"rustlers" poems - Hello Poetry

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....

0

Oct 24, 2015

Oct 24, 2015 at 1:51 PM UTC

roger-turner

campfire tale

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....

100

*Rain pattered on all roofs And Cattle clattered their hoofs The locals gathered in groups Cocking guns ready to shoot Thinking that probably the brutes Had once again returned to loot*

0

Aug 17, 2015

Aug 17, 2015 at 7:58 AM UTC

ignatius-hosiana

RUSTLERS

*Rain pattered on all roofs And Cattle clattered their hoofs The locals gathered in groups Cocking guns ready to shoot Thinking that probably the brutes Had once again returned to loot*

6

Once his kind were ubiquitous; Men and their ponies herding live beef from the prairies of Kansas and Texas to the slaughterhouses North East It was a hard life, but good, nights out under the stars; amusing themselves with a song. There was beans and good coffee shared at the fire; The prairie wind blew sweet and long. Then the trains came and life wasn’t the same and the cowboys all faded away. Old Tex was the last of that vanishing breed; He’d tell me tall tales of those days when he and his crew battled rustlers and snakes to see the herd safe to their doom. His skin was like leather from the wind and the sun; his big hands arthritic and gnarled. A roll your own cigarette drooped from his lips and his speech sounded more like a snarl. Tex passed on last night, a blessing they say, to die in his sleep with no pain. No churchyard for Tex, he will rest ‘neath the sod just out beyond the old grange He was the last of a vanishing breed; a man to his quarter horse wed. The land that he loved will keep changing above, but the wind and the stars never change.

0

Apr 1, 2015

Apr 1, 2015 at 8:57 AM UTC

john-f-mccullagh

The Last Cowboy

Once his kind were ubiquitous; Men and their ponies herding live beef from the prairies of Kansas and Texas to the slaughterhouses North East It was a hard life, but good, nights out under the stars; amusing themselves with a song. There was beans and good coffee shared at the fire; The prairie wind blew sweet and long. Then the trains came and life wasn’t the same and the cowboys all faded away. Old Tex was the last of that vanishing breed; He’d tell me tall tales of those days when he and his crew battled rustlers and snakes to see the herd safe to their doom. His skin was like leather from the wind and the sun; his big hands arthritic and gnarled. A roll your own cigarette drooped from his lips and his speech sounded more like a snarl. Tex passed on last night, a blessing they say, to die in his sleep with no pain. No churchyard for Tex, he will rest ‘neath the sod just out beyond the old grange He was the last of a vanishing breed; a man to his quarter horse wed. The land that he loved will keep changing above, but the wind and the stars never change.

13

Northern Lives Matter Note the fine flowing plain lands One where peace and order reigns Residence to historic cultural affluence That chaos admired from afar with pains Homing the abiding partisan patriots Entrenched in now ravenous blood hovers Rustlers, insurgents effected their domains Notorious bandits we once heard in fables. Lives lost cruelly to obdurated elements Imprinting images of guns and deaths Voices raised; are our leaders ritualists? Establishing innocent crime-made orphans Spreading evils, afflictions and destructions. Many a religious shrines turned death traps And markets, farms; ransacking poor villages That barely know governance and her benefits Turned into flowing river of blood and tears Emptying plangent hearts to quixotic elites Rich in thoughts; gliding us to precipice.

0

Nov 6, 2021

Nov 6, 2021 at 5:43 PM UTC

38_muhammad

North

Northern Lives Matter Note the fine flowing plain lands One where peace and order reigns Residence to historic cultural affluence That chaos admired from afar with pains Homing the abiding partisan patriots Entrenched in now ravenous blood hovers Rustlers, insurgents effected their domains Notorious bandits we once heard in fables. Lives lost cruelly to obdurated elements Imprinting images of guns and deaths Voices raised; are our leaders ritualists? Establishing innocent crime-made orphans Spreading evils, afflictions and destructions. Many a religious shrines turned death traps And markets, farms; ransacking poor villages That barely know governance and her benefits Turned into flowing river of blood and tears Emptying plangent hearts to quixotic elites Rich in thoughts; gliding us to precipice.

