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Cowboy Faith Poems | Cowboy Poems About Faith

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

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Details | Cowboy | |

Intelligent Design

You think you’re alone out on the range
Sittin’ silent under starry sky,
Just a marvelin’ at the universe
And wonderin’ ‘bout that ol’ question: why?

You shake your head at worlds of worry,
Knowin’ it ain’t often that you’ll find,
All the answers to your queries
Beneath the clear black sky and pine.

You wonder if we rose up from mud
And walked straight and tall upon this earth—
Or was it all created in a moment—
A conception that gave us true birth.

Are we all no more than those monkeys
Evolvin’ slowly down life’s long line?
Or is there more to earth and heaven
Touched by something truly sublime?

We keep on punchin’ clocks and cattle
And tryin’ to get through each new morn—
But is there more to life than dyin’
And will we somehow be reborn?

All the cattle know my hard proddin’
As I lead them along time’s sad way—
We live for but a flashin’ moment,
As we watch life go by in one short day. 

So make the best of trails you ride, cowboy—
Each tomorrow is both yours and mine—
And gaze long at stars in that vast sky
Placed there by intelligent design.


Details | Cowboy | |

Chance Encounter

   A thousand times I have heard, 
“There but for the Grace of God...” 
but until today that phrase, 
struck me as somewhat odd. 
 
   The old Cowboy who staggered by, 
was three sheets to the wind. 
but he swept off his hat before me, 
and at the waist did bend. 
 
   “Fair Lady, how goes your day?”, 
he asked as he deeply bowed, 
his face was flush, but his manner gentile, 
and he spoke clearly, though not loud. 
 
   The politeness of his question, 
had completely caught me off guard. 
I looked into his wind-burned face, 
and saw a look that was not hard. 
 
   “My day goes well, and thank you sir.” 
was my own courteous reply. 
As I gave a small curtsy and a smile, 
I saw a twinkle in his eye. 
 
   “Oh surely, Lovely Lady, 
you have truly made my day.” 
He put on his hat, caught his bearings, 
and sauntered on his way. 
 
   No one else along the street, 
looked directly at him or spoke. 
Some looked away, while others laughed, 
and and made him the point of their joke. 

   I alone had been blessed, 
only I knew what lay inside, 
for it had been revealed to me, 
what rumpled clothes and liquor hide. 
 
   I had seen a gentleman, 
a Cowboy tried and true, 
with manners most becoming, 
a Real Man, through and through. 
 
   I was allowed to look past the fact, 
that he was poorly dressed and shod, 
I had seen the inside of a Heart, 
and the Grace placed there by God.


Details | Cowboy | |

The Farmer and The Cowboy / Deuteronomy 11:13

The Farmer woke, 
Before break of day, 
And for a little rain did pray. 
Then hitched his team, 
And plowed the land, 
Given him by the Master’s hand. 
 
The Cowboy awoke, 
And a prayer he sighed, 
“Please give us rain, for the prairie is dry.” 
Then in the heat, 
He did rope and brand, 
The cattle given him by the Master’s hand. 
 
At night, before sleep, 
The Farmer read, 
The words from the Bible that God had said, 
“If you’ll keep my Commandments, 
In it’s season I’ll make it rain, 
And you shall eat, 
And your land shall fill with grain.” 
 
The Cowboy fell asleep remembering, 
A verse his Ma had read, 
A promise God made and the words he said, 
“Love and serve the Lord God, 
And it shall come to pass, 
That I shall make it rain, 
And for the cattle, there shall be grass.” 
 
So each resolved, in his own way, 
To be a better man, 
And follow closely the Commandments, 
And there-fore save the land. 
 
And though they never met, 
They prayed for the same thing, 
And watched the sky for the clouds, 
And the rain that they would bring. 
 
And though it was long in coming, 
The drops fell upon the land, 
And revived and refreshed these special places, 
Given by the Master’s hand. 
 
The Farmer and the Cowboy, 
Each prayed for the land of which they were fond, 
And through their belief, they saved the Earth, 
Through the Lord’s Common Bond.


Details | Cowboy | |

Chirpin Tom

Chirpin Tom was quite a feller
He was always straight and true
He could sing a song and make the cowboys moo.
No, he wasn't much for fightin'
And his gun was seized with rust
But when crossed there had been bodies in the dust.

No, old Chirpin wasn't perfect
But he'd sing the cows to sleep
He could sing so good the flies would up and weep.
Chirpin's horse was Double Thunder
He was truly quite a ride
He would even stand beside a post untied.

So when Tom had finished singin'
He would mount and ride away
Down the trail until he found a place to stay;
Then he'd do some cowboy singin'
And he'd pray a cowboy prayer
And he'd sleep with all the cattle round him there.

Then when Tom would stay no longer
He would turn his horse's tail
And he'd travel down the hot and dusty trail,
Till he found a bunch of cowboys
Cookin' up some cowboy stew
Then he'd say, "Hey boys, how 'bout a song or two?"


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 | |

Chew

I'll cut you into little pieces, 
push you down underground. 
I'll let maggots feast on you, 
just to see broken flesh. 

I'm glad you understand my twisted self, 
and you take part of my daily bread. 
I'm going to hang you from 
the highest star in the heavens, 
burning your laughter from your lungs.

I'd be joyful, emotionless, 
wreckage not even God Himself can undo. 
Underground the maggots chew and chew, 
hey girl there I see you.


Details | Cowboy | |

Confession

My wait for you 
kept me waiting for years
Though Im about to be Hopeless
Still that last Hope is there
And it will remain forever


Details | Cowboy | |

Night Sky

Night sky

I stare at the night stars
and I start a conversation
with the good Lord of ours
about his great creation

Of life I asked him
I said ''With all the beauty
why must we go through all the strife
of this little ol' world.''

''If there is a better way
for a cowboy in the is world
why all this heat
and wind so bitter and cold?''

''If you would answer me
show me where to go
please show me
please let me know.''

He didn't show me
that night
Nor the way I asked did
he show me the light.

But when day broke 
over the Great Divide
I finally saw things
from his side.

