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Cowboy Christmas Poems | Cowboy Poems About Christmas

These Cowboy Christmas poems are examples of Cowboy poems about Christmas. These are the best examples of Cowboy Christmas poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Cowboy | |

A Lonely Christmas

I walked up to the bunkhouse, beneath a cloudless sky,
searching to find the Christmas star, still shining there on high.
The bunkhouse was warm but lonesome with no other cowboys there.
They had all gone home for Christmas. I pretended not to care.

Christmas carols on the radio brought back thoughts of the star
that had shown down on those pastures in that Eastern land so far.
Taking off my vest and Sunday shirt, I threw them on the trunk.
I stripped down to my underwear and crawled into my bunk.

My day had started early. I had worked hard with the crew, 
so they could start their Christmas fun, when all the chores were through.
With no wife nor kids to need me, I had told the rest I'd stay
and watch out for the cattle.  They could have their Christmas Day.

The warm room made me sleepy and I started into doze.
Right there before my astounded eyes, the Christmas Star arose. 
I was a lonely shepherd in that land so far away,
who had been left to guard the sheep until the break of day.

I heard the angels singing and saw the moving star.
I marveled at the beauty and glory from afar.
The bright star beckoned to me and angels led the way
to where the future king of all lay in a mound of hay.

I wanted so to follow them but I had pledged my word.
I had to turn  a deaf ear to the messages I heard.
I knew my solemn duty lay in guarding helpless sheep.
I prayed the Lord's forgiveness but the vigil I must keep.

The star reflected in the eyes of creatures all around,
waiting for the lonely stray or any sheep they found.
I could not shirk my duty to seek Him out that night, 
but I knew I never would forget that glorious, wondrous sight.

I had that dream some years ago, but should that star reappear,
I've hung my rope and saddle up.  I can follow with no fear.

Posted: 12/1/14  For "One of your best" contest


Details | Cowboy | |

Christmas Toy

I'm just an old cowboy Christmas toy
One that's not feeling all that fine
That's because all I want for Christmas is to be a kids toy
One that will always be mine

I'm just an old cowboy Christmas toy
To all you grandfolks I do plead
Stright from this old cowboy's heart
Please find a lonesome kid for me

I'm just an old cowboy Christmas toy
One that's always been left behind
'N let me tell ya, at Christmas time, that don't feel very fine
All it does is to make want to cry

I'm just an old cowboy Christmas toy

HAPPY CHRISTMAS
TRULY BillyWild
p o 8 c o w b o y @ a o l . c o m


Details | Cowboy | |

A Cowboy Christmas

On a cowboy Christmas in the west.
Another cowboy Christmas song and dance.
Driving our herd.Drinking our ale.
As we make our way.Along the trail.

Ranch lights glistening.
Children listening.
To hear; Santa's sleigh bells in the snow.

On a cowboy Christmas in the west.
I think this Christmas.We'll be blessed.
We'll drive our cattle.Pull off that saddle.
Then we'll get ourselves some rest.

Ranch lights glistening.
Children listening.
To hear; Santa's sleigh bells in the snow.

On a cowboy Christmas in the west.
Our cowboy Christmas is the best.
Firewood burning.Charcoal churning..
Santa Claus smiling with the rest.

Ranch lights glistening.
Children listening.
To hear; Santa's sleigh bells in the snow..

Cowboy Christmas Song-Poem By Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 2005,2014..ALL rights reserved..


Details | Cowboy | |

Don't Ever Sell Your Saddle

It’s been ‘bout thirty years now, to this Christmas day
And I can still hear those wise words that Dad did say:
“Don’t ever sell your saddle, don’t quit balin’ hay—
When ya give your word, keep it—it’s a real man’s way.”

I wish that I could swear I’ve lived up to his words,
But like the truth sometimes, they’ve flown off with the birds.
It’s not to say I’ve tired, and mostly I’ve been true—
But if I could do things over, there’s some I’d undo.

Well, I’m still balin’ hay and my word I always keep,
I’ve got a good woman and I sing the kids to sleep.
We keep the ranch a goin’ and we’re doin’ just fine,
But I regret sellin’ Dad’s saddle back in ninety-nine.

Times were tough and we scraped every cent that year—
At a Christmas eve auction sold some cows, a steer—
Then it came down to Dad’s saddle and some ol’ tack—
‘Course that saddle brought the most cash and that’s a fact.

Couldn’t figure out who bought it—never seen ‘em before—
When he bought that saddle, he was quick out the door.
One year later, there came a knock on Christmas day—
There stood the stranger with Dad’s saddle and he did say:

“Fixed it up and brought it back—this is where it should be—
Your Dad, me and Zack, used to cowboy and they told me
A man shouldn’t sell his saddle, so here it is again—
Think of it as a gift from someone who was a friend.”

