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Cowboy Adventure Poems | Cowboy Poems About Adventure

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Details | Free verse | |

Feline Alert

*The feline Texan way*

A fresh coat of paint,” on my nails
Red shade of lips," on my smile
Solid oak charms,” on my wrist
Country music,” in my heart
Flattering eyes,” a rustic, shell.
Join me, won’t you?
In this "Country Girls Tale"


Every day I approach the morning dawn, 
I follow the landscape towards the new Texas sun.
Surround by yellow roses and cactus galore.
I brand my name everywhere I go,
I allow you near the limits of my Wild West soul.
I keep it above the snake level everywhere I roll.

Got my head up like a cowgirl, 
I slick my hands down my black leather chaps.
I tilt my bullhide hat leaving behind the sweetest Texas Trail.
I rode through many Texas midnight storm.
It took more than raindrops to knock me from my-  “2-Steppin’ world.”
A windy ride, bruises under the hide taking it in like- “A Real Cowgirl!”
I got a tight grip on my saddle, holding on to a brighter morrow.

Enjoying the voices and the sound.
Tex-Mex lingo, round and round.
Ropers and Wranglers, is how I dress.
I got it all covered, except for the top of my chest.

Living’ it up^, down here in the south.
Erin’ the lungs, shooting up the fun
Long necks’ and kissing under a rodeo’ moon. 
Honky-Tonkers’, tattooing the mocking bird.

Down here:
You will find me sitting on the Country ground,
Peacefully staring into the eyes of the "Alamo Stars."
Flowing with the art found in the flag I hold.
I am The Wild! 
I am The West!
“— A little crazy, but civilized!” 

Enjoying the morning breeze,
Where the dew sits on the tip of Mother Nature’s tongue.
There and only there you will find me,
Under the brightest Texas Star.

by; PD

Details | Verse | |

Zuzuni on the badlands

Zuzuni on the badlands

Montana's muddy badlands spread for thirty seven miles
along a cleft of sandstone bed, eroded years before; 
the chestnut paced upon the bare of grass and well worn aisles
and I wore two new Navy Colts, of gauging forty four
beneath the noon light that defines but also eyes beguiles.

An anchorite, some years ago, upon the ridge of Grapes
where monasteries in the clouds are reaching out to God, 
I learned to draw and shoot amidst the fog's white waving drapes
and prayed til the time was ripe t' abandon this abode, 
cause solitude was molding deeds, constringing, thus, escapes.

I saw them waiting on the trail; three bandits stood apart: 
Coyote Chit, Cheesecake Labif and Mambo-Jumbo Crock
with cross-tied low their pistols stood, assumptive and upstart
bemocking fools who patented their e'er noetic block
that teachers, tho', could not explain; not even wise Descartes! 

My shots intended at their guns, the hoisted hammers broke;
I ordered them to start the dance that turns the clouds to rain
the land was in compelling need, as turf and plants evoked
the sympathy of Heavens that magnanimous ordained
the good ol' boys (and volunteers) to dance the rain's refrain.

Coyote was allowed to dance a prominent gavotte
meanwhile Labif's romantic soul preferred a marigold
but Crock's mazurka had untied the nimbus' Gordian knot
and rain began to pour upon those who the skies extolled
heroic men were meant to be, defining, thus, a blot.

Zuzuni, the Algonquin chief, had noticed this ordeal
and marveled at the outlaws forms, that caused the skies to rain
in order so, to buy the fools he offered a good deal
fourteen strong horses for each man, who danced to ascertain
that rains returned upon the slopes and also on the plains.

© 2014-10-15, G. Venetopoulos, All Rights Reserved
(Iambic heptameter)

Contest Name: Sketch a Character
Sponsor: Gautami Phookan
Deadline: 11/17/2014

Details | Rhyme | |


A man named Ben stood on a slope looking at the gates of hell,
He swore they’d never turn back, him and his best friend Del.
They knew the bandits came this way, they’d left a sloppy trail,
Sheriff and posse had given up but they, would never fail.

He reached into his saddle where he pulled some paper out,
Posters of the bandits, who had brought them on this route
There was Crooked Jake a killer who was merciless and drear,
He shot you if you looked at him, his colleges were full of fear.

Then came Baba Barber as hairy as a lamb,
But nothing gentle about this one, he head-butt’s like a ram.
The third was Festus Farlow a man with just one eye,
Yet the fastest gun in Texas causen many a widow to cry. 

Ben turned to Del and with a sigh he mounted his beige mare,
Said, “guessen we’d better git started, Del ma frind tek care.”
The two had ridden hours with bandanas on their face,
Which only helped a little, for sand was all they could taste.

Both saw many carcasses and bones, bleached white from sun,
But also knew these badlands are not a place for fun.
All at once Del’s stallion, stood with hoofs boxing empty air,
Sent him flying to the ground, and in a rattlers face did stare.

Now when he fell he’d landed on a hard and rocky bed,
So he grabbed a stone and in a flash, crushed that rattlers head.
Ben had reached for his riffle ready to take a shot,
Knowing the sound of gunfire would give away their spot.

Six days later found cowboys, with cracked lips and weary bones,
Now huddled by the campfire listening to familiar tones.
High up on the rocky hill, a wolf sang to the skies,
His silhouette rare beauty, appeasing to their eyes.

Still sleeping at the crack of dawn, a voice woke them abrupt,
Crooked Jake stood before them, his hand his gun did cup.
He started laughing at the two still lying there in bed,
And Ben and Del were certain, that they would soon be dead.

Now Festus and old Baba, were going through their sacks
Finding pictures of two women, they had just shot in their backs,
Then they took their horses, saddles, hats and boots, sayen
‘’You’s ain’t gunna need these, when Festus Farlow shoots.”

Two good friends were shaking now as a dozen shots rang out,
And when loud echoes finally ceased, dead bandits lay about.
Ben and Del stood in a daze, and checked for bullet holes,
The sheriff and posse had come back, God, bless their souls.

For Isaiah Zerbst Contest:
Cowboys in the Badlands 2nd

Details | Light Poetry | |

Pie Eyed Spittoon

Out of the west, amide a beautiful sunrise… came a pie eyed son of a gun.
Looking for Armadilly Billy the Sling Shot Kidster… water gun… in hand.
He rode a very slow plug, an inchworm called ‘Giddy-Up-You-Lazy-Thing’.
Said he was seeking, Billy the outlaw, who had shot his brother in the leg.

But we all knew Billy hadn’t done it, cause he simply, shook his… head… no…
Sure he’d shot a few snakes in the grass, in the range war, way up North, long ago.
But he’d known everybody there; this one, was only here, to try to build a name.
Pie Eyed Spittoon the Rodeo Clown, was looking to earn some respect, with fame.

Now, you don’t find respect by drawing a water gun; it’s always a loosing game.
So we told him, Billy had moseyed on, somewhere way down south, late last May.
To our surprise, he sat down and cried; there was only so much he could take, to face.
Apparently, guy ladybugs don’t get much respect, especially in a fancy, rodeo place.

At that, Miss Kitty Purrfect, sashayed into place, right in front of Pie Eyed Spittoon.
She ask him what his real name was… He answered, it was Wilber Wash Number Two.
Taking him by the hand, she deftly led him off, giving him ideas for a great bar room.
A fancy pants Troll Lake Town sarsaparilla saloon, where flowers would be in bloom.

They would even serve High Tea with scones and crumpets, of course, in a back room.
But, there'd be a tin pan ally, piano in great use, in that bar area, up front, real soon.
Miss Kitty Purrfect would sit on top to sing a tune or two, as Mr. Spittoon kept the bar.
She would be his partner, to help liven up the crowd, and keep them from straying far. 

The Muskrat Gang could clean up in their spare time when their other work was done.
Silk worms would be ordered from China Town, to make fancy drapes, in the bargain.
And Spittoon could serve Sarsaparilla, as Billy controlled the, sometimes-rowdy crowd.
All got what they’d wanted, without a single shot being fired, smart, don’t you think?

Troll Lake town was growing, at a rapid rate, but all were sure, it would be OK.
Armadilly Billy the Slingshot Kidster, was voted, as the sheriff in Town, that day.
And with Miss Kitty Purrfect by Billy’s side, a new era had definitely, begun in town.
Not to mention Mr. Spittoon, who enjoyed the respect, as barman, in our boomtown.

The moral my friend… is violence never wins… always use your head instead!
Making friends, will always serve you better, than making enemy’s… it’s often said!

Details | Ballad | |

A Cowboy's Life

I didn't want to break your heart,
I had no thought of that at all,
When I told you I'd be leaving
Right after roundup time this fall.

A cowboy's life is lonely,
With saddle, bridle and his horse,
A bedroll just to keep from freezing
When he's wandering off his course.

Your own daddy is a rancher.
He should have warned you from the start,
Should have cautioned you to never
Let a cowboy win your heart.

I'll be heading to the south lands
Until some wrangling work I find,
Didn't mean to fool you, Honey.
I didn't mean to be unkind.

If I had a stack of money,
I'd settle down, make you my wife.
Until I'm through meandering
I can't ask you to share my life.

Dry your eyes my little lady
And let me see that pretty smile.
There will be another cowboy
Who will outshine me by a mile.

If you find one with a bankroll
Who can afford a little spread,
Get your lariat and rope him,
Forget about these tears you've shed.

I'll be thinking of you, Honey
As I travel across the range,
But this cowboy is a rambler
And I expect I'll never change.

Placed 2nd in Ballad contest

Details | Ballad | |

rolled Durham smoke - Ballad

It transferred like bequest's constrain;
the ghostly harbor - my sixth sense,
men's goals had died, on lives' expense,
- this notion bothered me again.

Had sent the mail - my filed advice -
the ghosts of gunmen who have died,
on moors they stood yonside old pride,
- the Rider asked his deathly price.

In air he thumped, his rhythm - gust waves;
demanding cruel new death toll;
in town each woman wore black stole,
the 'killed in duel' dwell in graves;

The Rider hummed - our vessel moored
inside this port on Nueces' edge,
much red was shed on cypress sedge
- my instincts sharpened and inured.

Tall stood he on the wharf - I knew
the wind whipped ropes upon head-mast,
- we drew the guns; he lifted fast;
my two guns bucked debt-law to ensue.

I felt the slug - he moved across,
already-a-ghost, on moors he stood;
I tasted blood - got up - I should,
with red drops staining grass and moss.

