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Cowboy Art Poems | Cowboy Poems About Art

These Cowboy Art poems are examples of Cowboy poems about Art. These are the best examples of Cowboy Art poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Rhyme | |

This is me

My knees were the things that 
kept me up and my skin is my 
cutting board my eyes are the 
rain clouds to the fire running 
down my arms and my heart is 
the fire place that keeps me 
burning so calm


Details | Cowboy | |

Cowboys and Indians

He pulls his hat down low against the chill of the storm,
The numb fingers that hold the reins forgot what it was like to be warm;

     On a grassy knoll silhouetted against the rising sun, 
     Astride his pinto pony sits a Native American son; 

The blowing snow and freezing rain steal his breath away,
But he knows that being a cowboy, it’s worth the price that you pay;

     A majestic, bronzed brave, feathers wafting in the breeze, 
     With arms uplifted in obeisance, the Great Spirit to appease! 

A worn out calf is stretched across his lap on either side,
Her head resting on his thigh just going along for the ride;

     He offers thanks to Him for the grandeur of creation, 
     And for the sun and moon from which he gathers inspiration;

Her momma just like him had been caught out in the gale,
It’s just another story to add to the cowboy’s tale;

     He asks the Great Spirit to bless his arrow and bow, 
     That with true aim he can fell life-sustaining buffalo;

His face is hard and beaten from too many days in the sun,
From early mornings and late nights workin’ til a job is done;

     A tear rolls down his cheek thinking of his ravaged, sacred land, 
     The broken treaties and those who dealt with deceitful hand; 

But being a working cowboy surely has its rewards,
Riding forgotten country that has never been explored.

     With a sad heart he lowers his arms and slowly turns away, 
     Determined that from the paths of his fathers he will not stray. 

By Tirzah Conway and Bob Hinshaw

The cowboy portion was written by Tirzah Conway and the Indian portion was written by Bob Hinshaw
   
     




Details | Ballade | |

An Ellice Island - In search of KindRed Soul

Long miles of tedious journey,
Missing my darling honey.
Travelling impatiently, spend thousands of 
money, 
Hope god will bless me with ma lucky soul 
at this season.

Equatorial island exploring its amazed 
beauty, glittering with immersed grasses.
Wrapped by queens necklaced small lake 
aside, at the outskirts of dalhousie.
My heart dwelled into its god gifted 
creativity,
When the night lime lighted,
Millions of stars scattered around 
charming moon.
As if its was a wondering boon.
Lucky enough for landing with my next 
hop.

Eagerly waiting for my heart chaser,
Girl passed near by, few seconds later.
Flaming beauty mould my soul.
Topped with innocence, ready for my 
auspicious goal.
Her chic appearance,
Her innocent appeal.
Strucking heart raised with high beats..
Awaited for our romantic date in ma 
upcoming meet.

Frequency of our nature matched.
Stolen Eyes of each other were catched.
Strings of our heart whistled 
synchronously.
Everything had happened miraclelously.
I rebelled the three precious words of 
romantic dictionary.
Accepting my red rose, She blushed.

At event of recreation, campfire were 
ignited.
Nobody around us, private moments 
between we two spotlighted.
Playing guitar, she sinked with every beat,
That's the coincidence our eyes again 
meet.
Hand in hand danced with the soothing 
romantic theme,
Sparkling smile on her face beamed.
Getting closer to her, because of her 
fragranced cream.
Expecting the light around us to be dim.

The romantic moment again came,
Flaps of my soul opened for the grand 
dame.
She looked too pretty in her gold lame 
dress, 
My heart awarded her an order of chivalry.
Don't know who are you, but baby you are 
the one, I am in love.
You live in me, You are my love
I feel you in my heart,
You are my world, I just cant stay apart!

Please don't hesitate, please don't lie,
Whatever you feel, my heart can buy!
Angel of life, Its just you.
Completeness in life can't be without you.

Wanna Carry journey happily together.
Tickling nose, Queenly beauty of my white 
leather.
Hold my senses, its caught by you.
Don't let be just memories, wanna feel 
ecstasy of love towards you forever.
Promising to hold your hand throughout 
life in this lovely weather.

Will be your shadow, because your pain 
will be mine.
Its destiny that our heart clicked a 
snapshot of each other's soul.
Stopping by my question, Will you marry 
me, my Kindred Soul?


Details | Cowboy | |

Cowboys and Indians

He pulls his hat down low against the chill of the storm,
The numb fingers that hold the reins forgot what it was like to be warm;

    On a grassy knoll silhouetted against the rising sun,
    Astride his pinto pony sits a Native American son;

The blowing snow and freezing rain steal his breath away,
But he knows that being a cowboy, it's worth the price that you pay;

    A majestic, bronzed brave, feathers wafting in the breeze,
    With arms uplifted in obeisance, the Great Spirit to appease!

