The Flyin’ Outlaw

~

by Curley Fletcher

~

Come gather ’round me, cowboys,
And listen to me close
Whilst I tells yuh ’bout a mustang
That must uh been a ghost.

Yah mighta heard of a cayuse
In the days they called ’em steed,
That spent his time with eagles
And only come down fer his feed.

He goes by the name of Pegasus,
He has himself wings to fly,
He eats and drinks in the Bad Lands,
And ranges around in the sky.

Seems he belongs to an outfit,
Some sisters, The Muses, they say,
And they always kep ‘im in hobbles
Till he busts ’em and gets away.

Fer years they tries hard to ketch ‘im,
But he keeps right on runnin’ free,
The riders wore way to much clothes then,
Cowboys was knights then, yuh see.

He bears a bad reputation,
I don’t sabe how to begin,
Part eagle, part horse, and a devil,
They claims that he’s meaner than sin.

I’m a-ridin’ that rimrock country
Up there around Wild Horse Springs,
And I like to fell out uh my saddle
When that bronk sails in on his wings.

I feels like I must be plumb crazy,
As I gazes up over a bank,
A-watchin’ that albino mustang
Uh preenin’ his wings as he drank.

Finally he fills up with water,
Wings folded, he starts in to graze,
And I notice he’s headin’ up my way
Where I straddle my horse in a daze.

And then I comes to, all excited,
My hands is a-tremblin’ in hope,
As I reaches down on my saddle
And fumbles a noose in my rope.

Ready, I rides right out at him
Spurrin’ and swingin’ my loop
Before he can turn and get going
I throws – and it fits like a hoop.

I jerks out the slack and I dallies,
I turn and my horse throws him neat,
And he lets out a blood curdlin’ beller
While I’m at him hogtyin’ his feet.

I puts my hackamore on him,
And a pair uh blinds on his eyes,
I hobbles his wings tight together
So he can’t go back to the skies.

I lets him up when he’s saddled,
My cinch is sunk deep in his hide,
I takes the slack out uh my spur straps
‘Cause it looks like a pretty tough ride.

I crawls him just like he was gentle,
I’m a little bit nervous, you bet,
I feels pretty sure I can ride ‘im,
I still has his wings hobbled yet.

I raises the blinds and he’s snortin’,
Then moves like he’s walkin’ on eggs,
He grunts and explodes like a pistol,
I see he’s at home on his legs.

Wolves, and panthers, and grizzlies,
Centipedes, triantlers, and such,
Scorpions, snakes, and bad whiskey
Compared to him wasn’t much.

I got a deep seat in the saddle
And my spurs both bogged in the cinch,
I don’t aim to take any chances,
I won’t let him budge an inch.

He acts like he’s plumb full uh loco,
Just ain’t got a lick uh sense,
He’s a weavin’ and buckin’ so crooked
That I thinks of an Arkansaw fence.

I’m ridin’ my best and I’m busy
And troubled a-keepin’ my seat,
He didn’t need wings fer flyin’,
He’s handy enough on his feet.

He’s got me half blind and I weaken,
He’s buckin’ around in big rings,
Besides which he kep me a-guessin’,
A-duckin’ and dodgin’ his wings.

By golly he starts gettin’ rougher,
He’s spinnin’ and sunfishin’, too,
I grabs me both hands full uh leather,
I’m weary and wishin’ he’s through.

He hits on the ground with a twister
That broke the wing hobbles, right there,
Before I can let loose and quit him,
We’re sailin’ away in the air.

He smoothes out and keeps on a climbin’
Till away down, miles below,
I gets me a look at the mountains
And the peaks all covered with snow.

Up through the clouds, I’m a-freezin’,
Plumb scared and I’m dizzy to boot,
I sure was a-wishin’ I had me
That thing called a parachute.

And then I musta gone loco,
Or maybe I goes sound asleep,
‘Cause when I wakes up I’m a-layin’
Right down on the ground in a heap.

He may uh had wings like an angel,
And he may uh been light on his feet,
But he oughta had horns like the devil
And a mouth fit fer eatin’ raw meat.

I’ve lost a good saddle and bridle,
My rope and some other good things,
But I’m sure glad to be here to tell yuh
To stay off uh horses with wings.

~

Curley Fletcher was an American composer of cowboy songs and poetry.  He is best remembered for the classic cowboy song “The Strawberry Roan,” written in 1915, and for his book, Songs of the Sage, originally published in 1931.