I saw her standing on the field
amid red poppies and tall trees,
her thought became my holy shield,
bestowed thenceforth, her grace in breeze.

She spread her arms and called me eft,
above the clouds to Astral Halls
athwart stood gunman - fast and deft
in Tombstone, Mobile and Sioux Falls.)

I rolled and lit a Durham smoke
with children watching me round-eyed;
that March, (I thought), a gunman died,
I heard bells' knell and two crows croak.

© G.V. 07-18-2013
(Ballad - Iambic tetrameter)

Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A
Contest Name: Ballad (old/new)
Deadline: 12/28/2013

Details | Cowboy | |

Billy Law

            Billy Law 

A simple man rode into harvest town
Tall, with sharp features, and a gun
No words were spoken when he walked by
Locale folk feared him and his kind
People here were evil
You could see it in their eyes
They despised the stranger
He had a badge, walked with a swagger
Chance and thirst brought him to the saloon
He placed a dollar down for a bottle of booze
No one moved
When he was done he turned and drew his gun
Two punks tried to shoot him in the back
They lacked the proper aptitude
And their attitude was warped
So they bled out quickly on the floor 
The law man moseyed out the door and said
I’m Billy Law
And never looked back

Created on 10/17/14 
By: Earl Schumacker
for “Sketch A Character” – Poetry Contest 

Details | Cowboy | |

The Cowherd

On dark hillside
A lone cowherd
Wrapped in his blanket,
Gazed up at the sky,
Dreamed into the night.
A wisp of crescent moon,
A sky full of stars,
In his thought
He was asking:
Does my small fire shine up to the stars?

Details | Rhyme | |

This is me

My knees were the things that 
kept me up and my skin is my 
cutting board my eyes are the 
rain clouds to the fire running 
down my arms and my heart is 
the fire place that keeps me 
burning so calm

Details | Cowboy | |

Kid Colt, Outlaw

The sounds of wolves howling... echoed loudly,
deep in the solitary woods of no mans land,
While the blazing campfire shared its hearth proudly,
heating the pot of coffee Kid Colt had close at hand,

Each day rehashed such thoughts of how it would be,
for one labeled an outlaw man,
Would it be jail....or staying free,
or getting dealt the dead mans hand?

Staying on the run is sure trouble,
when yer wanted dead or alive fer a crime...
If yer shot dead..all they need is a shovel,'s, a hanging or prison time,

Card games can bring out the worse in a man,
if yer drinking gets ya mouthy or drunk,
and blaming a player of a cheating hand...
could be yer jawing on too big a chunk!

Saw many a man shot between the eyes,
and some plumb through the chest!
Too slow a gun, ain't no surprise....
The fastest can be the deadliest!

Never plan to kill over a triple jack hand,
and don't fancy getting called a cheat in any card play!
Not enough guts could get ya shot in the back, and..
could-have.. can't back down,.. turn around,.. can't walk away,

                "Epic Epigram"

His name came rightly so.....
He carried two colts wherever he'd go...
"The Outlaw"- came, from his death dealing draw!....
during card games or a fist fighting brawl!...
Boom!.... down one went! Boom!- Boom! -3 bullets spent!
Boom!Boom!Boom! hell bound they're sent....
by Kid Colt...The Outlaw Gent.

Details | Cowboy | |

Cowboys and Indians

He pulls his hat down low against the chill of the storm,
The numb fingers that hold the reins forgot what it was like to be warm;

     On a grassy knoll silhouetted against the rising sun, 
     Astride his pinto pony sits a Native American son; 

The blowing snow and freezing rain steal his breath away,
But he knows that being a cowboy, it’s worth the price that you pay;

     A majestic, bronzed brave, feathers wafting in the breeze, 
     With arms uplifted in obeisance, the Great Spirit to appease! 

A worn out calf is stretched across his lap on either side,
Her head resting on his thigh just going along for the ride;

     He offers thanks to Him for the grandeur of creation, 
     And for the sun and moon from which he gathers inspiration;

Her momma just like him had been caught out in the gale,
It’s just another story to add to the cowboy’s tale;

     He asks the Great Spirit to bless his arrow and bow, 
     That with true aim he can fell life-sustaining buffalo;

His face is hard and beaten from too many days in the sun,
From early mornings and late nights workin’ til a job is done;

     A tear rolls down his cheek thinking of his ravaged, sacred land, 
     The broken treaties and those who dealt with deceitful hand; 

But being a working cowboy surely has its rewards,
Riding forgotten country that has never been explored.

     With a sad heart he lowers his arms and slowly turns away, 
     Determined that from the paths of his fathers he will not stray. 

By Tirzah Conway and Bob Hinshaw

The cowboy portion was written by Tirzah Conway and the Indian portion was written by Bob Hinshaw

Details | Quatrain | |

Longing for the ride

Majestic he stands 
Head held high and proud
Until I draw near tack in hand
His mussel to my chest he bows

Our eyes fixed
With deepest affection
Respect from me
From him acceptance 

His nostrils flair 
He inhales my scent
A bond beyond fences
A mutual consent

About horse and rider 
How can I explain
This communion of splendor 
Perpetually sustained

With reverent candor
Can any man compare
Who would be considered grander
Horse or rider if you dare

Nobility without pride
Beauty without vanity
Majesty without disciple
Power without violence 

Do you still wonder why I'm longing for the ride
When he challenges the wind for speed
Brushed by heaven with every stride
Intimacy mounted here on "Spirit's Pride"

My steed and I in harmony
Exhilaration captivates my senses
Pounding hooves, his earthen scent 
Taut muscles ripple in sweat profusely drenched

He heeds the slightest touch of rein
His saddle is my alter of prayer
When he on oceans sands a trot
My soul is healed all disrepair

In bed I lay awake tonight my mind a heavy load
His blaze is blazoned in my memory burned
Of black night mane and chestnut coat
A quatrain tribute to his name he's earned

Still you may not understand
This yearning so many take in stride
Of horse and rider pure joy provider
And oh such longing for the ride

Details | Light Poetry | |

Armadilly Billy and the Buzzard Rustlers

Armadilly Billy the Sling Shot Kidster, was the Sheriff of our town.
When mangy rustlers went into action, he was wont to hunt them down.
‘The Buzzard’ and his surly gang of rustlers of epically, bad renown…
Had picked Texas and other states clean, and were on the move, NOW!

A terrible dust storm, dumped them smack dab, into our piece of territory.
The evil buzzard leader sat, now contemplating, upon the hangman’s tree.
His gang was ready to rustle, as he sat scoping out, many a nefarious deed.
Their base camp was an Old Box canyon, not far, and full of tumbleweeds.

Now, snail rustling’s a crime, so word got out, of where they’d be found.
As they’d gleaned, every single snail, grazing in all the creeks, all around.
The outlaws were expecting soon, to get away quite clean, with them all.
But the sheriff of our town, Billy was steamed, and he was standing tall.

Billy went on the move, and he meant business, if you know, what I mean.
Yep! He’s tough! He’s mean! He’s focused! His eyes were hard and lean!
While ‘The Buzzard’s’ head was bald, eyes cruel, his stance was cold as ice.
In the box canyon they’d be snail kabobs, by sundown, if Billy didn’t strike.

The snails were easy to follow, just had to follow their trail of yucky slime.
With Billy’s trusty stead Jalopy, they were at the boxed canyon by noontime.
Now, No One, and I mean NO ONE, steals, while Billy’s Sheriff in any town.
That no good, low down, Buzzard better watch out, for he’d now been found.

When Billy arrived they were loading snails into a boxcar to ship for Escargot.
The French black market in Quebec would offer a price, beyond compare so… 
To bring them buzzards down, Billy’s slingshot clipped each wing and tail.
Without their feathers they couldn’t fly so they couldn’t remotely prevail. 

But not without looking each one in the eye, for he was the good guy, after all.
There was neigh a feather left, as they were buzzard bait, way before nightfall.
But who can tell on a buzzard, for they don’t have much to start with, anyway.
Now they were the one’s loaded on a train set to Yuma, to prison all the way.

The moral to my story is that: Crime never EVER pays. Besides…
Snail rustling is just plain dumb! They’re so slow, that it's a pain!

To the music: The Good The Bad and the Ugly.

Details | Free verse | |

HEADS UP-Quirky Cook Off

*This poem was written for Nikko's contest.  The letters "H E A D S" weren't allowed.  I won 1st place in the contest :)

Pimp, Cowboy, Gigolo willfully confirm Cook off
Vow to cook juicy concoction!
Pimp forgot cumin, Gigolo forgot flour, Cowboy forgot corn
Gigolo plotting to corruptly copy Cowboy concoction
Cowboy growling “You forging fool !!!”
Unruly Commotion!!!  
Cowboy flipping Gigolo; Gigolo tromping cowboy, Pimp crying “knockout”!
Conflict fizzling…Cook Off Critic got nitpicky….Implying civility 
Critic nibbling Gigolo gyro concoction…critic crying
Critic nibbling Cowboy wonton concoction…critic vomiting
Critic nibbling Pimp minty concoction…critic grinning
Pimp winking, flirting  
Critic wiggling, winking, flirting 
Critic confirm Pimp Cook off Victor!
Cowboy mournful
Pimp ogling!!! Glitz...Glory
Gigolo crying, “You floozy!”  
Unruly Commotion!!!  
Cop cuffing Gigolo to go to court
Tick tock…tick tock….Tick tock
Jury confirm Gigolo guilty!
Pimp, Cowboy, Critic go clubbing 

Details | Quintain (English) | |

My Black Cowboy Hat

I have a black cowboy hat I wear on certain days,
like when a night of partying is the only goal.
The wearing of this cowboy hat brings out my wicked ways,
when loudly and with fanfare, into the bar I stroll
and the only thing I don't do is to dance on the stripper pole.

This hat, it transforms the meek little me
into a wild woman , not to be tamed,
I put on quite a show, you see,
because of it, my reputation's defamed 
and of course, it's the hat I've blamed.

I should probably throw the hat away before I land in jail
but it really does suit me, makes me look quite fine.
As long as I have good friends to help me post my bail
I'll wear the hat and party on and really try to shine
and of course the blame is not the hat's, it really is just mine.

~~for Carol Brown's 'Favourite Hat or Bonnet' contest

Details | Free verse | |


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 
Count down,
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.


