Kona Cowboy

Kona Cowboy
Posted: 7/8/01 9:56:17 pm

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A slightly "different" cowboy poem... seems to be my specialty..

A far away vaquero
one dark Hawaiian night
let artificial heroes
lead him into a fight.

His saddlebags were taken,
his Appaloosa gone,
his lariat forsaken,
he vowed to move along.

His fragile spirit broken,
let down by life again,
his heartbreak left unspoken,
so all alone in pain,

he journeyed over water
to drink his sad away
and met a fallen daughter
from Wiamea Bay.

A thoroughfare to Nada
loomed in the cowboy's sight.
A Unicorn Remuda
trailed this Hawaiian knight.

She promised him forever.
he saddled up to ride.
forever turned to never,
the cowboy in him died.

The Devil's very envoy,
she was his final hope.
Aloha Kona Cowboy...
hanging under his own rope.

In a Hand Basket

The bike is coasting down the lane
the wheels go round and round,
why am I in this basket and
where is it that I’m bound?

I take my chance, a leap of faith,
then quickly to the farm.
To jump into her arms, again
I’m safe from further harm.

Then off to walk the yellow road,
adventures are in store.
I think it’s safe to say we aren’t
in Kansas anymore.



This was inspired by a bumper sticker I saw today.... it read, "Why am I in this hand basket, and where am I going?"

and it just wouldn't go away until I wrote it.

"If happy little bluebirds fly
Beyond the rainbow,
Why oh why can't I?"

Half of one oh eight

Though some may say I'm fifty-four
to that I can't relate.
I prefer to think that I'm 
one half of one oh eight.

My bones may creak and groan as I
ascend another rung,
my mind, however, stubbornly,
remains forever young.

Six months from now my body may
insist that I recline,
but in my head I'll dance with joy...
one half of one oh nine!

Rush Hour

We hurry out of childhood into youth,
impatiently we spend the coins of time.
So little do we notice time, in truth,
we cannot see the reason for the rhyme.

The second act, our freedom here at last,
the freedom to do only what's expected;
to fight a battle rooted in the past
with images so blurred they aren't reflected.

And so we come upon our middle years,
our goal in sight, our focus to retire.
The "easy life" is music to our ears,
but life's momentum lasts till we expire.

Alas, before we take our final bow,
we take no time to be content with now.

The Snail and the Sports Car

A tiny sports car sputtered in,
a snail was at the wheel.
The gas attendant, with a grin,
said, "Snail, are you for real?

I 'preciate your right to cruise
and that red color's swell...
and naturally I can't refuse
to serve you here at 'Shell'...

but, I must say it's odd enough
now, snail, you must confess...
for such as you to drive and stuff...
say, why'd you paint that 'S'

there on the door, the driver's side,
in glowing shades of blue?"
The snail rose up with stately pride
and said, "Hey you would too...

I'm tired of hearing people say
'there goes that lowly snail'...
and night by night and sunny day
you know, they'd never fail...

to laugh at me, my lack of speed,
until I bought this car,
but, see me now, my soul's been freed,
I'm pretty near a star!

They teased and snorted; mocked my pace,
my life was filled with woe...
but now, they shout, as by I race...
look at that S car go!!!"

© 2004 WD Neighbors