Wikipedia

~

Pegasus by Daniel Eskridge

http://fineartamerica.com/profiles/daniel-eskridge.html

~

Elevated

~

Sitting on the moon

Watching the stars pass by

I was feeling pretty & high

~

When a cute little girl

In a cute little bikini

Jumped up & slapped my knee

~

~

I kindly asked her if she

Wanted to visit my ranch

As she perched on a branch

~

~

She kindly said no

I gotta go

See you later, old ‘bo

~

~

She was so beautiful

I got an eternal buzz

And became more elevated than I already was

~

Being in the same proximity of her

This happened to me

Then she flew away oh so free

~

She found another perch

On which to land

And smiled oh so grand!

~

Rawclyde!

~

~

Ganesh

http://wallpaper.365greetings.com/religious/hindu/ganesha

and Kim Kardashian

https://instagram.com/kimkardashian

~

The Mirror Of Your Mind

Watch out!  It’s Skeleton Man!

~

Whose that fool lookin’ back at you

In the mirror of your mind

Could it be the one you see

 Whose name you’ve often signed

Can you place the familiar face

You thought you left behind

~

Take a real good look

In the mirror of your mind

Take a real good look

In the mirror of your mind

~

Whose that clown that’s bringing you down

In the mirror of your mind

Whose the one that son of a gun

Who treats you so unkind

Open your eyes & realize

How long you have been blind

~

Take a real good look

In the mirror of your mind

Take a real good look

In the mirror of your mind

~

And realize that beauty lies

In the eyes of the beholder

And nobody is out to do you any harm

You can’t go on crying

On somebody else’s shoulder

When the helping hand is on the other hand

~

Things in all directions

Are only your reflections

Everywhere you go

You’ve got to reap just what you sow

All the world is about you

Is within & without you

The things that you have hated

They’re the things that you’ve created

~

Hey!

Mirror mirror on the wall

Whose the scariest one of all

Mirror mirror in my mind

Won’t you won’t you help me find THE TRUTH

~

I’d give everything I own

To find The Truth

Who I am & what I’m doing

What I am & why

Everything I touch I ruin

I don’t know why I try

~

I keep lookin’ for The Truth

Won’t you

Won’t you

Won’t you

Help me find The Truth

People tell me come join the crowd

We think we’ve found the way

What they are shouts so loud

That I can’t hear what they say

~

I’m talkin’ about The Truth

Where in the world do you go to find The Truth

Seems I heard somebody mention

I don’t know where or when

Switch a little part of your attention

From the outside to withinnnnnnn!

~

Whose that fool lookin’ back at you

In the mirror of your mind

I wanna know

Could it be the one whose name you’ve often signed

Can you place the familiar face

You thought you left behind

~

Take a real good look

In the mirror of your mind

Take a darn good look

In the mirror of your mind

~

Mirror mirror in my mind

Won’t you won’t you help me find

The Truth

~

sung & written by Joe South

1940-2012

~

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HY_0eGKPPzo

~

Will You Still Need Me? Will You Still Feed Me?

~

T’was a red hot brand

That singed my hide forever

When you passed me in your new Volvo

On College Avenue

~

I was lollygagging along

In my brother’s ’56 Chevy

When you honked, waved, smiled

And accelerated as if a gust of wind

~

I would have chased you down

But I was having a logical moment

No, I’d get a ticket &

You’d get away, so I didn’t

~

The blond in the little white station wagon

Fresh out of high school & accelerating

A sight to behold, a flash

A photo forever in my mind

~

I finally caught up to you at 64

A remnant of yesteryear

Bee-bopping in the kitchen making me breakfast

A plate of nourishment piled a mile high

~

Rawclyde!

~

photo

Buffalo Bill Cody

~

Cloud Shadow 44

Now

thee

most

beautiful eyes

~

More resplendent than

the most resplendent truth

ever unveiled

beneath pure blue skies

~

Appear in the cloud that

blooms and looms

ever more sharply

defined above

~

These two eyes

of

course

overflow with Love

~

They are

of

course

gazing down at me

~

And

I

am

utterly

~

Enslaved

by

this

Love

~

In

these

Eyes

   up above…

~

Deep Desert Blues

~

Note From The Editor

~

Hello Illustrious Reader!

I am nothing, nothing at all but rabbit stew, without you.  It’s absolutely wonderful having at least one of you around to sample these pearls of questionability that I’ve been dishing out for some time now.  Thank you for dropping by.  Thank you, thank you, thank you very much!

No matter what ~ I keep writing.  That’s the only given.  Barely.  I’m not even making sense to myself anymore ~ let alone anybody else.  Well, about 2 people, it seems, have been dropping by recently.  I definitely appreciate you dropping by.

