The Web Poetry Corner
The Web Poetry Corner
Rhinelander, WI, US
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When she was born, her eyes mourned for me to hold.
For over the years, Some how we went cold.
She holds her head high.
As she walks for all others to meet.
How is it?
That she is not there for me.
Today was awesome for me,as she danced for all others to see.
The pride grew high, and the time somehow passed.
Her beauty has far surpassed,the love that I hold.
she dances, like water of gold.
She is my daughter, the one thats so dear.
I will love her forever.
Untill one day, my blood runs cold.
Sun sets on the hole in the wall.
Looking back on how the West was.
Taking from the rich,was just cause.
How uncivilized it must have been.
To have ridden in that cowboys den.
Six guns blaring.
Pinkertin law man is on your trail.
Seeing nothing more then their horses tails.
The gang all rides to this day.
September they salute the old cowboy way.
We still ride the saddle.
As we herd the cattle.
Livin' the old cowboy way.
The wall is yet there stone red and gray.
Cowboys keep their horses at bay.
While camp fires light wyoming nights like day.
We drink, we laugh, we carry on tradition.
We are still livin' the old cowboy way.
The day passes on untill night takes over.
Still waiting for what has never come.
She has the spirit of 1000 wild horses.
And the kindness of many kittens.
Months have gone by and I can still feel her touch.
Is it all in my mind, or am I still waiting.
Four seasons have come and gone.
The snow has fell and the ice has melted.
Oh God can you here me I am still waiting.
She has the colors of rainbows.
And eyes that would melt the sea's.
she kissed me and told me she loved me.
As she turned and walked away.
Like leaves hitting the forest floor.
That cannot return to the tree.
Oh I am so afraid love will never come.
So I am still waiting.
we wait to hate,
So I will wait for the love I share.
Nights of Wyoming
HOW I LONG TO LIVE IN THE HILLS OF WYOMING.
NIGHTS OF STARS AND MOUNTAINS GLITERING.
THE CALL OF THE WEST HAS FAR SURPASSED .
THE LOVE THAT FOR ME, THAT HAS LASTED.
WHEN I HEAR THE NIGHTS OF WYOMING.
I STOP AND LISTEN.
THOUGH THESE EYE’S HAVE NEVER SEEN.
THE DEEPEST DARK NIGHT OF WYOMING.
MY MIND PLAYS GAMES OF THINGS TO COME.
THOUGH MY SOUL BEG’S FOR THE TASTE OF WYOMING.
MY HORSE STANDS AT BAY THERE.
THE SADDLE READY.
OH HOW I LONG FOR THE NIGHTS OF WYOMING.
FOR ONE DAY THE WIND WILL BLOW WEST.
AND I WILL BE THERE.
JUST MY HORSE AND I WILL SHARE.
THE MEMORIES OF OLD COWBOYS.
AND THE SWEET WYOMING AIR.
There once was a man, who took from the rich.
The farmers, they all loved him as they pitched such a fit.
He rode his horse hard, and he laid down some lead.
That man we all love, now lay’s in the ground dead.
His name is a legend , and his brother was too.
Everyone fear’s, the old colt six gun he used.
He was dusty, and dirty, this man we all knew.
Money that he stole, was spank’en brand-new.
A man can only think, the heat that he felt.
Running and shooting , as he’d stop to drink a belt
Some think he was a hero, other’s felt he was just a robinhood.
No other man could stand in his shoe’s, as he once stood .
He ran from the lawmen, and sang to his horse.
Slept by camp fires, on his long day’s course.
He went by a couple of name’s
And so did his horse,
We will all miss him, this man Jessie James
As the rain begins on my roof top tin
I lay there awake, sit there and think how will the day begin.
It doesn’t really matter, as one hears the coyote’s cry.
I know what is waiting for me out my door, when it’s nice and dry.
White Snowcap Mountains high.
Trees of aspen as far as my eye can see.
Lazy days with mountain haze could make a grown man cry.
The geese are flying slowly, as you can hear their cry.
Winter is coming softly, against the Colorado sky.
Majestic elk are screaming, that winter almost here.
Their heads are silently crashing, fighting for their domain.
Chickadees are softly singing, on my window pain.
So if one plans their day adjourning .I would sit and laugh, and never give up my Colorado morning.
Once I am up will pour a cup of jo.
I won’t wake the wife, slowly tiptoe.
Out too the front porch I will go.
There I will sit in my chair, just a rocking.
Enjoying my Colorado morning.
Clear blue days with mountain haze, I am Eagle in flight.
Wings out wide, I glide with ease on the soft north breeze.
I am the symbol of freedom.
The Spirit of Indians and Tribal Nations,
Taking to the skies of the Lords creation.
Searching the canyons for the soul of man.
I am eagle, spirit of knowing the troubles of land.
I see the destruction of Nature at hand.
Pollution of streams, timber falling, garbage mounting all caused by man.
My wings open wide for every soul to see.
Nature is yours and mine to keep.
High in the sky, I cannot escape the gases.
Acid rain, is killing the fish, we feed to our kind that hatches.
What will men do, when Eagles flight ends?
Oceans and lakes die, and the fresh water descends.
They say he rode the wind, rain and mist.
He would ride against the U.S like a woman’s soft kiss.
Fighting for his people and the land we were taking.
Remembering the day of buffalo.
And drying fish his people were making.
More than twenty-five years he escaped our U.S post
In 1876 apache fell to the United States forces
He was a warrior, more famous than most.
Placed in a jail, were there was no bail.
His people all cried that the great warrior had fell.
The war cry of this man of paint and pride.
Now his soul has silently died.
For his people, war danced the campfires.
Just for his just return is all they desire
He did not fall alone this man of bone
We treated this man like an old wet stone.
For his people thought he sat on a throne.
Still fighting he did escape from hells forty acres.
Running and joining his people in New Mexico
U.S gathered many, to track Geronimo
Five thousand men in all, they rode across Arizona and New Mexico
Killing his people and slaying his braves.
Treating them as if they lived in caves.
They broke this warrior down.
Hauled him back to their market town.
Sent him on a box car to a southern Florida town
We tried him and shipped him to Oklahoma.
Were his judge found him prisoner of war.
We will all know him as Apache warrior Geronimo.