"sheriffs" poems
My mind gone haywire
By standing in this hour
Knowing I should be running
Rather then continuing my life the same
Self speech after speech
Yet no action takes reach
The longer it goes the more it grows
Is that whom i've come to be
Weakness taking over me,
Darkness without light is insanity
I must overcome the dark side
Temptations, mind influence manipulation
Masters of Puppets invasion
Acting lika sheriffs of a nation
Tempting only to control
Having their way through war
I'd rather keep strong
I'd rather stand tall
I will not break
I will not fall
Existing without living
I'd rather stop breathing
Jan 7, 2013
Jan 7, 2013 at 2:43 PM UTC
all of
America’s
gubmint hatin
yahoos, pining
to get their
country back,
should grab
yer rifles, stock
up on ammo
and giddy up
down to Texas
to join the
secessionists
headin out
of the Union
Rick Perry
promises to
keep his promise
to close all the
gubmint departments
he can't remember
the names of
Ron Paul will
finally be liberated
from the tyranny
of his federal
paycheck and
can return to
his district to
practice medicine
unencumbered
by the acceptance
of medicare
payments
Ted Cruz will
move to coronate
his Cuban born
daddy as Viceroy
for life of the
western hemispheres
newest banana
republic
the last act of
of the Compartment
of Education will be
to turn every
public school
into a Holy Ghostin
Jehovah meetin
house
Judicial magistrates
will criminalize
poor people
or just make
them slaves
and all prisons
will be turned
into profit driven
plantations,
overseen by
the local
Sheriffs who
will be paid
time and a
half and 15%
of all profits
unfortunately
the Cowboy’s
will lose it’s
moniker as
America’s Team
if rattlesnake
booted
Jerry Jones
can’t make a
deal to turn
his stadium
into a sovereign
independent
territory as a
protectorate
of the USA
To assure
national purity
Texans will
build a Jericho
style wall to
define the boundaries
of their heavenly
kingdom and outlaw
all trumpet playing
within earshot
of their perturbed
borders
The Eyes of
Texas as the
state anthem
will need to
be reworded
The final stanza
will be changed
to "Until Gabriel
blows his nose"
keepin the ungodly
out and the chosen
people safely
insulated within
the shining
Lone Star State
will rise again
as a solitary
confederacy
of dunces
Music Selection:
The Eyes of Texas
Oakland
11/18/13
jbm
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 12:25 AM UTC
Dear Gerard,
Yes, that's your name now. You'll have to get used to it.
Now that's besides the point. There will be a very hard time in your life.
Where you feel like you're not like everyone else and try to be like them.
Just F-ing embrace it. Cause that's what makes you who you are.
There will be people at different times in your life that will try to make you bad.
But don't ever let The Light Behind Your Eyes fade because of them.
There will also be a time where your thoughts get the best of you.
That's when you'll find the sheriffs of emo town.
You'll also find Patrick Stump and all of Green Day.
Then, in about a year or so, you'll find something that you didn't know was missing.
which is the show Supernatural. All of which will save your life many times.
One thing I want you to never forget is ALWAYS KEEP FIGHTING.
Oh, one last thing, try to have a good relationship with your mother.
Apr 14, 2022
Apr 14, 2022 at 12:50 PM UTC
there was kangaroo a western fan was he
to be proper cowboy he just long to be
riding in to town in the dusty west
with a sheriffs badge fastened to his chest
underneath the sun riding in to town
chasing all the outlaws till the sun went down
sitting on the porch in a rocking chair
letting people know he was always there
a proper western cowboy of the very best
laying down the law in the wild wild west
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 1:18 PM UTC
there was kangaroo a western fan was he
to be proper cowboy he just long to be
riding in to town in the dusty west
with a sheriffs badge fastened to his chest.
underneath the sun riding in to town
chasing all the outlaws till the sun went down
sitting on the porch in a rocking chair
letting people know he was always there.
a proper western cowboy of the very best
laying down the law in the wild wild west.
