The old movies, with the dresses and the drawl,
I press pause, on men without laws,
On virgin maidens fainting at the sight of blood;
In the back, bruised eye, she drains whiskey, boozy mud.
A thump-creak of thick boots on the dry floor behind her,
In her cheek strikes a steel toe, in her chest a spur.
Not a sound from her lips, there’d been pain in there worse,
When his fleeting soft touch took her life in a curse;
The sun would never shine on the dirt quite as bright,
A lifetime of happiness reaching its height,
And like the sun, it sets, boozed mud, bloody chest,
In the dry heat of reality, fantasy is put to rest.
The world looked like a western movie. He didn’t know what to make of it. One moment he had fallen asleep the next moment he was in a black and white western movie.
what the fuck?
Most of time people equate modernization with westernization. There is difference between two. We want to be modern without being westernized, without compromising on our own culture, lifestyle and values.
The western started as usual, with the horses and the dry desert, and the lone cowboy. However, just before he got on his horse, the clouds gathered a dismal force, the wind was stronger, and he noticed that he had forgotten his cell phone, again.
the once was a cowboy in the western fields of south oklahoma. his hat was covered in mud from the night he had suffered, dangerously close to death. With his horse gone, he continued his journey along
In my sophomore year of high school, the boy I loved moved far out west. He left me in December, a promise on his lips and her cheeks rosy as he embraced me.
“Caleb, I promise I’ll text you all the time,” he said to me, his voice soft and earnest.
The Mother Supeior on the Sunset Plains frowns again. Maria is doing it all wrong on purpose; she is sure of it. Maria doesn’t genuflect, she doesn’t pray, she doesn’t feel guilty anyway. Laying naked in the morning sun. Glow of warmth and wonder playing on her native skin. “Heathen witch, sensual bitch. The nuns will beat it out of you yet.” But Mother is in for a surprise! Maria, not her true name, shan’t be found. Not today. Not tomorrow. The ancient wind has come for her daughter. Ferries her off by Owl’s flight on a dark and moonless night.
I love the western time period. It was awesome it sounds like. So many horses and people were always so nice. don’t you wish we wee in that time period because i do. it was a great time to be in because you had a close relationship with your neighbors and every everything. It would be fun to go back and just be there for a while.
The first thing comes to mind is horses, cows, dogs, cats, pigs, ducks, and chickens. Pretty much a farm or a ranch. I have always wanted to go to a farm or ranch, but I’m sure I will get my chance one day. I remember passing up the farms in the window, thinking what it would be like to have a farm of my own.
as my soul leaves my almost lifeless corpse, i sing myself an old western song. asking to be with my loved ones, asking for my soul to go to heaven. asking for my corpse to turn into something beautiful. as the flowers take over my body, i leave this world that i ust to know farewell. i will
In the western desert, there lived a cowboy. He had a giant horse that looked like a dinosaur with a cowboy hat. A real cowboy hat. Just to add some flair, his horse has boots.
The sun was setting on the quiet, still town as the women strode through the streets. She had been on a mission for years, and she was going to complete that night.
The sun was setting on the quiet, empty town as the women strode through the streets. She was on a mission that had been calling her for years, and she would see it completed that night.
He was a simple horse. Loyal not a care in the world. One cube of sugar could last him on into the morrow. I loved him. No stead had as beautiful of main as he. Thick black hair waiving in the wind. His legs strong and mighty. As I gaze into the distance of the Texas air I can still see him running–running into the horizon.
John Wayne was my father’s hero. Well, hero may be a strong word for it…role model comes closer. He was a western boy himself, and valued the ideals of the old west as much as the swagger and “manliness” inherent in it.
John Wayne was my father’s hero. Well, maybe hero is a strong word, but he seemed to do what he could to be more like John Wayne all the time. He was a western boy himself, and valued the attitudes and approach of the old west.