Details | Cowboy | |


The wren hour drool within that 
very day, When we were taken 
on a forage trip, Beyond the 
karfanchan dangling viaduct,  In 
our own vertigo, And was coll by 
the alien sun of a day,
We passed-by, As enamor was 
with her, Many was about, I 
choose aftermath, As for aeon of 
a time, Yes it was such a 
wonderful voyeur, Had wish it 
lingers us far too off, I puff 
vrouw through my wife beak 
nose, Their ears, eyes stand-out 
like Coco-yam leaf, whilst  her 
frescata inhold my once 
beholden self , Some  whisker 
pups prance  across My vrouw, 
Wanton in their 
Omnishamblings, like a dumb 
duck, Meanwhile like sorts of the 
sky high, Behind their mounting 
shack, And her scamps out 
wrung the furthest spot, As we 
bore off a bit pointing yet, Felt 
we are on the hoof side.

Details | Triolet | |

Gunfighter walks

Dark angel of heartbeating pound,
sixth sense of premonition glide,
kin to his ways and scopes to bound,
steel spurs transmit the word around,
the deathwalk starts on dusty ground,
Smith-Wesson guns, tied down his side

Dark angel of heartbeating pound,
sixth sense of premonition glide.

On deathwalk's noon, with light increased,
the shelling slugs will serve the cause,
hands flash and men attend Death's feast,
(gunfighters tho' had ne'er believed,
that once will be 'mid the deceased);
atrocious are, the drawing laws,

On deathwalk's noon with light increased,
the shelling slugs will serve the cause.

Gunfighter walks on dust, midday,
where forty fours will blossom fire,
his eyes traverse the town's details,
a draw of bluff on deathwalk trail,
will have sixes' to beat, twin play,
black coat, gun belt - and dry briar.

Gunfighter walks on dust, midday,
where forty fours will blossom fire.

© G. V. 11/5/2012 All rights reserved
( Ballad - Triolet )

Details | Light Poetry | |

Town Called RotGut

Armadilly Billy the Sling Shot Kidster was steadily on the move.
He was leaving the Southwest and his reputation behind, for sure!
Every gunslinger was out for him and of killing he’d become tired.
Even the weather was being surly, as a dust storm was blowing wild.

Traveling way too long, he came across a town he’d never seen before.
The sign said ‘Welcome to RotGut, Rest Here, We’re a friendly town.’
Shelter he was a seeking, in that town of RotGut, only one night, to tell.
His horse enclosed in the livery, he entered the saloon, out of the wind.
The piano was a playing, a lively tune as he, slowly opened up the door.
Everyone stilled, as him they did peruse, as he wandered up to the bar.

The ruckus resumed quickly, as he stated that he was, just a passing thru.
The whiskey tasted mighty sweet, a smell of it lingered in the air, too.
The girls were friendly, so he bought one some, as a patron eyed him on.
A deck of cards flashed in the gamblers hands, as a six-gun laid beside.

The gambler waved him over saying, it’s been kind of dead here, of late.
Surprisingly, no one seemed to know him, no one trying to make a name.
Relieved no one would have to die that night, he joined the poker game.
The night became finally peaceful, as he was welcomed into the game.

Around 2 in the morning, the whiskey and trek was taking its toll, a shame.
He climbed the stairs to his room, lulled asleep by the sounds downstairs.
Morning dawned bright and early, with the dust storm long gone away.
And the room looked, Oh So Different, within the new light of the day.

Curtains faded and shredded, limp with dust, a room full of decay…
Abandoned eons ago... The banisters in the hallway were broken apart.
The saloon downstairs was disheveled, with barely anything left in tact.
Only the table in the corner, seemed to have withstood the test of time.

And sitting right there, at that corner table, a deck of old cards remained.
Not a speck of dust was upon them, as he tipped his hat, a final goodbye.
Then he moseyed out to the livery, which was in equally bad disarray.
No one had been here, in neigh on forever, was all that he could tell.

A dried up old western town, with tumbleweed blowing everywhere around.
Still he left a tip for the care of his horse, for he wouldn’t be unkind, of course.
He left the town of RotGut, a lonely and eerie oasis, in the bright light of day.
At the edge of town he tipped his hat, to RotGut, for the kindness… displayed.

Details | Cowboy | |

Cowboys and Indians

He pulls his hat down low against the chill of the storm,
The numb fingers that hold the reins forgot what it was like to be warm;

    On a grassy knoll silhouetted against the rising sun,
    Astride his pinto pony sits a Native American son;

The blowing snow and freezing rain steal his breath away,
But he knows that being a cowboy, it's worth the price that you pay;

    A majestic, bronzed brave, feathers wafting in the breeze,
    With arms uplifted in obeisance, the Great Spirit to appease!

A worn out calf is stretched across his lap on either side,
Her head resting on his thigh just going along for the ride;

    He offers thanks to Him for the grandeur of creation,
    And for the sun and moon from which he gathers inspiration;

Her momma just like him had been caught out in the gale,
It's just another story to add to the cowboy's tale;

    He asks the Great Spirit to bless his arrow and bow,
    That with true aim he can fell life-sustaining buffalo;

His face is hard and beaten from too many days in the sun,
From early mornings and late nights workin' til a job is done;

    A tear rolls down his cheek thinking of his ravaged, sacred land,
    The broken treaties and those who dealt with deceitful hand;

But being a working cowboy surely has its rewards,
Riding forgotten country that has never been explored.

    With a sad heart he lowers his arms and slowly turns away,
    Determined that from the paths of his fathers he will not stray.

By Tirzah Conway and Bob Hinshaw

The cowboy portion was written by Tirzah Conway and the Indian
portion by Bob Hinshaw

Details | Sonnet | |

A Cowboy Is

A cowboy named Hank joined wagon trails going west on his horse
He rode the outskirts and back trails of cities in search of a home
He would get a piece of land for growing corn near a river’s source
That would ease his restless soul; put an end to all his groans

He recalled the squalor and filth seen in towns he had passed through
So many miles way back when; he had long since lost count
In his mind his plans stayed fresh; persevere was what to do
At each stop he carved the vision while filling his canteens at the fount

As for one regret-he could not read nor could barely write his name
He would teach himself come evenings, from Grandma’s 'Good Book'
Her legacy, tucked in his saddlebag; dusty, yet, still looked the same
She had raised him on her own when his folks passed on, with all it took

To him, success was the only way he could ever pay Grandma back
Vowed he’d find that land near a river, far from the railway tracks 


For Tirzah Conway's, "A Cowboy is" Contest

Details | Rhyme | |

Some Get Gold

Cowboys on a cattle drive
whiskey, sun and song.
Days are hard,
nights are cards,
the rivers run so strong.
Victor’s spoils,
dark horse fail,
they say dead men
tell no tales.
To persevere
is paramount,
and hidden talent
does not count.
Life’s a game,
you raise or fold -
some get gravel,
some get gold…
Copyright © 2013

Details | Rhyme | |

The Badlands

The Badlands Can you see what they’re lookin’ at or Hear what they say? Maybe they’re stoppin’ to take time to pray. Could they know the ending is near? Fate may have brought them a measure of fear. We’ve followed them far and seen what they’ve done – And now we see them, here on the run. They don’t want to give up - It don’t seem likely they will. And the scene here around us Brings an ominous chill. They’ve rode these badlands Much longer than we - And they can observe things We never see. I can’t help but wonder what history will see, When this scene is painted by pure destiny. What if we hunted them as long as we did? Then, we became hunted by Butch and The Kid? Author’s Note: Based on the painting “Cowboys in the Badlands” By Thomas Eakins and entered in PSoup contest sponsored by Isaiah Zerbist 9/16/14

Details | Couplet | |

Fastest Gun In The West

<                                      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

Entry For 
Halloween Costume Contest
G.L. All




Details | Blank verse | |



Out of the chute and in the air
Don't turn your head and run away
I really do need a big payday
Shoes for the kids and tires for the truck
Today has got to be the day

Around the horns and on the ground
The flag is down
Is it enough?
I look up and hear the  time
Steak for all and new Goodyears all around!

But next week is Amarillo

Details | Cowboy | |


Ben raised up a dern disappointment, Daddy, well, he wanted a boy.
Wasn’t nothing under the bleeding red sun Ma could do but keep on a tryin’
Ya’siree, she was one branded filly and dern iffin that filly didn’t birth a maverick.
Daddy, well he had him some hard times a com’n 
and he didn’t ev’n try to hide his fallen face when Sis was born.
that un, well, she was maverick number two!

Daddy was the devil may care sort and him and his seed strayed far afield,
sowing his wild oats, praying for an heir, he himself was one
‘slick hairy dick’ so to speak [that’s cowboy lingo for a maverick himself]
and you know what they say, “The cow plop don’t fall far from its arse”
He kept on pokin’ Ma ‘till he got that boy, all nine caterwauling  pounds!
Dynasty founded, one hell of a shindig was thrown, as luck would have it,
Dad strayed, but not before he taught his gal’s not to take guff from any man!

Out on the range, Dad rounded up a couple more Betty’s
“Yehaw, did that brand sizzle” got his self a couple more bucko’s
for the dynasty and another sweet filly, all of them mavericks to the core.
Funny thing is old Dad’s gal’s got more balls then most men.
So, I guess in the end [wink] he taught us well!

*This is a Cowboy Poem, it is a maverick to it's form because

Cowboy poetry is rhymed, metered verse written by someone who has lived a significant portion of his or her life in Western North American cattle culture. The verse reflects an intimate knowledge of that way of life, and the community. 
[Never lived in the West, don't like anything that looks at me with one eye! 
"...names have been changed to protect the innocent."

P.S. I'm the maverick!

Details | Dramatic Verse | |

The White man

He was young,
Had his guns on his hip.
Walkin the streets,
With a cigar on his lip.
The town folk were scared,
They knew what he could do.
They have seen what he done,
To a chosen few.
The leather he wore,
Was stained from the powder of his gun.
A sign of the battles,
That the slinger had won.
A family moved in,
That no one knew.
A white man,
And a wife that was sious.
The young man decided,
The lady would not survive.
Because of her color,
She would die.
In the street,
In the middle of town,
This is where the slinger,
Where he gunned her down.
The white man,
Anger in his eyes,
Decided to give the slinger,
A surmise.
Leave this town,
Be gone by noon at best,
Or feel a bullet from my gun,
Deep in you'r chest.
The slinger smiled,
I am too fast,
You are an ole man,
You'r time has past.
You'r time has come ole man,
Take you'r stand,
But I tell you now,
Better have a fast hand.
When the smoke cleared,
The slinger lay on the ground,
With the white man,
looking down.
The slinger had just one last request,
How did you learn to shoot that way?
The white man answered,
I'm the son of Doc Holiday.

