These Inspirational Cowboy poems are examples of Cowboy poems about Inspirational. These are the best examples of Inspirational Cowboy poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
One day I was passing time
And wrote these words upon the lines,
I know not where they came you see
The Winds of Time were there for me.
If I could open a door to the past
And there before me were the paths
I'm not quite sure which I would choose
But The Winds of Time would see me through.
The vastness there before God's Hand
Then came the heavens, the seas, the land
Eden, Noah and the Christ Child's birth
Is the path that I see first.
I'm not into Knights or dragon days,
Nor Robin Hood and his saving ways,
But give me a Viking as he crosses the seas
And I'll dream of the lands so wild and free.
The music of Irland calls to me,
Where Kathleen's heart has ever been,
And for Danny Boy the fifes do call
I'll shed my tears lest he should fall.
As Immigrants touched upon our shores
The Indians prepared to fight once more,
But fate stepped in and eased the sore
They'd live in peace forever more.
The battles fought upon this land
To protect us from Tierney's hand,
The Civil War for Freedom's right
The Alamo where comrades died.
At Little Big Horn where our soldiers died,
As Indians defend their homes with pride,
The government later took a hand
And put them on Reservation land.
I remember well, when I was quite young
The days of World War II
And how my father's life did change
When the family business he assumed.
Twenty-four seven was unheard of then,
But that was their working day,
They helped keep our nations trucks on the road
Their battlefield was here in the USA.
I'll choose the path with pastures green,
Horses, cattle and the cowboy scene,
This is the land of my mother's birth
The most precious land to me on earth.
I chose this land and took a stand,
Married a cowboy and we ranched the land.
Though now retired and family gone
This land will always be our home.
The Winds of Time, know well my soul
I'll rest at night with days of yore.
And as I wake a prayer I'll say
Please God, may we have Peace today?
A thousand times I have heard,
“There but for the Grace of God...”
but until today that phrase,
struck me as somewhat odd.
The old Cowboy who staggered by,
was three sheets to the wind.
but he swept off his hat before me,
and at the waist did bend.
“Fair Lady, how goes your day?”,
he asked as he deeply bowed,
his face was flush, but his manner gentile,
and he spoke clearly, though not loud.
The politeness of his question,
had completely caught me off guard.
I looked into his wind-burned face,
and saw a look that was not hard.
“My day goes well, and thank you sir.”
was my own courteous reply.
As I gave a small curtsy and a smile,
I saw a twinkle in his eye.
“Oh surely, Lovely Lady,
you have truly made my day.”
He put on his hat, caught his bearings,
and sauntered on his way.
No one else along the street,
looked directly at him or spoke.
Some looked away, while others laughed,
and and made him the point of their joke.
I alone had been blessed,
only I knew what lay inside,
for it had been revealed to me,
what rumpled clothes and liquor hide.
I had seen a gentleman,
a Cowboy tried and true,
with manners most becoming,
a Real Man, through and through.
I was allowed to look past the fact,
that he was poorly dressed and shod,
I had seen the inside of a Heart,
and the Grace placed there by God.
A lone rider sits high in the saddle,
As the horizon's sunrise spreads across,
The open prairie.
Twin pearl handed pistols rest at his side,
As rusty spires clang against wooden planks,
At the deadwood saloon.
Legends cowboys whisper his name,
On the dry desert winds,
A giant of a man whom breathed
Life again into the legacy,
Of the old west.
His side swagger's walk trademark
On the larger than a life screen.
The duke truly represents the great
American hero on horse back.
Six shooters drawn at high noon's
John Wayne's the trail dusts equalizer,
He always remained on the right side,
Of tin stars law.
The tumble weeds rolls along a dirt path,
As tall cactus stand on an arried canvas,
Life here is harsh and mean,
Where only the strong survive.
Bold individuals with the inner
Strength against god's forbidden land.
Harden men whom lived by one simple,
Rule I will do what ever it takes
To stay alive.
He'll join the ghost riders,
Forever driving the lords herds
Across the grand divides vast
Prairie sky’s as the sunsets
In the old west.
Alone figure rides high in saddle,
Set against a legends back drop,
Hell bound for glory,
In a cloud of gun smokes fog,
Behold the duke emerges,
With his hat on straight
And gun at the ready.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
< Now hold on there Tex !
Let me get dressed !
Let me saddle up my horse
To trollop around this Halloween course
Got on my chaps
My spurs and cowboy hat
Replica's of forty five's
Riding on my hips very high
With lasso in my hand
This little cowboy has a plan
So all you ghost and goblins
It's candies bounty I'll be coming an robbing
And I'll be taking loot for mummy
And for my daddy who has a bigger tummy
Happy Halloween To All
Especially little tikes who are so cute and small
Halloween Costume Contest
If you'd have lived and worked on Juno Ranch, you’d have come away better for it. It
may not have seemed like it at the time but Pancho (Uncle Frank) would put it to you, an’ it
was for you to decide to do it, what to do with it, or to fight. The motto was, “You either work
or fight, there ain’t no quittin’ on this-here ranch.”
Pancho cultivated a reputation as a living legend in his fifty-some years in the Devil’s
River country of the Texas frontier. He loved his life, family, work and felt plumb lucky to be
livin’ it. He believed there was art in every undertakin’ an’ practiced the highest standards in
dealin’ with any an’ all comers. He savvied horses, cattle an’ the land; and death was just the
gate that opened into higher pastures.