The way the stranger walked toward me was like something out a badly produced Western – back arched like an angry cat’s, boots sliding in the dry dirt, the wind picking up around the wide brim of his hat. I was ready for a tumbleweed to come out of nowhere in this no man’s land just to accentuate the awkward scene unfolding before me.
the cactus was facing west when i saw her.
she seemed about to take flight
sunset colors that outshone the moon
eyes so bright i thought they were my salvation
musical hands and a weathered perseverance.
as i meet my new family, i come to know that they are extremely western and polite. and here i am, a city girl, sitting in a ranch style house, with my phone in my lap, wearing a tank-top and a ripped up pair of jeans. secretly wanting my parents back from the dead. i cry myself to sleep.
I think of Texas, the old west, boots and horseshoes, cowboys. I also think of the mountains, simpler times, ladies wearing prairie dresses, cowboy hats, saloons, gun duels, liquor.
She heard the typical spaghetti western music and tried not to grin as she turned to him. He had a facsimile of defiance on his face, a hint of mischief.
Westernization has conquered the whole world. It has changed ideas, culture and lifestyles of many people. People are succumbing to its rules without questioning the ideology and without thinking twice. Western is also a word that I used to write about westernization
Look into the sands out there in the fields beyond the conjunctions of everything that appeals and find the western times again in the news or informed sense of knowledge and feel nothing else apart from porridge.
The old hero had seen better days. His gun was dangling in its worn out holster, spattered in rust. His last horse died out the week before, after a drought that lasted too long. There wasn’t much fire left in that warrior from an ancient time: only his eyes, still hard as a pair of steel bullets, following me as I walked to him.
It was a great day in the old west and everything was very nice there and all the cowboys were riding in a race that and the race was a special race the winner will be the king of the west.
The old movies, with the dresses and the drawl,
I press pause, on men without laws,
On virgin maidens fainting at the sight of blood;
In the back, bruised eye, she drains whiskey, boozy mud.
A thump-creak of thick boots on the dry floor behind her,
In her cheek strikes a steel toe, in her chest a spur.
Not a sound from her lips, there’d been pain in there worse,
When his fleeting soft touch took her life in a curse;
The sun would never shine on the dirt quite as bright,
A lifetime of happiness reaching its height,
And like the sun, it sets, boozed mud, bloody chest,
In the dry heat of reality, fantasy is put to rest.
Mmmm – omelette, sandwich, sexy people in cowboy hats and cowgirl boots. Great sunsets and forlorn landscapes.
The world looked like a western movie. He didn’t know what to make of it. One moment he had fallen asleep the next moment he was in a black and white western movie.
what the fuck?
Most of time people equate modernization with westernization. There is difference between two. We want to be modern without being westernized, without compromising on our own culture, lifestyle and values.
The western started as usual, with the horses and the dry desert, and the lone cowboy. However, just before he got on his horse, the clouds gathered a dismal force, the wind was stronger, and he noticed that he had forgotten his cell phone, again.
cow boys and horses and guns and red skins and cows and long horns and
shoot outs and snakes
western brings to mind sand and desert and cowboys, horses, cows and saloons and old houses.
jhljlkhk western
I went to a western store I went to the western usa
the once was a cowboy in the western fields of south oklahoma. his hat was covered in mud from the night he had suffered, dangerously close to death. With his horse gone, he continued his journey along
In my sophomore year of high school, the boy I loved moved far out west. He left me in December, a promise on his lips and her cheeks rosy as he embraced me.
“Caleb, I promise I’ll text you all the time,” he said to me, his voice soft and earnest.
The Mother Supeior on the Sunset Plains frowns again. Maria is doing it all wrong on purpose; she is sure of it. Maria doesn’t genuflect, she doesn’t pray, she doesn’t feel guilty anyway. Laying naked in the morning sun. Glow of warmth and wonder playing on her native skin. “Heathen witch, sensual bitch. The nuns will beat it out of you yet.” But Mother is in for a surprise! Maria, not her true name, shan’t be found. Not today. Not tomorrow. The ancient wind has come for her daughter. Ferries her off by Owl’s flight on a dark and moonless night.
In early American history there were people called cowboys they liked riding horses and shooting their guns they also fought indians
i live in the western
i love to live in the western
it is hot in the western
“I am in a western movie” she thought, and she was, because in her dreams, she was real. Now then there was a horse and it trampled her to death.
