The Great Gunfighters (Fun Poem 70)
They stood facing each other in the street;
each had a revolver strapped to their hip.
They stood with their legs apart
as their hand hovered above their holster.
Each looked into the others eyes,
a blink by either of them
could bring on a draw.
However, the guns they used
weren’t as accurate as some would believe;
they probable miss each other completely.
So much for some of the great gunfighters
as most earned their reputations
by shooting someone in the back.
11 February 2007
poem by David Harris
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Over The Falls
They broke out in laughter again,
His lip beaded with sweat as they strapped him in,
And he stood by and waited to be called.
The talk was of times that had gone by
And the quantity and quality of women they lie.
His eyes welled with wet and his mouth had gone dry.
As he stood by and waited to be called.
He stood by and waited to be called.
He stood by and waited like the others before
For his turn to go over the falls.
He got up and tried it again.
For lack of persistence is surely a sin.
As he stood by and waited to be called,
He looked to the lightning with glee
And admired his vessel for its symmetry,
Feeling twelve units shy of a bachelors degree.
As he stood by and waited to be called.
He stood by and waited to be called.
He stood by and waited like the others before
For his turn to go over the falls.
song performed by by Primus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Top Man
This is a public warning
Be careful when you're out
We are having freaky weather
There's a lot of it about
On the terraces is it swinging
He's a monkey on the roof
You've seen him on the telly
So let me introduce you're host tonight
T.o.p.m.a.n. he's naughty by nature
T.o.p.m.a.n. on doubles and chasers
T.o.p.m.a.n. guilette or a razor
T.o.p.m.a.n. shooting guns on the high street of love
In a crowd it's hard to spot him
But anonymity can cost
He's never cheap or cheerful
He's hugo and he's boss
He's riding through the desert on a camel light
And on a magic carpet he'll fly away tonight
Open sesame
T.o.p.m.a.n. he's naughty by nature
T.o.p.m.a.n. on doubles and chasers
T.o.p.m.a.n. guilette or a razor
T.o.p.m.a.n. shooting guns on the high street of love
T.o.p.m.a.n. sees her in double
T.o.p.m.a.n. then pukes on the pavement
T.o.p.m.a.n. likes her all clean and shaven
T.o.p.m.a.n. shooting guns on the high street of love
T.o.p.m.a.n. he's naughty by nature
T.o.p.m.a.n. on doubles and chasers
T.o.p.m.a.n. guilette or a razor
T.o.p.m.a.n. shooting guns on the high street of love
T.o.p.m.a.n. shooting guns on the high street of love
T.o.p.m.a.n. shooting guns on the high street of love
song performed by by Blur from The Great Escape
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Curtain Of Desperation
They stood in the curtain of desperation
with cold eyes narrowed on one another.
Their hearts beating quicker as moments ticked by
and the dust that curled around their boots,
where one within would eventually lie.
They stood facing one another
on the lonely dusty street with no heart.
Their hands hovered nervously
over the guns they wore on their hips.
Each waited for the others move,
and slowly the hands moved closer
to the marking of one’s time.
Within seconds, it was over
as two cracks of thunder broke the silence
with smoke mixed with dust concealing momentarily
the lonely dusty street with no heart.
When it cleared, only one was standing,
the other lay in the dust cold and silent.
The curtain of desperation that was ripped apart
in the thunder, smoke and dust.
Now it cleared to the only one
who would walk away to face
the curtain of desperation
again on another day.
1 July 2011
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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6th Avenue Heartache
Sirens ring, the shots ring out
A stranger cries, screams out loud
I had my world strapped against my back
I held my hands, never knew how to act
Chorus:
And the same black line that was drawn on you
Was drawn on me
And now its drawn me in
6th avenue heartache
Below me was a homeless man
Im singin songs I knew complete
On the steps alone, his guitar in hand
Its fifty years, stood where he stands
Now walkin home on those streets
The river winds move my feet
Subway steam, like silhouettes in dreams
They stood by me, just like moonbeams
Look out the window, down upon that street
And gone like a midnight was that man
But I see his six strings laid against that wall
And all his things, they all look so small
I got my fingers crossed on a shooting star
Just like me-just moved on
song performed by by Wallflowers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Janice and You and the Spider
You stood
in the playground
of St Jude's school
which was really
the basement
of a bombed out house
which had been gutted
and the basement tarmaced
and the walls
were still there
where kids climbed up
and around
the thin ledge
when Janice
put her hands
over your eyes
and said
guess who?
and you put
your hands
into the pockets
of your short trousers
and said
Miss Murphy
or Miss Ashdown?