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 8:56 AM UTC
there was kangaroo a western fan was he
to be proper cowboy he just long to be
riding in to town in the dusty west
with a sheriffs badge fastened to his chest.
underneath the sun riding in to town
chasing all the outlaws till the sun went down
sitting on the porch in a rocking chair
letting people know he was always there.
a proper western cowboy of the very best
laying down the law in the wild wild west
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 10:38 AM UTC
like a hot-wheel guided by
a holy hand above, he makes
impossible feats as if the car
creates the road, his free hand
is just as busy making
fanatic gestures to guide
scrambled linguistics
or it rests out the window
seeking a courtship
with the wind
clasping the door handle, wide-eyed
the passenger rides safely adjacent to Fear,
but at every turn Momentum carries Fear deep into the heart
where its is pumped via veins, icing the body
with awe inspiring visions.
Visions controlled by the last true
American Driver.
He drives like only a thief
can, poised by paranoia, pure thrill
achieved only through the drive, race or
getaway.
in a past life,
Neal was a great Outlaw
outrunning potbelly sheriffs
to plump on the saddle to rival
the great horsemen of their day
he’d chase trains down,
taming and taunting them
with speed and skill.
or
perhaps
he was a horse himself.
a terrific thoroughbred
bluegrass fed.
tritting
trotting
his way to a Triple Crown.
trainers fed him Benzedrine
to gage the beast. they feared
he would run through the finish line
and straight across the country
like a maniacal madman
looking for the last
true road
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 9:22 PM UTC
In secret
Words prepare dialogue transporting emotions like pilots
With no mercy words turn around and get messy
Placing Vaseline on dry throats speaking levy
Lips on skateboards sniffing the ground for reality’s ride
Electrifying plots against blurry words with
no physical basic thoughts thinking dialogue cravings
Untidy tiding plots buried in baritones hurried to hire imaginary thoughts
With no mercy things get messy
Stainless inks get messy
Poetry comes in speed bumps
Never the less poetry comes in speeds
Bumping speed bumps
Bump all slumps
Bluffing word bumps
Bump all stunts
Puff them hard till words provoke gumboot sounds
Bump all ink pumps and thirsty thumbs
Speed bump conclusions jumping resolutions around
words spoken in gibberish gigabytes per seconds smelling leverage
Amplifying televised revolution on repetition far from average
Paralyze those walking eyes
Bumping rhythms
Dusty broken chests serving overcrowded greeting lines
On solo mode
Flirtalicious solo chaotic modes
Bumb connections around chairs warmed up by bums
Speaking the same womb and rhythms
Brothers and sisters chained up in pairs and bums
enslaved by messy word poetry speed-bumbs
Words get messy with no mercy on lip bumps
Those messy words camp behind bushy brains
Rail track through lips with no vibrating mercy veins
Affiliate with true bones
Crossbones carrying history's forgotten side bums
Instrumental bones
Stinking hip hop bums speed flossing word stunts
Words dig up chaos with no mercy
Armed with no rounds
Pounds stolen before two rounds
Sheriffs secretly scared of their own uniform sounds
Shortlisted words saving society's bums
Words are just messy and profound
a.s.
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 9:54 PM UTC
The
Internet
Is the wild west
Of the modern era, with
Vast, open space, laws with few sheriffs
Fights between groups rights and religious beliefs
Unknown connections waiting, and some rustler's crime rings
And a presence of *** overlooked when this is taught to kids
Apr 18, 2017
Apr 18, 2017 at 10:18 PM UTC
Cotton is truly King ,--from Blue Ridge to Southern border , creator of fortune , remedy to pain and struggle , dividing--- pitting neighbor against neighbor , market afire funding Sheriffs and constable , alive and rampant among elderly , teenager , public official ......
King Cotton reintroducing malignant , corruption , nay from yesteryear at mercy of whip and chain ,slave and sharecropper , but to the gun , homelessness and the horror of merciless addiction....................
Sep 17, 2015
Sep 17, 2015 at 4:01 PM UTC
Received a call from
a suspect fraud line.
I answered:
“Sheriffs office.
Fraud division.
How may I help you?”
Funny thing happened.
Line went dead.
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 12:38 PM UTC
Let's hit the road
my partner in crime
lets load up our guns
burn our I.D.'s
and hop on the first
freight train headed south
to Mexican tequila
and the baking sun and sand
living life in flashes of violence
like lightening pitch forks in the sky
streaking across the barren places
which are yet to be tamed by man
we'll gun down sheriffs and posses
and **** cheap mescal
and gulf water
and dust
keeping each other safe
in the low din of the early morning
as an orange fire flickers against
burning out to embers,
so vulnerable to the wind,
against all odds still burning
and we will wake before the sun
and find somewhere
where we no longer
feel the need to run
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 1:21 PM UTC
Three burly sheriffs showed
up at my neighbors
house yesterday.