Details | Cowboy | |

Billy The Kid

There were many outlaws in the old west.
But one outlaw stood out more than the rest.
And his name was Billy the kid.
He was a very fierce gun fighter, that showed no fear, or remorse on who he killed.
Billy was quick at the draw with his colt 45.
So whoever went up against billy the kid, was surely to die.
So the next time you think of a outlaw from the old west, Think about 
Billy the kid because that outlaw was one tuff cowboy.

Details | Rhyme | |

What Might Have Been Grand by Wee Luck Mc Gee

Well, Finn and Mc Gee 
Were riding along
Headed back home
When something looked wrong

So, Finn off his horse
Now looked all around
He said, "We are lost
But, there's something we've found"

"Look at this massive 
Whole in this plain
We'll never get home
This is insane"

"A canyon like this
What an unlucky find
We can't ride around it
We haven't the time"

"And we can't ride down through it
There isn't a way
If even there was
We'd be dead in a day"

So Mc Gee very calmly
with shovel in hand
Said "Well, we'd better get crackin'
And fill it with sand"

Details | I do not know? | |

WINCHESTER MODEL 73 the Gun that Won the West

          WINCHESTER MODEL 73 - The Gun that Won the West
Deputy why don't you leave that cowboy alone?
He ain't doin nothin, he's a long way from home.
Can't you see that Winchester by his saddle horn?
If you know what's good for you, you'll leave him alone.
Deputy why don't you let that cowboy ride on?
Do you think he carved them notches out just for fun?
Can't you see that Winchester by his saddle horn?
If you know what's good for you, you'll leave him alone.

You think that Winchester looks good to you.
But one more notch is all you'll be I'm warnin you.

Deputy why don't you let that cowboy ride on.
He won't even slow down unless you draw your gun.
Don't you know that Winchester's not there just for fun?
If you know what's good for you, you'll leave him alone.
© ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet

Details | Cowboy | |

' As Old As East Of Eden ... (A Cowboy Song) Cowboy Poem # 15

          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 )

Details | Cowboy | |

Cow Boys

The trail was thick with bities and the billabong was high
me mates were all a yabbering 'bout the price of meat
The cavvy horses trotted right on course, nothing seemed awry
the jiger boss yelled "Buckeroos! git that stray dogie to teat!"  

Old Bluey barks to say G'Day as he helps the boys to muster
all the new calves to the bank, away from the duffers.
A camp fire smokes and Cookie clucks wrapped up in his duster
as Hoodlum sits a peeling spuds dreaming of  his mother.

The suns gone down like a gob smacked floozie behind the range.
At last, it seems, we're ending another dusty day. 
The night hawks giddyuped, there are bedrolls amongst the sage,
yet were' not within a cooee of the end of an Aussie's play.

Details | Cowboy | |

The Rawhide Kid

Livin' won't mean a dang thing!
If killin' is how ya survive!
Killin' does dishonor bring!
with being wanted dead or alive!

Every lawman knows yer name!
tellin' everybody what ya did!
the fastest draw gets the fame!
and on the run stayin' hid!

There's alway an hombre packin' tough!
a rowdy drunk or ornery fool!
just woundin' a gunslinger ain't enough!
death lays the safest rule!

On the run, gotta stay alert!
wild injuns everywhere!
livin' in caves, sleepin' on dirt!
like a mean ol' grizzly bear!

Shootin' straight 'n' lightning fast!
it's how I aimed....and did!
runnin' roughshod, mimics the past...
for me..."The Rawhide Kid!"...

Always gonna remember....
my sweetie pie back home...
keeps burnin' like an ember...
knowin' she's all alone.

Details | Cowboy | |

Ride On

I rode him as he trodded
Stepping high, he nodded
His mane waving in the air
As though he had no care
I saw the spirit in him rise
With a gleam in his eyes

Step proud, I thought he heard
For he nodded with every word
Sweat seeping from the pores
From the saddle which brought the sores

Ride on I felt in my heart
Ride on, let us not part
Ride on, ride even in the dark
Ride on for I wished not to park

He tired so here we will stay
Resting here awaiting the day

Ride  on even in my dream
For I felt it would redeem
My hunger and my pain
Riding on striving to gain
Peace and solitude to be found
And the joy stomping upon the ground

Ride glory ride, ride with pride
Ride glory with every stride
Ride forever I would pray
Ride on at the break of day

Details | Cowboy | |

Cowboy Legacy

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.

Details | Cowboy | |

The Urban Outlaw

Being the urban outlaw has its own rewards, especially when this vingilante-like person is helping the Marshall oficers capture the bad guys. It's just like a modern-day version of the Wild Wild West, except that the buildings (including the saloons) have closed down or whatever. When one of the urban outlaws are riding their horses into town, they're either greeted by the townsfolks or feared by them. What's so great about the urban outlaws in the Wild Wild West is that the cowboys are playing a lot of poker and drinking, but minus the alcoholic beverages, let alone whiskey. Everybody knows that the urban outlaws have their backs, especially when corruption rises in their towns. The urban outlaw has to abide the rules that society has handed to him, especially the townspeople. God only knows that cowboys and outlaws are either against each other or working together and stuff. All urban outlaws also love sleeping by campfires and riding their horses through the heated desert and by the riverbanks. Not only does the urban outlaw has a lot of adventures, even in the Wild Wild West, he also has the freedom to ride his horse anywhere, even in town. Those cowboys and outlaws should be very proud of themselves. But what is so great about being an urban outlaw most of all is when he's on the run from the bad guys who he had jailed, even better. Well, I guess that's how these people roll in the Wild Wild West. Right now, I find the cowboys, the urban outlaws, and the Wild Wild West very interesting, especially when he and/or she's outside of the city. It's also as if we're back in the year 1867. And if there are going to be modern-day urban outlaws and modern-day cowboys everywhere these people go, even in rual places like outside of Dallas and/or Albuquerque, that would be awesome for everybody, even me.

Details | Free verse | |


Often times I dream of days gone past -
Although, I've not lived then -
Neither saddle or horse shoe cast:

Where was he when I first envisioned the outline of his long, hatted figure?
Atop a horse named, "Fourth of July" -
Montana perhaps or Wyoming is where he lingered...for a time.

Long since dormant, there remains only tattered 
images of a dusty saddle horn, bent buckles, a frayed lasso hidden under
some felled and hollowed out oak, that still rustles with callused sounding 
boots of cowboys retiring, still wet with the days cattle drive, sore and
worn out talks of how they could have been with the perfumed, bustled 
women of their otherwise, ordinary youth.


Details | Cowboy | |

Cowboy Trail

Been travelin' the country side,
punchin' cows and makin' my way,
Been weeks lookin' at cattle hide,
hotter than _ell 'n' not much pay,

It's up and at'em before dawn,
on a horse and saddle all day,
Money made, then gets gone,
with drinkin' and cards ta play,

Ain't seen my dear girl Betsy Lou,
for might near a year ta day,
I know someday gonna get back to,
her and her country girl ways,

Yea, we're gonna buy a spread,
something to call our own,
I'm gonna buy her a feather bed,
and never ever agin be gone,

On the trail means livin' rough,
it's a life what gets so old,
If cow punchin' cash ain't enough,
It's to California pannin' fer gold.

Details | Rhyme | |

A Fun Filled Secret


An adventure I went
Full of laughter,
cheer and fun
A country themed day
that I will
Talk about, secrets
wont spill
First dressing like
cowgirls do
Tight fitting jeans
baby blue
Next a shirt with
hanging tassels
Snaps, not buttons,
prevent hassles
A belt buckle so
cute and shiny
Not big, a little
less tiny
A cowgirl hat on top
my head
No brown, pretty
pink instead
Special ordered
boots to wear
Fringe and spurs put
on with care
All decked out to
have a night
That will be a pure
My first country
club experience
Filled with care
free innocence
Music gets my feet a
Not knowing how this
just happened
Somehow over the
course of time
I was in a dancing
Not drunk, but
losing all my
I was doing moves so
Soon I was sitting
on a bull
Hanging on tightly
up until
Someone cranked it
up to high
I shot off into the
My singing is way to
To do any karaoke
Now I'm on stage out
of tune
Surprised I haven't
cleared the room
Hours go by and I
I can not leave this
Making a promise to
come back
Everybody loved my
Of a first timer at
this place
I never left a
single trace
My secret is safe of
That I am really a

Details | Cowboy | |


Tainted love 
or tired love?
Smug attitudes
and weak games
Look at you!
Your such a lame!
Me cry?! Ha! Not no more!
Five point five years
What a joke?!
All you do is lie
Keep smoking your life away!
Wake up before its too late!
Before this love turns into hate!
Your too old to act this way!
Your too comfortable
You cant stay!
In my life!
In my way!
Goodbye to you!!!

Details | Blank verse | |

freedom loving cowboy

Freedom Loving Cowboy 

At the bar, by the docks, I spoke to a man who wore a cowboy 
hat and had a pearl handle revolver in his holster. A thud and 
the pretend cowboy hit the floor and the barman ducked behind 
his counter.  It was an exploding tire; relieved laughter which 
the same when we sat in the bomb shelter and a plane overhead 
dropped its load in parts of town where local Nazis´ lived. 
Terror begets terror and becomes a psychosis, what we don´t 
understand becomes terror and we have to arm ourselves and not 
ask tedious questions. I was offered a job at this vibrant place, but 
declined feared the undelaying panic, that often explodes into 
violence, would get me, I would buy a gun hide it at the top of 
the wardrobe and when bad people broke in, rush upstairs, find it, 
nervously load it spill bullets on the floor – reload- shoot myself in 
the foot. The man, in the cowboy hat, had just told me he lived in 
the freest county in the world.     

Details | Rhyme | |

Cowboys In The Badlands

 The two Cowboys stood at the cliff of a great divide.
Jacob stood, starring across the opening with Bill still
in his saddle, close by his side. The rocky seen was like
A kaleidoscope, every color, ever known.
Is there any other place you would rather be Bill?
Bill said, No Jacob, I don't believe so.
Jacob slowly, climbed back on to his horse and pulled the 
reins and headed North. He started whistling a happy note
and Bill listened as he followed Jacob to the valley

 Deadwood City here we come, looking for gold and lots of fun,
Jacob shouted! Yep, Bill shouted back, and we need to keep us
a fully loaded gun. The Cowboys laughed out loud as they rode on.
The Cowboys knew Deadwood could make a man so very rich
and they had contracted the gold fever itch. The day's travel was
so very long and hot, and the sun began to sink below the mountain's 
amber, rugged tops.

