You made it! The last of the Magnificent Seven poems. You all are such good sports.

The last poem I’m posting was actually the first one I wrote. Goodnight Robicheaux is such an interesting character. His exploits for the losing side of the Civil War made him a legend and also damaged him considerably. While he works as a warrant officer like his friend Chisholm (an odd friendship given their opposing sides during the war), it seems that he mostly earns a living from his legacy and Billy Rocks’s skills with his knives.

Goodnight is deeply conflicted. He’s more than willing to join Chisholm in the Seven’s cause and actually cautions Chisholm about his motivations for saving the town of Rose Creek, knowing that they’re more personal than Chisholm has let the other Seven know. He’s got a Southern wisdom that never fails to produce a turn of phrase for the moment. And when it comes to training the men of the town to shoot, he’s an exacting and serious commander.

But Goodnight is haunted by the demons of his past, of the lives he took during the war. He may be a legendary sharpshooter, but it’s come at a great cost. Goodnight believes that if he shoots to kill again, he’ll die. It’s a paralyzing fear that only Billy knows about, and it leads him to abandon the Seven the night before the fight. Naturally, he overcomes the worst of himself and rejoins his friends. After all, if he’s going to die, he might as well die with them.

It was the scene in which he abandons the rest of the Seven, when he was riding away in the night, that sparked the idea for the poem. Because Goodnight is not a coward. He’s a haunted man. And he carries with him a graveyard of ghosts.

This poem is free verse, which is my default, and the only Magnificent Seven poem I allowed myself to write in my usual form. It was also the only poem that got a significant revision. After writing “Jack Horne” and “Red Harvest”, I realized that there was an emerging theme to these poems and I needed to go back and include that into “Goodnight Robicheaux”.

The overall theme of the Magnificent Seven poems is home. Every member of the Seven lost their home in some way, either by choice or by force, and they’ve all been brought together to defend a home that isn’t theirs.

It’s really obvious in retrospect.

Goodnight Robicheaux

He’s a haunted man.
You can’t half-fill a graveyard
and not expect a few ghosts.
He’s got an army of them now.
Waiting. Whispering his future.
He knows that owl following him
will soon swallow him up
and spit his bones into
the first grave he ever dug.
A grave he’ll call home.

It’s time for your monthly dose of poetry that resulted from a hyper focus.

Like Vasquez, I had Red Harvest’s poetry form chosen before I had a good idea of what I was going to write, though I did have a good nugget of inspiration to work with. Red Harvest had been told that he was meant to walk a different path away from his tribe and that intrigued me. It was portrayed as being an unusual life choice as when Red Harvest first shows up, the rest of the Seven and as well as Emma Cullen and Teddy Q immediately start looking for other members of Red Harvest’s tribe. As it turned out, Red Harvest found a new tribe, even if it was temporary.

Though most of the Seven accept Red Harvest easily, there is some lingering tension with Jack Horne, who made his name as a killer of Native Americans. That tension seems mostly one-sided, though, and fades quick enough.

A man of few words, Red Harvest speaks mostly in his native tongue, which only Chisholm can understand, but he does speak -and presumably understand- some English. Mostly, though, he cuts a figure as a silent, stoic warrior, skilled with a bow as well as a gun and a knife. He paints his face as well as the face of his horse, but not always, marking himself when battle is expected. There is a quiet certainty about him. This is his path and he will walk it.

I chose a nonet for his poem. It’s a diminishing poem. The first line has nine syllables (hence the name nonet), the second line has eight, third line seven, and so on, the last line ending the poem with a single syllable. I felt it a fitting form for a character who was sent out on his own to find his place knowing it might be temporary.

Behold my mastery of disappearing syllables.

Red Harvest

Alone, his path a prairie, shaded
with hidden purpose. Guided by
winds he knows by soul, leading
him to his only fate.
Tying him to lives
he cannot save
for a place
not his
home.

Poetry punishment is back, but lucky for you, this poem marks the half-way point.

I adore Billy Rocks. A man of few words and brilliant knives, he’s a loyal friend to Goodnight Robicheaux. We’re introduced to Billy through Goodnight, who explains that he had a warrant for Billy’s arrest, but when he saw him easily taking care of a room full of men, he knew he couldn’t arrest him and they’d been partners ever since, making a living by betting on Billy’s skills against the unsuspecting.

Though Goodnight had a warrant for Billy’s arrest, it’s implied that Billy’s less an outlaw and more a victim of circumstance due to his race. He wouldn’t be whooping everybody’s ass all over here and there if they kept their racism to their damn selves. And though there’s definitely some racism in regards to Vasquez and Red Harvest, it’s explicitly pointed out in Billy’s backstory.

I love Billy’s friendship with Goody. As a result, that ended up being the main theme of his poem.

I chose the sijo poetic form for Billy’s poem. It’s a Korean form that’s meant to be sung. It’s three lines with 14 to 16 syllables per line. The first line introduces the subject, the second line develops it, and the third features a twist and conclusion. The syllable breakdown per line traditionally is 3-4-4-4, 3-4-4-4, 3-5-4-3, and there’s supposed to be a pause in each line.

Did I do all that? Well, mostly. I think I got pretty close.

I got my point across, anyway.

Billy Rocks

Miles and years away from his birth, his face a stranger.
His blades carve himself a partner, notch himself a place to belong.
His home is a grave with his dearest friend his closest neighbor.