to wake me, momma
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 1:14 PM UTC
I woke up in a Spaghetti Western
Not sure how this happened to me
Standing on the dusty streets of Laredo
With six desperado's down the street
I gazed off to my left
As a tumbleweed went tumbling by
There was a dog howling in the distance
With an odd sheen to the western sky
Can't say I wasn't trigger happy
With my hand inching towards my gun
Still wondering how it is I appeared here
In this B-movie western
Women and children were running for cover
They knew what was soon to go down
Truth is you can expect nothing less
When you live in a Spaghetti Western town
Pecos Bill was the first to draw
As I shot him between the eyes
Want you to know I took no pleasure in
Watching the other five men die
As I rode off into the sunset
The credits behind me scrolled
How I woke up inside of this movie
Is a mystery I will never know
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 5:14 PM UTC
He was baptized in whiskey
and gunsmoke aroma
Took up with a Cherokee woman
Quite friskey
Down in the Territory of Oklahoma
Tired of one too many killings
He took his side iron off
Wrapped it in its holster folded
Inside a gun oiled rag
Replaced it with his Mother's Bible
From within his saddle bag
Listened to that smart Indian woman
Who said he'd hung around the Territory
Too long
And if we don't skeedaddle
You'll be hangin' longer than you want
Smartest woman he'd ever known
She'd heard there's no law or religion
West of the Pecos and beyond
So they headed out to Texas
To preach the gospel to outlaws
****** and poor Mexican Catholics
Wrote off the Oklahoma Territory Baptists
Whose thick hides hide drunken sinners
Ridin' hard and fast her buckskin skirt
Above her thighs
Ridin' with a winner
Dark hair flowing behind
Ridin' hard to in his sight keep her
Such beauty that could stir the
***** and mind
Of even an old saddle preacher
r
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 6:39 AM UTC
The desert moon looked down on us
From a sparkling starlit sky
Two lonely weary travelers
Just my Naomi and I
The empty Pecos Valley now
Down from the" Great Divide"
Time and again I would have quit
But for Naomi at my side
We looked in vain for natures' gifts
From the cruel and stubborn soil
Many fortunes made out there
Of gold of silver,of oil!
We worked all through the daylight hours
Beneath the blazin' sun
We loaded wagons,tired as hell
And always on the run
I noticed somethin' yesterday
Out the corner of my eye
Naomi staggers once or twice
And gave a sort of sigh
I realize this cannot go on
To do so would be cruel
I know it's kind of heartless but
I'll need another mule
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 5:38 PM UTC
George told me,
"ain't how long you live,
but how you live that counts"
strange he had clung to this
rock for double eights
and that he swore he'd jump
from a plane when he hit ninety, without
a parachute if he chose
those long linoleum journeys
when I wheeled him from his room to the dining hall
were the best part of my day
a minimum wage slave,
ending my graveyard shift
watching one after another leave
a thousand different ways
he called me "brown sugar"
I took no offense, for colored girls get deaf to such
jabs before we get bras
I knew, from him,
it was a term of endearment
since his red blood had earned
him ****** names like "Charlie Chief"
and "Drunk ***** Joe"
long ago
he told me grabbing melons
along the Pecos beat cotton picking
on the prison farm, and I never asked
how he came to know either
he said his squaw
was dead some forty years
his own trail of tears since
would never dry
no children had lived
to become great warriors
or proud princesses, though
he never said why
when I would leave George
at his table, the end of our daily stroll
he would bless his eggs with words
I didn't know
those who shared the table
sat mute and chewed their cud
as I walked away, I would never fail
to wonder, if I could find
a plane and pilot
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 2:25 PM UTC
A wicked road winds across lawless lands
West of the Pecos.
Where Texas turns to hell; a lone GTO
Scourges smug asphalt with a big block
Renegade ethos.
She’s runnin’ low on gas,
She’s been runnin’ way too fast--
And she’s burnin’ rich--
But that’s good.