 They found a place to camp before nightfall and how that fire crackled
as they ate beans and corn fritters, and over coffee talked.
You know Bill, said Jacob. One Summer could set us straight and you 
could pay off the old farm and fix that crooked gate.
Yeah, Bill responded and then you could marry Jenny. Maybe start
a family and maybe even buy the Ole Mill. Yeah, said Jacob, so surreal.  
The Cowboys lay starring at the stars in the sky that clear, crisp night
and dreamed of all the things that gold could buy them, until daylight.

 The Cowboys made Deadwood and Oh, the sights they seen.
They panned every river and every stream. Then at summer's end
they cashed it all in and headed back to Tennessee, to live out their lives
and share with their family the story of their Deadwood dreams.

Details | Cowboy | |

Long drive

Cowboys young old 
saddle up their rides. 
The will drive
many bovine
through valleys unknown
Heading northward bound 
to the rail road head.
The leave their brides
for the drive.
All at once they start the drive
yelping and whistling to move the bovine. 
They travel day and night through valleys unknown
seeing native Indian tribes.
They stop and grab some grub
as the night devour the sky.
Bovine cry 
as the coytee howl.
The cowboy play
a lullaby
as sleep falls upon them.
Sun on the horizon signals another ride
for the lonesome riders.
They whistle and yelp to move the bovine 
down the trail one more day.

Details | Rhyme | |

Cowboy in Training

Wanna get on that horse
round up all that herd
lot of work still to be done
what do I do to get you stirred

Come on now let's get going
if you want to get fed
show you deserve a feast
before you get to bed

you young ones like it easy
in my day it was all graft
sweating it out all the day
then you really earned your craft

Sorry if I've been too hard
but experience says crack the whip
in the long term you'll be thankful
a real cowboy makes the trip

Details | Cowboy | |

Tumbleweed Billy And One Eyed Sam

            Tumbleweed Billy And One Eyed Sam

Banked off jagged hills, pushed on by memory
Cause and effect took turns churning the sidewinders
Tumbleweed Billy and One Eyed Sam (The patron Saint of snake eyes)
Dragged down from on high by a freak flood

Through swollen gorges flushed with raging waters
From melted mountain snow with a long way to go
Two cowpokes gathered up by ancient storms without warning 
Compounding the Pounding past the sandy canyonous rocks
Crashing through dams along the flooding passage
Tumbleweed Billy and his one eyed friend rolled into town 

They came to rest at Rusty Bottom, a dusty town
Released their grip on a sturdy timber log 
That brought them there all wet and muddied
With wind against their backs 
That swept them up to view the Last Chance Saloon
Looming over there

This brought them to their feet to mossy over
They moved like prestidigitation fakes, hankering for a drink
Taking whiskey down like magic water  
Then set out their pedestrian plan there on the table
To take this western town down by gambling pranks
Quick digits formed their sleight of hand

Children suddenly appeared before the strangers
Seemingly from nowhere on the action
The two cowpokes glanced back at them like spies
Sam scared them with his missing eye
Covered by a black patch, looking kinda pirate like
The other clouded, milky white, piercing, with limited sight

Billy grants the young ones wishes on the spot to settle them
Magic to be perfected and performed above a pending storm
He rolls one die.   A one comes up.  A snake eye
An omen more visible than not
This made the children fear an awful lot

Dice played a major role for his desires and devices
He kissed them twice for luck then vanished in their cast
Tumbleweed Billy rolled out of Rusty Bottom Town 
Taking his dice and the bad eyed man  

In a singular milky white last lost glance around
On the same south winds now gone from town
Both sidewinders de-materialized, vanished in that instance 
As though they never existed 
Invisible, never seen before, never seen again, as foe or friend
They disappeared

As for the children; who gambled on the chance of magic
Got exactly what they asked
And what was granted when they first wished it
For the two to disappear

Tumbleweed Billy and Sam were gone as quickly as they came
And no one really missed them or their game
That is; their tricks, dice and way of life
Their little slice of paradise

9/16/14 Cowboys in the badlands – Poetry contest

Details | Cowboy | |

Wyoming way

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 Bighorn 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. 

Details | Free verse | |


Where has the American cowboy gone, 
Did he ride off into the dust trails of history,
A faded figure, melting into the last horizons sunset.
Nay, unbridled the mustangs run free now,
No riders lasso, snaps against the winds of destiny,
A legacy's true American hero, has finished the
Last round up.
Hey, you'd better halt there, just one dang gone
Minute, you city slicker, them be fighting words,
That you all have just written.
Hush your mouth now, the American cowboy lives on,
Not on horse back, but behind the steel of the 
Eighteen wheeler, copy that you'd better, breaker dude.
Show some respectful pride, to the man whom
Has helped to build, this great nation, we all call home.
Driving down the back bone, of America, in the name
Of glory's flag, believe you me brother, a hard
Road does he roam alone, just to keep house, 
And home alive.
For all of the feminine persuasion, yes’s em, mam
He still whisper’s, that same old lonesome tune.
Tilting his ten gallon hat, to all you young misses.
After all the convoy man, is still a gentleman
Beneath his rough hued exterior.
Four horse power to the floor, no more, he's
A hell bound creature, in need, for sixty-fives
Speed limit sign, it keeps the old cowboy inside
Alive, down the highway of life.
Thriving on the adrian rush, of the open
Road to freedom, lying ahead of him, no
Boundaries can hold this man, yielding to
The desire for liberation's winds, blowing
Against the trails of progress.
Steel belted radials, burning rubber across
The asphalt turn pike, get far out of his way,
This true road master, swiftness control at his
Command, excelling beyond the boundaries
Damn, don't you all try to fence this free spirit in,
Or he'll run you down, times dead line, haunts
Him, the devil boss's hounds are biting at his heels, 
And burden's heavy load, rests upon those broad shoulders.
The Lord God himself does sit, in the passenger seat,
 Beside him, heaven's copilot, for this steel driving man,
Bringing him home safely, to those whom love him,
This the convoy man.


Details | Free verse | |


They ride on their horses along the grand canyons,
searching for the canyons' end;
it is believed by Indians that a giant snake created the canyons;
its belly, they say, has gold that can pay an entire American army for years.

A dozen in number, the cowboys have faith on their revolvers,
with their silver bullets to bring down the snake.......

Date: 16/04/2014

Details | Cowboy | |

Small Boys Trains and Outlaws

There was  derelict old Steam engine, 
I  played on when I was ten,
I'd hear that lonesome whistle blow,
and the old west would live again,

I rode with Billy Miner's gang,
To rob The CPR,
Climbed onboard  that rusty engine,
hollering "Shorty,  check the baggage car!" 

I wonder if the ghost of ol' Bill Miner,
ever watched us at our play,
 Small boys re-enacting ,
a near forgotten day.

Forty years and more have passed...
I still hear that lonesome whistle blow 
My pony snorts impatiently ,
She knows it's time to go. 

"Pull up your masks and draw your pistols!"
We come around the engine at a run,
Three riders on fast horses,
flashing hooves and blazing gun.

That very same old engine,
I played on as a child,
Now hauls tourists back in time,
to when the West was wild.

Old railroad men and cowboys ,
re-enact a bygone day,
While the grinning ghost of Billy Miner,
watches us at play. 



Details | Cowboy | |

Rodeo's Renegade Roses

Gather ‘round younguns, there is a story to be told
About some renegade cowgirls & their ride for the gold
They made it look so easy, feathers, flowers & a smile.
Guts & grace, they had plenty, quitting wasn't their style

They snugged up their riggin' & grabbed for air
Winning Champion titles with style & flair
If Lucas, Krieg & Greenough hadn't led the way
Would any of us be here in the arena today?

Henderson, Riley, Hastings & Creed
To the "Men Only" rule they all paid no heed
They broke records & bones, faced derision & fear
Riding Broncs, Raising families, they juggled home & career

Nasty wrecks were a given but they seemed to bounce back
In one unforgettable event, Tad's girl picked up the slack
From Calgary & Cheyenne to OKC & San Antone
Though there are many others, these ladies stand alone

Hat's off to the Rodeo's Renegade Roses
At tradition they turned up their noses
Bronc busting, trick riding, a rough riding ballet
They showed us how to win & made it look like play

They were never reckless, just a bit wild & bold
Now its up to you & me to see their stories told
They left mighty big boots to fill, bless them one & all
We know that they ride with us, as we heed the siren's call

Lift a glass high in honor for those who paved the way
Three cheers for the Renegade Roses still bucking out today

Details | Cowboy | |

The Lesson

Sunlight blinding him,
Swirling dust choking him.
The bronc gyrating
Nearly throwing him.
Feet braced and pounding,
 Pounding the ground.
Jolting his spin, 
Up, and again down.
His head jerking,
Neck snapping,
Daylight beneath him,
Down on the back,
Of the writhing cayuse.
No eight second buzzer.
To call the end of the ride.
Ignore the pain.
Remember the Pride.
Sunfish, slam and jerk,
Hanging on any way he can.
Fighting to win this battle,
Between beast and man.
The brute gathers his muscles, 
Leaps over the rail.
Running, running, running,
Like he’s on freedom’s trail.
Sides heaving, legs shaking,
The horse slows to a stop.
The cowboy turns him homeward,
And says, “Now you learn to walk.”

Details | Cowboy | |


We branded alla our cattle today,
And man, that job is rough;
If you ain’t gonna help, get outa the way,
Cause cowboyin’ is only for the tough;

Rope them calves and drag ‘em in,
Make sure yer rope is taut;
An’ soon the brandin’ will begin,
Once the battle has been fought;

Flank them calves and hold ‘em tight,
Cause one kick s’all it’ll take;
Better hold on with alla yer might,
Till the calf is outa the gate;

Tag ‘em, brand ‘em, an’ give ’em a shot,
Then send ’em on their way;
 Get ready, once the calf is caught,
You’ve gotta jump into the fray;

Cowboyin’ is a dangerous job,
But it’s one that’s gotta get done;
Work until yer fingers throb,
Usually from sun to sun!