This issue of the Old Timer is off the forum, unless it has been re-instituted in the last few seconds and I don’t know about it.  I don’t know why it’s off the forum.  Won’t ask.  I think that in promoting a short novel I wrote many moons ago, I picked a chapter in which my main boy was unlawful.  After all, he was an outlaw.  And he was in an “outlaw” story.  But, I guess, somebody behind another desk somewhere took not kindly to what transpired there.  I don’t blame her.  Either that, or it was a technical glitch.  Censorship should not be taken lightly some place like the Old Timer office.  But, I guess, if I was truly concerned I’d be asking some questions of some people some where in The Company maze.  That said, it’s a privilege having access to this service.  Thank you, thank you, thank you very much!

So!  What’s with the girl with the sword in the last post?  That’s Saint Joan of Arc’s sword she is waving around in Harlequin fiction stories.  I love that.  I really do.  Thus I promote the Rogue Angel books.

From the moment she was born, Saint Joan has been capturing humankind’s imagination & taking flight ~ like an angel.  She captured the heart of Mark Twain & he wrote a book about her.  I read it.  Now I have litanies to the beautiful saint in the Old Timer Chronicle.  Prayers.  Why not?  I might very well love her as much as Mark Twain did.  So I put together The Almanac Of Saint Joan Reincarnated 2012.  It’s political.  It’s prayerful.  It’s fiction.  Why not?

So what is Old Timer Chronicle (volume III) about?  What is Sheena’s Teepee all about?  Nothin’.  Nothin’ I’m going to explain.  And everthing!

 Yours truly

Rawclyde

!       

From Where Came Her Sword?

When Saint Joan of Arc was burned at the stake for heresy, her sword was shattered by an English soldier, and the fragments were widely dispersed…

However, Roux and Garin, two of the knights in Joan’s personal retinue, were cursed with immortality in order to be able to eventually track down…

And reassemble the holy sword…

Annja was present when this came to pass, and at her touch, the blade miraculously re-formed, making her its new bearer…

Saint Joan of Arc’s sword cannot be taken from Annja against her will, and she has the power to remove it to and retrieve it from a supernatural location referred to as the “Otherwhere”…

This process works regardless of the sword’s current location, giving her the ability, for example, to use the weapon as a projectile and then immediately recall it to her hand…

Moreover, Saint Joan’s sword also enhances Annja’s general constitution and helps her recover from injuries…

~

https://www.goodreads.com/series/41157-rogue-angel

~

compliments

of

Rawclyde

!

(with some help from Wikipedia)

Ghost Marauder

~

I was, am & gonna be

A ghost marauder

In Gramma’s Museum

~

The White House’s favorite secret agent

Working part-time for Holy Mary

Unlock the tool shed!

~

Coming home

Wings spread, gliding in

Fill up the cookie jar!

~

Hair long, growing longer

Delilah finally at my side

Pillars cracking & crashing

~

Still alive, hold this hand

Let us sift thru the debris

Endless treasure on Memory Lane

~

Here’s a goodie, a statue

Without a crack or a blemish

Churchill drowning in the Ganges River

~

Throw a rope!  Resuscitate him!

Now hang him by the toes at the swap meet

Going going gone ~ one dollar

~

Rawclyde!

~

A-10 Warthog, U.S. Airforce, Afghanistan

~

Let It Be

~

When I find myself in times of trouble
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be

And in my hour of darkness
She is standing right in front of me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be
Yeah, let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be

When the broken hearted people
Living in the world agree
There will be an answer, let it be

For though they may be parted
There is still a chance that they will see
There will be an answer, let it be
Yeah, let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be
There will be an answer, let it be

Yeah, let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be
You know there’s gonna be an answer, let it be

And when the night is cloudy
There is still a light that shines on me
Shine on until tomorrow, let it be

I wake up to the sound of music
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be

Let it be, oh no, let it be, let it be, let it be
There will be an answer, let it be, let it be
You know there’s gonna be an answer, let it be
Oh, let it be

~

sung by Paul McCartney

art by Lajuls

~

A Princess Of Mars

When I kiss thee

On ye

Dimpled knee

Let it be

Let it be

Let it be

It is only me

Being free

Adoring thee

Let it be

Let it be

Let it be

My eyes overflow with stars

My soul twangs a thousand guitars

You are my Princess of Mars!

Let it be

Let it be

Let it be

~

Rawclyde!

~

artwork via

Dynamite Comics & Vinicius Menezes

~

seeking the blessings of

Edgar Rice Burroughs

~