He gave us this place 
to grow and prosper and strive
and there is no struggle in life
with him on our side

So I'm gonna be a cowboy
in this lonesome land
and live my life
fallowing God's great plan.


Details | Cowboy | |

God Must Be a Cowboy

He must sit back and just smile at sunsets;
The colors and quiet must give him great joy—
As do the sweet sage and morning violets;
God must be a cowboy.

He breathes life in the wind on the prairie
And sustains the green earth with the soft rain;
And he grows all the fish in the vast sea;
It is an unbroken chain.

Oh, you can hear him creak that old saddle
As he rounds up the skies and the whole earth range;
His eyes are on us and he’s not idle.
The only constant is change.

Yes, He rides beside us in gold grasses
And He watches our bedroll every night;
He helps us over all the high passes
And teaches us to do right.

And meekly we speak of Him by His name
As we take great pains to please and not annoy;
Knowing when we ride off back where we came:
God must be a cowboy.    


Details | Cowboy | |

LISTEN SHHHHHH

IF YOUR VERY VERY QUIET 
AND VERY VERY STILL
YOU CAN HEAR HIM TALKING
AND KNOW THAT HE IS REAL

WHISPERING THROUGH THE TREES
AND THE SONGS OF THE BIRDS
CHIRPING OF THE CRICKETS
MOVEMENT OF THE HERD

THE RUSTLING OF GRASS
SOFTLY PUSHED ASIDE
BY FEET STEPPING QUIETLY
PAUSING WHILE IN STRIDE

A MARE SOFTLY COAXING
A PRECIOUS NEWBORN FOAL
THE CREATION OF LIFE
WARMS YOU TO YOUR SOUL

IF YOU LISTEN YOU CAN HEAR
YOUR HEART SLOWLY BEATING
COUNTING OUT THE SECONDS
OF YOUR SHORT LIFE FLEETING

JUST CLOSE YOUR EYES AND LISTEN
TO ALL THE THINGS YOU MISS
WORRYING ABOUT DAY TO DAY
TOO LONG IS YOUR LIST

LISTEN TO WHAT IS IMPORTANT
LIFE GOES ON ALL AROUND
THINK NOW WHAT YOU’RE HEARING
AND THE TREASURES YOU FOUND

SO IF YOU’RE VERY VERY QUIET 
AND VERY VERY STILL
YOU’LL KNOW WHO IS TALKING
AND KNOW THAT GOD IS REAL






Details | Cowboy | |

A Cowboy Thanksgiving Toast

May you gather kin ‘round campfires
And give thanks to God on high—
May you feast and relish friendships
Before that round-up in the sky.


Details | Cowboy | |

gladiator

our skills..talents..gifts,that we have..
these are our tools..weapons..instruments
and we just want to live..
put into a situation in wich we did not choose our roles..
some of us are the fans and the royalty
they watch people like me do what needs to be done...
people like me..we just want to live
so we use our weapons and do what we have to..
we didnt choose for it to be like this..
we watch the fortunate  crowd the seats of this coliseum called life..
and they watch us jump back and forth through shades of color..
they judge us...
but we just want to live


Details | Cowboy | |

First Morning Cup

In that grey, quiet space between night & dawn
While the coyote sings a good morning song

A cowboy rides up to a spot high on the hill
to reflect on his blessings & the bounty of good will

For a hot cup of coffee & warm meals to eat
For the shade of a broad brim hat & the sturdy boots on his feet

For the comfort in the silence just before the rooster crows
Just why he was chosen to be this lucky, only the Creator knows

For this good horse between his knees, sure & steady at a lope
for those fat & sassy cattle & true aim when he ropes

For all his compadres just now stirring for the day
Each one of them in your likeness, so the preachers say

For living each & every day as Cowboy as he can
For unexpected kindness & the basic goodness of a man

The keening of the hawk draws his gaze up toward the sky
And he says another prayer for those who ride in the By & By

Yes, there are surely enough reasons to grump, cuss or shout
But taking stock of all your blessings is what that first morning cup is all about

So thank you once again sir, for giving us this life
May you ride along beside us, in good times & in strife

Amen


Details | Cowboy | |

A Cowboy's Work

A cowboy’s work is never done, 
Like Sheppard’s among the sheep
No matter what, up with the sun,
Not really much time for sleep
You stay up all night to help out the weak
Even ones that won’t  make it through
Let’s face it, that’s what makes you unique
Without it, you wouldn’t be you
You may not cry when you lose a calf
But it’s not because you don’t care
You hold strong for other’s behalf
And inside you feel only despair
You know deep down you can’t save ‘em all
And it’s not really up to you
It’s never stopped you from hitting a wall
‘Cause that’s what helps pull you through
But instead of giving in you move to another cow
It’s how you know calving season is here
You just step by her side, furrow your brow
‘Cause that’s life out on the frontier
You will always be there for her
That’s what being a cowboy is all about
Stay by her side till her calf is astir
No matter your fears or doubts
And seeing the calves running around
 Was worth your all sleepless nights
You watch the play without making a sound
It’s what helps you keep fighting the good fight


Details | Cowboy | |

life of a rope

the last of your jokes ,a glimmer of hope
a knot with no rope
alone for now or forever it would seem
another dream of someone for whi I've never seen
closer the rope further the dream


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 | Narrative | |

A Blessing In The Heat (Part I)

It was 105 degrees that Texas day, and in the asphalt parking lot where we were performing it seemed like 150. But I was glad to be there. I had been invited to perform at a Cowboy Gathering in Weatherford, Texas and I had come there for one reason only...because Larry McWhorter was supposed to be there performing too. I had his tape at home and I was a huge fan of his work. After my set, I was approached by a lady who introduced herself as Andrea. She told me how much she liked my work and that she wanted me to come sit with her in the audience because her husband wanted to meet me and that he had a surprise for me.

We sat down in front of the stage and they introduced Larry McWhorter. I was thrilled that I was going to get to see him in person. His works stands high among the true greats of Cowboy Poetry and I identify with him because he is the "Real Deal," just like the men I grew up among. As I sat there Larry spoke to the audience. He told them that he had enjoyed my poem "Mustangs." I was thrilled! Larry McWhorter was talking about my work! He went on to say how he had worked in the part of Oklahoma I am from and that he had a particular poem about that area, that he was going to do it now and that he was dedicating it to me, the only Oklahoman performing there. He then recited Johnny Clare.

