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Cowboy Baby Poems | Cowboy Poems About Baby

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

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Details | Lyric | |

Shell from Sawed-Off

I'm aware that
They'll dare me to surrender when my burner's unkindled
And the barrel is empty
Since their whiskey is missing
 
But it's in our blood and baby it's trickling and
We're on a roll
 
I heard from her and her merciless curves
That the curse'll come first
Just 'fore the rebirth
It's a thought that gets lost when you pitch it with a cross
O'er a plate made of moss so
 
I'll name it Shell from Sawed-Off
As I paint Hell from Far-Off
 
Like the Seraphim cherishing the heart
Who can't turn from the art
Like embarrassing a perishing enemy
Yeah, one last taunt
 
When told to listen as though it'd fix it
Something went missing
Although I didn't miss it
A relation on a ship quite distant and
Slightly free
Where the ocean switched and the compass died instantly
 
Oh it's in our blood, baby we're tricky so now
Out that ship has sailed
 
Like the Seraphim cherishing the shark
Who can flip 'round the ark
Like embarrassing a perishing enemy
Yeah, one last taunt
 
And our sweat is slightly trickling
A whiskey business, the highest feeling
And the pressure is highly tricky
A risky business, a godly healing


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 | Sestina | |

Death Undignified

The summer sun was high. The heat was oppressive.
A whalebone corset dug into my body's tender parts.
Peering from the shop, my hand touches the pane
of dearly brought glass it vibrates with the hoof-beat of riders.
The weak, blue-sky pales, clouding over with the dust. 
Children playing hoop, let it drop with an unheard clatter.

Inside Fort Laramie’s provisioner, Mrs. Dreary's dropped-plate clatters.
Outside, a thunder of hoofs race pell-mell through heat, oppressive.
“Indians!” Children run through the street's miasma of dust.
Folks in wagons and on horseback flee for other parts.
“Sioux,” I nod. Gunshots ring through the air savaging the riders.
The shopkeeper’s wife babe in arms runs up the stairs, baby screams in pain.

Arrow flights buzz by shattering the shop's window panes.
The Indians leap from horse back to tile roof raising a clatter.
Mr. Dreary reaches for his Sharp shooter and aims at the riders.
A cat’s eye marble falls from the toy display, a mundane oppression.
Dreary slams shut the door, shards of glass scatter, bullet parted.
“Mame, git away from that window! Gener’l Connor’ll kill me if y’ur dusted.”

My eyes, now black and hollow as a barn owl's, tear, full of dust.
“Damn heathens,” Mr. Dreary cusses as bullets fly through broken panes.
He pulls me behind him and opens the useless glass door. “Thop” an arrow parts
his scalp. He falls back, landing beside me,his spurs clattering.
The baby screams again. I turn to see Mrs. Dreary's oppressive
grip on the child. “He’s dead.” She says grabs the Sharp and kills the next rider.

The soldiers finally arrive and chase the mongrel band of riders.
Mrs. Dreary, babe in one arm, Sharp in the other, kicks the marble in the dust.
She walks through the door, out of one carnage into another type of oppression,
the soldiers are executing the Sioux braves. Children watch in pain.
Across the street a lone warrior perches. A roof tile clatters
to the dirt. His arrow flies and a soul is parted.

Falling with blind numbness, forward, down, parting
the water in the horse trough left for the riders.
My brass buttons and flint arrowhead scrape the tub clattering,
no one in the street notices my departing in the day's dust.
My open mouth fills with bile and the rancid taste of pain.
“How improper,” was my last lucid thought, truly oppressive.

A clatter of hoofs rocks my parting.
The oppression, of man against man leaves, with the riders.
Only dust and the pain of the living remain.



Details | Cowboy | |

Waassuup Bros

Heelo my bros suck the deck with a passion


Details | Couplet | |

Unknown

Who am I?
Am I defined by what is near in sight?
Am I defined by what I have done,
Or am I defined by what I could become?

Perhaps I'm of no use.
To him, or her, or I, nor you.
Or perhaps I'm too misunderstood to be defined,
And it is something like understanding that comes in time.

And if to the world I'm never shown,
Yet in my own light I've grown and grown,
And so I can know no happiness but my own--
The reason for my smile, to you, will forever be unknown.

I do not pray for the world to know my name.
For it and verse; the letters are the same.
And if a man should find his sorrow in what he reads,
I pray his pain my words to keep. 

Should his eyes rain on my page,
Better tears than storms of rage.
And if a man should find his sorrow in what he reads.
I pray his pain my words to keep.

And if to the world you're never shown,
Yet in your own light you've grown and grown,
And so you know no happiness but your own.
Let the reason for your smile, to you, only be known.


Details | Free verse | |

Work

Work.
Toil.
The pain I put in the ground.
For such a precious thing.
Corn. 
The family enjoys their meal.
They plant their leftover kernels.
And wait for me to tend to them.
Work. 
An endless cycle in which happiness is born.