no
Janice said
it's me
and she removed
her hands
from over your eyes
and you turned around
and looked at her
and she had
her red beret on
and a pink scarf
around her neck
to keep out
the cold
you must
have known
it was me
she said
who else
would put their hands
over your eyes?
her eyes were bright
and you thought
you could see yourself
in them
as if they were small mirrors
Jupp might do
or maybe Carmody
you said smiling
she didn't smile back
but pulled her lips
tight in a line
then she took your hand
and pulled you
along the path
that led
to the school toilets
and pushed you
inside a cubicle
and shut the door
behind you both
and said
don't you love me?
there was a large spider
hanging from
the cistern chain
close to
her red beret
and it hung there
suspended
swaying back
and forth
and you said
of course I do
right down
to your white socks
but there's a spider
above your head
and she looked up
and screamed
and a voice
outside the door
asked
are you all right
in there?
Janice's eyes widened
and she watched
as the spider
moved up the chain
and she said
yes it's all right
Miss Murphy
just a small spider
and you stood there
next to Janice
wondering what
Miss Murphy
would say
if she saw you
and Janice
in the lavatory
together
and the voice said
ok as long
as you
are all right
and the footsteps
moved away
and Janice took
your hand in hers
and you sensed
how cold it was
slightly blue
and it was just
9 year old Janice
and the big spider
and 9 year old you.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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3 Feet Tall
3 feet tall
With a head like a bowling ball
Cant get up from where you fall
D'you bring this back to me?
What's it for?
Stood in the clothes that you once wore
Stood up from the night before
D'you drink and never leave?
Take my hand across the sand and lead me out to sea
Heaven sent the money we spent, give it back to me
Loneliness,
It's got your name and your new address
When it walks in the place is a mess
and it drinks and never leaves
What's it for?
Stood in the clothes that you once wore
Stood up from the night before
Do you dream and never sleep?
Heaven sent the money we spent, give it back to me
Take my hand across the sand and lead me out to sea
Take my hand across the sand and lead me out to sea
Heaven sent the money we spent, give it back to me
Fortune favours, Money takers, Get a sound and see
Sounds 'strumental, Fashion central, give it back to me
song performed by by I Am Kloot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Memories (Emirates Airlines)
Today I woke up and jumped out of bed
Looked for my uniform and hat instead
Hoping to be on a flight once again
What was I thinking…it's hard to comprehend?
For a minute, I stood still and looked at the room
Nothing looked familiar…as I had presumed
Then I felt a tear rolling down my cheek
What has life done to make me this weak?
Why did time fly with a blink of an eye?
Memories remain and just goodbyes…
I wish I could travel back in time
When my youth was all at its prime
Friends and family who loved me so dear
Now I'm scared and full of fear
Of what life will bring…its hard to tell
Who to trust …I cant foretell.
poem by Meena Mustafa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The time helps
A frame that stood the test of time
Stands as a monument.
A thing that stood the test of time
Stands as an antique.
A writing that stood the test of time
Stands as a classic
A name that stood the test of time
Stands as a great.
There might be numerous
More valuable than them,
As casualties of accidents.
06.05.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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In Another Land
In another land where the breeze and the
Trees and flowers were blue
I stood and held your hand.
And the grass grew high and the feathers floated by
I stood and held your hand.
And nobody else's hand will ever do
Nobody else will do
Then I awoke
Was this some kind of joke
Much to my surprise
I opened my eyes.
We walked across the sand and the sea and
The sky and the castles were blue.
I stood and held your hand.
And the spray flew high and the feathers floated by
I stood and held your hand.
And nobody else's hand will ever do
Nobody else will do
Then I awoke
Was this some kind of joke
Much to my surprise
When I opened my eyes.
We heard the trumpets blow and the sky
Turned red when I accidently said
That I didn't know how I came to be here
Not fast asleep in bed.
I stood and held your hand.
And nobody else's hand will ever do
Nobody else's hand
Then I awoke
Was this some kind of joke
I opened my eyes.
Much to my surprise.
song performed by by Rolling Stones from Their Satanic Majesties Request
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We Did Our Bit At Waterloo
It was the year of 1815
on Sunday the 16th of June.
Wellington and we British lads
arrived here in the afternoon.
Napoleon and his Frenchmen
were waiting for the ground to dry
before commencing with the battle,
and today looked like he’d try.
We stood across the Brussels road
and were ready to begin the day,
but the French had beaten us to it,
by eleven their guns were firing away.
For two hours solid we came under fire
and things weren’t looking that well,
until Colonel Colbourne gave the order
to stand up, fire back and give them hell.
The Garde Imperiale were the best,
but the 52nd repelled their attack.
