Tiny Anthologies: Wild West Poems . by Alice B. Clagett *

Tiny Anthologies: Wild West Poems

Image: “Wild West Show at High Chaparral,” by High Chaparral Sweeden, 25 May 2010, in Wikimedia Commons … https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Wild_West_Show_p%C3%A5_High_Chaparral.jpg … CC BY-SA 3.0 Unported

Image: “Wild West Show at High Chaparral,” by High Chaparral Sweeden, 25 May 2010, in Wikimedia Commons … https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Wild_West_Show_p%C3%A5_High_Chaparral.jpg … CC BY-SA 3.0 Unported

. . . . .

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Music by OYStudio from Pixabay
Wild West Wedding – Pixabay License

Dear Ones,

Here is a Tiny Anthology of Wild West Poems, in alphabetical order by title. For the poems that have soundtracks, I suggest listening to the recording while reading the words of the poem. That way the flavor of the poem may the better be conveyed …

A Fanciful Poem by Alice B. Clagett
Soundtrack and Words
11 February 2018


There was a fellow in Desperadoville
Who loved to kill for a sexual thrill

A wise guy stopped by who said, “My gosh …
You make your kills with swashbuckling panache!

“I have one request … ‘Cause
These kills make such messes …
Once monthly, finesse this  …

“Then say goodbye
To the townspeople’s sighs,
To their nightmares and cries …
Go and give it a try!”

So he tried this advice,
And at first it seemed nice

But the beat of his heart
Did a Humphrey Bogart
When he practiced that art

And, quick as Jack Robinson,
He ditched that lesson

Day after day, began
Once more rampagin’

One night, drinking liquor,
This hard hitter figured:
“The trouble’s your ticker!

“It’s too fast a racer
I’ll put a pacemaker
Inside it. Then killin’
Won’t be so thrillin’

“Cause when I think ‘hatchets’
My heart just won’t ratchet
Up, due to this gadget.”

So he found a doctor
To make up an order
To purchase the gizmo
To KO his MO

A life of crime
Don’t stop on a dime
It worked for a time

Then the day arrived
When he contrived

A vast panorama …
A homicide drama …

That went off as expected
For he fled, undetected
And savored the deed with espresso

This is far from the norm
He surmised, all forlorn …
My heart didn’t vet the crescendo

He moped for a while
Though it wasn’t his style …

“I’ll have to make hay
In a cold-blooded way,”
He declared: “Easy come, easy go!”

–from Link: “The Clink of a Reptile’s Toes,” a poem by Alice B. Clagett, published on 11 February 2018 … https://wp.me/p2Rkym-8lU ..


A Poem by Alice B. Clagett
27 November 2019

Would you like some counterfeit?
We have tons and tons of it.

If you say yes, and Fort Knox knocks,
They will have what you have not …
The stuff that dreams are made of.

Who can guess with what duress
The Feds will put you to the test?
Confess! … unless  you’d like a drubbing.

So I say: At the end of the day
It’s better to have what you make,
Than fake … albeit merely pennies.

Then, should the Feds express distress
You can show what you were paid …
And so allay budding dismay
On the part of every party.

I do presume to sing this tune
Of happiness without much stress
By being quite the opposite
Of those who profess to be lawless.

Heartache creeps in
When the heart takes a spin
To the land of the heartachy hard case …

Perhaps not the gallows
Yet prison will swallow
The years of our youth
Amongst the uncouth
Who did not know real bread
From playdough

–from Link: “Fool’s Gold,” a rhymed poem by Alice B. Clagett, written on 27 November 2019; published on 30 November 2019 … https://wp.me/p2Rkym-feX ..


A Poem by Alice B. Clagett
Soundtrack and Words
25 October 2019


There was a kid
who lived outside
He lived right behind
The Iron Horse Inn

When the snows came
He would beg those within
for a chance to stay warm
from dusk to dawn.

The rent he paid was
a goofy grin
and if they required it –
a night’s love-in

One day I heard
a car drive by
I heard, offhand:
Would you like a ride?

and the kid said: Sure!

They stopped just offroad
in an evergreen aisle.
The man at the wheel
said with a smile:

Kid, wanna go the mile?
I can make it worth your while!

and the kid said: Sure!

Then I saw the boy’s face
contorted in pain
Oh! Why does it feel so strange?

He fell down bleeding by a back tire
On the ground down snow
‘Twixt the car and the lane

Two men guffawed
and drove away

The next day I walked out
my motel door
hoping to see
the boy’s face once more

I saw his Gatorade lying there
in a snowdrift
by a new guest’s door

It was tipped sideways.
It was half full –
the liquid bright blue
on the shoveled snow

Next day I walked out
with a flutter of hope
like a blue bird tangled
up in my heart

I saw the Gatorade
sunk in the snow
and my heart checked out
of the Iron Horse Inn.

–from Link: “The Gatorade Kid,” a poem by Alice B. Clagett, written on 25 October 2019; published on 25 October 2019; video published on 24 November 2019 … https://wp.me/p2Rkym-eHr ..