Scowls on scarred faces.
Tattered lives, tarnished
brains.
Five minutes later,
they were walking my
friend out in handcuffs.
He shuffled, head down.
Autumn frowned and the
leaves scuttled away in
disgust.
Today, the vultures swooped
in, picked the bones of all
his earthly possessions that
littered what was once his
front lawn.
Jackals, and hideous
hyena faced men and
women took the last of
his things.
Even though he was
arrested, he still
grows.
and although they are
free, they die more
daily in their own
private evictions.
I've seen more
humanity at a
hanging.
Nov 30, 2021
Nov 30, 2021 at 1:39 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
He didn't rob the banks
he didn't shoot any sheriffs
he sat outside of the bank
and burned his money in a pile
he gave his possessions
to the hungover sobs
leaving the drunk tank in the early hours
He left his family
his country
his city
his friends
to become something more
he didn't break any laws
but they still chase him down
they want him back in the fold
to insure that nobody follows
an outlaw
who didn't actually
step outside of the law
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 1:46 PM UTC
I treasure my blossom / like a flower she shall grow and blossom
I cherish her skin /fearing the worst when day it will rotten
I curse the moon / faces he changes some grin some scheme
I hold her face closest / when she misbehaves , outside in woods , to the window she will scream
I pleasure my blossom / poems she begs for so I will always write more
I answer my blossom / questions of home ? but here she will stay , here where it is warm
I dream of my blossom / her pedals lose color in colder season
I pollen my blossom / by moon fall we will know if conceived was daughter or son
I bury my blossom / this cabin is silent but loud like wind
I cry for my blossom / our child starved without a drop of milk
I need a new blossom / a daisy field is over the hill
I find my new blossom / but another gardener is there ; another I shall ****
I walk with my blossom / she holds onto my wrist tight with love
I carry my blossom / through the doorway as newlywed
I fight for my blossom / scoundrels or sheriffs couldn’t fathom our celibate matrimony
I lust for my blossom / how she smells and reminds me of my last family
I yearn for my blossom / she cries with tears - soul curling callings of pompous proportions
S H E . N E E D S . T O . C A L M . D O W N .
I pet my blossom / hum out what she needs to hear now
“The day we decay in the casket we share ; we will stare so close nose to nose. No need to breath so faint and vigorously into my ear , Im here , my dear , forever through death. Let the worms feed on us both , when our story is told , in books or songs of romance envious audience will dance. Hold onto my flesh if you need some more , in the cupboard I stored , another layer for warmth. You smell of dandelions your hair like straw , I swore I saw your shattered kaleidoscope garnished glare elsewhere before. Your soul is sown onto my own how humbled I am to have you back home. Sleep now. H U S H . N O W. Wipe tears of joy off of your porcelain skin. You will wake to my eyes , every day , every night , I will hum you asleep sing you my eulogy again again again. My most precious flower , with such a solemn smile , lips so cracked kiss so sweet , your flower will bloom with a blossom none have seen. Goodnight fare love greet me with glee inside your dream.”
the ambience of woods / the sirens of crickets
I close my eyelids on the floor beside my blossom
s i l e n c e
Apr 24, 2022
Apr 24, 2022 at 6:38 AM UTC
Lowry leanshanks came to town
riding a horse that was purple not brown.
He'd heard the sheriffs job was going
so into the ring his hat was throwing.
He might be strange and a little slim,
but who can run away from him?
His arms are thirteen metres wide,
no time to get away and hide!
Never had to use his gun,
Bullets miss him every one.
His purple horse may neigh and whinny,
but you can't shoot a man who is so skinny!
The jail was soon full of bad men,
like Cactus **** and Dust Bowl Ken.
The town was safe, the people happy,
they all so love the skinny Chappie!
Jan 11, 2011
Jan 11, 2011 at 8:01 AM UTC
I find my finger tracing silhouettes of strangers
As I tap my foot and stare outside the glass pane in front of me
Onto the street where passersby greet the crisp morning air
With knit scarves and hats and boisterous jackets and saddlebags at the hip,
Ready to ride into town and run out the sheriffs in charge of the show
On West End and Broadway.
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Flurries of snow greet the ground with thunderous applause
As I sip my brew, intertwining fingers with my mug like lovers
And tracing silhouettes of strangers standing at the corner
With my free hand.