©Demand4poetry
21 February 2013


Details | Free verse | |

Once Upon A Christmas

I stand at the window and watch the snow fall 
It's been two hours since Billy left 
The wind has built, a blizzard set in 
And I can't put my mind at rest. 

The snow has drifted blocking the road he took 
But he knows his job, the cattle must be watered and fed 
And hay for the baby calves to bed. 
"I'll be all right," he said. 

There is no school it is Christmas vacation 
The radio predicted conditions to worsen. 
With his family save and warm 
He then sets about caring for those out in the storm. 

TV and presents keep the children entertained 
While I my hair do pull. 
Dinner is ready and still Billys not home 
And with questions like "When's daddy coming home? 
And "Can I go out and play in the snow?" 

It is hard for them to understand 
It isn't just a snow fall, the danger is far to grave 
Wander to far and they could be lost 
And in turn perhaps lose their lives. 

Two o'clock, three o'clock, four o'clock came 
Finally Billy comes through the door 
Wet, exhausted and frozen to the bone 
He removed his outer garments and collapsed on the chair. 

As he ate the children came 
Excited to have daddy home 
Satisfied he was safe and sound 
They went back to their TV and games. 

Chore time came and the blizzard ruled 
I offered to do my share 
He smiled and said, "Everything's fine. 
Just the cow to milk and the pigs to feed 
And I'll be right back inside. " 

I put on my coat took shovel in hand 
And worked at clearing the path. 
In an hour it would be covered again 
But I needed to have some fresh air. 

All were in bed, the Christmas tree bright 
The Nativity set caught my eye 
Tenderly I picked up the manger, bow my head and say 
"Thank You Baby Jesus and Happy Birthday."

                                                                Cile Beer


Details | Cowboy | |

baby typo you man i forget

Blood and soul.
Bash horns.
Fight.
Always fighting.
And for stupid reason.
Red

Red covers my sheets and my pillow.
Saying "FORFEIT" 
Blood Saying We can be dead.
Fine We can play dead.
So long as you teach our soul
That we are a sponge until death. Then.
SQUEEZE

Squeeze until the point 
Where e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g else ends
And every crater in me
Is too depraved of oxygen. 
And my wager.
Is you simply find us a new place to live.
Lets say infinite.
Lets prove disobedience.
Lets give several billion people intricate.

So we would have a sphere to reboot.
To slay through 
The judges and judges 
And president. Supreme justice.
Racking our brains to understand 
The retribution beyond the destruction.
I could be the most violent.

And I can be the most honest.
Say we may never be moved
Say F---orget erosion.
send our love under water.
Its a tickle torture.

A tickling before I go
A tickling before and after 
A stupid shuffle of fingers
I begin to fall.
I would end my body if this tickle never stopped.

just want to build my nest
With no fool to stop it.


Details | I do not know? | |

You Wouldn't Know Good Lovin'

You can tell me that you love me
  But…I know that it ain’t true
Because you left on Sunday
  Said you were tired of feelin' blue

So now it’sTuesday afternoon
  And you’re coming around again
Well it doesn’t really matter
  Cuz, I ain’t lettin’ you back in

You said that you had changed
  Told me you knew you’d done me wrong
Well baby I heard that old line before
  Same ole’ story same ole’ song

Cuz’ you wouldn’t know good lovin'
  If it came knockin’ at your door
You wouldn’t know it now
  Darlin’- you never did before

I know you well enough by now
  That you’d say most anything
To get right back into my heart
  But baby…
When it comes to good lovin’
  You don’t even know where to start

So you think that I’d believe you
  With that same ole’ dance and song
Well, baby there just ain’t no way
  Now go on back where you belong

Cuz, you wouldn’t know good lovin'
  If it stared you in your face
Once you had me, now you’ve lost me
  Now...
Go find someone else to chase



Details | I do not know? | |

Christmas In A Cow Camp

He was  a crusty old cowboy, that was all he knew
His home, living in an old cow camp shack
It was a cold December, with snow everywhere
An old wood burning stove, his coffee to brew
His saddle, bed roll, and hat on the hat rack
Getting ready for another cold night out there

They brought him his grub and supply
Once a month, if they could get in
Every morning he was up early to check the cattle
Chopping ice for the cattle to drink or die
Knowing the next morning, he would do it all over again
Freezing cold and his teeth would rattle

On Christmas Eve, he found a baby calf in the snow
The mother had died, giving birth to the little one
He carried him back on his saddle to the old cow damp
Built a fire on the wood burning stove, outside it was ten below
Knowing that is what a good shepherd would have done
Getting the baby calf back on track

Spring had sprung and in began to thaw
The two grew to become quite a pair
Everyday the calf was by his side, cowboy in the saddle
Always fight together, like a outlaw to a gun
The calf would follow him to God knows where
The old cowboy would say, "Come on Christmas, let's go check the cattle"