A Poem by Alice B. Clagett
Soundtrack and Words
24 November 2016


The hateful heart needs no consoling
As it’s always patrolling …
Looking for someone to love it,
Though it has no love to give. It
Prowls Earth like velociraptor,
Looking for love ‘ever after’.
When it finds it, it will eat it!
Then, looking for another sweet, it
Moans and groans,
Until it owns:
There is no love,
Unless you feed it!

–from Link: “The Hateful Heart,” a poem by Alice B. Clagett, filmed on 24 November 2016; published on 30 November 2016 … https://wp.me/p2Rkym-6tQ ..

THE HET UP VET        top
A Poem by Alice B. Clagett
Soundtrack and Words
20 February 2018


There once was a vet
Who began to feel that
He had too many cows on his docket

I have it! He stated
Since cash flow’s abated
I’ll try out a new line of profit

And so he ablated
That work he hated.
In favor of work that . . . The hospit-

-al blues …
Mercy me! Made the news

That vet had a profit
That couldn’t be crop-ped

Stop it! … Awe but!
Them that knows it, just drops it!

The dickens, you say!
I could bellow all day
‘Bout the vet who transformed his meal ticket

Yup. The hospit-
-al blues were front page news
For the vet with moolah to deposit

–from Link: “The Het Up Vet,” a poem by Alice B. Clagett, published on 20 February 2018; revised on 14 October 2018 … https://wp.me/p2Rkym-8nK ..


A Poem by Alice B. Clagett
Soundtrack and Words
19 September 2019

This is a fictional, narrative poem.


I said, I’m a charity trust trustee
Ought I stay on the board or leave it?

He said, Why live with clutter?

Out of the corner of my eye
I looked round at his office

No papers, no books, no cabinets
Just a laptop and a printer

Ok, I said. I agree

As he handed me the paper to sign
his eyes cut like a razor

.   .  .

He said, Here are your POA forms
One is for power over health
the other for just about everything else

If you want
my wife and I
can provide that service for you

His eyes looked clear, like river ice
early on, in the winter

Ok, I said. I will sign them

.   .  .

His eyes turned blue like the midday sky
as he handed me the papers

Here’s a form, he said,
that I always advise
it’s important for your children

After 3 days they pull the plug
it saves them from commotion

I said, I don’t like that form at all!
Look at me – I’m the picture of perfect health
and then, I have no children

His eyes glinted like sun on snow
He said, My advice is to sign it.

.   .  .

He opened the door to show me out
Then stopped for half a second

My wife, he said, does health massage

I said, May I have her number?

.   .  .
.   .  .

She said, I can’t see you at my job
They’re fixing the floor in my office.
I’ll do the massage at our home instead

Her voice was like raspberry jam on toast
Why did that concern me?

What day? I asked
with a frog in my throat

She said, I’ll get back to you

Two weeks later, I found the door
of the place where she and her husband lived

Here, she said, is my new massage table

Her hand touched the cloth
in the way that a priest
offers the Sunday Eucharist

.   .  .

I don’t disrobe for massage, I said
I hope you can work around that

Her lips froze
Her eyes assessed
Her hip touched the edge of the table gently

Would that be ok? I asked

Ok, she said. Lie down here.

.   .  .

This is a new technique, she said
You’ll be the first to try it
and she explained cerebrally
the ins and outs of the method

Then out of the blue, it seemed to me,
she said, Do you know Catherine?
I have known her for years, she said
and I really like her

My eyes froze, then relaxed. O yeah.
It’s Catherine that’s working back in town
next door to this young lady

A hunch formed in the back of my mind
Then disappeared
before I could see
more than a claw
or the look on the face of it

.   .  .

A man in a hat
that concealed his face
walked in from the yard

As he cleared the lintel I saw
the door was still half open

His shadow lay
like a long black line
on the floor at the foot of the table

Who’s that? I asked

O, she said,
He’s just a gawker from next door
You don’t mind, do you?

I said, Yes I do!

The stranger stopped inching towards us

He turned round in the cool dim room
felt for the door with his left hand
and stumbled into the sunlight

.   .  .

My blood turned hot.
My hands got cold
My heart got a speeding ticket

I sat up.

My gosh, I have to go!
Here, let me pay you

–from Link: “Ice: A Murder Plot!” a poem by Alice B. Clagett, written on 19 September 2019; published on 21 September 2019; and revised on 29 May 2023 … https://wp.me/p2Rkym-eio ..


A Poem by Alice B. Clagett
11 February 2018

When we get to the afterlife
There is no social din or strife

No ritz, no hoi polloi-ing there
No pas de trois, no gamesterware

The agent of that shift’s quite clair …
The Mind of God is in the air

God will sit there on His Throne
And every pecadillo’s known

No boodle tendered to His cause
Can make the Hand of Wisdom pause

We can’t hop on that ‘so long’ bus
or ride the rails to dodge the fuss

God speaks our truth,
And then, forsooth,

It’s we that must the piper pay
When we face God on Judgment Day

–from Link: “Is There a Hotel Hilton in Hell? Ok, Then, How About a Ski Lift in Purgatory?” a poem by Alice B. Clagett. written on 11 February 2019; published on 19 February 2019 … https://wp.me/p2Rkym-8n1 ..

