The ranch on which I hang my hat, though short on most the frills,
Is thirteen sections, give or take, of rugged trails an’ hills.
We call it ‘home’, our little world, our very own frontier,
Amongst the cattle, sheep an' goats; the varmints, hogs an' deer.
Today I watched the breakin' dawn an' whiffed the mornin' air,
A time I often set aside for things like thought an' prayer.
A Mockin'bird an' Mornin' Dove, an' other birds at play,
Were there to sing an' set the mood to start another day.
This mornin' saw the strangest thing, like time itself had merged,
An' all the souls who once were here, appeared an' then converged.
In swirlin' clouds of mist an' fog, right off the bluffs they rolled,
Till all had gathered in the glen, the modern an' the old.
The Indians, conquistadors, an' other ancient men,
The soldiers from this country's wars, an' cowboys from back when…
They all had come from yesterday to help me understand
Our link with those who came before, to heritage an' land.
A crazy notion, so I thought, that they could just appear,
But as the morning went along the reason got real clear.
They rode along with me that day to show me things I’ve missed,
The things I’ve seen a thousand times an’ some I’d just dismissed.
Those wagon roads of long ago, still evident today,
Are carved in rock an' rutted earth, not apt to wash away.
They linked the missions, forts an' towns those many years gone by;
An' left their mark for all to see, as modern times grew nigh.
The artifacts an' weathered ruins attest to yesterdays,
When others came an' lived their lives in very different ways.
We've seen their skill in arrowheads they honed from fired stone,
An' craftsmanship in beads an' tools they fashioned out of bone.
At ever turn and trail we took was something to remind,
The Maker must have had a plan laid out for humankind.
The Earth He made’s been feedin' us a half-a-million years,
An' used it's wonder, force an' change to challenge pioneers.
I do not know if they'll return or if they’ll feel the need,
But I’m prepared to ride the trail, where ever it may lead.
We all are spirits ridin’ time with bodies of the Earth,
Whose time has come to take the reins an’ offer up our worth.
The land has been the legacy we cultivate an’ reap,
The life has been the heritage our father’s fought to keep,
An’ we are bound throughout our time with those who came before,
To put our hearts and souls to it, and make it something more.
< beneath swollen ..... moon
in pasture of...... rolling hills
standing ....hind quarters
a beautiful black ...... stallion
simply took my breath ........ away
A Memory Of Beauty
I slipped on my boots,
Headed out for some loot.
I can settle in the barn,
But not in chair fiddling with some yarn.
Ain't that type to stick around,
Gotta' stand tall, stand my ground.
I wanna' work in the law,
Even if doesn't handle a saw.
I got a truck,
All beat down, like my luck.
I like livin' in the country,
My roots lived here over a century.
The issue is,
The city is where my dream lives.
Packin' up my truck,
Imma let the streets know what just struck!
I do not know?
The kids are cry in once again,
To there needs i come again,
To help them out in there time of need,
To you i swear it gonna be just fine,
To there needs i come again,
To you I swear always be there,
To help you in your time of need.
GOD: the goodness of determination,
a standard for better living creation.
to differentiate a civil or wild nation,
for smoothness a better flow no tension,
only patience, belief, trust asks to confirm.
The pain I put in the ground.
For such a precious thing.
The family enjoys their meal.
They plant their leftover kernels.
And wait for me to tend to them.
An endless cycle in which happiness is born.
