Leo's Poetry Pit

[Leo Tanner]

I finally got a chance ta set down and read all these carefully.  Have loved every one

This one come from Mister Walt Whitman, and though it has a sea going theme, it is about something completely differnt.   Kind a fits right in on this here forum.

O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;   
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;   
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,   
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:   
    But O heart! heart! heart!          5
      O the bleeding drops of red,   
        Where on the deck my Captain lies,   
          Fallen cold and dead.   
   
2

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;   
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;   10
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;   
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;   
    Here Captain! dear father!   
      This arm beneath your head;   
        It is some dream that on the deck,   15
          You’ve fallen cold and dead.   
   
3

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;   
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;   
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;   
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;   20
    Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!   
      But I, with mournful tread,   
        Walk the deck my Captain lies,   
          Fallen cold and dead.   

[Cyrille]

A Song of Fairie

Have you ever seen a unicorn?
Have you glimpsed a faun?
Have you watched the "little people"
dance across a lawn?

I have, come along
it happens every spring
when winds are soft,
white clouds aloft
you hear the woodland sing.

White powder atop the emerald green
ash trees budding fair
here a nook with a stony brook
singing a soft, slow aire.

There, amidst red heather
a dappled hind reclines.
Wind sings its song
to her new born fawn
or any ear it finds.

Dandelions and daffodils
dance in the evening breeze.
Deep in the grass demure violets
peek 'round daisies pale green knees.

Yonder a lone thistle
waltzes with the wind
or perhaps it's
 that devil's spawn
the leprechaun,
Hamish an McCynn!

Deep in the woods
sounds the haunting bass
of a far away hunters horn.
There, among trees shadow
stands a bearded unicorn!

Cyrille

[Leo Tanner]

From 1798, this one just sneaks in. 
     I'll just do the first part, cause if I did the whole thing the Marshall prolly would have me hanged


An ancient Mariner meeteth three Gallants bidden to a wedding-feast, and detaineth one.

    It is an ancient Mariner,
    And he stoppeth one of three.
    ‘By thy long beard and glittering eye,
    Now wherefore stopp’st thou me?

    The Bridegroom’s doors are opened wide,
    And I am next of kin;
    The guests are met, the feast is set:
    May’st hear the merry din.’

    He holds him with his skinny hand,
    ‘There was a ship,’ quoth he.
    ‘Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!’
    Eftsoons his hand dropt he.


    He holds him with his glittering eye--
    The Wedding-Guest stood still,
    And listens like a three years’ child:
    The Mariner hath his will.

    The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone:
    He cannot choose but hear;
    And thus spake on that ancient man,
    The bright-eyed Mariner.

    ‘The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared,
    Merrily did we drop
    Below the kirk, below the hill,
    Below the lighthouse top.


    The Sun came up upon the left,
    Out of the sea came he!
    And he shone bright, and on the right
    Went down into the sea.

    Higher and higher every day,
    Till over the mast at noon--’
    The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast,
    For he heard the loud bassoon.

    The bride hath paced into the hall,
    Red as a rose is she;
    Nodding their heads before her goes
    The merry minstrelsy.

    The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast,
    Yet he cannot choose but hear;
    And thus spake on that ancient man,
    The bright-eyed Mariner.


    ‘And now the Storm-blast came, and he
    Was tyrannous and strong:
    He struck with his o’ertaking wings,
    And chased us south along.

    With sloping masts and dipping prow,
    As who pursued with yell and blow
    Still treads the shadow of his foe,
    And forward bends his head,
    The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast,
    The southward aye we fled.

    And now there came both mist and snow,
    And it grew wondrous cold:
    And ice, mast-high, came floating by,
    As green as emerald.


    And through the drifts the snowy clifts
    Did send a dismal sheen:
    Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken--
    The ice was all between.

    The ice was here, the ice was there,
    The ice was all around:
    It cracked and growled, and roared and howled,
    Like noises in a swound!


    At length did cross an Albatross,
    Thorough the fog it came;
    As if it had been a Christian soul,
    We hailed it in God’s name.

    It ate the food it ne’er had eat,
    And round and round it flew.
    The ice did split with a thunder-fit;
    The helmsman steered us through

    And a good south wind sprung up behind;
    The Albatross did follow,
    And every day, for food or play,
    Came to the mariner’s hollo!

    In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud,
    It perched for vespers nine;
    Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white,
    Glimmered the white Moon-shine.’

    ‘God save thee, ancient Mariner!
    From the fiends, that plague thee thus!--
    Why look’st thou so?’--With my cross-bow
    I shot the Albatross

[Advertising]

[Russ T Chambers]

Here's another one for ya!