20

Little girl .. It's time to go home --- Little child Ain't no home Anywhere --- But It's that TIME (You know what I mean) ----- -- Vagrant in the empty lot ---- --- Vagrant dreams ----- --- (The vagrant aspires to become a vagabond But They keep calling him-------hobo) ------- The little girl Aspires to become -------woman But The tossed her in high school And threw away the Key ------ -------- ----- Tree On the Hill ---- Used to lynch cow rustlers from it Now They leave it alone ..... The little child and the TREE

0

Sep 4, 2013

Sep 4, 2013 at 3:42 PM UTC

jeffrey-robin

Tomorrow was yesterday

Little girl .. It's time to go home --- Little child Ain't no home Anywhere --- But It's that TIME (You know what I mean) ----- -- Vagrant in the empty lot ---- --- Vagrant dreams ----- --- (The vagrant aspires to become a vagabond But They keep calling him-------hobo) ------- The little girl Aspires to become -------woman But The tossed her in high school And threw away the Key ------ -------- ----- Tree On the Hill ---- Used to lynch cow rustlers from it Now They leave it alone ..... The little child and the TREE

39

The drive began in Donna, at the tail end of Texas. We mounted up and began step one of 952 miles. Coastal plains, the endless grass, into scrubby mesquite trees and rolling hills. Canyons, climbing and descending rocks rolling under horse and cattle. Saddle sore and travel weary riding the endless days. The nights, stars, moon, planets, taking turns, watching over the herd in the darkness. Cougars, and coyotes, rustlers and the weather all up to no good. Then we come up to the streams, creeks and the mighty rivers. Nasal breathing from the herd, the splashes of tails and hooves. Yaw, and get along, the slap of a rope on a leg. Cattle and river's smell, fills the nose. Chili beans, and cornbread Hard tack to snack My hat shields my head from the rain, and the blazing sun. 50 men and 3000 head, march triumphantly into Abilene Kansas. Where the cattle are immediately loaded into railroad cars after walking 952 miles.

0

Oct 14, 2016

Oct 14, 2016 at 1:39 PM UTC

jed-johnson

The Trail Continues

The drive began in Donna, at the tail end of Texas. We mounted up and began step one of 952 miles. Coastal plains, the endless grass, into scrubby mesquite trees and rolling hills. Canyons, climbing and descending rocks rolling under horse and cattle. Saddle sore and travel weary riding the endless days. The nights, stars, moon, planets, taking turns, watching over the herd in the darkness. Cougars, and coyotes, rustlers and the weather all up to no good. Then we come up to the streams, creeks and the mighty rivers. Nasal breathing from the herd, the splashes of tails and hooves. Yaw, and get along, the slap of a rope on a leg. Cattle and river's smell, fills the nose. Chili beans, and cornbread Hard tack to snack My hat shields my head from the rain, and the blazing sun. 50 men and 3000 head, march triumphantly into Abilene Kansas. Where the cattle are immediately loaded into railroad cars after walking 952 miles.

29

This one’s for the quiet ones locked in their bedrooms Too burnt out to break free from the monsters that loom To the ones someone told it’s not worth chasing dreams To the ones sitting still so they don’t burst at the seams This one’s for the lost ones, the overlooked ones, the dropped ones For the selective mutes, the broken brutes, the ones playing possum To the aching tender joints, to the bedrest homies The inspiration **** I am when they don’t even know me The invisible struggle that lights a fire inside The cut locks, broken doors, screaming match courtside I’ve been there, I’ve seen that, the closing curtain last act You already know you’re strong so I don’t have to say that I’m not looking down on you You know they’re gonna clown on you I want you to know that it doesn’t have to drown you If you’re looking for a sign to stay, My friend, this is it None of you did anything to deserve this **** If you’re scared (Don’t give up) Unprepared (Don’t give up) If you’re ready to drop outta here (Don’t give up) If you’re feeling like you’ve disappeared (Don’t give up) I’ve got your back; I’ve got your spirit by my side I’ve got that heavy burden, I’ve been that tattered pride They’re not gonna say thank you, they’re not gonna say please But we don’t have to earn our lives by begging on our knees We don’t have to settle for fight, flight or freeze We’ve got a depth of wisdom they can never seize To the invisible ones, to the hidden in plain sight To the hearts hanging heavy dreading going home at night To the fending for yourselves, to the strategic hustlers To the lost in other universes, to the panicked jimmy-rustlers To the ‘how did I get here’s, to the max volume, quiet tears To the looking for the exit, to the wasted golden years I see you, I hear you The truth is, they fear you Those old ways are dying, We’re new pioneers who Will call out the liars, we’ll march through the wires Arm ourselves with truth, we’ll put out those fear fires So rise up; recognize That your spirit’s got merit outside of their eyes Your value’s intrinsic, your dreams are realistic This fight never ending, our story polyptych This is a tribute to my mutineers To the ones who keep fighting, the facers of fears Straighten up, don’t carry their judgement All of that hatred just ain’t in the budget It’s unsustainable, come on, proclaim, we’re all Building a new road, running down the Rockefellers Don’t forget We have a dream Hold fast Together we’re unstoppable