Because in that combustive concoction,
Is reflected the nuts and bolts,
Ball peens, and crescent wrenches
Of a provocative, evocative, tool chest lending to
Precision tuned angst riddled verse.
She’s a flat black bad-ass *****
An epic among American cars--
A ‘69 Judge--the 400 cubic inch
Ram-Air rhythms riffing redline stuff
From bookstores to bars.
I work a service station on this
Lonely road, in this inferno west of the Pecos.
In the distance, I hear a distinct sound,
The Judge’s 400 big block, roaring with that
Bruisin’ outlaw ethos.
Down this wicked road of the accepted norm
This Judge is soundin’ mighty good,
I know to have the coffee ready,
As I listen to the poetry chanting under the hood.
Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 10:59 PM UTC
Last summer
Or was it the one before last?
I was sleeping
Pecos New Mexico
Dreaming the 3 times
Awakened sat up and
Beside me exactly a skunk
Depending on my actions
Was ready…
Still and did not antagonize
The **** in air who wins
Every time stalled,
Adrenalin is indecisive
I was lying awake hours.
Later when a doe ran through,
Somehow sleep finds
Its own dream.
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 12:37 AM UTC
A persons life measures
Is not measured
In pounds,euro,Pecos..not even a dollar
Its not marked by what you accumulated..or even squandered..
Its kept by those who you have loved
By love not power
By hope, by kindness
By those you may have helped flower
Not by gain but by lifes simple pleasures
Your friends can be your family
That is how it measures
See what life can be?
Not by mansions, but by the people you touch
Not physically
By by their hearts and such
You cannot buy love
It is given for free
By those deserving
By those who see
The possibilities
Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 2:49 PM UTC
I’m your neighbor I’ll do you a favor
But I can’t solve all your problems
Leaving town is hard but I started the car
At least summer’s turning to autumn
I don’t mind clouds or music too loud
As long as it’s my stereo playing
It’s the same with my children’s minds
I just need to know they aren’t worrying
I like to complain
I’m good at it
I got the world figured out
But they never listen
Some people aren’t so smart
Even though they think they are
Telling me what they know
Helps them smile in the rain
I have a piano and a bank account
But I wish I could play the guitar
I know a few chords but not enough
It’s easier to carry around in my car
I’m heading some way out of here
But I noticed the sofa seems the same
I left for a while but never did open the door
There’s a way out but it’s not the way I came
I like to smile
I’m good at it
Even if the world won’t
What else can you do
People like to drink
I wish they’d drink with me
There was someone once
But only for a little while
Leaving doesn’t always mean goodbye
The corner booth in Pecos isn’t how I say hello
Being that kind of lonely is not for me
I’ll stay right here and pretend it’s the place to be
I like to smile and complain
I’m good at it
Catch me when the water’s running
That’s the best time
You might think I only like blue skies
But that’s not how life is
That’s why I like clouds
I like things that come back again
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 9:05 PM UTC
(20 minute poetry)
This,
is like walking through glue and when you look at a book you all judge by its colour or cover and you look at each other the same.
Name me one or two who have not set with the Sun and gelled with the glue and I know there are many.
'If anyone knows of a just impediment' claws for the pause and the applause may cause you to bow.
How to recapture the lusting for living among the hard faced uncaring because between the giving and taking the wire's electric.
We get the scene set and ready to go, this is like formula one but taking it easy and warming up slow,
I don't know and I doubt you do too if the cover's the problem and if so who do we turn to?
I cram so much in my saddlebags and I water the horse.
West of the Pecos which could be anywhere,
if I try really hard and click my heels it feels like
I'm back in
Kansas.
Oct 13, 2015
Oct 13, 2015 at 8:36 PM UTC
Down in Harlem, no one dares to question
hands up? no problem,
something going on and definitely wrong
down there.
Durango!
eureka, I got it, not Fandango but Durango
and not Eureka that's East of the Pecos
or it might be one of the other three directions.
so where's Fandango then?
Sep 27, 2024
Sep 27, 2024 at 12:55 AM UTC