In Honor of National Poetry Month

I’m a humble poet, a rambling rhymester, a free verse fanatic, a Haiku sycophant. I love other poets and their scribbles and I worship at the alter of Charles Bukowski. For the month of April I celebrate National Poetry month with some of my own scribbles. 

 

The Long Trail © by Trisha Sugarek

The Circle Heart brand on the wet rump rippled
the horse shivered with exhaustion
the sun lost its battle with night and
dropped behind the far desolate peak

Chaparejos, worn thin and soft fit his legs
As if they had grown there
dusty spurs jangled as he trotted down the main
street of the sleepy town
a saddle that had seen a thousand miles creaked
and complained as he stepped down
the crown of his hat stained with sweat
from the hard ride

Reins dangled in the dirt
the horse hung his head, relieved
to not be moving

A drink or two to wash the Santa Fe Trail dust
from the cowboy’s throat
he stepped up onto the boardwalk,
turned and gazed at the town
and the mountains beyond
the color of old blood as the sun lost its glory

He pulled a cigarillo out,
one smooth movement wiped a match on his pants,
the tiny flame ignited
he puffed and blew smoke into the night air
watched the town close up for the day

Across the street a cur scurried around a corner
a merchant keyed his shop closed and
lit the gas lantern beside his door

The work had been good at the Circle Heart ranch,the grub even better
But the trail was his siren, always calling him, luring him over the next hill, 
down the next wash,
up the next canyon
sleeping next to a small camp fire,
staring at a billion stars
wondering if someone, something out there
was staring back

He wanted to settle but he hadn’t found
the right place
the right woman
the right time

Flicking the smoke into the street, he turned
and sauntered into the saloon,
honky-tonk piano played
the doors behind him whispered back and forth

The patrons saw another dusty, tired cowpoke, looking
for a few hours of pleasure
some music, some whiskey, and if he could afford it
the soft arms of a woman

The cowboy saw weak town folk,
forever saddled to their days
the bit in their mouths dictating their lives
wary of any stranger, their gaze shied away

Set ‘em up and keep ‘em comin’, the cowboy barked

Show me your coin, the barkeep growled

His days were numbered,
the boys from the Circle Heart ranch
would find him and the horse
They would take their horse and probably string
him up to the nearest tree

There isn’t anything lovelier than receiving reviews from my fellow poets as I celebrate Nat’l Poetry Month.  My free verse, “Dear John” was featured on the home page of Poetrysoup.com and recieved these: 

‘Trisha, this poem spoke to my heart. Very raw with emotions and beautifully written, Keep that fire burning,it will light up the pathway for your John.’ Chinwe Igbozurike

and

Trisha, I really enjoyed stepping behind your eyes for a brief eclipse with your heart! Wondrous writing!’  red barchettadrive
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