0

Mar 10, 2020

Mar 10, 2020 at 6:42 PM UTC

EnigmaCentauri

Tribute

This one’s for the quiet ones locked in their bedrooms Too burnt out to break free from the monsters that loom To the ones someone told it’s not worth chasing dreams To the ones sitting still so they don’t burst at the seams This one’s for the lost ones, the overlooked ones, the dropped ones For the selective mutes, the broken brutes, the ones playing possum To the aching tender joints, to the bedrest homies The inspiration **** I am when they don’t even know me The invisible struggle that lights a fire inside The cut locks, broken doors, screaming match courtside I’ve been there, I’ve seen that, the closing curtain last act You already know you’re strong so I don’t have to say that I’m not looking down on you You know they’re gonna clown on you I want you to know that it doesn’t have to drown you If you’re looking for a sign to stay, My friend, this is it None of you did anything to deserve this **** If you’re scared (Don’t give up) Unprepared (Don’t give up) If you’re ready to drop outta here (Don’t give up) If you’re feeling like you’ve disappeared (Don’t give up) I’ve got your back; I’ve got your spirit by my side I’ve got that heavy burden, I’ve been that tattered pride They’re not gonna say thank you, they’re not gonna say please But we don’t have to earn our lives by begging on our knees We don’t have to settle for fight, flight or freeze We’ve got a depth of wisdom they can never seize To the invisible ones, to the hidden in plain sight To the hearts hanging heavy dreading going home at night To the fending for yourselves, to the strategic hustlers To the lost in other universes, to the panicked jimmy-rustlers To the ‘how did I get here’s, to the max volume, quiet tears To the looking for the exit, to the wasted golden years I see you, I hear you The truth is, they fear you Those old ways are dying, We’re new pioneers who Will call out the liars, we’ll march through the wires Arm ourselves with truth, we’ll put out those fear fires So rise up; recognize That your spirit’s got merit outside of their eyes Your value’s intrinsic, your dreams are realistic This fight never ending, our story polyptych This is a tribute to my mutineers To the ones who keep fighting, the facers of fears Straighten up, don’t carry their judgement All of that hatred just ain’t in the budget It’s unsustainable, come on, proclaim, we’re all Building a new road, running down the Rockefellers Don’t forget We have a dream Hold fast Together we’re unstoppable

53

Once his kind were ubiquitous; Men and their ponies herding live beef from the prairies of Kansas and Texas to the slaughterhouses North East It was a hard life, but good, nights out under the stars; amusing themselves with a song. There was beans and good coffee shared at the fire; The prairie wind blew sweet and long. Then the trains came and life wasn’t the same and the cowboys all faded away. Old Tex was the last of that vanishing breed; He’d tell me tall tales of those days when he and his crew battled rustlers and snakes to see the herd safe to their doom. His skin was like leather from the wind and the sun; his big hands arthritic and gnarled. A roll your own cigarette drooped from his lips and his speech sounded more like a snarl. Tex passed on last night, a blessing they say, to die in his sleep with no pain. No churchyard for Tex, he will rest ‘neath the sod just out beyond the old grange He was the last of a vanishing breed; a man to his quarter horse wed. The land that he loved will keep changing above, but the wind and the stars never change.

0

Apr 1, 2018

Apr 1, 2018 at 9:51 AM UTC

john-f-mccullagh

The Last Cowboy

Once his kind were ubiquitous; Men and their ponies herding live beef from the prairies of Kansas and Texas to the slaughterhouses North East It was a hard life, but good, nights out under the stars; amusing themselves with a song. There was beans and good coffee shared at the fire; The prairie wind blew sweet and long. Then the trains came and life wasn’t the same and the cowboys all faded away. Old Tex was the last of that vanishing breed; He’d tell me tall tales of those days when he and his crew battled rustlers and snakes to see the herd safe to their doom. His skin was like leather from the wind and the sun; his big hands arthritic and gnarled. A roll your own cigarette drooped from his lips and his speech sounded more like a snarl. Tex passed on last night, a blessing they say, to die in his sleep with no pain. No churchyard for Tex, he will rest ‘neath the sod just out beyond the old grange He was the last of a vanishing breed; a man to his quarter horse wed. The land that he loved will keep changing above, but the wind and the stars never change.

13