Of all the poems in the world, this is my number one favorite. I have stood at the grave of Johnny Clare. I have heard the stories about him since I was a teenager and a friend's uncle told us about him. While Larry recited, nothing else existed in this world. There was no background noise from the festival, the temperature didn't matter...all there was in the world were the words he spoke of an Oklahoma Cowboy.


Details | Cowboy | |

A New Year Cowboy Toast

May your cattle drives be short ones,
May worries be small and far—
May you find peace at life’s railhead
And at long last rope your star.  


Details | Cowboy | |

Ghost Town Church In Snow

Guess it was ‘bout mid-December
And a winter storm was howlin’—
Was roundin’ up strays I remember
And my belly start to growlin’.
I come upon an ol’ ghost town
I’d rode through many times now past—
There were some ol’ buildin’s left round—
I reckon most things jest don’t last.
Yet there in whirlin’ snow and haze
Stood the remnants of an ol’ church,
That had once seen much better days—
Its cockeyed cross carved out of birch.
A coat of snow made it all clean,
Made it full of hope for mankind—
The whiteness gave it a new sheen
Now at the end of its long line.
No one remembered the town’s name
Or the people that once lived here—
Its history had been reclaimed
By time and heavy snows each year.
As I straightened up that ol’ cross
And thought of folks singin’ inside—
I remembered all that we’ve lost:
Those that lived and loved and then died.
If there’s a moral to this town
And this snowy church all alone—
It’s be content with what we’ve found
At the place we humbly call home.

  


Details | I do not know? | |

Cowboy

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 | |

Church Going Folk

I'm a religous man, but I don't go to church
I tried a few times,
They said I wasn't welcome in the clothes I wore,
I smelled of horse, my boots tracked mud.
The Good Lord, apparently, likes His church folk clean

I Smiled as sweet as can be, 
And told those folks that was just fine with me.
I rode everyday in the Lords house, 
The wide open range. 
I was welcome there, 
Wether I had showered that day or not.
And everyday, I felt the Lord whisper in my ear, 
Through a soft breeze.
I heard Him answer my prayers,
I saw what they had never seen,
Witnessed the Lord start life, 
Bring it forth,
And usher it back out again. 
I saw the wisdom in living the Lord gives,
and I saw beauty beyond compare.
I rode beside those who judged not,
And judged them not myself.
I told them clean church folk,
I respect the Lords house, 
But I doubted it was He who refused me for want of good clothes,
I saw Him everyday, 
and everyday He welcomed me,
beneath warm sun and endless sky.
But I would ask Him, 
when my time came, 
if His house was as clean as all that.
Perhaps I'd put in a good word for those who'd refused me,
in their ignorance.
The Lords house is everywhere,
I may not be indoors when I pray, 
But that just cuts the confusion, 
With no ceiling to muffle my prayers.

I'm a religous man, 
But no church do I call mine, 
But the Lords wide open spaces,
The beauty he created,
No man made structure cases my prayers, 
and to no man do I bow,
But everyday the Good Lord finds me in awe of his creation,
An appreciation many folks fail to find indoors.


Details | Cowboy | |

Concrete Cowboy

   He was born too late to be, 
What he knows he is in his soul, 
And though he’s quite accomplished, 
Sometimes he doesn’t feel quite whole. 
 
   He’s a lawman of sorts, 
Born out of his time, 
Trying to uphold basic beliefs, 
As an example for others to toe the line. 
 
   And he rides an iron horse, 
And though it’s not a muscled steed, 
It gets him where he’s going, 
Whenever there’s a need. 
 
   They say, sometimes he’s crazy, 
Plumb out of his mind, 
Searching, for something, 
They say he’ll never find. 
 
   He rides the asphalt prairie, 
Through the heat and through the cold, 
Just a Concrete Cowboy, 
In search of Days of Old. 
 
   He believes in rescuing maidens, 
Stuck beside the road, 
And he wouldn’t have it any other way, 
Than to live by a Code... 
 
   “Do what’s right by every man, 
And never compromise, 
Be good to little children, 
“Cause life is a surprise.” 
 
     Stuck between buildings, 
Of metal, brick and glass, 
The only time he sees green pastures, 
Is when he cuts the grass. 
 
   Looking for a way out, 
To a place that’s in his dreams, 
Only other Cowboys, 
Would ever know what he means. 
 
   When he says he’s headed someplace, 
Where he’ll race the open sky, 
Only other Cowboys, 
Understand the reason why... 
 
   Why he rides an Iron Horse,  
For all the world to see, 
It’s his one last chance to go back, 
To a time when he was free. 
 
   Loyal in his heart, 
To those who have gone before, 
He scans the horizon, 
Looking for that open door. 
 
   In the company of Ghost Riders, 
In the roaring of the engine and the wind, 
He searches for his destiny, 
Old lovers and old friends. 
 
   Galloping across the miles,  
One day he’ll reach the open sky, 
Many, will see him pass, 
But only other Cowboys will sigh, 
 
   Because he rides an Iron Horse, 
Through time reflected in the glass, 
Riding towards the future, 
In an effort to reach the past.                                   


Details | Cowboy | |

Cowboy Christmas Toast

May you celebrate the spirit
Of all good things on this earth—
May you ride down all the right trails
And pay honor to Christ’s birth.


Details | Cowboy | |

THE MONEY FOR HER DIAMOND

     In the heat of July, 
While bringing in the hay, 
He gave her a baling wire ring, 
And this is what he had to say... 

     “Someday I’ll put a diamond, 
Here on your hand. 
A diamond pure and perfect, 
As sure as I’m your man. 

     But, you know, a diamond, 
It won’t ever shine, 
As long or as bright, 
As this love of yours and mine.” 

     So they saved for her diamond,  
By putting little bits away, 
Money for the diamond, 
He would buy for her one day. 

     But the money for her diamond, 
Fixed the tractor and bought a plow, 
And in the dead of winter, 
Paid the vet. bill for the cow. 

