Cowboy Stress Poems | Cowboy Poems About Stress
These Cowboy Stress poems are examples of Cowboy poems about Stress. These are the best examples of Cowboy Stress poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
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Four young fellas rode by around midday.
Sun was strong as whiskey scratching the back of a three day dried throat.
The three girls were out front and Ma came out pointing her loaded shotgun.
Riders like these and the hot sun wasn’t gonna be anything
but a barrel full o’ trouble.
They tipped their hats, asked for water.
Kitty with her blouse all open and them nubile breasts of hers just pouting
like peas in a pod just ready to pop.
Ma saw the way she was eying up that dark haired fella.
She just hollered at her to get her trouble seeking ass inside.
Ginny, the eldest girl, fetched them the water.
Seemed like they weren’t in any hurry to leave, so Ma fired off a shot,
whistled by the blond one’s ears so his horse darn near threw him.
Ma wasn’t the kind to tell anyone anything but once,
cos she said you can’t be wasting the Lord’s precious breath on hard eared scum.
They got the message well enough.
Don’t reckon we’ll be seeing them back this way again any time soon.
Copyright © Patricia L Graham | Year Posted 2014
MATTERS OF LIFE AND DEATH
Isn’t life short, today here tomorrow gone.
Switching the world off, turning eternity on.
How many before us, in the world have lived?
Just in a short while, to embrace their grief.
Many sort and earned great treasures
Many lived chasing around pleasures.
One moment masters of the world,
The next buried corpses in the ground.
Once celebrated figures of glory,
Now buried skeletons of history.
As many a poor men stagger upon wealth,
Just as many rich, succumb to poor health.
In the end we are all prisoners with no say.
We are all dogs waiting for our day.
Life is a dark winter seldom warmed by cups of tea.
And everyone is but a tiny fish lost at sea.
We may prosper here and conquer there,
But soon our strengths and efforts wear.
If you are lucky, it’s just you and a few friends,
By your bed side as your life ends.
Life is like a painful recurring bee sting,
Which you will pass down to your offspring.
you leave in them your blood and with them your name.
They believe their time is better, but its all the same.
They don’t see that the future is but a deck of cards
And you can only play the hand dealt in your hands.
Some are born to wear gold watches and to live in mansions.
Some are born to poverty and the consolation of sacred songs.
The rich man’s heaven Is drinking wine in hotels by the beaches.
As the poor man in his hell, waits upon his resurrection to riches.
Copyright © Jack Nganga | Year Posted 2015