Western – Word Smith Wisdom

A Draw Like Greased Lightening

It’s a sight that’s unbelievable to some.
But, the man is really fast with a gun.
Throw a coin into the air.
He would draw and shoot it there.
Blow a hole right through its center.
Then holster without a glimmer.
Even three coins before they fell.
This guy is fast and accurate as hell.
He could split a playing card edgewise.
That should really be no surprise.
He could draw, fire, and holster so fast,
you cannot see it. It is a real blast.
He can shoot riding, running, lying down.
He is the greatest shot ever found.
You might catch a film of him on U-Tube.
You will think ‘How can anyone beat this dude?’
A lifetime of practice made him this good.
He uses his talent properly like he should.
No one can put him to the test.
He would be the best in the old West.

————————————-R.W. Johnson—–(2018)

The Mystery Of Mountain Mike

The Mystery Of Mountain Mike

Mountain Mike was a mountain man.

Hunting and trapping in mountain land.

Making a living from selling the furs.

He had his rifle and a mangy cur.

He would be gone all year long.

He would hunt and fish till game was gone.

He was friends with most of the Indians.

Even so, he would seldom see them.

One day he found a girl, nearly dead.

Her parents died of a disease, it’s said.

She was starving, went looking for food.

She was in a severely depressed mood.

Mike nursed her back to health.

In his one room cabin, built for himself.

After a few months, they became friends.

She called him father in the end.

He taught her to fish, hunt, and trap.

Prepare the fur for taking back.

Taking back to the outpost to be sold.

Then buy supplies for the winter cold.

She became an expert shot.

Better than Mike, when really hot.

He was very proud of her.

Dressed her In their very best fur.

They were a team. They worked well.

Herding game to nature’s hell.

A box canyon where they were trapped.

Taking the best game was a snap.

They didn’t kill for fun. Only to eat & survive.

Selling furs kept them alive.

They would fish to feed themselves.

They were where nature dwells.

Several years passed by.

Then, Mike was injured in a landslide.

She drug him miles to civilization.

On a cot made for the occasion.

People were amazed by her feat.

When done, she was still on her feet.

Mike recovered with medical aid.

After a month resting in the shade

they headed for the mountains then.

One year, they were never heard from again.

But, their rumors will never die.

Others said they saw them bye and bye.

No one could say for sure.

Yet somehow, they got a supply of fur.

—————————R.W. Johnson—–(2017)

The Indians Take Revenge

The Indians Take Revenge.

They were coming in a cloud of dust.

We were riding in a thundering rush.

Only a mile to the safety of the fort.

I wanted to hear their rifles report.

They would turn back the insane.

Once in range, with rifles aflame.

Those Indians were insane with rage.

They would scalp us if we engaged.

We had come upon their tepee camp.

They saw us and began to chant.

Just squaws and kids. Braves were gone.

A hunting trip. Won’t be gone long.

We raped pillaged and burned it all.

One young buck escaped the fall.

He took off on horseback fast.

We couldn’t catch his ass.

He made it to the hunting party.

Told them and they got gnarly

He showed them which way we went.

Seeing their village, their clothes they rent.

They chased us double time.

We thought that all was fine.

Till we saw that cloud of dust.

We knew it would be the end of us.

We had to make it to the fort.

Or we would never make a report.

We thought we had a chance.

Then, we saw the cloud in fast advance.

A bunch cut us off from the side.

They were wild and wanted our hide.

We were killed to the last man.

Except for me, but I never ran.

I, the youngest, was tortured and spared.

I was barely alive. No one cared.

They tied me on my horse.

Sent it toward the fort, of course.

I reported all that took place.

Said that the chief got right in my face.

Said tell them this is revenge.

They come again and it will be the end.

————————–R.W. Johnson—–(2017)

Lost Gold, Found & Lost

Lost Gold, Found & Lost

The dust storm was severe.

I was lost, that was clear.