Details | Cowboy | |

'The Cowboy On The Battlefield ... ' (Cowboy Poem # 12)

Young Cowboy On The Battlefield
Remembered His Mama’s Words
‘Just Make It Home, Son …’
Her Voice Echoed, As He Heard …

Rapid-Fire and Revolution
Missiles, Right and Left
Bomb-Blasts and Confusion
… and Silent Tears, He’s Wept

… Every Day, A Minefield
Every Night, A Raid
Every Moment, A Terror
Trying to Make Him Afraid …

Any Second, A Horror
Of A Buddy, Laid To Rest
Every New Tomorrow
Wondering, What’s Next ?

The Cowboy On The Battlefield
Vigilant and Brave
Stood Ramrod Tall and Terse …
Looking At Her Grave …

‘Just Make It Home, Son … ‘
… Echoed Thru His Brain
‘Just Make It Home, Son …’
… Echoed Thru The Rain

And Just Before She Was Laid To Rest
She Said, ‘Just Make It Home, Son …’
And With Those Last Words, She Blessed,
And Said, ‘I’ll Be Waiting, When You Come …’

                    * * * *

… Old Cowboy, On The Battlefield
Remembers His Mama’s Words
‘Just Make It Home, Son … 
… and We’ll Celebrate Our Return …

Of  Note:  In The Words Of A Lady Rocker,
Pat Benatar:   ‘Love Is A Battlefield’
(but I Say, 'Life Is A Battlefield'

Details | Cowboy | |

The Deal

The storm clouds came rolling in across the autumn sky,
I was moved to dig a hole but didn’t know just why.

And as I finished squarin’ up the hole the rain came pouring down,
If someone were to fall in it there’s chance that they could drown.

Just about then an Indian on a horse approached me from the back,
The brave promised me a ten dollar coin if I’d bury his gunny sack.

What’s in the gunny? I asked of him before reaching for the coin,
The face he made was just as if I’d kicked him in his tender loin.

He hesitated for a minute and then said that it was totem pole,
He told me that it would fit perfectly inside my fresh dug hole.

It didn’t take me long to take the deal the hardest part was done,
I’d cover it up then ride into town for ten dollars worth of fun.

Then he lit out like a man possessed and it made me stop to think,
And his ghostly howls as he rode away made me thirsty for a drink?

So I looked inside the gunny sack and understood why I’d dug a grave,
Because the totem that I found inside was the body of the brave.

Details | Crystalline | |

My Fire

When I go home damn
Its really quiet 
Never thought I'd find this amount of white noise
In the pitch black face silence 
As I flip scenarios of something like self inflicted violence
making, my room, look....just a lil more stylish
I'll douse the walls with my wrist's imitation of your red fingernail polish 
Seems like
The riot in my mind may have leaked out
Some sound and the floorboards of this house still creek but a paddle im 
In my surroundings 
Thought my flow would let me float on but ya boy ain't so buoyant tho
Fall in to the blue sky's reflection as I plummet into my foe
I'm a machine, can't have water get too close
Not afraid of water, because I can't swim
Scared of depth and darkness, and oceans will force me to give in 
I don't wanna share my lungs 
Lemme breathe for me

Fraid uh water because I've coasted the trans-parent sea 
It's weird when you can say "my parents see right through me" 
Custody war
But I lost every battle 
Reached for anything
All I got was a broken handle on everything


Sex life flowing down south with her g string and sex appeal 
I need to 
but cannot feel 
As I challenge my demons to a battle
Im kind of like the scent leading the pack to the cattle 
Never really see me coming
But I'll lead you to something that'll have ya bowels runnin
Digestive tract star
Ingest every bar
And when you're done im the shit
Even if you ain't really like it
I mean if you want,
Glance at my ego leave a scar 
Or get impressed call me a star 
My stride the only thing between me and going far

Serpentine with your actions but I call you baby 
Now I see why you stay so shady
because to me it seems like you've got nothing but an innocent rattle
Blinded, because I let my lap become your saddle

Your reflection yelling at me im surprised you couldn't tell
Treating me like I was the first Angel sent to hell 
If Jesus was a lamb I can be your scapegoat at the very least 
Sacrilegious sacrifices, looked past the fact I'm actually a feral beast

Shook, like a Harlem shake rattlesnake attention deficit rook
Playin the say it wit ya chess game and I wrote all the books 
King disguised as a pawn 
I'll put myself on 
Competition going down 
Hit that nae napalm expellin from my mouth

My fire...

Details | Ballad | |

Wyoming Winter

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.

Details | Ballad | |

A night in Rotgut The Saga of Zack Waverly

I've been insulted, 
And been challenged
Been shot at
And been cursed
But listenin'
To these locals
I know things 
can't get worst

The music, 
if you call it
Missing notes
from missing keys
But no one pays 
When the player 
Cuts the cheese

The dance hall girls
Are dancing 
Like a heard of
And they're danced 
Their way from places
That I don't want 
To Know

They call 'Her' a 
Saloon Girl, right !
Maybe 30 years ago
and if that
Dress was
Any tighter
We'd all sure 
Have a show

And that train wreck
Called the owner
She's still smiles 
As she greets
Every cowpoke 
That walks in
Even though
She's lost her teeth

Now, I'm sittin'
In the corner
Of the only
Bar in town
And if one more
Local talks to me
I'm gonna shoot'em down

Details | Cowboy | |

' Cowboy Portrait ... ' (Cowboy Poem # 8)

I Drew A Portrait of A Cowboy
With Bronco Jumping to the Sun
The Sunlight, was Both His Halo
And Sunrays, His Blazing Gun …

As He Rode High, Against Blue Sky
And Came Down, to Earth-Dirt-Brown
He Hung Onto That Saddle Horn
And Sat It Like A Crown

A Cowboy Hat, Was Silhouette
With Its Studded, Silver-Band
Also, On His Chaps, and Spurs
And Spanish Leather, Gloved Hands

His Jaw, Was Set, in Steel
A Strong, Granite Profile
Of Determination, Skill and Handsomeness
And Hard, Big-Country Style

… and I Love That Portrait of A Cowboy
Getting Bronchoed Up In The Sun
Seeing Sun and Sky, and A Wild Stallion Try
To Buck That Son – Of – A – Gun !

Details | Cowboy | |

Those Lucky Trees

Thanks, Joe,
Was one of those trees Fred's?
I'll send you some ointment...

Details | Cowboy | |

Rhyme of the Ancient Rodeo Rider

Travel trailers, trophy buckles
And Blue Ribbon bottles,
Litter my ol’ lonely landscape
Of rodeo battles.

I lost a few and won a few
And traveled down the road—
I lived for that 8-second ride—
Thought town jobs were a load.

I cowboyed up and cowboyed down—
Touched too many a heart—
I never realized all those dreams—
Greet folks at the WalMart.

Trailers, trophies and stale warm beer—
Rodeo don’t seem real—
They’re all just empty as my life—
Now I know how cows feel. 

Details | I do not know? | |


So strong and self assured
He rides alone always wanting more
Never satisfied with what's between those fences
His spirit will wake up your wildest senses

By the cross and thorns that is emblazoned on his arm
His substance runs deeper than his cowboy charm
A tame Christian man with a spirit wild
A man of God, he is your child

His reckless nature will never subside
Yet humble he still has his foolish pride
His heart is bigger than the tallest mountain high
And you feel weak when you look into his eyes

His hands so rough yet so soft to touch
For him no ride is ever too much
He welcomes the mystery that comes in the night
A lover at heart born ready to fight

The complexity of this cowboy man
Every woman dreams with him she would stand
Alone, looking at the midnight moon
In her dreams, she whispers...sometime soon


Details | Cowboy | |

Life ain't easy, Son

When strollin' by the ol' saloon,
on chairs they kept outside,
I spied a dried up, lonsome sort
folks walked by, but eyed.

He had a faithful doggie
with head laid on his knee.
The ol' man stroked him softly, 
kind, devotedly.

I stopped an' took a seat nearby,
then shared a cut of chaw.
I thought his story might be good-
he reminded me of Pa.

I asked just where he hailed from,
he didn't bat an' eye-
looked off in space, took one deep breath,
prob'ly thinkin' up a lie.

Come from ever'where, Son,
been places you ain't dreamed.
I settled back to listen.
He relaxed a bit it seemed.
An Indian fighter, I once was,
rode with the Cavalry.
Met ol' Yeller Hair himself
in eighteen, sixty-three.

Was wagon master for some folks
seekin' land to claim,
leavin' homes an' fam'lies east-
thought the West they'd tame.

Had a wife I sure 'nough loved,
two daughters an' a son,
the cholera took 'em all one year,
my driftin' then begun.

Did some drovin' 'hind the herds,
eatin' miles a dust,
catchin' strays, an' keepin' watch
for rustlers we could bust.

Owned a ranch in Texas
but never got no rain,
the drought, it lasted six years,
no reason to remain.

I killed a man in Denver,
the bugger had it comin',
he kicked my dog, stole my horse,
broke the guitar I was strummin'.

Cut trees out in Wyomin',
lumber-jacked a bit.
Camp bully always threatnin',
my throat he'd like to slit.

I rode the rails a piece back then,
an' dern near froze my tail,
sittin' in them boxcars
thru' rain, an' wind, an' hail.

Now, I'm nigh on eighty,
an' comin' to my end.
I thank ya Son for listenin' ,
ya seem 'most like a friend.

I reckon that I've lived some,
an' ain't sure now I'm done,
I just take one day at a time
'cause life ain't easy, Son.

Details | Cowboy | |

' Outlaw Ballad ... ' (Part 1 of 2) (Cowboy Poem # 9)

You Rode Into My Town
Gunned all The Lonely Deputies Down
Blew-Up The Bank Of Trust, In Our Face …
Where, There Was Hope … Is Now Empty Space …
               … Now, I Gotta Chase You ! …

        Outlaw !
Armed and Dangerous
        Outlaw !
Jesse James, Would Be Jealous
  … of You – Outlaw !
You’re Outrageous …
… and You’re An Outlaw ! …

Stealing Hearts, Like They Was Gold
… Silver Bullets, Are The Lies, You Told
Just A Masked-Man, Running Away …
No Longing-Arms, Can Make You Stay
                 … This Is Where You Pay (Now) ! …

        Outlaw !
# 1 On Our Wanted List …
        Outlaw !
They Told Me You Never Miss ! …
        Outlaw !
… In A Duel, or A Quick Kiss …
… You’re An Outlaw !