21 February 2013
< our top story tonight is Lawyers
a pain in the ass and real spoilers
with fancy cars homes suits
fifteen hundred kaboot
rather hire cowboy wearing just spurs
Entry For Carolyn Devonshire's
Lawyer Limerick's Contest
< once there was a man named trader Joe
could do nothing with hair so let grow
under big coonskin hat
fleas tick and his pet rat
mercantile's just say Oh Hell No
once there was saloon name lucky spur
where traders brought in their hunted furs
in walks old trader Joe
miss Molly said let's go
now both itch scratch from leftover burrs
This poem came about by a discussion at work describing a memphis burger and a classic one. I told someone they flowed together and they didn't believe me so I wrote this:
I went down to memphis
There was this, classic chick
With them hips, and red lipstick
A kiss so delicious that
I promised to this miss I would not dissapear
But I was dishonest, I thought I made it clear
That this situation between the two of us
Was not serious But she was delrious
Became so furious that
That month she had two periods
It only takes one to end my sentence
25 to life, Im not doin the time on that sentence
Doesn't matter if she gets me presents
Don't care if she gets madder that I am not present,
yet she gets sadder cause she still feels my presence
It wont be pleasant, if she doesnt let me leave peacefully
So I packed my things in the middle of the night
Took off asap so she couldn't pick a fight
Flew right back to my little house on the right
Split so fast like Kim Kardash was my wife
Realized that I just dodged a couple of knifes
It seems whack, But I just had to run and hide
This commital thing isnt for me
I am brittle, I crack too easily
Got to be careful cause I need Room to wiggle cant be
Strangled or tied down, I know It'll come back around
Hurt triple the times when karma
Shoots me down from the sky
So for right now, sayonara, beddy bye
Nice to know ya, good night
< O ye how the west has gone won
now wipe those trails of tears my son
dance the ring of fire for fun
speak and learn native ways
learn not to speak with riffles gun
rustle bacon beans Hey !
Written By Katherine Stella 7/3/11
Entry For Dr Ram's
Rime Couee's Contest
“The flower of youth,” that’s what Ma said,
the day we packed the wagon.
She tussled my hair and planted a kiss
on my cheek and tin cans to the tail gate draggin’
My bride, my Peg, she hopped on aboard
while her Ma, Nellie, stood by bawlin'.
Dad stood by the farm house door
and Ole Red stood aside him howlin'.
We left from Pennsylvania aimed for Oregon
I’m not sure we woulda gone if we’d new,
all the loss a comin’ afore the shores of Avalon,
land of milk and honey, where apple trees are strewn.
Peg-a-my-heart, fair she was, and our baby she was carrying,
we’d lose that chil’, I’d lose my Peg, before we hit Missouri .
I sold the wagon, and bought them a stone, markin' the place I’d laid them
and off I went on a cattle drive a broken man in a hurry.
A cowboys life was all I had, a horse and my whiskey
and every night afore I’d sleep I’d sing “Oh, Peg-o-my heart…I miss ye”
*this was what it was like to be a cowboy
our skills..talents..gifts,that we have..
these are our tools..weapons..instruments
and we just want to live..
put into a situation in wich we did not choose our roles..
some of us are the fans and the royalty
they watch people like me do what needs to be done...
people like me..we just want to live
so we use our weapons and do what we have to..
we didnt choose for it to be like this..
we watch the fortunate crowd the seats of this coliseum called life..
and they watch us jump back and forth through shades of color..
they judge us...
but we just want to live
The drummer who
only plays on Wednesdays;
plays with purpose…
the pulmonary clutter
of the pig eared philanthropist;
the twaddle raddled paddle…
or the crescent topped cacophony…
neither either nor song…
the drummer who only plays
plays with porpoise…
the singular plural plectrum…
the aquatic harpooned bride…
annul… abrupt… annul…
a week away from the day…
an hour’s hindsight…
the overly possessive impressionistic ploy…
time… as in reason…
the arrogance of self…
the drummer who only
plays on Wednesdays;
plays with purpose…
I was born in Babylon
Everyday I want to be alone
I prayed not to get low
Everyday Babylon claim more soul
I just have to go, seek for more show
I grow with no shoes under my foots
Ganger is my food,
Mosquitoes sing the reggae allover my room
Webs block my views, killing my crews
What can I do to survive when am buzz
Where is that place to get crazy?
That place you cannot erase,
That camp with more space,
Where you don’t have to get late
That place where you just want to be free from
“Babylon” Babylon” Babylon…I want to be free
If there is a question, it should be about relation
My action will generate your reaction
Is substitution the way to be free from Babylon?