Grit was getting in my eyes.

It was burning, making me cry.

I kept staggering along.

Wondering which way I had gone?

I couldn’t see a single thing.

Wondering what each step will bring?

A wet handkerchief over my face.

Goggles on, I can’t see this place.

I was out, mining for gold.

“It’s in the desert,” I was told.

They failed to mention the storms.

Now, I feel so forlorn.

I may die before this is over.

They will find me pushing up clover.

Suddenly, I fell and rolled down a hill.

A sand dune, building for the kill?

I imagined it falling and covering me.

There was nowhere for me to flee.

The wind was much less down here.

It felt better, that was clear.

I found I could see around a bit.

Sand was blowing over a rift.

A small bluff of higher land.

Behind it, I was below the sand.

Then, I saw something shiny.

It was gold! Quite a find for me.

I dug around & found a bunch in a sack.

I had found some miner’s pack.

I would lay low till the storm blew out.

Grab the gold and set a route.

If I can make it out of here.

I will be rich. That was clear.

Then, I remembered the stories.

A miner left his gold behind, his glory.

He knew he couldn’t carry it out .

“I need more water,” he did shout.

Indians found him barely alive.

They helped him to survive.

He searched for his stash of gold for years.

It was lost, along with his fears.

I decided he may have been right.

I gave up the gold without a fight.

I took 2 nuggets along with me.

I made it out. I was lucky & free.

I went back to find that gold.

It was lost, as I had been told.

Which is better? Gold or life?

I’ll take life with all its strife.

That gold may never be found again.

But, overall, it is better to win.

——————–R. W. Johnson—–(2017)

Drawbacks To The Foreign Leigon

Drawbacks To The Foreign Legion

It is dark and chilly on the desert tonight.
To hold this fort, we must stay and fight.
I am on duty. Walking on the walls.
Watching for movement out in the drawls.

This is our 49th day we have been here.
We cannot let the enemy near.
This is the only oasis for 50 miles.
If you control the water, you are all smiles.

I cannot remember what it’s all about.
I just follow orders and never pout.
The Foreign Legion is the best of the best.
I really love my desert colored vest.

It took us many days to get here by camel.
I was so tired & thirsty, I started to ramble.
We were told to hold this fort at all costs.
To lose this fort meant all was lost.

Whoever controls the water controls all.
We have the only water, from what I saw.
I saw a skeleton face down in a dried up ditch.
Life in the desert without water is a bitch.

Yet, I don’t get it? What is there to protect?
Water is the only thing—– I would bet.
Water in the desert is worth more than gold.
A person will give all for a drink, I am told.

But, if you’re not in the desert, water is around.
You can find it by just digging in the ground.
So, why come to the desert where water is rare?
There has to be something else here, I’ll swear.

They don’t tell us of low rank a thing.
Fight for the glory is all they sing.
I will do this, if the enemy gives us a try.
But, I sure wouldn’t mind a piece of the pie.

To the victors goes the spoils, they say.
That could be better than a pay day.
But, you don’t get rich in the Foreign Legion.
If you try, you could be hung for treason.

So, I’ll just keep doing what I do best.
Keep an eye out for all the rest.
Fight when the time is at hand.
If I survive,—– I will be ‘the man.’

——————————–R. W. Johnson—–(2016)

The Fastest Gun Always Won

Long ago, in the cowboy days,
a fast draw was just a blaze.
If you could draw and fire first,
You would find that you are cursed.

Everyone would be looking for you.
They wanted to be the fastest too.
The way it’s done is to outdraw you.
But, this would mean you’re dead too.

A young lad that I heard of then.
He was so fast, let me tell you friend.
You could not see his draw.
He never missed. He could split a straw.

But, this young lad was very smart.
He wore no gun from the start.
He didn’t want anyone to know.
He was the fastest of any show.

He didn’t want that type of reputation.
To be known as the fastest in the nation
was not his bag of tea.
It was all very simple, you see.