Rustlin’ Cows and Cheating at Cards
Done Knocked Down, Many A Weak and Off-Guard
I Will Chase You Long and Hard
To Show You, How It Feels To Be Scarred …
                  … My Personal Reward ! …

        Outlaw !
$ 10,000.00 Reward
        Outlaw !
A Dollar, For Each Broken Heart
        Outlaw !
… Better Get A Head-Start …
        Outlaw !


Oh, I didn’t do Anything / That’s What All Outlaws Sing!
Oh, I didn’t do Anything / Then, This is Just A Real Bad Dream!
Oh, I didn’t do Anything / Stop! … Then, Where’s Her Dadgum Ring? …
                                Outlaw …

You Avoid Honor, Like A Hangman’s Noose
Out There, Wild and Still Running Loose
Wanted Posters, Up On Every Wall
When They Look At It … Tears Just Fall …
                   … You’re A Real Quick-Draw ! …

        Outlaw !
Look At That Brim …
        Outlaw !
Cocked-Low, Like A Trigger-Rim …
        Outlaw !
… Yeah, That’s Him ! …
 … It’s The Outlaw ! …

This is Showdown For Nerves-On-Edge
No More Hide-Outs; Not Another Hedge
No More Ladies, Lying On A Ledge
No More Lies, Or A Broken Pledge …
                   … See This Badge !!! …

        Outlaw !
I Shoot Straight From A Curve-Hip …
        Outlaw !
You Won’t Get To Give Me The Slip …
        Outlaw !
You’re Gonna Get Wild-Whipped …
        Outlaw !


Girl, I Know You’re Hurtin’ / But He Was Only Flirtin’
Luv, Stop Your Crying / Break Free From His Lying
Hon, I’m Doing You A Favor / He Ain’t Never Gonna Put No Ring On Your Finger …
                           He’s An Outlaw ! 

                           (Part One of Two)

Details | Cowboy | |

' Outlaw Ballad ... ' (Part 2 of 2) (Cowboy Poem # 9)

Nuthin’, But Trouble and Texas-Tuff
But for You – Stuff’s About To Get Rough
By Now, You Should Have Had Enough
Now, Make Your Choice, Hang ‘Em High, or Cuffs ? …
          … Come Out With Your Hands Us ! …

            Outlaw !
Are You That Hot-Bloodied, Heart Killer ? …
            Outlaw !
Well, You Look A Lot Like Him, Mister …
            Outlaw !
… by the way, that You Kissed Her …
        You’re An Outlaw !

Beneath Stars or by Light Of The Moon
I’m Riding Fast … Will Catch Up Soon
Midnight … Will Be Our Stroke Of High Noon
I Stand-Steady … I Will Not Swoon …
          … This Is Your Once In A Blue Moon ! …


… and Outlaw ! … I’m Calling You Out !
Outlaw ! … Come Out, Of Your Hide-Out !
      Outlaw ! … There Is No Doubt …
            … You’re My Outlaw …

       Outlaw ! … I’m Bringing You In !
  … You’ll Never Ride The Range Again
        Outlaw ! … ‘Cause Only Then …
       … You’ll Be My Outlaw … Outlaw !

Details | Cowboy | |

the fishing hole.

Just off the san pedro river, 
where the catfish only hit on liver.
Lies a stock pond full of fish,
where some come to make a wish.

it takes about an hour to drive,
you'll soon find out only the strong survive.
Now make a left at the tree,
and the fun will start, you'll see.

dont forget to lock the gate,
dont worry about the bait.
now cross the field,
and try not to get killed.

stear clear of the log,
its the home of the barking dog.
stay low and dont make a sound,
for the owner may be lurking around.

just when you think your here,
watch out for the proud cut steer.
not much further now,
and I was just kidding about the cow.

You got this far, you've done well,
i know you think this is hell.
one more obstacle you must pass,
watch out for snakes in the grass.

if your will to take this mission,
dont ever ask the owners permission.
is it free? I think not,
and dont worry if you hear a shot.

always enter from the rear,
dont forget to bring some beer.
so grab your truck and your pole,
and we'll see you at the fishin' hole.

Details | Cowboy | |

' The Cowboy And Clouds ... ' (Cowboy Poem # 13)

The Cowboy In The Storm-Cloud
Thunder, Is His Horse
Rearing-Up and Neighing Loud
Aimed Lightning Crack, With Force

Cowboy In A Sun-Cloud
Chase Bad-Guys Away
Pearl-Handled, 6-Shooter, Pow, Pow, Powed !
 and Light Posse, Saved The Day

A Cowboy On A Star-Cloud
The Marshal Of A Moon
Galaxy-Badge-Vowed, to Cosmic-Crowd
 Uphold Law, Light-Years-Away at High Noon !

Details | Cowboy | |

The Cowpokes Song

There's moonlight on the prairie 
With the campfire cracking
He sings his cowpokes song

He dreams of the day 
Of catching the bouquet
The time and pleasure
Watching sons and daughters grow

Rocking on a wooden horse
Watching  the flowers sow
Now he eats the dust of another days labor

Only wishing 
For a drop of water to quench his thirst
Umable to sing
A cowpokes song

Details | Cowboy | |

As the cowboy's ride...

As the cowboy rides...
The sun at his side...
The scarf given too...
Him by a girl he knew...
As the cowboy rides...
What warms his inside...
The girl he's left to do...
The range under the stars...
As the cowboy rides...
What brother's do...
Lead and drive...
The great herds outside...
As the cowboy rides...

Details | ABC | |

A trip to rotgut

A trip to rotgut
I rode my horse in to a town called Rotgut
As I rode up the main street I looked at the old saloon.
The doors was closed to traffic for some odd reason it wasn't noon.
I notice at the front of the sheriff's office a hangman's plank.
For today, they were hanging billy boy Taylor for killing the bar tender
 after the poker game .
 Little jill was his bill for the night. But was not going to be.
Rotgut was a mean town hanging was a weekly thing. But today there would be 
For my guns would blaze to save a man in rotgut.

Details | Free verse | |

The Rot Gut Incident

        The Rot Gut Incident

Tumbleweeds blew into Town
Rolling two bearded cowpokes with them
Looking for some action and the sheriff
The Bloody Mary is the only saloon in Rot Gut
I reckon this is a proper place for the ornery  
For a couple of horny no good clowns  
They didn't come to sing a song or read the bible
Revenge was on their mind 
Along with other assorted kinds of crime
They wanted ugly Molly for some nasty sport
And whiskey to wet their whistle
After a spell the drunken foe came down
From playing with their whore
Staggered on the stairs for lack of balance
Demanded me, Sheriff John, served up for their amusement 
I killed their brother Bob last year in this here very bar
For starting troubles with the patrons
And stealing from the tip jar
I happened to be there with hat in hand
When they called me out 
And made me take a stand
Then drew their guns to shoot me down
If they hadn't been such drunken boozers
Slower than molasses  
I’d be telling a different kind of tale about these losers 
And they wouldn't be planted six feet under ground
In the cemetery just outside of town
Used as fertilizer for the flowers
In Rot Gut that’s just how things go down

                               7/13/14 A Town Called “Rot Gut” contest

Details | Cowboy | |

' The Cowboy and The Rainbow ... ' (Cowboy Poem # 3)

A Cowboy, Neath A Rainbow
Rode The Range, Far and Free
Holding Lightning Reins, and A Lasso
Strung Around His Untamed Dreams

Riding On His Horse, named Bullseye-Shoot
A Big, Bay Thoroughbred
Galloped Long, Nudged by The Cowboy’s Boots
To Race, As Dark Clouds Fled …

… Away, As Each Hoof Struck The Ground
Sounding, Just Like Thunder !
The Cowboy and Horse, Were Rainbow-Bound
Both, A Romantic, Climatic-Color Wonder !

Flashing Across The Range
On A Silver Saddle and Same Kind of Spurs
The Cowboy’s Hat and Horse’s Tail and Mane
And Sunset … All Became A Rainbow-Blur …

As The Cowboy, Lassoed The Wind
So Fast, They Did Go !
So Fast, His Lariat Did Spin …
I Think He Caught His Rainbow…

… A Cowboy Neath A Rainbow
Rode The Range, Far and Free
Holding Lightning Reins and A Lasso
Strung Around His Untamed Dreams …

          For:  John  Moses Freeman,
You Are Of The Gallant, Galloping Breed

From:  Country-Gal, Poet-Pal

Details | I do not know? | |


So strong and self assured
He rides alone always wanting more
Never satisfied with what's between those fences
His spirit will wake up your wildest senses

By the cross and thorns that is emblazoned on his arm
His substance runs deeper than his cowboy charm
A tame Christian man with a spirit wild
A man of God, he is your child

His reckless nature will never subside
Yet humble he still has his foolish pride
His heart is bigger than the tallest mountain high
And you feel weak when you look into his eyes

His hands so rough yet so soft to touch
For him no ride is ever too much
He welcomes the mystery that comes in the night
A lover at heart born ready to fight

The complexity of this cowboy man
Every woman dreams with him she would stand
Alone, looking at the midnight moon
In her dreams, she whispers...sometime soon

Details | Cowboy | |

Brahma Ballet

To a Bullfighter & a Brahma
All the arena is a stage
Each tap & twist leaves them surprised
As the crowd sits mesmerized

In baggy, tattered pants & paint
With athletic grace to the left he’ll feint
Taking the lead in a dangerous dance
Knowing he’s a cowboy’s only chance

This Brahma ballet is danced every night
Amidst the dust, the noise & the arena lights
He’ll keep on dancing this Brahma ballet
It will be his calling until his dying day

Details | Cowboy | |

Dear Charlie

I have thought of you often, found some paper tucked away,
I’m feeling sentimental and have some time today,
So with pen in hand I thought I would write a line or two,
Though I don’t know where your at or if this letter will get through.

Well the wire is now strung and the cowboys are fenced in,
The Indians that rode beside you will never be again. 
The long horns their now mulies a horn not a one,
I guess the wild west days have come and gone.

But Charlie I think you know there is a die hard breed.
There are still some out there that live the cowboy creed.
I know it’s not exactly the same as when you rode so bold,
But Charlie I wanted you to know that not all the saddles are sold.
For they wake each morning to the rising sun,
And know at the end of each day their work is still not done.
And they will gather around a fire to hear a yearn or two,
To see who tells the better tale of the things that they do.
And some paint a might good picture too, I have seen them at their best.
I guess there’s still a little wild out here in the west.