The game is always ON, grow horns like Capricorn
Cut the vegetables; let’s be able to be stable
I am an invisible man.
Try and see me if you can.
Shy and quiet I remain alone.
Silent is my voice’s tone
No one can feel my pain and sorrow
As I hide inside of my burrow.
Shadows consume my body and soul
As I embrace the misty cold.
The reason for my unseen being
Lies in the fact I hate being seen.
This life and existence’s of my own choice
And I choose not to have a voice.
I am silent. Invisible. Inexistent.
Yet I am invincible, an immortal being
Bright blue skies on a spring day
Fulfills my horizon
Blue birds and robins pass me by
Mountain, trees, and animals
Priase God Abroad
The frsh air bring forth calmness
A quiet serene a waits my soul
Red orange and violets
Represents God's glory
Flowers slowly rise with the sun
And water crickets sings songs of glory
Fresh water arises with the scent
Of of sweet savory of God's spices
Beach rolls in the lazy tide
I sit back and enjoy it all
The art of spring is glorification
Of all tings God created
He's the world famous artist
Doc Holliday Bites the Dust
By Elton Camp
Doc Holliday’s depicted as a vicious killer
But his actual life was much less of a thriller
Not in the West, but in Georgia he was born
By a classical education his life did adorn
Among the areas where knowledge he did seek
Were grammar, math, history, Latin and Greek
Highly intelligent and certainly nobody’s fool
At just age twenty, he finished dental school
In Atlanta he then began to practice dentistry
But found, of his mother’s TB, he wasn’t free
On medical advice Holliday moved to the west
As its climate made his chances of living best
But at his dental profession Doc couldn’t stay
Since his constant cough drove patients away
It then became at gambling he earned living
An undeserved name as a gunman also giving
As far as from the historical record we can see
The number of men he shot was actually three
At age thirty-six, Doc Holliday died in bed
Living at a tuberculosis sanitarium, it is said
The Spade Ranch had the beef issue
For the Indians at Pine Ridge
And each time that he's take the herd
Mollie'd go along with Sid.
The Spade had been good to them
By now they numbered four,
The time had come for them to find
A ranch that was their own.
They took a homestead east of Gordon,
At last they had their chance.
And when Sid's brother joined them it became
The Irwin Brothers Ranch.
They later leased the Ross Ranch
And here was born child three,
A sickly little daughter
So delicate, so wee.
To complete their preemption
A homestead they did seek.
Southeast of Gordon near Lavaca,
Down by the Ol' Pole Creek.
Here a daughter and a son
Were added to their life,
Then fire struck and they were left
With hearts full of Strife.
For years they wandered here and there
Seeking out each lead
A hope or promise was all they asked
For their ailing daughters need.
Though the years were fruitless
And no cure was found
Their last child was born to them
A daugher in health abound.
Time took it's toil a short seventeen
Their daughter would laugh no more,
So many years they searched in vain,
And now their hearts were sore.
The long years over, at last they came home
To the hills so sandy and green
On a ranch south of Cody, down by the Niobrara,
So sparkling fresh and clean.
Sid first lost a son,
Then two weeks later his own Mollie too,
With two such blows he hung up his spurs
His cowboy days were through.
His life wasn't easy thought it was long
He died at age ninety-three
In the same sandy hills that a lad of fourteen
Once said, "You'll be home to me."
This poem first appeared in the Centennial Edition of the
Nebraska Cattleman Magazine.
Sunlight blinding him,
Swirling dust choking him.
The bronc gyrating
Nearly throwing him.
Feet braced and pounding,
Pounding the ground.
Jolting his spin,
Up, and again down.
His head jerking,
Daylight beneath him,
Down on the back,
Of the writhing cayuse.
No eight second buzzer.
To call the end of the ride.
Ignore the pain.
Remember the Pride.
Sunfish, slam and jerk,
Hanging on any way he can.