I love the western time period. It was awesome it sounds like. So many horses and people were always so nice. don’t you wish we wee in that time period because i do. it was a great time to be in because you had a close relationship with your neighbors and every everything. It would be fun to go back and just be there for a while.
I have no idea about this word it’s not hard but I don’t know information about wastern
I just want to say the western in the NBA, I love playing basketball, in the NAB, the western is much better than the estern
The first thing comes to mind is horses, cows, dogs, cats, pigs, ducks, and chickens. Pretty much a farm or a ranch. I have always wanted to go to a farm or ranch, but I’m sure I will get my chance one day. I remember passing up the farms in the window, thinking what it would be like to have a farm of my own.
as my soul leaves my almost lifeless corpse, i sing myself an old western song. asking to be with my loved ones, asking for my soul to go to heaven. asking for my corpse to turn into something beautiful. as the flowers take over my body, i leave this world that i ust to know farewell. i will
In the western desert, there lived a cowboy. He had a giant horse that looked like a dinosaur with a cowboy hat. A real cowboy hat. Just to add some flair, his horse has boots.
The western part of the united states has good weather. i don’t know what to write. the western U.S is gorgeous.
I do not live in the western part of the United States of America.
The sun was setting on the quiet, still town as the women strode through the streets. She had been on a mission for years, and she was going to complete that night.
The sun was setting on the quiet, empty town as the women strode through the streets. She was on a mission that had been calling her for years, and she would see it completed that night.
He was a simple horse. Loyal not a care in the world. One cube of sugar could last him on into the morrow. I loved him. No stead had as beautiful of main as he. Thick black hair waiving in the wind. His legs strong and mighty. As I gaze into the distance of the Texas air I can still see him running–running into the horizon.
John Wayne was my father’s hero. Well, hero may be a strong word for it…role model comes closer. He was a western boy himself, and valued the ideals of the old west as much as the swagger and “manliness” inherent in it.
John Wayne was my father’s hero. Well, maybe hero is a strong word, but he seemed to do what he could to be more like John Wayne all the time. He was a western boy himself, and valued the attitudes and approach of the old west.
i am not a western for i have not been born in the west nor live in the west, therefore i cannot call myself a western
The way the stranger walked toward me was like something out a badly produced Western – back arched like an angry cat’s, boots sliding in the dry dirt, the wind picking up around the wide brim of his hat. I was ready for a tumbleweed to come out of nowhere in this no man’s land just to accentuate the awkward scene unfolding before me.
the cactus was facing west when i saw her.
she seemed about to take flight
sunset colors that outshone the moon
eyes so bright i thought they were my salvation
musical hands and a weathered perseverance.
desert drenched stomach
wrinkled eyes
cactus lungs
sharpened tongues
western drought
changes the horizon
as i meet my new family, i come to know that they are extremely western and polite. and here i am, a city girl, sitting in a ranch style house, with my phone in my lap, wearing a tank-top and a ripped up pair of jeans. secretly wanting my parents back from the dead. i cry myself to sleep.
I think of Texas, the old west, boots and horseshoes, cowboys. I also think of the mountains, simpler times, ladies wearing prairie dresses, cowboy hats, saloons, gun duels, liquor.
She heard the typical spaghetti western music and tried not to grin as she turned to him. He had a facsimile of defiance on his face, a hint of mischief.
Westernization has conquered the whole world. It has changed ideas, culture and lifestyles of many people. People are succumbing to its rules without questioning the ideology and without thinking twice. Western is also a word that I used to write about westernization
Look into the sands out there in the fields beyond the conjunctions of everything that appeals and find the western times again in the news or informed sense of knowledge and feel nothing else apart from porridge.
I met a cowboy, he had fallen from his horse, his leg had a bone sticking out to face the western sky.
The old hero had seen better days. His gun was dangling in its worn out holster, spattered in rust. His last horse died out the week before, after a drought that lasted too long. There wasn’t much fire left in that warrior from an ancient time: only his eyes, still hard as a pair of steel bullets, following me as I walked to him.
It was a great day in the old west and everything was very nice there and all the cowboys were riding in a race that and the race was a special race the winner will be the king of the west.