A worn out calf is stretched across his lap on either side,
Her head resting on his thigh just going along for the ride;

    He offers thanks to Him for the grandeur of creation,
    And for the sun and moon from which he gathers inspiration;

Her momma just like him had been caught out in the gale,
It's just another story to add to the cowboy's tale;

    He asks the Great Spirit to bless his arrow and bow,
    That with true aim he can fell life-sustaining buffalo;

His face is hard and beaten from too many days in the sun,
From early mornings and late nights workin' til a job is done;

    A tear rolls down his cheek thinking of his ravaged, sacred land,
    The broken treaties and those who dealt with deceitful hand;

But being a working cowboy surely has its rewards,
Riding forgotten country that has never been explored.

    With a sad heart he lowers his arms and slowly turns away,
    Determined that from the paths of his fathers he will not stray.

By Tirzah Conway and Bob Hinshaw

The cowboy portion was written by Tirzah Conway and the Indian
portion by Bob Hinshaw


Details | Cowboy | |

Pure Poetry

A stimulus proposal that should only take six months
Give every representative including the president one year's paid holiday
Allow the courts ,police,and firemen to stay at their posts.
Every other government office with the possible exception of the Secret Service and all the armed forces can do 
as they see fit to keep us safe for this brief period of freedom. At the end of this holiday we should hold an 
election to decide what to do with obviously useless politicians


Details | Haiku | |

The Phoenix Raven

semi-auto gun
second nature second hand
born in fire to fire


Details | Cowboy | |

Visiting the Badger Hole

Oh, the leaves are liquid yellow
As we ride on through Custer Park,
In search of that old Badger Hole:
Home of the poet Badger Clark.

Yes, we come to step back in time—
It’s a historic rule of thumb—
Where the city does not crowd you,
And man can be scattered some.

The old cabin now sits empty—
A last poetic monument—
Proving that words can still live on
Where men have lived and come and went.


Details | Free verse | |

Cowboys

They ride on their horses along the grand canyons,
searching for the canyons' end;
it is believed by Indians that a giant snake created the canyons;
its belly, they say, has gold that can pay an entire American army for years.

A dozen in number, the cowboys have faith on their revolvers,
with their silver bullets to bring down the snake.......



Date: 16/04/2014


Details | Cowboy | |

tyciala

who am i and what gives me the right to compare myself to unique? what specify 
gives tyciala the ability to read and write her own poetry. who gave this "YOUNGE" 
girl this hustler outlook about everybody and everything. in addition somebody 
please tell me why tyciala  keeps call en her self ms.dre but only on certain 
thangs ,and pieces. and then she thinks that she own the world. i think that her 
words are blunt  and she has been through to much. her hair, her smile,her 
personality has both harmony and humor. the most of us want. but most of all 
when i try and get to know her i can't get through to her. her heart has walls as tall 
as China great wall. and the strongest , and smartens, couldn't know a chip off 
her walls.all because i am afraid to fall.so who am i and what gives me the right 
to compare myself  to the most unique and best? because my pride wouldn't let 
me rest if i wanted to do anything else.


Details | Cowboy | |

It Used To Be An Open Range

In these dark days of war and death, in these days of turmoil and change—
In these days of political correctness, it sure does seem strange,
How once we did what we wanted – it used to be an open range.

I know now how it must have felt when they strung the range with barbed wire—
An era ended on those plains; the land and men put up for hire—
A way of life and freedom gone – a hard rain that put out the fire.

And nowadays in word and rhyme, it seems poets are all fenced in—
To write of history and yesterday, just seem to be a sin—
They only want these modern ranching times and not those way back when.

We know the world has changed a lot and all our freedoms have a cost—
It seems liberties’ now another word that comes each year with frost,
As mournfully we gaze on sunsets and dream back on all we’ve lost.

So hoist another cup of Joe and raise your drink for one last toast—
Like phantom bison and wild horses, our free ways give up the ghost
And sadly we lean back in saddles and lose the thing we love most. 

In these dark days of war and death, in these days of turmoil and change—
In these days of political correctness, it sure does seem strange,
How once we did what we wanted – it used to be an open range.



Details | Cowboy | |

The Charlie Russell Range

On a Charlie Russell range under royal Montana skies,
Pale Shoshones and bison bones bring tears to old squaw’s eyes.
A purple wash of prairie sun slides slow beneath the rim—
A crown of gold and purest while brings awe to horse and men.

God’s claret brush and russet rain breathes life into sunset—
Cast stark in brass and iron and bronze without but one regret.
They silhouette Indians like Remingtons on the hill—
Their art will last for centuries while mere man never will.

So hold them high in the sky and let no man call it strange—
Art is sweet insanity beneath a Charlie Russell range.   


Details | Cowboy | |

I'm a Poet

I'm a Poet I'm Human too, with a mind and a Soul,
To make a decision, To set a new goal.
You can't control Me, as hard as you try. I see what you're doing,
You are so slick my poetry, shared belongs to Poet and not you I know that I can
Develop what I love writing.