Fighting to win this battle,
Between beast and man.
The brute gathers his muscles,
Leaps over the rail.
Running, running, running,
Like he’s on freedom’s trail.
Sides heaving, legs shaking,
The horse slows to a stop.
The cowboy turns him homeward,
And says, “Now you learn to walk.”
Dressed in black
Didn't come back
Got A Rope
Hung that dope
Dead Body Hauled
Poured the whisky
From Junction 60
Dead Man's Trail
Where slingers failed
OK, maybe he is right. Maybe a cowboy he's not. He is a mechanic, a
pediatrician, an obstetrician, a veterinary, a plumber (wells), a house keeper
(stalls), a blacksmith, a dietician, a truck driver, a farmer (crops), a carpenter
(corrals and maternity wards), a construction worker, a landscaper (fencing), a
teacher, a road grader (keeps roads oven year round), a hunter (hunts stray
critters), a trapper (beavers to keep our water ways open and skunks to keep our
sinuses working), a cowboy (cattle work), a welder, a rancher, a ranch hand, a
cowhand and a_______ I give, I give. He is a Jack of all Trades, but since his
name is Billy I can’t go around calling him Jack, so he will always be my cowboy
to me. P. S. he is definitely not a modern cowboy. No three wheelers, no
pickups, no motorcycles. He did his cattle work by horseback.
The merits of Jesus Christ are applied to our souls through the Sacraments
Which restore us to the friendship of God
You can move from
room to room,
House to house,
Or state to state.
Wherever you zoom off to,
His shadow will always be
There to haunt you.
He wants to touch you,
In a very private way,
How long can you stay?
Away from his icy touch?
You can't even
In a diner,
Without him sitting
In a booth beside you.
He's tall and thin
With a long black overcoat
And a dark top hat on.
You can't avoid
Because all you
See is black
When you look
At his face,
While he's hovering
Over your bed
To turn your
Night light on,
One thing is
Sure to happen,
He’ll be sharing
As soon as
Your head hits
Your lace pillowcase.
Let's hope he
Out to trace your
Face with his
Looked to see, and correlated datats, and
When the uk women of the higher education status, sed
Highest rates of alcohol consumption in the world
And then the Oman, womens page said they are also
High in educational achievements
My still working liver, cringed
You, government sadistic, who suggest increasing taxes by increasing prices
Oh. Jah, great idea.
Can’t you see, or don’t you care, or are you as punched in the scrotum as me
That sees the bliss the world is, and the mess of all those years of poor-me
N’ theres Zambia, with connected links to web pages, months or years out of date
And a third of national income, still owing in interest only payments, that never
And theres uk, with its 5th richest world country status, and 1, 000000000000,
quids of personal individual debt…. Owed to the systems.
If I gave up, and tried to drink myself to death. Would it help.
When we sed, I love you, with a punch in the privates, and a lisping kiss of deadly
What psychological warfare were we perpetrating
You proved you think
You proved you think I shud eat chocolate, good for my iron intake, bad for my
Andd the lonely hearts column, that mooves itself to sleep each night, that the
Let it dance
Drys, like a broken fist fuuned punt
Oh. Sorry darling…. Was it you I was to attend to
And daarling… shorely… you find my broken dreams arousing
Shurelly, you grin in private joy, at the effect of your masterful
And when you finally realise that dominate the earth
Means look after it
And divided means respect individual unique perspective
And mourning means, new day
Will the skin you whip with your master bait eronary, credentials
Suffice,… with its small pinprinkles and the tongue of the dreaded spite
Woven into the blanket, that next you nurture, to k ill the weak members of this
So you can prove you love.
All breathing is action.
All action is a cross stick
All sticks are carrots
o. please. Master. Please proove.
There is choice.
I do not know?
The fear of the LORD is the beginning of Wisdom
Prudent are all who live by it Psalm 111:10
AREN’T WE SUPPOSED TO have gotten past fear-motivated worship and
Didn’t God-as-Big-Brother step aside for God-as-Loving-Father?