     The money for her diamond, 
Put the water to the barn, 
And paid the increased taxes, 
The county levied on the farm. 

     The money for her diamond, 
Paid the doctor in town, 
And when their daughters were all grown, 
It bought the wedding gowns. 

      It paid for the new roof, 
When the big wind came through. 
Then it it paid off the mortgage, 
Before it was due. 

     The money for her diamond, 
Was always well spent, 
She never even asked him, 
Just where the money went. 

     The money for her diamond, 
Helped them to survive, 
The money for her diamond, 
Kept their hopes and dreams alive. 

    Today it’s been sixty-three years, 
And the diamond is on her hand. 
But, as usual, in her pocket, 
Lies her original wedding band. 

     A twist of baling wire,  
Bent and covered up in rust, 
A symbol of the greatest of loves, 
His Promise and Her Trust. 


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 | |

The Fourth of July Hat

THE FOURTH OF JULY HAT

We used to celebrate July the Fourth when the kids were young—
Till they grew up and moved away and life became far-flung.

Yes, once we toasted freedom’s day and shot off big fireworks—
Now I sit here in this dark bar surrounded by some jerks.

We used to ride our horses on this Independence Day,
We barbecued and downed a few and for our nation prayed.

Then the show of fountains, Roman candles and Black Cat—
Till judges and town laws ruled: “You aren’t allowed to do that!”

Slowly the country lost its way and now it seems insane—
Shredding our constitution with rights of eminent domain.

Now Addie’s gone and I’m alone to tend to this old spread,
Till slickers come and crowd me off and I’m just left for dead.

Now holidays don’t mean too much and good times just don’t last,
I wonder if folks understand sacrifices of our past?

So on this Fourth I watch fireworks upon a bar room screen,
My wrinkled skin like leather now, but oh, what I have seen…

They’re playing our nation’s anthem and I’m sure liking that,
When some young tough rudely yells: “Cowboy, I can’t see through your hat!”

But I feel a bit stubborn and cling to what I have left
And sit there till he says, “Old man, are you a little deaf?”

Slowly, I take that hat off, and feel for something inside—
Then put on an old folded army cap with deep love and pride. 

Then as the last fireworks fade, and loud rockets burst and whir—
That young man shakes my hand and says, “Happy Fourth of July, sir.” 
  


Details | I do not know? | |

Cowboy

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 | |

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. 


Details | Cowboy | |

The Owl & Me

The Owl & Me

I felt my heart whisper, "Here I belong"
That Camp Verde night when I first heard the song
At first, soft as a breeze, from the distance
As I sat in the circle enjoying the dance
Then louder, more persistent, until I had to go
Whatever it was that was calling, I had to know

Elder eyes watched my leaving, had they heard the sound
Slipping into the shadows, not knowing where I was bound
Further from campfire, still in tune with the drum
I heard the urgent whisper, hurry, now hurry, and come
An unseen hand halted me beneath a juniper tree
It was here in its shadows, I saw what called to me

There in it’s lower branches, staring deep into my soul
Was an Owl with a feather coat of snow, eyes black as coal
She bade me sit and listen, I did so without fear
For as she spoke to me, my path was made clear
I know there are many who are frightened by her song
Who say she is evil, but I know that they are wrong

She soothes my heart when I am feeling lost and all alone
In her steady gaze, I am strengthened, though weary to the bone
I look to her for guidance when all hope seems lost
I tell her all my woes, when I've been battered and tossed
I feel a calmness when I am near her, my mind is free
Our hearts sing the same song, the Owl and me

Catherine Lilbit Devine © September 21, 2005


Details | Cowboy | |

Frank and the Circuit Preacher

The Circuit Preacher came to town, 
and the word of God he preached, 
At the end of his sermon, 
our souls he did beseech. 
 
	We all stood shuffling around, 
	like calves stuck in the mire, 
	We’d only come to see the foreman’s sisters, 
	who were singing in the choir.  
 
What happened next surprised us, 
it was the derndest thing we ever saw, 
There was Frank, on his knees, 
his hands clasped beneath his jaw. 
 
	Now Frank, he was a sinner, 
	of a magnitude most high, 
	It was not beneath his dignity, 
	to cheat or steal or lie. 
 
But there he was, on his knees, 
praying with all his might, 
Begging for forgiveness, 
for he had seen the light. 
 
	I’d like to say Frank truly changed, 
	becoming perfect through and through, 
	But there’s no use in saying so, 
	I’d just be lying to you. 
 
But he was a bit more tolerant, 
and every once in awhile, 
He treated the hands respectful, 
sometimes, he would even smile. 

	Sure, he had his slip-ups, 
	but most of his time was well spent, 
	And when he was bad, he was sorry, 
	the very definition of the word repent. 
 
On the day he passed from this world, 
he went grinning without a sound. 
And no one here has ever forgotten, 
the day the Circuit Preacher came to town.


Details | Cowboy | |

Simple Prayer

A Cowboy one day
rode high on a hill
To ask the Lord,
if it be his will,
To send him 
a helpmate
strong & gentle
pretty as wildflowers
that bloom every spring
yet strong as the hawk
with the wind ‘neath its wing

Now the Lord heard his prayer
and gave it plenty of thought
then searched throughout heaven
‘til he found the angel he sought
Of denim & lace
her wings were made
‘round her all creatures gathered
He called her to the throne
and laid out his plan
that Cowboy would not be alone

Now together they ride 
side by side day & night
Cowboy & his Angel
what a beautiful sight

(c) 2002


Details | Cowboy | |

Ghost Dance

While the Ancestors worshipped 
   they shot them one and all. 
They thought they had stopped the dance 
   as they watched the Old Ones fall. 
 
But what they did not know 
   is that we do not die... 
Their bullets set us free 
   and sent our souls to fly.   
 
High above this shadow plain 
   where the spirit beasts do roam; 
We roost upon their sacred backs, 
    and the Buffalo carry us home. 
 
We dance for our lives 
   for the secrets of the Earth. 
We dance while they kill us 
   and through death find rebirth. 
 