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The silent footsteps remind me of the cars at Piccadilly Circus on the first snow of the season,
And how all rhyme and reason belong to silhouettes of strangers that walk past the storefronts and stoplights and billboards and Barclay's
Instead of the steady sound of tires screeching and stopping traffic
In this picturesque place.
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A winter's day in New York is a lot like a winter's day in London;
Silhouettes of strangers are outlined by the fingers of fresh-faced people sipping coffee in a corner café.
They tap their feet and wait for a silhouette to escape the bellowing silence of the snow and the roar of the barren roads.
All they want is to intertwine their fingers with another,
Instead of a lukewarm mug.
Aug 24, 2017
Aug 24, 2017 at 10:03 PM UTC
He was a brawned and ugly gun-slinger, and he came from the wild west;
He had the names of six dead Texan boys, tattoed on his chest;
His hat was 15 gallons tall, his long-coat midnight black;
He wore his holsters mighty high and he said his name was Jack.
He rode a palamino horse on the day he came to town;
Three deputies were in the street, and he shot those suckers down;
Dismounting by the sheriffs door, he hollered out a cry,
*"Get yer no-good chicken *** outside, today yer gonna die."*
The sheriff boldly stepped outside, a shotgun in his hand,
*"You'd best be coming quiet son, or your life aint worth a ****
Jack tipped his hat and curled his lip, he turned his head and spat,
"You shot my brother, sheriff, and yer gonna pay for that."
The sheriff paused to ponder, then he slowly shook his head,
"Your Jimmy robbed a stagecoach and he left the driver dead."
Jack grimaced at his brother's name, and his hands twitched by his side,
"You can call it how you like", he said, "But I'm gonna have yer hide."
The sheriff put the shotgun down, and they faced off in the street,
His hands were poised above his guns, he was sweating in the heat;
He waited till he saw Jack flinch, and his hands flew lightning fast,
His trusty colts were smoking as they fired their deadly blast.
For a moment they both stood stock still, then Jack fell to the ground,
His face was full of shocked surprise, but he never made a sound;
The sheriff felt a tinge of pain, and he saw his badge was bust;
As the blood came seeping from his chest, he fell into the dust.
The townsfolk still recall the day, when Jack rode into town,
And every year they say a prayer, on the day they both fell down;
They were buried up on old Boot Hill, their graves were side by side;
The sheriff renowned for killing Jack, with the man who took his hide.
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 12:11 AM UTC
Three burly sheriffs showed
up at my neighbors
house yesterday.
Scowls on scarred faces.
Tattered lives, tarnished
brains.
Five minutes later,
they were walking my
friend out in handcuffs.
He shuffled, head down.
Autumn frowned and the
leaves scuttled away in
disgust.
Today, the vultures swooped
in, picked the bones of all
his earthly possessions that
littered what was once his
front lawn.
Jackals, and hideous
hyena faced men and
women took the last of
his things.
Even though he was
arrested, he still
grows.
and although they are
free, they die more
daily in their own
private evictions.
I've seen more
humanity at a
hanging.
Jan 10, 2025
Jan 10, 2025 at 4:53 PM UTC
A time where stagecoaches were the way to travel from town to town
Also were Death arrived in burial with grave digging shovel
Mountains high with formations
Town and dust road names providing information
Sheriffs ruled in various towns
Yet robbers would often gallop into towns and intimidate citizens, Rob Banks and train holdups
John Wayne was a Movie Star was known doing western movies
“A western town not built for thieves so get out of Dodge”
Dust would often kick up from all the horse riding and wind storms
Tumbleweed flying from side to side and in any direction
The west wouldn’t be the west without a mysterious Ghost Town
Shutters that hit houses in a windy phase
Sometimes the days present haze
Shoot outs between Sheriff and Villains
I feel the bullet ricocheted and I was shot
But then again, it could have been a plot
Howdy always went into rowdy
Having a drink at a saloon
Then the hour of noon
Who would be the last man standing?
The music and dancing Can Can girls
As only a Can Can Girl can
Adventure in the west Will Smith style
Fighting villains all during while
Well that is how the west was won and living among
Now get out to the west and create your own fun
I am off to the west and I am into the sunset.