We charged causing the French to flee
and we weren’t turning back.
The 52nd Light Infantry won the day
for England and Wellington,
and yet we hardly got a mention
when history was finally written.
poem by Orlando Belo
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On Westminster Bridge.
Fay looked down
at the River Thames
from Westminster Bridge
and you stood next to her
watching the boats
go under the bridge
and disappear from view
and she said
my dad said he'd take me
on one of those boats
and out to sea
but he never has
you looked sideways at her
taking in her blonde hair
and her blue eyes
and the way the wind
touched her hair
and made her dress
move about her legs
I've been on boats
on the river before
you said
making conversation
not seeking to impress
or boast
I like the chugging sound
of the boat
you added
Fay touched
the edge of the bridge
where she stood
and said
this bridge was built in 1862
I heard about it in class
Miss Ash told us about it
oh yes she
with her massive shoulders
and arms and big breasts
you said
and Fay laughed
and blushed slightly
God knows what my dad'd say
if he heard you say that
and me laughing
she said
looking at you
and shyly smiling
probably give me
what's for
she uttered quieter
ceasing to smile
her eyes taking on
a dark gaze
looking out
at the river again
you've got to have a laugh
now and then
haven't you
you said
wanting to put
an arm about her
but not doing so
just putting a hand
next to hers
on the bridge top
feeling the cold stone
wanting to feel her flesh
soft and warm
suppose so
she said softly
her fingers close to yours
almost touching
you moved your hand
closer across the stone
crablike and touched
her small finger with yours
she breathed in the air
and so did you
and she said
oh to be in London
and out of doors.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Caged Eagle
. . . I went the other day
To see the birds and beasts they keep enmewed
In the London Zoo. One of the first I saw —
One of the first I noticed, was an Eagle,
Ragged, befouled, within his iron bars
He sat without a movement or a sound,
And, when I stood and pitying looked at him,
I saw his great sad eyes that winkless gazed
Out to the horizon sky. I passed from there,
And walked about the gardens hither and thither,
Till all the afternoon was spent. Returning then
To seek my home, again by chance I passed
The Eagle's cage, and stood again and looked,
And saw his great sad eyes that winkless gazed
Out to the horizon sky. So I went home. . . .
The Eagle is Ireland.
poem by Francis William Lauderdale Adams
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A Sunny Day In February
I stood by my car and looked down
at the still waters of the small lake below.
Several anglers with their rods cast
sat on small chairs along the lake bank.
Sheep grazed in a field
with not a care in the world,
on a sunny day in February.
The blue sky seemed
to stretch forever everywhere.
Peace drifted across everything
that was there
on this sunny day in February
at the farm I go to.
9 February 2008
poem by David Harris
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In The Swimming Pool In The Park
Your sister called her
the girl in the red beret
and there she was
in the outdoor
swimming pool
in the park
her gran sitting
in the stands knitting
and Janice saw you
and said
Fancy seeing you here
can you swim?
You stood
in the shallow end
of the pool
in your blue trunks
looking at her wet fair hair
clinging to her body
and her eyes bright
in the sun's afternoon light
No not so far
you replied
I can
she said shaking water
from her hair and head
I can swim the length
and back almost
you looked over
at Jimmy in the pool
talking to friends
she touched your hand
and said
I can show you
how to swim
and she smiled
and you felt her hand
on yours and hoped
Jimmy wasn't looking
seeing her touch you
Maybe another time
you said
pulling your hand away
and plunging it
into the water
I've got to go
you said
my friends
are waiting for me
and she looked at you
her eyes now sad
and she said softly
No stay with me
I like it
when you are near me
and she stood there
in her pink swimsuit
her hair sticking
to her face
her eyes watery and blue
and gazing hopefully
(the noise and laughter
from the pool
momentarily shut off)
at seven year old you.
poem by Terry Collett
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Deathwalk
It was November of the mourn
In shootouts challenged life but worn,
the lines of worriness on brow.
Holding a smoke, his lonely being,
his hands steady on deathly sin,
in all gunfights, he had to draw.
And he was fast, ever so fast,
as both his hands suddenly flashed,
with sixes' thunderous echo.
Twas noon, he stood on same deathwalk,
devil of dust and the gunsmoke,
dry winds in Tombstone derecho.
Instinctively ejected shells,
replaced bullets, some rung the bells,
- unfavorable her eyes amber.
And ever since when dry gusts swirl,
her eyes in soul turn thoughts to hurl,
cause of the dead gunfighters numb'r.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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The Mountains On Fire (Fun Poem 94)
Many years ago, my wife and I
went to Scotland and stayed in a holiday chalet.