We think of you often and dream of a time 
When the range was open and the land was in its prime. 
When long horns ran high ridges and tested cowboy wit,
And even the best of the ponies would still challenge the bit.
So I thought I would write to let you know 
that you are thought of out here in what we do and where we go. 
And there still is hardcore buckaroos who still challenge change,
And they fight for the freedom to ride the range.

Well the fire has burned to embers and the crew is coming in
The quiet moment that I had, is now brought to an end,
So I will stoke the fire, put the coffee on and say goodbye for now,
Hoping you might get this letter some how.
Just remember your not for gotten Charlie and you will live on
And the cowboys and buckaroos are not completely gone.
And when I have more quiet time and paper that I might find,
I promise to write again, rest in peace my dear old friend.

Details | Cowboy | |

A cowboy's Revenge

Last winter he wandered away to the west
wearing a black hat ,a suit and a vest,
he practiced his shooting till he had it honed
he put a hair trigger on all that he owned.

He had to find Jagger ,a wolf of a man,
to bring him back down he would tackle his clan
A rough pack of owlhoots who hid out in caves,
up in the Sierras where only God saves.

He followed the trail of pillage and pain,
till he came in sight of the cave in the rain.
The rustlers were loaded with liquor and guns
fighting and laughing and having some fun.

He went in there blasting his pistols on fire,
he killed every man with a vengeance most dire,
The only one left when the smoke cleared away,
was Jagger who snarled"who are you anyway?"

The cowboy in black tipped his hat with a smile
It's your own son he said....
Now you're going to trial.
You left us to die on the trail in the past,
but somehow I lived and I swore to the last,
I'd find you and bring you back home to pay
for killing my Ma and now this is the day!

Details | Cowboy | |

Where am I ?

I see buzzards circling up high...
The sun so hot we could all die.

Nites are long for a guy.
The stars seem brighter in this sky.

Lizards run to and fro,
but there is no where to go !

I look in the cattles' eyes...
and hear a lonesome coyote cry.

A road runner darts across the sand...
So many rocks a man can't stand !

The beans and bread are getting old...
Even the nites are getting cold.

                                                            By Perri R. Voge

Details | Cowboy | |

Mustang Band

Up in the pinion covered highlands,
I came upon a wild horse band. 
I counted six rangy horses, grazing there,
including the Stallion and the lead mare.

It was truly a range cowboy's delight.
there were four bays, a roan and one mostly white.
The  muscled stallion stood watchful up on a rise,
and followed my every move with his eyes.

Then the stallion somehow signaled the lead mare,
in a language only wild horses can share.
She led her charges up a winding trail,
and her movement broke my hypnotic spell.

I admired their surefootedness and their survival skills,
as they quickly ascended the rocky hills.
The Stallion was last, bringing up the rear,
It was self preservation, not nervous fear.

it was awe inspiring as I watched them flee,
but a melancholy wistfulness came over me.
The Mustang, like the cowboy,symbol of the west,
drifted into the sunset, and went over the crest.

Details | Cowboy | |

Buffalo Dance

Rough, Untamed 
Rush the draw 
Primal energy 
Passionate, Raw 
	Painted face 
	Feathered lance 
	So begins 
	The Buffalo Dance 
Race the Thunder 
Over the hill 
Take the world 
By sheer will 
	Free and Wild 
	Without care 
	Fearless screams 
	Split the air 
Call it Destiny 
Call it Chance 
Drums beat out 
The Buffalo Dance 
	Rise and Fall 
	The Liar’s Moon 
	Death and Existence 
	Come too soon 
Earth is made  
Of Give and Take 
Past and Future 
Are at stake 
	Lightning strikes 
	Evil askance 
	Spirits of Fire 
	Join the Buffalo Dance 
Caution tossed  
To the Wind 
Now is the place 
To begin 
	Turn the herd 
	Lead the pack 
	Valiant hearts 
	Blaze new tracks 
Dreams are real 
This is no trance 
Life lived Full 
Is the Buffalo Dance

Details | Cowboy | |

An Ode to a New Year

It was New Year Eve night,

and although kids were up
the only sound to be made was the drinking of cups.

They were filled with the hopes 
that fireworks might start,
so they could see that big beautiful spark.

All through the night they sat just to watch
and the fireworks would start with a blotch.

After the fireworks were done
the kids ran on home,
to their beds where they slept cozily inside their dome.

By the time it was midnight the kids were all sleeping
only to miss the big ball that was beeping.

The ball hit the top of that very long pole
and the parents ran outside to go hit a bowl.

So as they years went on,
all those children who used to yawn
were all staying up to watch,
that big huge firework blotch.

Details | Cowboy | |

season is over.

after playing ball the contestants make there way to the draw wall.
Felling sore from the ride before. no one knows whats in store.
Justin took quite the fall, carson gets his horse out of her stall.
they check in with the doc. and he suggests they stretch and go for a walk.

as kevin rolls in, no one knows where hes been
Gene is having a really great year, as he celeabrates with yet another beer
wes made the top five, hes starting to feel the vibe.
coch kelly, always clean and proper, was once quite the show stopper

the team sits around the table for lunch, as the pep tlak goes out to the bunch
tonight is the last of the season, as kevin pops a choclate reisen.
some will move on, some will stay, its not the ride its livin for the day
Rodeo is not about being the best, its about your lifes quest

two hours before the show and just going with the flow
wes and carson play with there ropes, as kevin looks for the saddle soap
gene checks his cinch, as justin pulls some snuff and takes a pinch.
kelly is busy shaking hands, as people start to fill the stands.

grand entry rolls in and the energy is felt throughout the pen
the anthem is played and the prayer is sent, who will make the rent
the hosres are loaded and ready to go, with the intry of funny man joe
grand entry has left and the cowboy is set, with the swing from the gate there off 
like a jet.

Dreams are made and dreams will fade with every entry fee paid.
gene gets set his eyes are cold and hes destined to have a buckle full of gold
carson wrestles his steer and blows a knee, the crowd rises to see
justin slides up on his rope and feels just right, for hell make the ride of his life 

The show is over and the stock is fed we are thankfull noone is dead
reality is set and buckles are handed out, for some this is what their life is about
for some college rodeo has come to an end, but there is an open rodeo around 
the bend.
sad but true this season is over, but not to worry, its just another beginning for 

Details | Cowboy | |

Top Secret From The Poetrysoup Undercover Agent: Re, Aliens

Keep this under your hat, guys....I'm just back from an undercover investigation of 
what turned out to be a real hidden nest of Alien invaders....they foolishly made 
serious strategic mistakes, which, of course, your favorite spy here, caught on to 
immediately.  Quick recap.....remember, this is on the Q.T.!
  I penetrated an alien cell in the Vassar Brothers Medical Center in upstate New 
York.  I'll explain how.....shhhhhh!!!!!.....I was admitted under the pretext of 1)being 
dead 2)mentally unbalanced!  Imagine that!!
   First thing I noticed is some of the alien technology thay failed to mask 
adequately....they were all walking around talking with their shirt pockets...which 
somehow seemed to, that's just a plum give-away!!!!  Next, I 
noticed a plastic container hanging on the wall, marked, foolishly, I'd 
think...."Impervious Gowns"....yeah, right, like such a thing exists!  Come on, 
where'd ya get it, from Superman?  There were smaller clues too; like what 
earthling would have a bright red food blender/mixer hanging on the wall?  Come 
on. Martians, you can do better than that!!!!   But the clincher, the absolute proof, 
was when I finally peeked out the door....the whole buiding was totally round!!!  I 
was actually IN a flying saucer!!!!   Pretty cool, huh?  And the stuff they labeled as 
food was, certainly not of this earth....they even had something they 
euphemistically labelled a "Cheeseburger"?  It was obviously an alien child's 
plastic toy, or perhaps, a concealable obviously would be fatal is one 
were struck with such a thing..... and I'll report on my O.H.S.A. investigation as 
well, next week.   And I escaped, undetected!!!  Pretty classy, right?  Okay- enough 
for now.....remember.....this is not to be discussed, officially, it did NOT happen, 
and my alias, (agent) Benjamin (call me Ben) is now 
concluded....regards, Ben Dover!

Details | Cowboy | |

A Poet

I wonder to lat you know
Time for you my notes you are much poetic
To Us It's foreal our contest has no end
When five Stars are down and loney no one
Seems there we don't even have to think
A word why you are them goodlight In Night
Came apond I justed said badlight brings swet
Naturely a smile to my handsome Face look I want to say
I new and thank Life everyway sending such
Special poet Into my World this Day how I pray
Alot planed on Earth I wisemine this walk that
A poet can last with talent and strength a poet

Details | Cowboy | |

All Alone

Walking up a sandy draw-
Out in the desert land...
An oddity is what I saw,
Have buried in the sand.

“Saddlebags!” is what I thought,
“Dried up, and nearly gone.”
I wondered how they came to be,
Here in the sage and stone.

I dug them up, but underneath,
I caught a glimpse of bone.
And realized that it was, here,
Some traveler died alone.

Rotted cloth, a rusted gun,
Among the grim remains.	
“He almost made it,” mocked the the wind,
“His payback for his pains.”

I peeled apart the rotten bags,
And in my search I found-
A journal wrapped in oilcloth,
And it was leather bound.
I opened it, began to turn,
The pages I did bend-
“Where to start?” I asked myself,
Then started toward the end.

“Phoenix, May, of eighty-one-
Charley Wade, and me-
And when we pick the Pima up,
Our total will be three.”

He wrote about the journey,
Southeast, toward Mexico...
He spoke of virgin silver...
Of which, the three did know.

Apaches did for Charley-
Not far from Kitchen’s Well.
Buried near a watershed,
They left him where he fell...

The Pima died of snakebite,
The man was left alone...
Yet still the silver beckoned,
The fortune lured him on.

“I broke my leg at sundown-
And now my horse has run.
If Apaches do not get me first,
I just might eat my gun!

“Thirsty!” was what he wrote next-
“Ah, God, the sun is hot!
And I keep seeing water-
In places that it’s not!

Buzzards keep a circling-
I guess my race is run...
A shame a Tennessean.
Has to die here ‘neath this sun!”

I left him as I found him,
Half buried by the sand-
And realized that men like him,
Had founded our great land.

The guts to saddle up and go,
Where no one else has gone,
And fortitude, if need be,
To die there all alone.