Open Poetry #4 |
Yonderin' |
John Yaws Senior Member
since 1999-10-09
Posts 860Texas |
Sometimes my mind goes “yonderin’” To places I have been... To places I was wanderin’ And folks I called my friends. The rodeos in Oakdale... Snows on the Great Divide- Decisions made, and trusts betrayed The many schemes I tried. I think about the sunsets I saw off Waikiki.... The lovely Painted Desert- Which no one shared with me. Wild, lovely Texas Canyon- Way down on old I-10... That Arizona desert land, I’d love to see again. Forgotten dreams and visions- Of chivalry, romance.... I’d do it every bit again... If I should have the chance. I saw myself as Lancelot.... Clad in my armor bright.... Alas, it seems the maidens fair All saw the Norman knight. Sometimes when I am traveling..still My mind it goes to wanderin’ A lovely, haunting, lonely strain Says, “Cowboy, let’s go yonderin’”. Visit my Homepage http://www.geocities.com/montcogunslinger/Homepage.html [This message has been edited by Gunslinger (edited 12-21-1999).] |
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© Copyright 1999 John R. Yaws - All Rights Reserved | |||
Toerag Member Ascendant
since 1999-07-29
Posts 5622Ala bam a |
Sometimes when I'm a'ponderin' And also when I'm "a'yonderin'" I think as you my poetic friend, Of the things I've done and places I've been. But none can say it better, Than you can to the letter, The memories seem to linger, Reading your poems Gunslinger! |
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John Yaws Senior Member
since 1999-10-09
Posts 860Texas |
Thanks, Toe. Merry Christmas. |
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Coegwyr Junior Member
since 1999-12-20
Posts 35 |
I’ve always found it strange that the roads I wander always seem to lead back home. Thanks for sharing your thoughts in such a great way. |
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RainbowGirl Member Elite
since 1999-07-31
Posts 3023United Kingdom |
Let me follow the trail to the stars, it's just the route I'm missing.. HUGS Yesterday is but today's memory and tomorrow is today's dream... |
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Martie
Moderator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-09-21
Posts 28049California |
Gunslinger, I go yondering all the time, I just never knew there was a name for it. Great poem. In the dew of little things, the heart finds its morning and is refreshed. (ee cummings) |
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