Behind it stood a mountain
and you had to crane your neck to see the top.
One day my wife awoke
and looked out the window and panic gripped her.
“The mountains on fire! ” She shouted,
loud enough to wake the dead.
I got up and looked out the window.
“Oh Yea.” I said and went back to bed.
“What are we going to do about it? ” She asked.
“What are we going to do? ”
“Come back to bed.” I said.
“When the mist clears you will see the mountain is Ok.”
5 February 2009
poem by David Harris
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Two Look at Two
Love and forgetting might have carried them
A little further up the mountain side
With night so near, but not much further up.
They must have halted soon in any case
With thoughts of a path back, how rough it was
With rock and washout, and unsafe in darkness;
When they were halted by a tumbled wall
With barbed-wire binding. They stood facing this,
Spending what onward impulse they still had
In One last look the way they must not go,
On up the failing path, where, if a stone
Or earthslide moved at night, it moved itself;
No footstep moved it. 'This is all,' they sighed,
Good-night to woods.' But not so; there was more.
A doe from round a spruce stood looking at them
Across the wall, as near the wall as they.
She saw them in their field, they her in hers.
The difficulty of seeing what stood still,
Like some up-ended boulder split in two,
Was in her clouded eyes; they saw no fear there.
She seemed to think that two thus they were safe.
Then, as if they were something that, though strange,
She could not trouble her mind with too long,
She sighed and passed unscared along the wall.
'This, then, is all. What more is there to ask?'
But no, not yet. A snort to bid them wait.
A buck from round the spruce stood looking at them
Across the wall as near the wall as they.
This was an antlered buck of lusty nostril,
Not the same doe come back into her place.
He viewed them quizzically with jerks of head,
As if to ask, 'Why don't you make some motion?
Or give some sign of life? Because you can't.
I doubt if you're as living as you look."
Thus till he had them almost feeling dared
To stretch a proffering hand -- and a spell-breaking.
Then he too passed unscared along the wall.
Two had seen two, whichever side you spoke from.
'This must be all.' It was all. Still they stood,
A great wave from it going over them,
As if the earth in one unlooked-for favour
Had made them certain earth returned their love.
poem by Robert Frost
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Dark Angel
Dark angel of heartbeating pound,
sixth sense of premonition glide,
kin to his ways and scopes to bound,
steel spurs transmit the spell around,
that duel's guns and death astound,
companion keen to stand aside,
Dark angel of heartbeating pound,
sixth sense of premonition glide,
Gunfighters' walk on dust, midday,
where forty fours will blossom fire,
his eyes sweep on each detail,
a draw of bluff on deathwalk trail,
will have sixes' to beat double play,
black coat, gun belt - thorn dry briar.
Gunfighters' walk on dust, midday,
where forty fours will blossom fire.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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In The Dusky Path Of A Dream
IN the dusky path of a dream I went to seek the love who was mine in a former life.
Her house stood at the end of a desolate street.
In the evening breeze her pet peacock sat drowsing on its perch, and the pigeons were silent in their corner.
She set her lamp down by the portal and stood before me.
She raised her large eyes to my face and mutely asked, 'Are you well, my friend?'
I tried to answer, but our language had been lost and forgotten.
I thought and thought; our names would not come to my mind.
Tears shone in her eyes. She held up her right hand to me. I took it and stood silent.
Our lamp had flickered in the evening breeze and died.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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The Drunken Sailor
He stood there shouting at the night
At trees and all around
He stood there swaying side to side
A madness man yet proud.
He never lost his footing once
He danced a dance wild mad
I stood there watching for a while
And wondered what thing had
Made him the drunken sailor
Had made him curse the earth
Had made him babble endlessly
How long had he been berthed?
Three years sailing, sailing hard
He had been away
He was just back
Two days ashore
Had made him act this way.
I asked the drunken sailor
Was it grief or loss at sea?
His eyes gazed at me strangely
And looked quite straight through me.
Not grog he said with spitting words
Not grief and, no, not anger
Have side-showed me on solid ground
And made me my own stranger
My sea legs that have gone you see
And though this warm earth's still
I have sway from side to side
It's quite beyond my will
The rolling sea's a bitch you know
More then any lover
You ride and ride and ride it hard
And then, when you recover,
You find the sea now owns your legs
Owns too your salted soul
So, when you are back on dry land
You somehow do not know
How to stop the bucking bitch
How to be becalmed
You stand there screaming at the earth
For it to be aroused.
Without a moving deck, he said
We feel as if we're dead
It's commonplace with sailors
And we become the wrecks.
.
poem by David Keig
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