The Cowboy's Life
The bawl of a steer
To a cowboy's ear
Is music of sweetest strain;
And the yelping notes
Of the gray coyotes
To him are a glad refrain.

And his jolly songs
Speed him along
As he thinks of the little gal
With golden hair
Who is waiting there
At the bars of the home corral.

For a kingly crown
In the noisy town
His saddle he would n't change;
No life so free
As the life we see
'Way out on the Yaso range.

His eyes are bright
And his heart as light
As the smoke of his cigarette;
There's never a care
For his soul to bear,
No trouble to make him fret.

The rapid beat
Of his bronco's feet
On the sod as he speeds along,
Keeps living time
To the ringing rhyme
Of his rollicking cowboy's song.

Hike it, cowboys,
For the range away
On the back of a bronc of steel,
With a careless flirt
Of the raw-hide quirt
And the dig of a roweled heel.

The winds may blow
And the thunder growl
Or the breeze may safely moan;
A cowboy's life
Is a royal life,
His saddle his kingly throne.

Saddle up, boys,
For the work is play
When love's in the cowboy's eyes,
When his heart is light
As the clouds of white
That swim in the summer skies.

[Leo Tanner]

 
    Good one!

[Delmonico]

Frugal Cowboy Meal

This ain't no Hardee's
Nor is it a Mickee-dee's
There ain't no drive-up window
And a menu you won't see

This is just an old chuckwagon
That's been through hell and back
You won't see no Happy Meals
'Cause my food won't fit in a sack

We don't give no little toys
With the meal you receive
But will pass out the Rolaids
They're about the only thing that's free

We ain't got no purdy waitress
To bring out yer gourmet meal
Just an old wore out camp cook
Who's plum nasty, mean and ill

'Cause he's been up early fixin
Your meal didn't come pre-cooked
And there ain't no tellin what fell in
When you weren't there to look

But his coffee is always hot and black
You won't find no preservatives here
And the meat is 100% pure
Mostly coyote, beef and deer

Now don't go getting squeamish
Cuz we ain't killed nobody yet
And you'll get a free coupon
For a visit to the vet

So get up here in line, folks
For a frugal cowboy meal
Before ole cookie starts tenderizin'
With them big ole wagon wheels

[Leo Tanner]

Now THAT'S a classic!!!

[Delmonico]

Boomer Johnson

Now Mr. Boomer Johnson was a gettin' old in spots,
But you don't expect a bad man to go wrastlin' pans and pots;
But he'd done his share of killin' and his draw was gettin' slow,
So he quits a-punchin' cattle and he takes to punchin' dough.

Our foreman up and hires him, figurin' age had rode him tame,
But a snake don't get no sweeter just by changin' of its name.
Well, Old Boomer knowed his business - he could cook to make you smile,
But say, he wrangled fodder in a most peculiar style.

He never used no matches - left em layin' on the shelf,
Just some kerosene and cussin' and the kindlin' lit itself.
And, pardner, I'm allowin' it would give a man a jolt
To see him stir frijoles with the barrel of his Colt.

Now killin' folks and cookin' ain't so awful far apart,
That musta been why Boomer kept a-practicin' his art;
With the front sight of his pistol he would cut a pie-lid slick,
And he'd crimp her with the muzzle for to make the edges stick.

He built his doughnuts solid, and it sure would curl your hair
To see him plug a doughnut as he tossed it in the air.
He bored the holes plum center every time his pistol spoke,
Till the can was full of doughnuts and the shack was full of smoke.

We-all was gettin' jumpy, but he couldn't understand
Why his shootin' made us nervous when his cookin' was so grand.
He kept right on performin', and it weren't no big surprise
When he took to markin' tombstones on the covers of his pies.

They didn't taste no better and they didn't taste no worse,
But a-settin' at the table was like ridin' in a hearse;
You didn't do no talkin' and you took just what you got,
So we et till we was foundered just to keep from gettin' shot.

When at breakfast one bright mornin', I was feelin' kind of low,
Old Boomer passed the doughnuts and I tells him plenty:
"No, All I takes this trip is coffee, for my stomach is a wreck."
I could see the itch for killin' swell the wattle on his neck.

Scorn his grub? He strings some doughnuts on the muzzle of his gun,
And he shoves her in my gizzard and he says, "You're takin' one!"
He was set to start a graveyard, but for once he was mistook;
Me not wantin' any doughnuts, I just up and salts the cook.

Did they fire him? Listen, pardner, there was nothin' left to fire,
Just a row of smilin' faces and another cook to hire.
If he joined some other outfit and is cookin', what I mean,
It's where they ain't no matches and they don't need kerosene.

