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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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Details | Cowboy | |

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

Details | Prose | |

The Riders

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

Details | Cowboy | |

Walk your line

A word to the blind:

From the day of your first ride
	Till the moment you die
Walk your line.
Walk proud and high
	through all die-hard wrecks your feet'll find
Walk your whole heart out, spine upright
	Drinking the whole pint down
		With an appetite	
			As you burn in the stirrups.
Eat up the time.

Walk to wipe away your childish feelings. 
	Quieting them completely,
Whatever thumb sucking pleadings to tye on a tourniquet;
	As if you deserve it
		but you ain't entitled to anything.
	At times a burden, though not completely worthless
unless you're considering leaving
             you can take it from me
Nothin' in this world is worth half the trouble
	unless  for it you're bleeding.

So back to work kid:
	Grinding gears, count on it.
Walk long beyond whatever you thought 
	you'd get into when you first hired in.  
Signed on for what meaning 
	you've near forgot
		whatever crockpot reasons
 			compelled you to chase a living
	 			in what to most is a vacant lot.
Walk to the empty spot, on the map
	just past where mom and dad had given up. 

And then keep walking.
Bypass where bragging rights dropped dead to ash
	and all parts plastic inside you snapped in half.
In fact, be worn so far past the point of no return
	you might well have been born on its welcome doormat.
Walk for more than a paycheck, a pickup, pocketbook, or new stet  
walk to pay your debt to a swirling sea or torment
and you can bet you'll get sick of pouring your heart out
  as one among scores of men 
	Working for the land with whatever he can. 
Some are still out there yet.
Credit can only be stacked 
	through the loops you correctly cast, 
		and wisdom is knowing if and when to turn them back
			or to hang on with all you got to the scruff of their neck 
				 by the skin of your big toe nail
While facing those cold northern winds that'll likely send 
	you clear to rock bottom if they prevail.

The time is now,
	walk high and proud
		and either rest when you're dead
			or get air in town,
But never quit walking this sacred ground

Because you love that gal.

Copyright © Trey Pearson | Year Posted 2016