I left my
of wonder and
awe. A place that
knows me better
than any other place
I’ve been. This place
has changed me and
molded me into the
person I am now.
The forests, trees, creeks,
and open skies instilled in
me a love for God’s works.
The harshness of the winters has
taught me to be patient and to endure. My small
town is where I learned the small-town work ethic;
you don’t get what you don’t earn and earning what
you want takes a little bit of sweat and tears. Here
I learned that you don’t have to be blood to be
family. Brothers and sisters are made throughout
years of school together. We relied on each other to
be happy. This place will forever hold my heart and
soul. I am a small town girl through and through.
It’s who I will always be. Forever. Thanks IDAHO
for shaping me into something more than I was.
Copyright © Samantha Farr | Year Posted 2013
To see her blog, adorned with pastel tones
Widens the gap that pervades my bones
For now we eat her passing meal of plain white rice
Leaving us all alone, without much needed fashion advice
The red light district has lost an inductee
For I would have love to be involved in her naked party
Yet for now we must all be content
With the debauched path she hath went.
Sadness invades a binary world
Where tweeters and bloggers hearts have curled
Bringing back memories of Madonna’s ‘Like A Virgin’
Her fashion advice precise like a mastoplexic surgeon
I remember the fervour when you were followed by Kath Kidston
A similar experience when I had my first Jar of Branston
Yet when you found out the intensity with which I was following you
You wanted to change species and become a Gnu
You learnt to accept my frequent outpourings of love
When you finally spoke to me, I felt as free as a pure white dove
But upon your departure I feel pathetic and hollowed
The best I can hope for is the number of one of the hot bloggers you followed
She was always my muse, my intimate inspiration
No-one can cause such an outpouring of personal perspiration
My heart now yearns to see her type a special tweet
One that would make Mr Sexton act like a dog on heat
Now the world mourns the passing of Lily Fulvio-Mason
I can still see her face reflected in my wash basin
With every heart beat, every full blooded pulse
My sadness streaked blood makes my body convulse
But now it’s time to go, my heart says goodbye
The pain eats my nipples like the Syrphid Fly
I can finally see your body laid in an eternal rest
And now I can now finally uncover your breast.
Copyright © Tom Hyam | Year Posted 2013
What could I really know of the breaks
in the land
huge canyons bleeding red cut by the wind
with the snow swirling around our tires
and fallen to a tumble like icebergs
windshield riming over with a crust of ice
we scrape madly inside
trying to keep cold out
slowing to a crawl
always on the lookout
outside line appearing and gone,
no worries about
cattle led inside to safety to be watered and fed
but what of us?
Will we be trapped clutching a candle
wanting a chocolate bar,
waiting for a tractor?
and all the flat seeming land seems to have ditches
and roof pitches and rushing trees, and a swirl
of slumbering snow
to lumber down in drifts and piles
no fire would ever warm us
until finally we see it shining in the dark
a lantern at a farm
a fleet of snow mobiles to greet us
scurry is off
before our ears turn blue,
would they fall off?
Luckily, not tonight, not in this blizzard,
we have home.
Copyright © Sheri Fresonke Harper | Year Posted 2013
We’re cuddled up now,
In the back of the sleigh;
Listening as the bells jingle,
In a Merry Christmas way!
Copyright © Tirzah Conway | Year Posted 2012
He had some time to spare and pray.
He worked his farm for years, all his boys have now grown up,
then moved away.
He raised them good he raised them right.
He run cattle so they can earn college degrees and,
then start living their own lives. being free.
Now it’s hard after his wife has died.
It broke his heart but he promised that he would,
keep their farm alive..
Now here he sits taking a break.
Asking god for a weather break.
all because, his cows needs winter hay.
Copyright © Jack Reed | Year Posted 2011
It’s a Wyoming winter--there’s snowflakes and sleet coming down,
The cowboy is hiding away from the trouble in town.
Now, the gambler he cheated the cowboy of wages,
With cards that he chose to conceal,
So the cowboy he pulled out a pistol and shot it,
And the gambler, he lost his last deal.
Then the cowboy, he rides toward the line-shack and stays there,
While Wyoming winter-winds wail,
Soon the store-keeper’s daughter arrives with provisions,
And a posse that’s close on her trail.
Now the posse gives up and turns back in the blizzard,
While Wyoming winter winds roar,
Then the lovers, they travel from Cheyenne to Denver,
And they marry, and open a store.
It’s a Wyoming winter, there’s snowflakes and sleet coming down,
It’s a Wyoming winter, they’re safe from the trouble in town.
Copyright © Steve Eng | Year Posted 2008
By Jim "Ish" Fellers
Copyright ©: August 06, 2003
Wednesday @ 1:40 a.m.
Copyright © JW Fellers | Year Posted 2009
We are far from the hum, but not far enough—
Worlds not of our making intrude – life is rough.
Winter birds are not wheeling in the steel gray sky—
Seems seasons bring questions, but no good day to die.
Unlike black and white westerns, there’s no good end—
We may beat back bad men but die without a friend.
Oh, we all wish that things did not turn out that way—
But God is not silent and has the final say.
Copyright © Glen Enloe | Year Posted 2008
I do not know?
They start at dawn, and go until eve.
Working all day long,
They bring furniture into homes.
Firewood into our burners.
They’re faces rough with scruff,
touch of dirt, with dust in hair.
Plaid and jeans to cover their skin,
Boots made of leather to cover the toe.
Wearing these things to keep warm from the chilling weather.
By their side carrying cold heavy wood sword of steel.
Copyright © Emaka Abbott | Year Posted 2016
They crossed the final peak; boiling condensation mounting from their muzzles.
Night was fast approaching; a relief to weary withers as well as the heavy hoof......
"The coldest flipping winter!", cursed Laine Ledoux as he dismounted from atop his sleigh.
He then said, "My ladies----My valiant team of two, Shadow and Gypsy, could pull me to the moon!"
Laine pitched camp together; no shelter from the cold.
Then he started supper, upon a midnight open stove.
Both horses fell asleep with Laine scratching on their poles.
Wee hours locked in chaos;
rushed awake by fright of ambush!!!
Howls in the wind?
Again! And again!!!
Wolves are all around; the pack gives chase to three!
Laine clears Shadows croup; securing the reins he rides.
Her forelock was whipping like a battle flag in the vast and mighty sky; no stranger to the wind.
The beasts are gaining ground; keeping tempo with her fetlocks.
Finally pulled away, having ridin' desperately through the night.
"Resonating howls have surely bogged my mind;
as annoying as a rock in a frog or something of the kind." Said Laine.
Laine noticed Shadow's leg slowly beginning to give.
The source of all the pain was deep within the gaskin, somewhere between the hock and the anatomically superior stifle, and simply needs to be rub away.
Laine said, "Shadow, you're fit as a fiddle; no need for a vet. The situation is akin to my head; no need for a coronet."
Copyright © Dill Dennison | Year Posted 2016