eyes dart with red
black, white and sepia hue
the horse slows behind
selfish cotton hide
lust, under the pale moonlight
Hearts not meant to be
A mountain covered with dust
Orion's chap- stick
Temptations broken wall
Cowboy makes his mark
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
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.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Cowboys on a cattle drive
whiskey, sun and song.
Days are hard,
nights are cards,
the rivers run so strong.
dark horse fail,
they say dead men
tell no tales.
and hidden talent
does not count.
Life’s a game,
you raise or fold -
some get gravel,
some get gold…
Copyright © 2013
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.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Cowboys in the Badlands
by Genevieve Stevens
They swallowed hard and filled their canteens,
These two rugged cowboys were tough and lean-
“South Dakota Badlands,” neither had seen,
One of them was thirty, the other nineteen-
“Partner,” the younger one said,
“Don’t know if we should’ve fled-“
The other stared, then shook his head,
Saying, “It was either him or us dead!”
The older one, his chaps he unfurled,
His chew on the ground he spat and hurled-
“An old Indian belief,” he said with lips curled,
“There is no death, only a change of worlds,”
No one knows if they made it across,
If they found refuge or if they got lost-
Or with their lives, paid the ultimate costs,
All because they had shot their range boss-
Cowboys at home spun their tale that night,
while eating ‘round the campfire light-
‘bout two heroes who weren’t afraid to fight,
and took out the boss who did none of them right-