We dance night and day, 
   to the drums thundering low. 
Singing medicine songs 
   to honor the Buffalo. 
 
Though we may not rise today 
   The People will not die; 
As long as we keep dancing, 
   the Ghosts...You...and I. 

We dance for the things for which we yearn; 
Grass covered plains, the Buffalo’s return. 
The fever of freedom forever will burn,  
While we’re dancing with the ghosts. 
 
For there is no time frame on prophesy, 
This is the Vision Great One gave to me, 
The Heart of The People will always be, 
Dancing with the Ghosts...


(Wado Waya Streeby for understanding.)


Details | Cowboy | |

Grass and Water

His name was John Paul Slavens, an old time buckaroo 
when he was young, he’d made a hand, knew just what to do. 
He had a soft hand with horses, he knew the ways of cow 
He treated women like a lady, not like men do now. 

He was good with "youngins" and when the work was done 
he’d tell a story , spin a yarn, have a little fun. 
He was never mean or surly, because he’d come to know 
The good book’s always right, we’ll reap just what we sow. 

JP worked with us kids, he’d smile the times we’d fail 
He’d keep us working and learning, riding the cowboy trail. 
And sometimes during the lessons, one of us kids would slip 
into a place a cow had been and left her little... "chip". 

JP’d laugh when we made a "face" slap his knee a time or two 
He’d say, "It’s only grass and water!" as we tried to wipe off that "goo". 
Well time moved on, his winter came, I watched Old J.P. die 
I know he’s gone to Heaven, riding for the "Boss" in the sky. 

Up there the water’s always good, the grass is stirrup high 
He’s a happy cowhand, riding in the sweet by and by. 
As I’ve traveled down life’s trail, I’ve "slipped" a time or two 
And more than once I’ve found myself, "stepping’ in brown goo". 

I think back to my childhood with Old J.P. showing me the way 
of thinking and working like a cowboy, I can still hear him say; 
"It’s only grass and water!" I realize all ain’t lost, 
I pick up the pieces, try again, disregard the cost. 

The worst probably won’t kill you, tomorrow’s another day, 
just pick yourself up, dust yourself off, try different way. 
I’ve begun to realize what I wish would go to another 
Is just my little trail to ride... It’s all just Grass and Water!


Details | Cowboy | |

White Thanksgiving

We dream of it for Christmas Eve,
The swirling pearls of snowy down--
Its blanket grows and does not leave
And covers homes and barns around.

The horses stay within their stalls,
Thinking cowboys this day won't ride--
Far from the busy shopping malls,
Where folks seem so empty inside.

Yet, still the family gathers
On this rare white Thanksgiving day,
To thank the Lord for what matters--
Share their abundant feast and pray.

Though some are here in memory,
We love and laugh with them in death--
Knowing to cherish things that be
And relish our time with each breath.

So at tables we say prayers
Over food this white Thanksgiving--
As we put away all our cares
And thank God and kin still living. 


Details | Cowboy | |

That Old Heartpine Gate

So cinch tight my shimmering dark sorrel
With fine hand-tooled saddle of silver inlay—
I’ll pull on my calfskin chaparajos
And through that old heartpine gate I’ll ride away.

I’ve been too long on this sagebrush prairie.
Through many a rancho gate welcome and not—
With some I stayed and herded and prospered,
While with some I gave up much more than I got.

But I’ve rode toward that last gate in my life
And next that rosadero I’ll sit for awhile—
Until that bright entryway swings open
And I ride in meek and accepting as a child.

So cinch tight my shimmering dark sorrel
With fine hand-tooled saddle of silver inlay—
I’ll pull on my calfskin chaparajos
And through that old heartpine gate I’ll ride away.


Details | Cowboy | |

Moon Shadow On the Snow

We slowly ride this sacred night,
Look back on home below.
The earth is in a swaddling white—
Moon shadows on the snow.

This chosen time now seems just right
In lone star’s afterglow.
It guides our lives on this birth night
And flickers as we go.
. 
We’ll follow trails on that new day—
All blessings we shall know
Of inward peace and silent sleigh—
Moon shadows on the snow.


Details | Cowboy | |

Echoes of the Canyon

They say that she is crazy 
   talking to the canyon; 
Listening to the voices 
   that echo from the rocks. 
She knows that they are out there, 
   the spirits of the Ancients, 
And the moon, it makes her restless 
   as it lights the path she walks. 
 
The Storykeeper told her 
   the water there flows crimson; 
That the grass for the ponies, 
   is lush and green and tall. 
Among the stalks of sky-blue corn, 
   medicine drums are calling; 
The Old Ones shadow-dancing 
   as the twilight starts to fall. 
 
So she burns a little sage 
   on a fire made of cedar; 
Sending prayers out to them 
   in a shower of sparks and smoke. 
The flames bid her welcome 
   into the Sacred Circle; 
Her flute repeating softly, 
   the promises that he spoke. 
 
For her sacrifice and faith 
   the Old Ones send a message; 
A hawk dips down and beckons 
   to follow ever high. 
The path is steep and rocky, 
   but she just keeps on climbing; 
Waiting for the moment 
   when she’ll be allowed to fly. 

One day, she simply disappeared. 
   I like to think she found it; 
That emerald endless valley 
   where the Spirit Dancers dwell. 
The only question left... 
   do we deserve to go there? 
I guess that’s just a story 
   that only time can tell. 
 
So, will they think I’m crazy 
   talking to the canyon? 
Listening for her voice 
   to echo from the stones... 
Their thoughts do not concern me 
   in my quest for the Great Forever; 
Wandering the Crimson Canyon trails, 
   searching for my home. 
 
*With love to TR...who set my feet back upon the good road.


Details | Cowboy | |

Listen

When the horses talk to me, 
They tell me many things, 
Whats and hows of yesterday, 
Why the nighthawk sings. 

I learn the meaning of the dance. 
Between animals and men, 
They inspire me to take the chance, 
To look back on where I’ve been. 

On this plain where we live, 
In the circle at the center, 
You receive more than you give, 
When privileged to enter. 

So I close my eyes in trust and walk, 
And listen, to the horses talk.