[Delmonico]

One from Red, Steagall that is.

The Fence That Me and Shorty Built


We'd picked up all the fencing tools
And staples off the road.
An extra roll of 'bob' wire
Was the last thing left to load.

I drew a sleeve across my face
To wipe away the dirt.
The young man who was helping me
Was tuckin' in his shirt.

I turned around to him and said,
"This fence is finally done,
With five new strands of 'bob' wire
Shinin' proudly in the sun.

The wire is runnin' straight and tight
With every post in line.
The kinda job you're proud of,
One that stands the test of time."

The kid was not impressed at all,
He stared off into space.
Reminded me of years ago,
Another time and place.

I called myself a cowboy,
I was full of buck and bawl
I didn't think my hands would fit
Post augers and a maul.

They sent me out with Shorty
And the ranch fence building crew.
Well, I was quite insulted
And before the day was through,

I let him know that I'm a cowboy,
This ain't what I do.
I ain't no dadgummed nester,
I hired out to buckaroo.

He said, "We'll talk about that son,
When we get in tonight.
Right now you pick them augers up.
It's either that or fight."

Boy, I was diggin' post holes
Faster than a Georgia mole.
But if a rock got in my way
I simply moved the hole.

So when the cowboys set the posts,
The line went in and out.
Old Shorty's face got fiery red
And I can hear him shout.

"Nobody but a fool would build
A fence that isn't straight.
I got no use for someone who ain't
Pullin' his own weight."

I thought for sure he'd hit me
Glad he didn't have a gun.
I looked around to find a place
Where I could duck and run.

But Shorty walked up to me
Just as calm as he could be.
Said, "Son, I need to talk to you,
Let's find ourselves a tree."

He rolled a Bull Durham cigarette
As we sat on the ground.
He took himself a puff or two
Then slowly looked around.

"Son, I ain't much on schoolin',
Didn't get too far with that.
But there's alot of learnin'
Hidden underneath this hat.

I got it all the hard way,
Every bump and bruise and fall.
Now some of it was easy,
But then most weren't fun a'tall

But one thing that I always got
From every job I've done,
Is do the best I can each day
And try to make it fun.

I know that bustin' through them rocks
Ain't what you like to do.
By gettin' mad you've made it tough
On me and all the crew.

Now you hired on to cowboy
And you think you've got the stuff.
You told him you're a good hand
And the boss has called your bluff.

So how's that gonna make you look
When he comes ridin' through,
And he asks me who dug the holes
And I say it was you.

Now we could let it go like this
And take the easy route.
But doin' things the easy way
Ain't what it's all about.

The boss expects a job well done,
From every man he's hired.
He'll let you slide by once or twice,
Then one day you'll get fired.

If you're not proud of what you do,
You won't amount to much.
You'll bounce around from job to job
Just slightly out of touch.

Come mornin' let's re-dig those holes
And get that fence in line.
And you and I will save two jobs,
Those bein' yours and mine.

And someday you'll come ridin' through
And look across this land,
And see a fence that's laid out straight
And know you had a hand,

In something that's withstood the years.
Then proud and free from guilt,
You'll smile and say, 'Boys that's the fence
That me and Shorty built."

[Cyrille]

AfterMath
{A poem for two voices}

Prolouge

{The prophecy has come full circle.
  What once was won, now is lost
   T's as it was predicted
a kingdom fell'd by carnal lust}

"The shrieking now has ended.
The battle shouts are stilled,
in the twilight of our time
I find thee lying near Camlann hill.

Next to thee lies Arthur dying,
a lance broken, bloody in his breast.
Is this Lancelot, what love has cost us?
His death to be our sole bequest?

Blood upon thy chest is drying.
Death has won the field this day.
Neither bird nor breeze disturbs
the stillness
or the dust in which ye lay.

Are his dreams to be forgotten?
Have all his efforts been for nought?
Is this Lancelot, my darling
is this the vengeance our love has bought?

Speak sir! Art thou dead?
Shalt thee call him back and heal him
as thou once did Aggravain*
or let him die and his dreams with him
only legend to remain?"

"Lust has robbed me of the power,
he doth die Guin, come the dawn.
We shalt not be remembered
but of him bards will make song.

Arthur shalt not be forgotten
and his dreams Guin, will live on;
for as long as men have memories
Arthur lives in Avalon!"