A Story by Alice B. Clagett
24 February 2018


You know, some people say that, when a criminal pays,
by going to jail, and then gets out again,
that they’ve paid their debt to society,
and so they deserve a second chance, right?
And so, but …
There are certain criminals that don’t want a second chance!
So I’ve composed this ode in honor of those sorts of criminals.
And it goes like this:
I have paid my debt to society
and I pay it again each week
Die, Sucker, Die!
And a makeover artist says:
If they shine their shoes, and buff up their lats
Nobody will know about their past!
And those guys say:
Die, Haberdasher, Die!
And the ladies say:
Whoo-eee! It’s a lot of fun
Fooling around with the reformed ones!
And those guys say:
Die, Pollyanna, die!
And humanitarians say:
Oh, these guys had such rough childhoods
Maybe we can help them with their livelihood
And those guys say:
Die, Goody Two-Shoes, die!
So, every Friday or Saturday night
They give the citizens quite a fright …
You will pay for the miserable way
You’ve treated us! It’s Judgement Day|
Die, Citizen, Die!
Well, I have to say,
I’m just put out by the situation
I’m daunted …
I’m just not wantin’
this reptilian lingo
to linger
any longer
You already know that story!
But what I hear, on a Friday night, Is
Die, Citizen, Die!

–from Link: “Ode to a Scarlet Varlet,” a story by Alice B. Clagett, written on 24 February 2018 … https://wp.me/p2Rkym-8zO ..

A Poem by Alice B. Clagett
Soundtrack and Words
22 February 2018


My gut,
he would tout,
Is loaded
wit’ lead
That I can’t
be without
Why not?
They’d blurt out
And then
he would shout:
I’d rather be blud-
geoned than
take out that slug
and then wince
to the pinch
of a lynch mob’s

–from Link: “The Outlaw,” a poem by Alice B. Clagett, Written on 22 February 2018; published on 22 April 2018 … https://wp.me/p2Rkym-8z0 ..

A Poem by Alice B. Clagett
18 December 2019

I shall wear tinsel on my head
And then by demons will be lead
Then by no one shalt be said
That my head is full of lead …
They’ll bow down to me

–from Link: “‘Tinsel Head’ Tale: Scrimmages with a Los Angeles ‘Brujo Cult’,” by Alice B. Clagett, filmed on 18 December 2019; published on 23 December 2019 … https://wp.me/p2Rkym-fIS ..

A Poem by Alice B. Clagett
28 July 2018
The life of the tough
is rough
forsooth …
the noose!

–from Link: “Life of the Tough,” by Alice B. Clagett, filmed on 28 July 2018 … https://wp.me/p2Rkym-a4L ..

A Poem by Alice B. Clagett
Soundtrack and Words
3 March 2018


This account is entirely fictional.

Not long ago, in a country town
chilled to the bone, a troubled child
waited almost an hour for the bus to arrive

A woman, seeming mighty grand
pulled up in an old sedan
Leaned across the passenger seat
opened the door and said, hop in!

For almost a month on the astral plane
Night after night I heard his screams

God, oh God! God, oh God!
When will my father come find me?

Mr MD, What have you done
clipping the eyelids from that man’s son?
Did you think that would awaken him?

The heresy of physical form
makes a man think that a woman is born
when the jewels of his youth are shorn
and then, his mother’s fine clothes are worn

What shows up is an angry man
trapped in a form that he can’t stand
What will he do for a sexual thrill
but find a child at a bus stop to kill?

For over a month on the astral plane
I heard his screams, I felt his pain
And then one day, a man stepped in
and severed the child from his agony

Then for a month or more I heard
a sweet small voice from the wild clair world

I love you, I love you, Mr MD
for ending that nightmare pain in me
I love you, I love you, Mr MD …
Thank you for liberating me

Oh God, if there be a God, please spare
this child, please find him there
Bless him and bring him home again
to the Father who hears when he calls for help

Bless his parents. Heal that place
and by the way, as to Dorian Gray
ask the MD to read it please

Form’s good, but it’s not the only thing
It’s feelings that make our hearts sing

In my heart I still hear
month in, month out,
the voice of a child
and how he called out

See the face of a woman
who was not all there
and the glint of a knife
as it arced through the air

I remember how great
was the grief of that town
and how we kept hoping
the child would be found

–from Link: “The Voice of a Child,” a poem by Alice B. Clagett, published on 3 March 2018; revised on 2 December 2018 … https://wp.me/p2Rkym-8rg ..

. . . . .

In love, light and joy,
Alice B. Clagett
I Am of the Stars

Published on 4 February 2020; revised on 29 May 2023; updated on 29 May 2023


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