Aug 27, 2016
Aug 27, 2016 at 3:46 AM UTC
*Greens are curious eyes on exhausted game
Exasperated , miffed and melancholy all the same
Blues are hair bows , gray for gun metal gizmos
Red for flak at treetop level , white for pain
and tears for no known reason , brown for eyeing the
hunted out of season , Tiffany lamp soldered bits of glass ,
hiding histories homicidal past
Purple to calibrate the down hill day , yellow for catching
a ride on the astral plane
Pink for clearing , Winter afternoons , Nutmeg cobblestone lanes
Black for tyrants with the keys to destruction
Amber for Sheriffs that carryout their coercion* ...
Sep 9, 2016
Sep 9, 2016 at 9:15 PM UTC
In life stories form
all informed knowing, be it
beautiful adversity universally
re-co-known
acknowledged with smiles, and
nods, sense of yes, I know, I think,
I see you think, so, I know, I did
finish writing something meaningful;
or, be it in every way some other way.
I think you may imagine you agree.
In conscience used, we take science,
knowledge of beauty, chaotic clouds,
bending rays of sunshine, evening
the heave offering, leaving smooth
cool of the day
white sugar desert dunes, to an ant or bee.
{KJB, viable Bible archetype, declares phonetic
remenants of Eber's unconfused use of letters,
towb rah translate as good and evil, but better see
טוֹברַע good and bad, useful and useless to the point
of wasting effort, in a take it easy world, where we
know enough, drink, remember when it was,
plenty of water, no real enemies yet, and only
one barrier, over which those beautiful wild
seeds have been carried, by ravens, and doves
and rodents who surface only in the night.
Let's recall an old told tale, how folks
skinned in many colors we continue to be coated with,
all lost the knowledge that lying was used, to steal,
during lives times when we are parts in wholes,
until all things continuing, combine your will
to wonder what I imagined I am continuing,
with my own will to wander on, meandering
through the substance of hope, by my own
faith, fi, upright, balanced valence in chemical
terms, fit to fight for your right to think wrong,
confident my pride has been filed to a point,
not my right to be wrong, or do wrong, or lie.
To give good reason for cost of learning.
The faith that gives reason its point.
To tell the truth, sheriffs were good guys,
when I was a kid, a wild little goat, indeed,
I have seen myself in seven grandchildren
and their little heathen friends, so I know,
we get more like ourselves, my mother in law said.
And now, I keep the peace, wu wei easy knowing
towb ra' beautiful efforting life demands in return,
for freely eating from all the trees in the garden, thank you.
Aug 28, 2024
Aug 28, 2024 at 4:35 PM UTC
It's life and not the Western Front
you don't get the sheriffs star
or go with Beau Geste on
a terrorist hunt
Daktari?
who mentioned that throwback
from the outback
way back
long ago?
If you wanted fireworks
you've got them
I've got a hyperactive thyroid
******* annoyed about it
but
****
it's small potatoes when compared to
this atom bomb we're siting on
Is it all quiet?
inyer
dreams.
Nov 5, 2017
Nov 5, 2017 at 1:53 PM UTC
Rained all day and night. Wind blew the window in, had to hold the ol' girl real tight and coo, Coo Coo Kachoo. Everything topsy turvy, wooden benches blown over. Fields flooded and streams form in the valleys and glades. Water on the road. The day before the radio took a break reporting about the virus to speak about the latest genetic editing break through. Restoring sight to the blind they say. In the basement below the Courthouse steps a deputy takes my temperature, pressing a device against my temple, I imagine how many other heads its met in its tour of duty touching Tom, **** and Sally. 98.6 straight down the middle. Turn to the deputy, ask him if he's got an MD, call em Doc. Its all so sudden isn't it? how quickly your local Court visit to file some paperwork becomes more of an ordeal. It used to be you could walk into any door without being scanned, poked and **** but here we are, the sum total of something invasive, the other deputies guarding the other court jokes about ****** exams. I'm not waiting for the snakes.
Brave the flood to drive into the slow muddy river lands. Tell the Judge's assistant I'll make it so long as its passable. She contacts the Sheriffs and suggests a C-curve, I drive it straight through, meet a man with tattoos on his face, stars around the eyes, jump man on the cheek. We say our goodbyes and I drive amongst the cows and flooded roads. Twisting and turning, high water, so fragile, the mud that holds my tire.
Mar 20, 2020
Mar 20, 2020 at 7:30 PM UTC