 Cyrille
* It was Sir Urry whom Lancelot brought back from death, not Sir Aggravian
 I have used my "Poetic License"

[Leo Tanner]

 I have used my "Poetic License"

Mine got revoked

     I thought that was an excellant telling of the story.  I can imagine, that as intimate as they were he truly would have had an abbreviated pet name for her.  Great imagery--Lil's going to enjoy that one (been facinated with all things Camelot for years).


Leo

[Delmonico]

"member a joke from 1991, was said we should send Teddy to rule Iraq, no bridges and he could have his own Camel-Lot.

[Leo Tanner]

Someone autta slip ole Ted a link ta this website.
     I don think there's a single thread in which we haven't given him hell


Leo

[Leo Tanner]

These two poems are written by two different people.  The first by a Canadian soldier in WWI, the second a response that was written later by an American woman.

In Flanders Fields
In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row and row
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders Fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
  If ye break faith with us who die
  We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
  In Flanders Fields
                          John McCrae, 1915

 We Shall Keep the Faith
  Oh ! You who sleep  in Flanders' fields
  Sleep sweet-to rise anew;
  We caught the torch you threw,
  And holding high we kept
  The faith with those who died.

  We, cherish, too, the Poppy red
  That grows on fields where valor red
  It seems to signal to the skies
  That blood of heroes never dies.
  But lends a lustre to the red
  On the flower that blooms above the dead
  In Flanders' Fields

  And now the torch and Poppy red
  Wear in honour of our dead.
  Fear not that ye have died for naught:
  We've learned the lesson that ye thaught
  In Flanders' Fields.
                                Moina Michael

[Ozark Tracker]

ya can't hardly let a Memorial Day pass without this one.




I walked through a county courthouse square,
On a park bench an old man was sitting there.
I said, "Your old courthouse is kinda rundown,"
He said, "Naw, it'll do for our little town."
I said, "Your old flagpole has leaned a little bit,
And that's a Ragged Old Flag you got hanging on it."
*
He said, "Have a seat", and I sat down.
"Is this the first time you've been to our little town?"
I said, "I think it is." He said, "I don't like to brag,
But we're kinda proud of that Ragged Old Flag."
*
"You see, we got a little hole in that flag there
When Washington took it across the Delaware.
And it got powder-burned the night Francis Scott Key
Sat watching it writing "Oh Say Can You See".
And it got a bad rip in New Orleans
With Packingham and Jackson tuggin' at it's seams."
*
"And it almost fell at the Alamo
Beside the Texas flag, but she waved on though.
She got cut with a sword at Chancellorsville
And she got cut again at Shiloh Hill.
There was Robert E. Lee, Beauregard, and Bragg,
And the south wind blew hard on that Ragged Old Flag."
*
"On Flanders Field in World War I
She got a big hole from a Bertha Gun.
She turned blood red in World War II
She hung limp and low a time or two.
She was in Korea and Vietnam.
She went where she was sent by her Uncle Sam."
*
"She waved from our ships upon the briny foam,
And now they've about quit waving her back here at home.
In her own good land here she's been abused...
She's been burned, dishonored, denied and refused."
*
"And the government for which she stands
is scandalized throughout the land.
And she's getting threadbare and wearing thin,
But she's in good shape for the shape she's in.
'Cause she's been through the fire before
and I believe she can take a whole lot more."
*
"So we raise her up every morning,
Take her down every night.
We don't let her touch the ground
And we fold her up right.
On second thought I DO like to brag,
Cause I'm mighty proud of that Ragged Old Flag."

[Texas Lawdog]

What He Said!

[Silver Creek Slim]

Those are good ones.

Slim

[Texas Lawdog]

Porter Waggoner did a song several years ago about a guy wearing an old hat in a bar. A large Biker made fun of the guy's hat and he explains to the guy about the hat. Afterwards, the Biker has a different attitude.

[Leo Tanner]

Ozark,

     I can see the flag I fly out the window where I use the computer.  I kept looking up at it as I read that--an I got ta say you really hit the mark.


Leo

[Cyrille]

To return to the theme of "A Song of Fairie" and "The Last Centaur" I offer this---

Ode to Persephone
       {Spring}

In the faint glow of
fading night
Naiads chase
the rising sun.

Wood nymphs stir
sleepily upon pastal boughs
in quiet colored dawn.

Their godling mates
silver tinged
by melting moonlight
snore softly.

The sun, brilliant
in tangerine orange
wakes the wind.

The hoof thunder
of centaurs drums
across pale green meadows,

rousing nymphs
and godlings
to greet
April's queen.

She comes with the budding day;
sea-green eyes
honey brown hair,
dark with dew.

She comes
clad in gossamer garments
green and white
astride her dappled palfrey

blessing all with
the benediction
of her smile.

Cyrille