Details | Cowboy | |

Blue Moon Christmas

Jimmie’s dad was bent and wise, a man that life had rode by—
But Jim still recalled his words when he would laugh and half cry:
“Life’s a fragile balance between honor and what’s true—
A rare, livin’ miracle like a winter moon that’s blue.” 

Jimmie started busting sheep when he was only six—
His dad taught him to ride and shoot, and do those fancy tricks.
He grew long and lean on that ranch and helped with the chores—
And rode the broncs and young bulls then, keeping track of his scores.

His name was Jimmie Moon, but his friends just called “Blue”—
‘Cause kids like him were few and far and his heart was strong and true.
He had wisdom beyond his years – he had seen the light—
He never did the easy thing; he did the thing that’s right.

It came as no surprise; he married a girl named Liz
Folks knew was large with child that was another man’s, not his.
But that was fine with Blue and he still followed his star—
Ranching now part-time and riding bulls in the PBR.

“It’s not like the ol’ days,” smiled his dad, not being funny—
“Then bull ridin’ was for buckles – now you’re talkin’ money!”
But just as Jimmie Blue Moon was on the edge of fame—
September 11th happened and stirred within a flame.

Though his family begged him not to sign and go away—
He enlisted in the Army just the very next day.
Sure enough, his service to a cause became a fact
And he was sent far off to war in a place called Iraq.

Then months and years rolled by as Blue only rode iron tanks—
Never forgetting his wife and child, for which he gave thanks.
Then came a Christmas season when Blue’s ranch was deep with snow—
A knock on the door brought news Blue’s wife did not want to know.

(continued)


Details | Cowboy | |

Common Sense, Men and Horses / Short Version

 We perched atop the corral, 
   as he read the men and horses, 
And he told me about common sense 
   and it’s amazing, magical forces. 
 
We watched the men choose their mounts, 
   some were firm, but kind; 
While others used plain brute force, 
   to make their horses mind. 
 
He said,” Dealing with horses and people  
   is a special kind of art. 
If you watch ‘em work, you'll learn 
   what is truly in a man’s heart. 
 
For though it once was common place, 
   common sense ain’t common any more 
And many of the basic rules of life, 
   some folks will choose to ignore. 
 
The truth is just as obvious 
   as these fellows working the pens. 
There will always be Cowboys 
   as long as there are horses and men. 
 
And just as it takes all kinds of horses, 
   from renegades to leaders to make a herd; 
There will also always be outlaws 
   as well as men true to their word. 
 
You see, a man who can’t, 
   will often bully his way through, 
And how a man treats his horse 
   is how he’ll end up treating you. 

The decisions that we make 
  should be rooted in our common sense. 
Like horses, we should use our instincts, 
   or be prepared to accept the consequence." 
 
We watched ‘em work for hours, 
   as I hung on every word he had to say; 
About life, love and horses; 
   how God hears us when we pray. 
 
I simply took it for granted 
   that he would always be, 
Sitting on that fence rail, 
   talking and laughing with me. 
 
Time makes changes as it passes by; 
   I grew up and followed my star. 
But in times of trouble I’d hear his voice, 
   saying “Remember who’s child you are.” 
 
He taught me to read the world 
   though I didn’t know it at the time. 
I learned about strength and self-respect; 
   how to recognize the best in mankind. 
 
Oh, I made mistakes, but have no regrets, 
   for each is valuable in it’s own way. 
Combined with his words and an education, 
   they are a part of who I am today. 
 
So I honor this Cowboy philosopher, 
   who taught me to follow my heart’s voice; 
To see things exactly for what they are 
   and that happiness is a choice. 

And nothing ever really gets me down, 
   because of these things I can be sure; 
That home is where the heart is, 
   and that love will forever endure. 
 
I realize all those things I learned, 
   from books and college courses, 
Will never hold a candle to his lesson, 
   on common sense, and men and horses.


Details | Cowboy | |

Campfire Calm

Whenever I'm troubled by my modern day folly of living by the bill of exchange.
I run to my stacked sandstone campfire with an armful of deadwood arrange.
With a strike of a match and a breath from my bosom the flickering gold dancing flame
lights a fire in my soul as the smoke starts to roll 'round the log that the hot embers claim.

I'm calmed by the light of the campfire, eased by the warmth of its glow
and cozy inside as I sit beside my campfire.

As I yearn for the money and material worth that I've been conditioned to want,
a Spirit within me from long, long ago rejects this unnatural affront.
It guides me to a walk in the wilderness, to look up to the heavenly skies
then sit by my sandstone campfire and listen to the coyotes' cries.

I'm calmed by the light of the campfire, eased by the warmth of its glow
and cozy inside as I sit beside my campfire.

As I question my purpose past misguided deeds,
unwanted weakness, ill-conceived creeds,
Great Spirit returns me to the laws of the Earth,
to faith, cause, and guidance to heavenly worth.
I stand in a forest of pine trees and gaze at the vistas around
with a fresh breath of air I pray and I listen to the crackling campfire sound.

I'm calmed by the light of the campfire, eased by the warmth of its glow
and cozy inside as I sit beside my campfire.


Details | Cowboy | |

Asvnoyi

If I close my eyes, 
  and breathe in very deep, 
I go back to a world, 
  on the edge of sleep. 
In the false light of morning, 
  just this side of dawn, 
A game begins in a place, 
  where man is a pawn. 
 
The Medicine Man stands on a ridge, 
  on a rocky, windy hill, 
And throws out his energy across the plains, 
  giving the Earth his will. 
He speaks of all the winters past, 
  of places far and away, 
Of a need to leave the past behind, 
  yet, a need for the past to stay. 
 
He calls upon the ancients, 
  asks a blessing upon my spirit, 
And shakes his rattle in such a way, 
  that to this day I hear it. 
He looks down upon the buffalo, 
  says, “See your Destiny there, 
For you alone are responsible, 
  for their future and their care.” 
 
I dreamed I danced among them, 
  and the thunder of the Earth was mine, 
That there was no civilization, 
  no fences, no concept of time. 
I had thought him hard and callous, 
  but much to my surprise, 
Tears of joy did glisten,  
  in the furrowed corners of his eyes. 

