By fm wright
He traveled throughout parts of the old west,
staying in a town no longer than needed,
as he went on his never ending quest;
for his treasury from banks he seeded.
Though the law did certainly do its best,
this outlaw at chosen work succeeded,
'til one day he went just a bit too far
and couldn't outdraw the man behind the star.
| Author Notes | Appreciation goes out to MKFlood for use of this wonderful piece of artwork. |
By fm wright
A man clothed in simple black, except for a white collar, steps up and enters through the establishment's doorway.
The owner looks up from his work. "Good morning. How's goes our new shepherd of the flock?"
"Fine, thank you. And yourself?"
"I am well. What can I do for you? Nothing personal, I hope."
"Well, you can help me satisfy my curiosity. I asked the sheriff. He told me to ask you."
"What about?"
"The epitaph on a certain gravestone."
"You must be talking about the one which reads, here lies Twenty. For him, that was plenty."
"That indeed, is the one."
"I'm not surprised that the sheriff couldn't tell you anything."
"Why is that?"
"His demise occurred under the watch of our previous sheriff."
"Then, as the undertaker, it seems the telling of it would naturally fall to you."
"And so, it has."
"Would you be willing to relate the story?"
"The tale is not long."
"Still, I'd like to hear it."
"Well, it starts this way, pastor. When he rode into town no one knew his name, but everyone knew why he was here."
"And how did they know that?"
"From the way he wore his gun."
"Oh, then he was what they call a gun hawk?"
"Exactly."
"Who did he come to kill?"
"Not rightly sure, as the then sheriff was alerted, and faced him down himself."
"So the sheriff proved faster."
"Actually, no. That's just it, the gunfighter drew first, but for some reason he choked, then the sheriff 's bullet struck him down."
"Well, how does the twenty part fit in?"
"He had twenty notches on his gun. Also, the sheriff said he was twenty. By his looks, the townsfolk agreed."
"So you never found out the fella's name."
"No, but after this our former sheriff resigned and moved on."
"Who. then, chose the inscription?"
"The township decided, rather than leaving it without any engraving to have that written on his marker. It seemed fitting in more ways than one."
| Author Notes | Appreciation goes out to nikman for the use of the photo. Also, the idea for this came partially from the song "Ringo," sung by Lorne Greene. |
By fm wright
Two Kansas cousins working for a break;
wanting to atone for their past mistakes.
So they went to a former member of the Devil's Hole -
the gaining of an amnesty was their goal.
With Sheriff Lom Trevors serving as their go between,
he tried to keep it so that they might remain unseen.
He went to the governor for to plead
their desire to reform from their past deeds.
The governor, his pardon, would not give
until they proved that on the side of the law they'd live.
So Smith and Jones, their aliases became
to avoid capture while they played the waiting game.
Each week there was a new adventure as Curry and Heyes
had to contend with their former outlaw ways.
And though the series off into the sunset rode,
a pardon for them was never bestowed.
| Author Notes | Alias Smith and Jones will no doubt always be among my favorite westerns. Regrettably I was not able to get my computer to download any pictures from the series itself. |
By fm wright
He rode up to the bank,
tied his horse to the rail,
went inside and drew his gun.
When it was over and done;
in his endeavor did not fail,
as he mounted he yelled out thanks.
Soon he would rise to fame,
for he wanted to be like Jesse James.
'Cause his mount, it was rank,
he quickly hit the trail;
starting out at a fast run,
heading towards the setting sun.
A posse soon was on his tail;
hard riding poised them at his flank.
Good he was with his aims,
for he wanted to be like Jesse James.
And while he sat and drank
his success he did regale.
He knew that yarns would be spun;
his exploits would many stun.
He would never see a jail cell.
No prison door would he hear clank.
Menfolk would fear his name,
for he wanted to be like Jesse James.
That night was dark and dank,
as for the wind it wailed.
There was no place he could run;
when fired from attacker's gun,
a bullet against him prevailed:
while into death he quickly sank.
