I do my best to hide the rust,
the age.
I want to be a stallion once again!
Hard, ready to let ‘er rip!
No conversation needed,
Elvis, all action.
In the messy sweat stained yellow armpit afternoon,
I throw back a beer,
cheap ol’ “dad’s” beer,
“PBR”.
No fuckin’ imported shit.
That stuff,
well, I cant read the lable anyway.
I mean, what the hell does an Å sound like?
Filed under poetry
Waited 4 hours for God to serve me breakfast this morning.
When it finally showed up there was shell in the eggs, and a bit of blood on the plate.
I was so disappointed,
I pushed a shopping cart full of rocks onto the railroad tracks,
sat down beneath a tree with a couple of six packs,
and stared directly into the Sun till I all could see were black dots.
I’m still amazed how God can create such a thing as the Sun and still can’t fry up two eggs.
Filed under Outlaw poetry, poetry
I broke a beer bottle in the street
and spread the shards of glass;
To catch the barefoot flower children.
Filed under creative writing, Outlaw poetry, poetry
Kerosene breathed
photo by hungrybison
dippin’, spittin’
mother fucker
armed with long cut,
two tins.
Country boy logic
smoke and mirror bravado
to fascinate big assed women on mechanical bulls.
The wide hipped buckle bunny
with brown betty eyes
and a wet-t-shirt sophistication
conjured with a penetrating tounge
an acidic rain
which soaked
the half acre of paradise
between the calluses
on my hands
and my erection.
The girl with the duct tapped mouth made me smile.
We started a fire out in the middle of the road.
A windswept cinder
burnt a hole in her dress.
She poured Lone Star on me
and I pissed on her
till it was extinguished.
Filed under creative writing, poem, Short stories and essays
The night is vacant
photo by hungrybison
No moon glint on hardened tear
No thought to the void
Crazy-assed old man
Walking on the earth leaking
An empty beer can
Remington 12 gauge
The dilapidated barn
A hole blown straight through
Long, deep and jagged
Torn, stained clothes in plastic bags
The starving dog eats
Lost, Colby Kansas
A “Spanish omelet” with toast
consciousness at last
Filed under American West, fiction, History, photography, poetry, Short stories and essays
Black coffee
photo by hungrybison
With “the Pride of the West”
Alone yet among friends,
he takes his time.
There is a orchestrated purpose in each of his movements.
Without regard for time, he watches the boys drink beer, the girls tease and the “New West” take over his world.
His work is finished,
His face, his body worn by weather, and hard labor.
Paying his bill,
he smiles at the waitress, and takes the last sip of his coffee.
He is what I once wished to be,
but no longer can become.
He is “the Pride of the West”.
I’m oiling her up,
photo by hungrybison
with the fried chicken grease on my fingers.
An old doo wop record on the turntable,
I like to oil her to the old shit.
I’m getting ready.
The sheep have already been sacrificed,
willingly.
Fear is worshiped,
war has become a celebrity.
The TV squirms with a sickening lust,
The talking anus spews deceit,
with a “southern drawl”.
Fuck, we are primed.
Guns are drawn.
This is imflamitory shit.
No one sleeps in America.
There’s a new vantage point,
it’s a bit ridiculous,
but not entirely new.
We have become like the brown shirts,
of 1933.
Truth is dead,
and in the land of the free,
I eat a bucket of chicken,
drink some beer,
and speak of the assault on our country.
Donned in cloaks of camouflage,
killers.
I’m oiling her up.
Filed under creative writing, micro stories, poem, poems, Short stories and essays
The old bastards,
retired killers,
photo by hungrybison
tamed outlaws,
they once rode with Uylsses.
They were once “quick drawin’ mother fuckers “,
Badasses.
Now scarred and aged,
they drink.
Their swagger was slowed,
they have ceased to drift.
They never found El Dorado.
In age they found comfort in home.
Many of their like never grew old,
they lay across this country
in unvisited graves.
Their children inhabit
the heartland, the cities.
They have become the new generation of badasses.
Suburban Melbourne;
In bed with a bucket of fried chicken
photo by hungrybison
and a belly full of Mexican beer.
An empty packet of Marlboro cigarettes and
discarded candy wrappers lay amongst the sheets.
Rain pelts the window as tanned young girls
sun themselves on a distant Californian beach.
An endless parade of commercials
snap him back to reality.
Australia Day.
Filed under creative writing, fiction, micro stories, original photography, original writing, poem, poems, short stories, thoughts, writing
photo by hungrybison
Naked children running amuck,
Unshaven, unwaxed women,
a child at the breast.
Organic food, marijuana cigarettes.
Dreadlocked whitemen,
chickens in the yard.
Three beers floating in the bathtub.
Contrary to common belief,
Hippies throw bad parties.
Filed under creative writing, original photography, original writing