He practiced till he was the best.
His parents were killed by a guest.
Someone they invited into their home.
He was a killer, it was later known.

The lad saw him and knew him by sight.
That’s why he practiced day and night.
Then, he heard the killer was in town.
So, that’s exactly where he was bound.

Before he got there, there was a fight.
The killer was killed in a gunfight.
He realized he could end up just like him.
He decided to put up his guns then.

So, the fastest gun in the West
Will never be known as the best.
At least till he was elected sheriff.
Then, he had to shoot and bare it.

Seldom did someone even try.
They found his speed wasn’t a lie.
Gun in his hand before they cleared leather.
They went to jail for being so cleaver.

In time, gunfights became a thing of the past.
The sheriff was never laid under the grass.
His reputation, be what it may,
became the stories of another day.

——————————-R. W. Johnson—–(2016)

Ode To Mountain Mike

Ode To Mountain Mike

He was a mountain man through and through.

You could tell by the way he would talk to you.

He was tough as cow hide and twice as strong.

Once he started, he wouldn’t stop all day long.

He crawled 20 miles on cracked ribs & a broken leg.

Took him two weeks. Then he drank a keg.

He made it to a small, outback store for help.

To pay for it, he gave the guy a pelt.

Hunting and trapping was his stock and trade.

He made his living by what it paid.

When the Rocky Mountains were first explored,

mountain men made the first scores.

Our mountain man, we’ll call him Mike,

was as tough as a steel spike.

He had a one room cabin way up in the mountains.

He called it base camp. It was near some fountains.

He roamed an area now called Yellowstone.

He saw hot pools of water, bubbling up with foam.

He saw geysers, rivers, and hot mud flats.

The mud felt good on his tired feet. It’s a fact.

He would hunt & trap bear, beaver, badger, and elk.

He would eat the meat and save the pelts

Once a year he would go to civilization.

Take his large store of pelts in preparation.

He would then buy supplies for another year.

Then, off he would go hunting elk and deer.

He would often fish for himself. Nothing was fished out.

He would catch big, beautiful rainbow trout.

A fish dinner cooked on an open fire.

It would fill him up and he would retire.

Next day he was up early and off again.

One day he ran into a group of red men.

It was an Indian hunting party out for the day.

He knew enough of their language to say.

“How is it going? Was hunting good?”

They would answer as best they could.

He had made peace with the local Indians.

Since the day he saved the chief’s son’s skin.

The kid was pinned down by a bear.

Mike nailed the bear with a shot from nowhere.

He was so far away, the Indians could hardly believe

the shot was possible to achieve.

Such things Mike took as a task to be done.

Indians respected him. He was the ‘one.’

Many stories of mountain men are told.

Most were exaggerated to sound bold.

But, the stories of Mountain Mike were true.

There was nothing that he couldn’t do.

But, today, we are running out of time.

We will tell another of his stories another time.

——————————————R. W. Johnson—–(2015)

Confessions Of A Gun Slinger

Confessions Of A Gun Slinger

A big dark cloud is coming down.

I can’t see what is around.

I feel this may be the end of me.

Finally,—– I will be free.

I’ve been running most of my adult life.

Just because I had a few gun fights.

I feel my time is just about up.

Soon, I may take a bullet in the gut.

I won’t let them take me alive.

My bullets will fly like bees from a hive.

Sooner or later they will gun me down.

There is no way out that I have found.

I have only killed in self defense.

In a gun fight you can’t be on the fence.

They drew on me so I gunned them down.

There was not always someone else around.

I gained the reputation of a killer.

None of which ever did occur.

I am guilty before I am tried.

I would never make it to jail alive.

Justice for me is when they kill me dead.

They just want to put a bullet in my head.

If given a choice I would never shoot again.

I would hang up my guns and never sin.

But, my choice has been taken away.

I will either die today or live another day.

Sooner or later, I know what it will be.