Hades had made its claim,
for he wanted to be like Jesse James.
| Author Notes | A thanks goes out to MoonWiollow for the use of "Abilene." Also I wrote this in syllables of 6,6,7,7,8,8,6,10 with a rhyming sequence of a,b,c,c,b,a,d,d. |
By fm wright
Jess directs his focus down the dusty street. His opponent steps out. Jess takes in a deep breath. A heart's beat from now it would be over.
No matter how this gunfight turned out, Jess wouldn't draw his gun again. Both men go for their weapons. A shot rings out.
| Author Notes | Though differing in nature, the idea for the ending comes from a poem I read entitled "The Lady and the Tiger," in which the reader was left to decide the ending. Also great appreciation to MoonWillow for the use of this wonderful piece of artwork. |
By fm wright
The sheriff and his deputy lay dead,
while the mounted outlaws had long since fled.
Are you just going to let them get away?
a young woman steps up among them to say.
All the townsfolk, who were thus gathered 'round,
only lower their eyes till they face the ground.
Just what is it you would have us do?
Risk more lives, and in the doing, lose ours too?
With a determined look set in her eye,
Belle mounted her steed, for she had to try.
Though it was clear, Annie Oakley, she was not,
she would see that, somehow, the killers were caught.
It was not long before she found their trail.
With perseverance Belle knew she would prevail.
Realizing she needed some sort of a plan;
a myriad of thoughts through her mind ran.
She, at first, had no clue as to how it could be done,
for what she had with her was one shotgun,
along with her gear, a knife and a rope.
It was in these things that Belle put all her hope.
She would have to act with swiftness and cunning,
and not just simply go after them gunning.
When she came to the place where they had bed down,
Belle almost wished that she was back in town.
In her heart Belle knew she could not let them win,
for due to them, the town had lost two good men.
She awaits anxiously all through the night;
because at daybreak she would have to fight.
When the first light of day finally appears,
Belle stands in readiness, despite her fears.
Shotgun aimed, her targets all within sight,
she prepares for the battle with all her might.
The leader heads for Belle, shooting as he runs;
the loop of her rope snares him, as on he comes.
The rest all send out a hail of bullets,
while refuge behind some cover she gets.
She starts firing back; aiming for arms and legs,
till for mercy from her, all but one begs.
This outlaw comes at her, ready to kill.
Against him, Belle would need all her luck and skill.
Out of ammo, there is but one thing to try,
so Belle takes her knife and she lets it fly.
Both hands now hanging useless, he backs down.
With them rounded up, she heads back to the town.
Once there, she saw to it they were put in jail.
Belle then recites her most heroic tale.
As the town folk lend their ears they swear her in,
while they pin upon her a badge of tin.
She was now ready to uphold the law;
just as also, had been her brother and pa.
She was willing to give it her very best;
this young lady known as Belle of the west.
| Author Notes | The title to this came to me and then the story just took off. |
By fm wright
There was a young cowboy-a gunslinger by fame,
who had made for himself in this life somewhat of a name.
They say there was none faster in all the land:
for the mark of the wind that was his true brand.
Was there no one who was fast enough to surpass his fast draw?
Was there no one anywhere who could take down this outlaw?
A stranger boldly stepped out as he made his stand.
He too, assuredly would end up face down in the sand.
It was high noon as they met there in the street.
There was no doubt to who'd go down in defeat.
As they stood there facing each other prepared to slap leather;
in the crowd's silence one could hear the drop of a feather.
The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife:
cause they knew the stranger was about to lose his life.
Soon it'd be made known who'd remain on his feet,
or who the Maker would be sooner to meet;
for the very air around them was completely smoke thickened,
but when the dust had settled to the winner they quickened.
From the loser's chest flowed blood the color of wine.
As he was duly measured for a simple box of pine
it wouldn't be long until the word went out;
clearly not leaving even the slightest doubt
about what the stranger had so suitably done,
and that in all assuredness there was no faster gun.
There was a young cowboy-a gunslinger by fame...
| Author Notes | To anyone familiar with Marty Robbins you will find that this poem's premise was borrowed from his song "Big Iron", though this one is slightly different. |
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