(continued)


Details | Cowboy | |

Blue Moon Christmas (continued)

But she would not even read it – she knew what lay within—
A red rage toward her country now the fire that was her friend.
Yet just a few days later on a now black Christmas Eve—
Another knock was heard from a cowboy come home on leave.

And Jim Blue Moon stood on the porch with presents in one arm,
A proof against dark forces wishing all of us great harm. 
He said like Twain, news of his death was exaggerated—
And with smiles his wife helped him in, and they celebrated.

Yet in the haze of happiness and all her loving care,
Only now did Liz realize Blue’s left arm was not there.
But snatching life from death’s dark rider is a precious thing,
And nothing could dispel the joy their reunion would bring.  

Then came the new Christmas day, which now seemed so clear and bright—
Yet Blue held back - flexed his cold metal arm in morning light.
“I wonder if it was worth it?” Blue mumbled at the sight—
But Liz nodded and said: “Yes, you did the thing that was right.”  

Then they slowly opened presents - three united again—
Later dad and mom came over, and each rodeo friend.
“PBR’s done,” dad whispered in a voice like from the grave—
“Heck no!” Blue then replied, “I just lost the arm that I wave!” 

Sure enough, with prosthetic arm, Blue rode the bulls once more—
Till he volunteered to go back to that faraway shore.
Alone, Jim’s wife held their child and the inner one so new—
As a full, pale Christmas moon rose and slowly turned to blue. 




Details | Cowboy | |

Don't Ever Sell Your Saddle

(continued)

It had been over ten years since Dad passed away—
Stood lookin’ at the stranger, didn’t know what to say.
Dad never told us much ‘bout his life out on the range,
But he did mention his best pard, a man called Bob Strange.

We thanked Bob and asked him to join our Christmas feast,
He said no need for thanks, that this was just the least
He could do to help out the boy of his ol’ pal
And that he had to get back to the North Corral.

I was awful glad to see my Dad’s saddle back,
When a few weeks later I came across ol’ Zack.
Out of the blue I asked if he heard of Bob Strange—
He nodded and said yes, then his smile began to change.
He wondered why I asked ‘bout someone I never met—
I told him ‘bout Dad’s saddle and he began to fret.
“Ya understand,” Zack said, “Bob’s been dead twenty year.”
That’s when I turned grim and my smile did disappear.

“But I just talked to him,” I said, “back on Christmas day!”
“You’re wrong,” Zack said, “but I ‘member what he used to say:
Don’t ever sell your saddle, don’t quit balin’ hay—
When ya give your word, keep it—it’s a real man’s way!” 


Details | Cowboy | |

Face In the Snow

Sly had him no love for Christmas,
It was just another day—
When the devout celebrated
And weak-willed cowpokes did pray.

Old Sly, he weren’t all that bad—
No, by gosh, he sure was not—
He never did shoot him a man
That he didn’t think need shot. 

Sly Stern was just an old drover
Who outlived his friends and time—
That was headed nowhere that day
Without a care or a dime.

So it was Christmas that morning
As he crossed the Mummy Range—
Heading higher and still higher,
When he felt a little strange.

He’d crossed these old mountains before,
But never on Christmas day—
Yet now he felt a bit confused
And he couldn’t find his way.

The wind and the cold grew fiercer—
Snow hit his face with hard slaps,
Sly knew he needed some shelter
As one hand froze to his chaps.

But all he could find was a ledge,
A wind break with icy sage.
He unsaddled his horse gently—
For the first time felt his age.

Quickly, Sly gathered up damp wood—
Built a fire to heat his soul—
Christ seemed nothing in a blizzard
As the snow soon took its toll.

Hours passed and so did the fire
As white snow whirled and then screamed—
For a moment he saw a face
Or so that old drover dreamed.

The blizzard grew stronger that day,
The worst in thirty odd years—
Covering the whole Mummy Range:
A Christmas with joy and tears.

With numb hands and ice-cased whiskers,
Sly took bullets from his belt,
Gently arranged them in the snow
To spell out just how he felt.

For in those final dear moments,
One face appeared in the snow—
The face of the Lord of this earth,
A face that he would now know.

Two months later his friend found it,
Next to his rock-frozen hoss—
The old drover’s bullets laid out
In the rough shape of the cross.

Though his saddle and gun remained,
There was no trace of old Sly—
It was as if he’d been taken
Away, far up, in the sky.