Ride 'em Pancho!
The cowboy wakes before each dawn
With blurry eyes n'a mournful yawn;
Gets breakfast down, just bacon'n eggs,
An' biscuits dunked in coffee dregs.
He feeds the stock some oats an' hay
In growin' light of break o' day.
Then Pancho comes an' rigs a hoss,
An' chews his butt, 'cause he's the boss.
“The sun is up, you little bride!
We're loosin' light! We gotta ride!”
So they ride out to make their rounds
In echoed clops of hoof-beat sounds.
The sun is high 'bout half-passed noon,
An' dinnertime is none too soon.
He eats his beans an' taters fast,
Then rolls a smoke an' rests at last.
He dreams of how he'll spend his pay
When he's in town on Saturday,
An' where he'll go to have some fun
With gals who'll laugh and call him, "Hun..."
He gets his hat an' pulls it down,
Forgets the dream of gals in town,
Cause if he ain't just damn near dead,
The work comes first on Pancho's spread.
The Farmer woke,
Before break of day,
And for a little rain did pray.
Then hitched his team,
And plowed the land,
Given him by the Master’s hand.
The Cowboy awoke,
And a prayer he sighed,
“Please give us rain, for the prairie is dry.”
Then in the heat,
He did rope and brand,
The cattle given him by the Master’s hand.
At night, before sleep,
The Farmer read,
The words from the Bible that God had said,
“If you’ll keep my Commandments,
In it’s season I’ll make it rain,
And you shall eat,
And your land shall fill with grain.”
The Cowboy fell asleep remembering,
A verse his Ma had read,
A promise God made and the words he said,
“Love and serve the Lord God,
And it shall come to pass,
That I shall make it rain,
And for the cattle, there shall be grass.”
So each resolved, in his own way,
To be a better man,
And follow closely the Commandments,
And there-fore save the land.
And though they never met,
They prayed for the same thing,
And watched the sky for the clouds,
And the rain that they would bring.
And though it was long in coming,
The drops fell upon the land,
And revived and refreshed these special places,
Given by the Master’s hand.
The Farmer and the Cowboy,
Each prayed for the land of which they were fond,
And through their belief, they saved the Earth,
Through the Lord’s Common Bond.
Tears - Are As Old
… As East Of Eden
Pain - Is As Old
… As East Of Eden
Woes - Are As Old
… As East Of Eden …
That’s Why The Cowboy … Rides West
And Disappears, Into The Flaming Sunsets … ( Gen. 3: 23, 24 )
In an old cabin outside of Basin Wyoming,
lives a man known only as fish.
He knows every fishing hole,
from here to Buffalo,
every stream every rock and every twig.
Now it seems ole Fish has a tale or two,
about the one large trout; he called BIG BLUE.
the biggest brookie I'd ever met,
with more blue spots,
than the skies of the west.
BIG BLUE was a good two foot long,
now that's a big brookie,
if you know anything at all.
Two foot long and six inches thick.
Of course; I'm a bit Leary about this story by Fish.
Well there's never been a brookie half that size
I mumbled to myself,
and rolled back my eyes.
Unappreciative of my gesture, is what I'd guess,
Fish admonished me scornfully without protest.
Your still young and haven't yet seen,
half the life,
that's come to me.
I'ma tellin you this story is true,
and one day I'll catch ole BIG BLUE.
Trying not to smirk; I just said okay,
as he turned with a huff,
and slowly walked away.
talking and mumbling, I'll show you,
There's never been a brookie to match BIG BLUE.
Two years later I got the call,
Old Fish had died;
stories and all.
The legend he became, for the stories he famed
will by no means gather dust on the wall.
I went to the wake,
for condolences sake,
of the Mrs. and all of the kids.
a picture on the wall, gave truth to it all,
of a brookie and yes it was big.
I asked the Mrs. is that BIG BLUE?
The picture, she said; is there for you.
He wanted you have it, and to know that it is true,
and to know now he's elsewhere,
fishing for another,
There’s a legacy inside him,
As he sits upon his steed;
His heart is filled with honesty,
Not perjury or greed;
He rides the same old range,
That his father rode before;
And it’s been that way for forever,
A hundred years or more;
Pushin’ cattle, brandin’ calves,
That is a cowboy’s life;
Someday he may settle down,
And make some girl his wife;
He’s spent so many lonely nights,
Sleeping under the stars,
He hasn’t got a tattoo,
What he has are battle scars;
There’s a rip across his stomach,
From a rangy longhorn steer;
And even though it hurt like hell,
He never shed a tear;
He always outs on a brave face,
Emotions locked inside;
And for his cowboy heritage,
He feels only pride.
He must sit back and just smile at sunsets;
The colors and quiet must give him great joy—
As do the sweet sage and morning violets;
God must be a cowboy.
He breathes life in the wind on the prairie
And sustains the green earth with the soft rain;
And he grows all the fish in the vast sea;
It is an unbroken chain.
Oh, you can hear him creak that old saddle
As he rounds up the skies and the whole earth range;
His eyes are on us and he’s not idle.
The only constant is change.
Yes, He rides beside us in gold grasses
And He watches our bedroll every night;
He helps us over all the high passes
And teaches us to do right.
And meekly we speak of Him by His name
As we take great pains to please and not annoy;
Knowing when we ride off back where we came:
God must be a cowboy.