No Gas Left in Chainsaw, No More Oil in Lantern (A Poem in Homage of Terry Funk and Windham Rotunda AKA Bray Wyatt)

 

For Terry

 

In a ring of barbed wire, I hear his country brogue,

and on a table set on fire, I see a hardcore rogue,

six decades worth of blood, now lay upon the mat,

with knotted hair on chosen wood, that made his foes lie flat,

either with his own name, or wearing the mask of Charlie,

he would indeed light the flame, a whole one-man army,

with open Bud in hand, I wish you did some more,

but this is last retirement man, no gas left in chainsaw!

 

For Windham

 

As one of your fireflies, I now cry some tears,

no more shall I hear the phrase saying that, “I’m here!”

though you were a fiend, to me you were a friend,

in mine and many other’s hearts, Sister Abbie will not end,

what you did, did matter, had the whole world in your hands,

now in the cosmos, Husky Harris, makes eternal plans,

as in the dark, you lit the way, you most beloved phantom,

yet, this sad time extinguishes; means, no more oil in lantern!