Ghost Towns

To never rest in



To never 



Born to



Suffer in the soul 


And shed the tears

that evaporate 


As you journey through old

ghost towns


Desolate places where only weeds

will grow through the condemned

wooden stores


Rats venture into the shadows to escape the blazing 



The cemeteries are full of lost souls that 

weep in the freezing night


The moon is full

and the coyotes howl for nothing 


Dust is blown across the 

rocky roads 


Water does not flow


Thirst for life


But dead silence 


The mind plays tricks


Eventually the land claims

your body 


And the vultures swarm to take their pick

on your rotting corpse






Author's Notes/Comments: 
View eventhorizon's Full Portfolio

The Man in Black

The man in black comin for ya


in the night when you least expect


A shadow in the distance


this undead fiend


who sends his respects


when he puts two bullets in your chest;


you won't know want hit ya


and your lifeless corpse dragged by his horse


across the wasteland and left behind


to be dried by the blazing sun!!!!!!!



Author's Notes/Comments: 
View eventhorizon's Full Portfolio

Whiskey and a Bed

Whiskey and a bed


Whiskey and a bed


I say


Take me away


for the night


give me a place to stay


Some peace of mind


from the grind


Its been a long time


since I felt sane


Whiskey and a Bed I say!!!!!!!!

Author's Notes/Comments: 
View eventhorizon's Full Portfolio

Death Valley

All out of blood,

no more to shed


All out of tears,

nothing left to give


Dried up and course

the sands of time continue to take


Once a beautiful lake,

where life would congregate


But the birds barely chirp now;

just passing through


and the Morning dew

evaporateing so quick


and the air that is hot

making it hard to think


makes me feel suffocated

by the change that has taken place






View eventhorizon's Full Portfolio



On a dusty, vacant street,

an earie silence hovers.

Two men stand on opposite ends-

sizing up each other.


The townsfolk hide behind windows,

some peeking through cracked doors.

They all scattered quickly,

and now cluster in shops and stores.


Only these two remain,

their shadows, long on the ground.

As they slowly begin walking forward,

~spurs are the only sound.


Their sights remain fixed,

into each other's stare.

Both looking for any nervousness-

or apprehension there.


Keeping a steady pace,

with all the courage they can muster,

each one carefully lifts a hand-

and moves aside his duster.


Lying low upon their hips,

weathered from the sun,

each man wears a leather holster,

cradling their gun.


Both of them, stop right then,

boots rooted where they stand.

Their arms are poised at their sides,

~fingers twitching on their hand.


Waiting for a move from each other,

with still no sign of the law-

It'll come down to the one man,

who's quicker on the draw.


Then in an instant flash,

like that of a lightning bolt,

each man flicks a hand

___and fires off their Colt.




The air is thick and acrid,

the townsfolk filled with fear.

They curiously peer on out,

as the smoke begins to clear.


Only one man remains standing-

alive and still alert.

He survived the gunfight.

~The other lies prone, in the dirt.



The Old Bunkhouse

Alone and abandonned,
Boarded up and closed down.
It sits perched on a hill, 
Miles from the nearest town.

It's seen many years of living, 
By tough men who worked the land.
It has even heard some music,
From a cowboys solo, front porch band.

The paint is chipped and faded.
The floor is full of cracks and holes,
Probably made by men, 
and their scuffed up, old boot soles.

Here the cowboys layed their heads, 
After a long days work.
The desert dust and smell of cattle,
in this building will always linger and lurk.

It has sat alone for decades now,
As it will in the years that follow.
The memories will fill the cracks,
Even if the building's hollow.

It's seen years of tears and laughter,
From ranch hands day after day.
It will remain a part of their hearts forever, 
Even though some have passed or are old and gray.

Although it will stay abandonned until it's in the ground, 
And see the lives of nothing, except maybe a mouse,
The years of life and memories will live forever,
In this dusty, old Bunkhouse.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I'm new to this so I'll take all the advice I can get!

View newbie's Full Portfolio

A Lonely Ballad

I am just a cowboy
Alone is how I ride
Nothing but my horse and me
I only live to pass the time
Travelin' underneath the sun
Sleepin' neath the moon
My journey ain't gunna end
But my end may come soon

View kiddo's Full Portfolio

His Name Was Ono

Speakers of the easy vice
may call upon their chosen twice
and claim a deed was owed by one
and they say his name was Ono.

A western draft of samurai,
made of guns and dirt and knives
with which to throw and shoot and such
at a passing cowboy leisure.

Avoided by each tumbleweed
along their slow and blind stampede;
Ono called to towns at large
and sank his hand to hip.

And as the desert fly did rise,
so did sheriffs meet his eyes;
a man alike with blood and sweat,
who felt the lead and exit-wound.

Purposeless and void of greed;
to slay was Ono's vice indeed.
So slay he did to best his woes
of foregone love and loss and throes.

This walking man of leather stitch
with hands and bones and teeth that itched
would sweep the side of county plains
in search of scratching, clawing, biting things.

So loose his thoughts would tend to be
but sharpened sense would pull his feet
towards an end that may result
in resolve for a man like Ono.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Don't call him Yoko.

View sivus's Full Portfolio

I Wait for You


The moon shines bright
in the sky tonight
casting long shadows
on the pale limestone

The warm wind blows
on the tumbleweeds go
as I wait for you
to return, my love

The clouds roll in
and the moon grows dim
hiding the stars up high
from my weary drawn eyes

As the warm winds blow
on the tumbleweeds go
as I wait for you
to return, my love

Lightning fills the sky
thunder rolls on by
and the rain falls down
not a soul to be found

Still the warm winds blow
on the tumbleweeds go
as I wait for you
to return, my love

The moon so bright
in the sky tonight
lost in the Heavens above
as I wait for you, my love....

View fallingfeather's Full Portfolio