Deader than a doornail, but I will be free.

Mothers, tell your sons.

Don’t do what I have done.

The end doesn’t justify the means.

Being the best is not what it seems.

—————————————R. W. Johnson—–(2015)

Fastest Gun In The West

Fastest Gun In The West

I live in a one horse cowboy town.

Why is it called a ‘one horse’ town?

The saloon rail has room for one horse is all.

The Livery Stable only has one stall.

Yet, it is a fair sized town.

Lots of people live close around.

One day a drifter came into town.

Got off his horse and looked around.

He went into the only saloon.

He ordered a drink. It was just before noon.

He sat and drank for awhile.

I rarely saw him crack a smile.

Then, another ‘gun slinger’ came in.

He looked around. He didn’t grin.

He saw the drifter & walked over.

He pulled up a stool. He looked bolder.

He said “Did you think you could hide away?”

The drifter didn’t have a thing to say.

He then said “You can run, but you can’t hide.”

The drifter just looked him in the eye.

‘Were going to find out if you’re the best.”

The drifter slowly opened his vest.

“I am not wearing a gun.”

“Then, you had better get yourself one.”

“If you don’t I will gun you down.”

“Then tell everyone I’m the fastest around.”

“You only have one chance to live.”

“Face me in a fair gunfight, or look like a sieve.”

The drifter slowly got to his feet.

Then he walked into the street.

He went to his saddlebags and got a gun.

He then proceeded to strap it on. Not for fun.

He walked into the street with the sun at his back.

The gun slinger said “You’re a dead man. It’s a fact”

The gun slinger moved and faced him in the street.

Neither said a thing as they spread their feet.

Then, the gun slinger made his move.

He was like greased lightning. Don’t be fooled.

But, he had barely started his draw

when a bullet struck him in the jaw.

His gun hadn’t quite yet cleared his holster.

The drifter was not any kind of boaster.

He turned and took off his gun.

Put it back in his saddlebag. He was done.

He mounted his horse and rode out of town.

Left the town folk standing around.

They buried the gun slinger in an unmarked grave.

Everyone knew how he had behaved.

They felt the drifter had every right.

He was the fastest thing in sight.

Yet, no one knew his name.

Even though, just the same.

The rumors spread of a man with no name.

He had a draw so fast, it was insane.

The drifter was never heard from again.

Seems he wanted it that way, they said with a grin.

—————————————————R. W. Johnson—–(2015)

Ode To The Bold

Ode To The Bold

I stand in a wide flat land.

No shadow or shade about.

Yeagger is the kind of man

who will kill you without a doubt.

He’s after me, but I got away.

He’s been tracking me for a month.

I don’t even know the time of day.

I just keep moving. Avoid the hunt.

I was in town for a little fun.

I didn’t know Collette was his girl.

Since he caught us, I’ve been on the run.

But, she really gave my heart a whirl.

I got to get back to my Collette.

Though, Yeagger may gun me down.

He’ll never let me forget.

I never should of gone into that town.

I hear a horse way off in the distance.

I can just make out a horse & rider.

Yeagger is very persistent.

There is no place to hide here.

As I run, I spot a small gully.

I dive in & try to dig deeper.

After a time, he comes riding slowly.

I have one shot. I’ll be the reaper.

I blew him off his horse.

He hit the ground.

I buried him in the gully.

In the hopes he’ll never be found.

I ride into town searching for Collette.

I find her in the local saloon.

I am hoping that she didn’t forget.

She rushes into my arms & swoons.

“I was so worried. but, where is Yeagger.”

I tell her all as she turns white.

“He was my older brother:—- Yeagger.”

I listen & my heart drops out of sight.

“Why didn’t you tell me ?” I said with shock.

“I thought you knew” she said in tears.

So ends the tale of me & Collette.

I never saw her again.

But, on this you can bet.

Her hand, I could never win.—————–R.W. Johnson—–(2011)