Submitted by Sonny:
Why does my finger smell bad
Why does my ass itch
The world moves on without me

Submitted by a crazy woman in Seattle (via the Sow):
Out of the big house
Don't need a gal friend no more
It's time for a man.

Submitted by 'Sow:
I am a robot
I can feel nothing!  Nothing!
Please, grease my crotch now.

Submitted by 'Sow:
What a day at work
Got paid to sit on my ass
Mocking coworkers

Submitted by Jeff-ow:
the 'sow likes to drink
now that he is in sea-town
shimmy shimmy ya

Submitted by Susanne Byers:
I love the smokies
They are the best things ever
Cancer can bite me

Submitted by The Sow:
Brad's hai-cool page rocks
His poetry is the best
I miss his drunk ass.

Submitted by Seth:
Brad likes to drink the Grande.
Grande at home
Grande in Tuscon
Grande in toilet.
GRANDE!!!

Submitted by Kz:

Lindsay Weidman

Inspecting the rank and file
of this season’s finest
she adorns the lifeless
in electric blues
and newbetter reds
colors befitting the time

It’s a constant race
between register and guest
between setup display for their untrained eyes
and cleanup the floor from their greedy hands.
At 110 pounds
it’s also torture.

Her bone-thin arms
too tired to be graceful
"Too young to be tired"
fold another pair
of unborn
blue jeans.
In between their natural combed scent
and the calm cotton smell of wear
lies the taste of plastic
of factory dyes and processing
bleached and blued and branded.

So much stress
for soft soft-ness
So unaware
how much she relates

When she walks in
at 45 minutes past 11
the wind through the doorway
will smell much fresher.
Carrying the mint of a pine
her leaves are few and thin
her arms are weak and thin
her wires, her frame so thin




like a peninsula
no, a delta
both narrow and failing
her arms when she strikes me
both narrow and failing
if only they could be scooped up
by some force gentle enough to move her
yet not break her off from my earth
if only they would touch her face
cupped against gaunt cheeks
worn smooth under my thumb.

Rubbing out the tears
sometimes I fool myself.
thinking what if I catch them
thinking, "She won’t feel,"
like I wore away the senses
in her eyes and behind

And maybe Lindsay has been worn.
Maybe someone checked out long ago,
packing her in a thin paper bag,
told her she wouldn’t need the receipt.
And now, 19 washes later
copper eyes have leaked
onto the denim
bronze turning black underwater
black spreading like melted batteries
turning bluebase brown
and tears dropping all the while

Submitted by The Sow:

Note:  This selection uses the Hai-Cool pattern to develop each stanza in the poem.  
A very innovative move on the part of the Sow.

You try too hard, jerk
to be just the right one now
that she has left you
 
It's easy to say
all that poetic bullshit
when it's just hindsight
 
never realize
what she is until she's gone
and you feel so low
 
you did not deserve
but now you are getting on
I guess we all do.

Submitted by Becki:
there is a backpack that sits on my floor.
it is red
it is rad
it is happily so.

i got it for free
i liked it a lot.
then i colored all over it
it's close to my heart.

it was there when i moved
it was with me at school
it held all my books
and sometimes my clothes.

it's kinda small now,
since i've gotten to college
but i still try to use it
when i have a chance

could i be a raver?
could i be a bum?
no way! i have no drugs
and i have no soda cans!

i just used it so much
it's falling apart
now it stares at me
and says "Get you a new one!"

but i love it so much
we could never part
so on my floor it will stay
and that makes me :)!

Submitted by Tomato:

i shaved my head on valentines day 

i was all alone with no one to call 
no one to touch no one at all 
so i looked in the mirror 
and thought it was clear 
i took out my razor and started to buzz 
cause who gives a shit with no one to love

Back to Cowboy Love Songs

Home