But is it not “fear of the Lord”
Still one of the gifts of the Holy Spirit that we receive at our Baptism
Affirm in our Confirmation?
Jewish and Christian scholars alike have wrestled with the Hebrew phrase Yirah Adonai
Offering varied and rich commentaries
Recurrent among the interpretations
“Fear of the Lord”
Means “awe and reverence”
As in this context
Can also refer to what we feel when we love someone
Deeply that we would do anything in the world not to hurt him or her
Or damage our relationship with love-ones
Both meanings offer us profound
Wisdom towards growing each day in
Ever-deepening our union with God
The world was a cold place
in the time of hats.
The past, and would be present place
a cold place.
Fedoras, Stetsons, and Stovepipe hats
Scottish Tam o’shanters, Raccoon caps
and feathered headdresses,
lay upon the pate of man.
The world was a cold place,
small critters fled from the trappers lures.
Beaver and rabbit skins made up
Chimney Pots hats for
frontiersmen and Presidents.
The West was far and wide,
the Indians, the buffalo,
and the wild mustangs
roamed the range, free.
The world was a cold place
and folks needed to cover their scalps
IF they want to keep them.
Hats are returning now
for the world is again a cold place
more than the little critters should run in fear.
after playing ball the contestants make there way to the draw wall.
Felling sore from the ride before. no one knows whats in store.
Justin took quite the fall, carson gets his horse out of her stall.
they check in with the doc. and he suggests they stretch and go for a walk.
as kevin rolls in, no one knows where hes been
Gene is having a really great year, as he celeabrates with yet another beer
wes made the top five, hes starting to feel the vibe.
coch kelly, always clean and proper, was once quite the show stopper
the team sits around the table for lunch, as the pep tlak goes out to the bunch
tonight is the last of the season, as kevin pops a choclate reisen.
some will move on, some will stay, its not the ride its livin for the day
Rodeo is not about being the best, its about your lifes quest
two hours before the show and just going with the flow
wes and carson play with there ropes, as kevin looks for the saddle soap
gene checks his cinch, as justin pulls some snuff and takes a pinch.
kelly is busy shaking hands, as people start to fill the stands.
grand entry rolls in and the energy is felt throughout the pen
the anthem is played and the prayer is sent, who will make the rent
the hosres are loaded and ready to go, with the intry of funny man joe
grand entry has left and the cowboy is set, with the swing from the gate there off
like a jet.
Dreams are made and dreams will fade with every entry fee paid.
gene gets set his eyes are cold and hes destined to have a buckle full of gold
carson wrestles his steer and blows a knee, the crowd rises to see
justin slides up on his rope and feels just right, for hell make the ride of his life
The show is over and the stock is fed we are thankfull noone is dead
reality is set and buckles are handed out, for some this is what their life is about
for some college rodeo has come to an end, but there is an open rodeo around
sad but true this season is over, but not to worry, its just another beginning for
A cold-blooded killer or a kind hearted man,
Searching for justice with a gun in his hand
He escaped many times indeed he did,
He is known as Billy the Kid
A charming young man, with a heart-breaking smile,
He rode across the desert, he rode many miles.
He is known for the things that he did,
He is known as Billy the Kid
Chased by lawmen, bandits, and thieves,
Billy is dead now and many are relieved,
Shot by Pat Garrrett, his so-called friend
Murdered and betrayed, enemies in the end
Could history be wrong?
A lie have been told,
Could Billy have died at ninety years old,
In a small town in Texas, a place called Hico
Brushy Bill Roberts,
A man growing old,
Stories of his life,
Many have been told
He claims a life of killing,
A life of revenge,
He wants to be pardoned,
He is nearing his end
"Do you have any proof that you are who you say?"
Does Billy the Kid still live today?
These questions were asked,
By an attorney of law,
Then Brushy revealed his scars,
Many wounds he saw
The truth has been told,
It's finally out,
Was Brushy "The Kid?"
I have no doubt