He said, “ I know you now understand, 
  who you are and what you’ll be, 
You’ve taken on a new spirit,  
  one the buffalo can see. 
A peace, it had descended, 
  the old man stood silent until, 
He spoke the words that changed my life, 
  words of truth that echo still... 
 
“You will begin to fly now, 
  above the rhythm and the sound, 
Your spirit is the Nighthawk, 
  no longer earthly bound.” 
Then like a fog burned away, 
  by the warmth of a rising sun, 
He vanished into the air, 
  but all was not said and done. 
 
Into the sky I flew... 
  a bird of prey upon the wing, 
The thunder of the buffalo, 
  and my cry, together, did sing. 
My search led to thousands of acres, 
  on which the buffalo could run and shout, 
Stampeding in primitive abandon, 
  as they often dream about. 
 
And I?...I fly above them, 
  watching with unbridled glee, 
Sharing in the unleashed passion, 
  one feels when totally free. 
I follow a vision journey, 
  on a higher, centered plain, 
Thankful for this chance, 
  to die, yet live, again.


Details | Cowboy | |

Fond Wishes

 Oh Lord, please take us to places unseen, 
Back to endless skies, and plains emerald green. 
Through the words and songs, of poets and balladeers, 
Give us good strong memories, and only happy tears. 
 
Take us to snow-capped mountains and prairie grasses tall, 
Let us see, just once more, aspens in the fall. 
Open up our hearts, to far off, longed for places, 
And let us ride one last time, across wide open spaces. 
 
Give us one good horse, and one true, loyal friend, 
And someone to remember us, at the very end. 
Never doubt we are grateful, for the future and the past, 
Because we can go there, in these words that will last. 
 
For Cowboys know the scriptures; they live them first hand, 
Breathing many prayers for the preservation of the land. 
Let us hear the music and words, listen to what they say, 
Remind us who we are, and let us remember how to pray


Details | Cowboy | |

A Devotional Toast

May you keep your spurs a jinglin’—
May you cross the flooded ford—
May you ride the range forever
Next the horse that seats our Lord.


Details | Cowboy | |

Toothie's Wild Turkey

It always seemed year after year
When Thanksgivin’ time came near—
That Toothie, our ol’ grouch coosie
Fixed chow that was a doozie.

And every year he just swore
Would be better that before—
‘Course it always was just jerky
And not tasty wild turkey!

This year Toothie was diffident—
Swore it would be different—
Got mouths waterin’ fer drumsticks
And no more of his dumb tricks.

And sure ‘nuff on that turkey day,
It was roastin’ right away—
Though it sure looked long and skinny—
We wouldn’t whine or whinny.

Though it did seem to have long ears,
None of us had any fears—
And we belched as was our habit
Though we knew it was jack rabbit!

That feast turned out to be our best
On a campfire I would guess—
Ol’ Toothie sure enough came through
With his roasted ‘turkey’ stew.

So it would be a year again
Till that coosie was our friend—
When he promised again the bird
And we took him on his word! 



Details | Narrative | |

Teach By Example

He looked so sweet, 
as he stared through the window,
a pair of cowboy boots had caught his eye.
watching, as he looked down at his little feet,
I knew what he was thinking,
Cowboy boots, wow, I wish I had these,
was the expression on his face.
(Sometimes we get so caught up in our own self wants,
we don't take the time, to see the needs of others.
It was cold, and his tennis shoes looked as thought they
had seen too many winters.)
I ask, is Santa going to bring you a pair of cowboy boots 
for Christmas?
He did not answer just looked down at his old worn out shoes,
and I knew he had little hope of this happening.
Inside the store a woman was watching; as she walked
over to the window,  and gently knocked on the glass.
 She Pointing to the boots, his eyes lit up in disbelief, as she took
the boots to the counter.
The clerk come out, and ask the boy to come inside for a 
minute.
I knew in my heart, that this kind lady was about to give this
little boy, one of the most valuable lessons in life.
There are still people left in this world, that see the needs of others,
and I know this will stay with him for the rest of his life.


Details | Cowboy | |

Drums

At the bottom of the canyon, 
Where flows the river Salt, 
On the rocks, by the water, 
Where  drums, time, did halt. 
	Stood the Tsa la gi maiden, 
	In water up to her hips, 
	Drawing strength from it’s coldness, 
	Touching it’s spirit with her lips. 
He had not intended to see her, 
But, he could not look away, 
He watched her drying on the stone, 
Tilting her head back to pray. 
	How one she was, with the earth, 
	Absorbing it’s ultimate power, 
	Hearing the rhythm of the drums, 
	Feeling them, hour, after hour. 
At last, she turned to look at him, 
And into his gaze did smile, 
He knew that she belonged to him, 
If only for a little while. 
	I cannot tell the story, 
	Of why she went away, 
	It was something beyond her control, 
	Until this very day. 
When once again their paths did cross, 
For their dreams had been other lives, 
Their hearts dancing in the Center, 
Where real love always survives. 
	So, once more they stand together, 
	The sound of water, time does halt, 
	Speaking the names that make them live again, 
	While hearing the drums along the Salt... 


Details | Cowboy | |

A Red Navajo Blanket

A red Navajo blanket
Shines in the setting sun—
Marking a cowboy’s final rest
When that long ride is done.

There will be no wood marker
Or stone to note his place—
We’ll just remember laughter
And long recall his face.

“Please boys,” he asked us softly,
“Do one last thing for me
And put that Navajo rug
High where the world will see.

“An old dying Indian
Passed that blanket to me—
After I tried to save him
From sure death meant to be. 

“Oh, it won’t last forever—
Like leaves it will soon fall—
But like a man’s life well-lived,   
Beauty’s what we recall.”

So high upon that green hill
We placed blanket and grave,
Then said what words that we knew
In hopes a soul we’d save.

A red Navajo blanket
Shines in the setting sun—
Marking a cowboy’s final rest
When that long ride is done.
 


Details | Cowboy | |

A Cowboy Remembers 9/11

Two proud peaks rise up from the range,
Like a dream we all have of heaven—
They soar above white clouds and sky—
A remembrance of 9/11. 

