These Freedom Cowboy poems are examples of Cowboy poems about Freedom. These are the best examples of Freedom Cowboy poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
By day you work the fence, you’re out stretching the wire.
By night you read of Grace and stare into the fire.
Come morning you fix a breakfast to last you all day.
Come evening your supper is a better reward than pay.
Come morning you eat a breakfast fit for a king.
Come evening you’re so hungry you’ll eat ‘bout anything.
Coffee warns of eggs and biscuits and such.
Supper comes along usually ‘bout dusk.
Tending a herd on the wide open plains.
Gives a body time to think of all sorta thangs.
Thangs like how great a country we live in today.
Here in America, the good ‘ole U. S. of A.
A country so vast, with big cities on each side.
But here in the wide-open middle is where I reside.
A country founded on God, they sat sail for where ever the wind leads.
Strange how we all seek the same God, how some get off in the weeds.
No one knows freedom better than the American Cowboy.
Freedom’s nothing to sneeze at and it certainly ain’t no toy.
Some folks don’t like our freedom and man, with out a clue.
Stole some planes and right into our life they flew.
Last week these guys tried to take our freedom away.
Hurt some folks in the most barbaric way.
On the prairie they’re snakes and all kinds of varmints.
But nothing as mean as these guys that came here to harm us.
If critters are out and pose some kind of threat.
Yank a hog-leg, fire a round, you’re good to go I’ll bet.
Hear me Lord as I stare into the fire and say.
Rid their minds of this evil thinkin’ is what I pray.
We can’t reason why things like that happen.
You’re the only one that knows Lord, I reacon.
Our leaders have shown Your Spirit as their witness.
Our countrymen have followed suit, just as You’ve convicted us.
I’m thankful all I do is stretch fence and rope in an occasional stray.
Than to have to do what Bush has had to do the past few days.
Lord; be with us, guide our leaders with what they “Have” to do.
Thanks for uniting our country, You’re faith we must prove.
By the fire I read where we’re here today and gone tomorrow.
Life’s short, live it to the fullest, ain’t no time for sorrow.
Come morning breakfast has been better here of late.
Come evening supper has been especially great.
Seems we have an awful lot to appreciate.
Since the time of the attack, to date.
Lord; guide the boys, give them wisdom with what they do and say.
This ‘ole cowboy is fightin’ the war on my knees as I pray.
By Jim "Ish" Fellers
Copyright ©: September 18, 2001 ~ Tuesday
Unlike the newspeak of today the media rodeo plays the bull clowns chasing a scripted delay boxed up and ready to go fast food for the loll the upper end following the lower end Yet political satire's even keel will transcend while the real bull gores the clowns He can be ornery when being contained coming like a federal expess roaring down newsmail bringing the letter restrained the same package to every town the same package of the willing consripts freight in the End a older railing bull holds his own wieght
I have struggled my whole life to understand him.
Him being me, me being Him.
Never really got to know who he really is,
that New York guy,
now living under a Wyoming sky.
I guess he's kind of a pompous old fool,
a bit romantic and confidently cool,
at least that's the way I see it through,
This mindless wonder I call you.
They say He's a poet,
whatever that means.
I rhyme a little and put words together,
hoping it all holds some kind of meaning,
before putting an end to the whole thing.
It's a crazy old fool that thinks he's something he ain't,
I just happen to see; the pictures I paint.
In the middle of the country
squared off and low-key,
sits the least populated state in the union.
It's wide open spaces, there to remind us,
of the West, without any confusion.
It's mountain peaks,
over ten thousand feet,
dot the landscape of a topo map.
The valleys in between run rivers and streams,
of fishing holes not yet tapped.
The people all greet you,
with a Howdy or Hello,
or a tip of the hat to let you know,
they respect your space, religion or race,
That's how we do it; in old Wyo.
Natures best right here in the West,
just East of the Rocky Divide.
Capture's the imagination,
of the way it was; traveling,
on a wagon-train ride.
Miles and Miles of open land,
yet the Eagle see's it all,
from his predacious flight plan.
Prairie Dogs whistle a shrill alert,
retreat my friends or be Eagle desert.
Antelope scrub their sent glands,
on every sage brush around.
While the Badger just waddles,
his waddling way, to where ever,
the next home, can be found.
Wild Horses still roam on their grassland home,
Just West of the Big Horn Mountains.
While Buffalo still graze,
in old Yellowstone,
Next to mud-pots, geysers and fountains.
Oh; Wyoming, land of my heart,
If Heaven is anything like you,
then I pray this day,
I make it your way,
after I'm dead and buried and forgotten.
Last Freedom Fighters
They fought battles to conquer and spread the good news, it became a mighty
state, ports open to all refugees, hard men building a new world for the next
generation to travel, trading their souls for possessions to conquer these foreign
Hidden agenda was not known yet, our red brothers gave us warnings of
many coming, our spirits calling to form a tribal union, speaking of the old days. A
white calf will be born, our corn will burn from the sun rays, smoke rising to the
stars, echo’s from the great chief, a war painted warrior speaking truth to the last
tribe, our homes were yesterday paths, our children do not speak our language,
the old sit on broken stumps not on our women woven rugs.
Sorrow comes rushing in as the pendulum swings, dividing lands between
the waters. Broken arrows burns their hearts, the teeth of the great wolf licks its
prey, waiting in the dark den, an image of timeless tales. Unknown visitors came
upon our lands and brought with them this great destruction to our pastures,
many warriors now lay in scared burial grounds, they took our women and laid
besides them making them slaves.
Our smoke clouds bringing visions, the red fox forewarns about a massacre,
ones that carry the pocked marked faces, yellow hairs that rode broken mares.
It’s now there fate to give back these grounds that belonged to us, we stand tall
knowing the fate of the last freedom fighter, they will go down to the valleys and
lay besides our own. Our eagle soars and the black bears speaks, its upon our
lands that we stood by the waters which turned into red rivers, the mountains
shake bringing down the snow, the animals hide, the dark cloud is coming by the
hands of great men, they too shall melt with the rising sun.
Sitting on my favorite mountain top,
I look down at world and stop,
all the worries of tomorrow, and stressful thoughts,
While nature fills my callused heart.
The air is thin and my mind is too,
I fill my life with the altitude,
a ten thousand foot whisper, of a crisp mountain air,
brought this way; for just my pleasure.
This artist above, how amazing is he,
to bring my way these wonderful things.
To give to me, the lowliest of beings,
Such an eye full of beauty, for old eyes to see.
The softest clouds fluffy and white,
compliment the bluest skies just before night.
A sunset of magenta, purple and pink,
Glazed with orange across mountain peaks.
If my soul ever knows that which is beyond,
I hope and pray this day will be found.
This very moment can remain for all time,
as it is stuck for eternity here in my mind.