New York’s a far piece to ride to,
But folks all know what happened that day—
When those twin towers both came down
And there wasn’t much left then to say.

There’s always some that mean you harm,
Out on the range or down by the creek—
And there’s a time to take a stand
And not to just turn the other cheek.

There are those that only want talk—
And those that say we should cut and run—
But that ain’t my America—
Americans always get things done!

A strong purple haze is rising
From the plains and cities of the earth—
It’s called American spirit—
It now reclaims the rights of our birth.  

Two proud peaks rise up from the range,
Like a dream we all have of heaven—
They soar above white clouds and sky—
A remembrance of 9/11. 


Details | Cowboy | |

Waiting for the Light

     It's quiet as he rises,
Makes his way to the kitchen,
Builds a pot of coffee,
In the dark before the morn.
Stands on the back porch,
Looks upon his Cowboy Kingdom,
And savors the perfect Stillness
As a brand new day is born.

     He moves out to the corral,
To his throne upon the top rail,
Seats himself to where
He can look off towards the east.
He contemplates the North Star,
Circled by the big dipper,
Cowboy clock, keeping track
While all the world's asleep

     He can see the shapes of cattle,
In the tallgrass of the pasture,
A sliver of a moon
Casting shadows on the ground.
Hears the nightbird call,
As the wind begins to stir,
And the soft talking of horses
As they begin to move around.

     He'll watch the stars awhile,
Pick out the constellations,
Wonders what it's like
To ride the Milky Way.
And bear a silent witness,
To this solitary moment,
Say a thankful prayer
As the East begins to gray.

     Streaks of light are moving,
Dancing bright across the sky,
He feels a little sadness
At the dimming of the stars.
There's Something holy in the darkness,
That reveals a sacred promise,
That binds us to the earth,
And reminds us who we are.

     His cup of coffee finished,
He slides down from the top rail,
Feels fortunate and privileged
To be part of the dawn.
He smiles into the fading night
And walks back to the cabin,
Without a doubt he knows
This is just where he belongs.

     It's the best part of the day,
Sitting in the darkness,
Knowing in your heart
That all is right.
The best part of the day,
Sitting in the darkness,
Waiting for the morning
And the light.

Copyright © Debra Coppinger Hill and  G. Casey Allen 


Details | Cowboy | |

A Day

He never thought
A day will come
Over his thirty years service,
He will be insulted
And kicked out
By his junior owner,
Last full week
Weather was freezing all,
But the junior owner
Enjoyed the whole week
With his feather pillows
And a healthy young body,
Delivered his message
A young lad came always
With his new order,
But a poor old life,
Feeds the cattle’s
And removed their mess.
It was a sunny day,
The sheep’s were grazing 
In the field,
He was standing on the rock
Looking into the sky
And speaking with someone,
I never seen you
But you are great.
Nobody had control
This Air is free,
I can breathe freely
Can sing and talk
I always embraced 
When it came to me,


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 | |

Trail's End Toast

May hot coffee be a brewin’
On the campfires of your friends—
May good Mulligan be stewin’
When you reach your last trail’s end.
 


Details | Cowboy | |

Where Have All the Cowboys Gone?

Oh, where have all the cowboys gone
That weren’t afraid to speak their mind?
Oh, where have all the cowboys gone—
Have they rode off with us behind?

We used to know the right from wrong
And not all things were for a buck—
Our boys once grew both tall and strong
And all they needed was some luck.

But things have changed in this dark land
And correctness is now the word—
We’re all afraid to take a stand
And America’s now absurd!

So now we take Christ from Christmas
And are afraid to say His name—
The ACLU now makes a fuss—
And we all have to play the game!

So now we all stick up our hands—
Robbed of what all the brave have died—
And let the bad guys make their plans
As our leaders played tricks and lied.

But our time will come once again
And we’ll ride strong and still be free—
If we call the Almighty, friend,
And open hearts and eyes to see.

Yes, where have all the cowboys gone
That aren’t afraid to speak their mind?
Yes, where have all the cowboys gone?
They have not left us all behind.


Details | Cowboy | |

The Cowboy That Found Life's Creek

He'd searched those plains for many years until he had grown weak,
He had all but given up on ever findin' ol' Life's Creek.
But there it was before him 'twixt the butte they called Tin Cup,
He and his horse needed water but Life's Creek was all dried up.

With cattle herdin' and each man's life, we often do ask why,
When things at last start goin' good, we just grow old and die.
Seems when young, ol' death ain't somethin' that we think about,
Until our life just goes all wrong and we become devout.

We ride 'round final questions and it seems we don't even think--
We say that the only answer is to live life on the brink.
Yet we know the sad alternative of dyin' right in our prime--
There's much we don't accomplish when we go before our time.

Yet now that this agin' cowboy had found that fabled stream,
Had it all been worth the journey for a tumbleweed dream?
And do all of our life's answers simply trick and mock us,
Or is there some higher mountain in which to put our trust?

We just keep tryin' and it seems we always need a friend
To prod us into ridin' down that ol' trail to the end.
We know that we're just small specks in some eternal eye--
Yet we do the best we can, till we just grow old and die.


Details | Cowboy | |

The Last Camp

As that new bunch drifted slowly into Deadwood,
Bill turned round in his saddle to Charley Utter—
Sadly told him something he’d always remember—
That which made the others smirk and weak hearts flutter:

“Charley, I feel this is going to be my last camp,”
Bill then softly said, “and I won’t leave it alive…”
Charley, Calam Jane and all the others just laughed—
But Wild Bill did not smile and he never replied. 

Even to that day, as Bill foretold his own doom
And wrote a letter to the wife he’d know no more: 
“Agnes… if such should be we never meet again…”  
Bill penned, “I will try to swim to the other shore.”

Next day, August second, eighteen seventy six,
Wild Bill Hickok went in that Saloon Number Ten—
And to this day, the rest they say is history—
Now that last Deadwood camp is still recalled by men. 

“Charley, I feel this is going to be my last camp,
And I won’t leave it alive….” Utter heard Bill say—
Or so he, Calam and Agnes long remembered
And his spirit grows all the stronger to this day.