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Cowboy Imagination Poems | Cowboy Poems About Imagination

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

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Details | Quatrain | |


The ranch on which I hang my hat, though short on most the frills,
Is thirteen sections, give or take, of rugged trails an’ hills.
We call it ‘home’, our little world, our very own frontier,
Amongst the cattle, sheep an' goats; the varmints, hogs an' deer.

Today I watched the breakin' dawn an' whiffed the mornin' air,
A time I often set aside for things like thought an' prayer.
A Mockin'bird an' Mornin' Dove, an' other birds at play,
Were there to sing an' set the mood to start another day.

This mornin' saw the strangest thing, like time itself had merged,
An' all the souls who once were here, appeared an' then converged.
In swirlin' clouds of mist an' fog, right off the bluffs they rolled,
Till all had gathered in the glen, the modern an' the old.

The Indians, conquistadors, an' other ancient men,
The soldiers from this country's wars, an' cowboys from back when…
They all had come from yesterday to help me understand
Our link with those who came before, to heritage an' land.

A crazy notion, so I thought, that they could just appear,
But as the morning went along the reason got real clear.
They rode along with me that day to show me things I’ve missed,
The things I’ve seen a thousand times an’ some I’d just dismissed.

Those wagon roads of long ago, still evident today,
Are carved in rock an' rutted earth, not apt to wash away.
They linked the missions, forts an' towns those many years gone by;
An' left their mark for all to see, as modern times grew nigh.

The artifacts an' weathered ruins attest to yesterdays,
When others came an' lived their lives in very different ways.
We've seen their skill in arrowheads they honed from fired stone,
An' craftsmanship in beads an' tools they fashioned out of bone.

At ever turn and trail we took was something to remind,
The Maker must have had a plan laid out for humankind.
The Earth He made’s been feedin' us a half-a-million years,
An' used it's wonder, force an' change to challenge pioneers.

I do not know if they'll return or if they’ll feel the need,
But I’m prepared to ride the trail, where ever it may lead.
We all are spirits ridin’ time with bodies of the Earth,
Whose time has come to take the reins an’ offer up our worth.

The land has been the legacy we cultivate an’ reap,
The life has been the heritage our father’s fought to keep,
An’ we are bound throughout our time with those who came before,
To put our hearts and souls to it, and make it something more.

Copyright © Jim Fish

Details | Free verse | |


Whistle does the lone desert winds, flowing downwards from
Boot hill cemetery, in icy chilling breeze full of echoing voices,
From the past, begging for redemptions last chance of salvation.
Roll does the crimson tumbleweed, towards the ghost town known as
Tombstone, a monuments graveyard to the old west.
In this rock cactus garden of venomous vipers, did the righteous
Live, amongst the uncivilized lawless, in this wildness country,
Of the unbridled frontier.
Blinded by greed's lightning flash, for quick money and easy cash,
Did the earth expose evil's shining metal, silver, from deep within,
Accursed is this place, purgatory's hell on earth, its deadly soil marred
And sanctified in blood sacrifice.
Left to the scorpions and rattlesnakes, as the only living inhabitants,
Ramshackle buildings remain, abandonment’s delinquent tribute
To a once thriving community.
But after night fall, others come forth, crossing the threshold of the
Nether underworld, the gun slinger, the gambler, and ladies of
Reputation's ill repute, claim this desert real estate for their own
Dark amusement park, still whooping it up at the bird cage theatre,
Indulging themselves. In all manor of seductions insidious erotic acts
Of depravity.
The condemned soulless walk these dusty sandy streets of limbo,
Forever banished are these bastered son's of the gun. Or until the last
Shot is fired at the O.K. Corral, on high noon's final sunrise.
Satan is the lawful sheriff here, in this the territory of the forsaken,
And his loyal deputy the Grim Reaper controls the posses of the undead.
Riding against the redden moon, seeking any innocent soul trying
To escape from this desert prison.
You've drawn the dead man's hand my friend, if you find yourself lost here,
For the condemned show no mercy's reprieve to outsiders, the screaming
Souls shout from above, run lone cowboy run, and don't look back,
For the devils possess rides behind thee, and the dark lord,
Takes no prisoner's alive.
Whistle do the lone desert winds, flowing downwards from
Boot hill cemetery, in icy chilling breeze full of echoing voices,
From the past, begging for redemptions last chance of salvation.
But light concurs darkness, and death's icy grip fades at the 
First rays of sunrise, and all evil must return to their crypts
Beneath the earth, from the dust from when'est they came, 
Until the next moon's rising, then wide will the gates of hell,
Swing again, releasing the germinate residences of a city,
Named Tomb Stone.


Copyright © cherl dunn

Details | Verse | |

The Winds of Time

One day I was passing time
And wrote these words upon the lines,
I know not where they came you see
The Winds of Time were there for me.

If I could open a door to the past
And there before me were the paths
I'm not quite sure which I would choose
But The Winds of Time would see me through.

The vastness there before God's Hand
Then came the heavens, the seas, the land
Eden, Noah and the Christ Child's birth
Is the path that I see first.

I'm not into Knights or dragon days,
Nor Robin Hood and his saving ways,
But give me a Viking as he crosses the seas
And I'll dream of the lands so wild and free.

The music of Irland calls to me,
Where Kathleen's heart has ever been,
And for Danny Boy the fifes do call
I'll shed my tears lest he should fall.

As Immigrants touched upon our shores
The Indians prepared to fight once more,
But fate stepped in and eased the sore
They'd live in peace forever more.

The  battles fought upon this land
To protect us from Tierney's hand,
The Civil War for Freedom's right
The Alamo where comrades died.

At Little Big Horn where our soldiers died,
As Indians defend their homes with pride,
The government later took a hand
And put them on Reservation land. 

I remember well, when I was quite young
The days of World War II
And how my father's life did change
When the family business he assumed.

Twenty-four seven was unheard of then,
But that was their working day,
They helped keep our nations trucks on the road
Their battlefield was here in the USA.

I'll choose the path with pastures green,
Horses, cattle and the cowboy scene,
This is the land of my mother's birth
The most precious land to me on earth.

I chose this land and took a stand,
Married a cowboy and we ranched the land.
Though now retired and family gone
This land will always be our home.

The Winds of Time, know well my soul
I'll rest at night with days of yore.
And as I wake a prayer I'll say
Please God, may we have Peace today?

                       Cile Beer

Copyright © Marycile Beer

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!

Copyright © Carol Eastman

Details | Free verse | |

Groundswell Girl - Named by JB

Enter a storybook tale
Where I can be 
The heroine you hail
Lucid dreams of soft reflection
A touch heated with lust and desired protection
A breathe a gasp as we succeed 
Join the fairytale with me
Valiant night within dark eyes
the right movement and I make them shine
like moonlight on the steamy hot spring
care to follow for a little dip with me
Trailing like the water at my fingertips
Grasp me around my hips
As close as the breeze on my skin 
Whisper lies as I let you in 
Lips mumbling up my thighs
bare heart exposed to the sky 
fire burning in my veins
Am I a mistress of this lust or simply a slave
Trembling with desire
Take me till we've lost count of the hours
enter this storybook tale
Where I can be the heroine you hail

Copyright © Jay Loveless

Details | Acrostic | |

Cowboys Cry Too

C  casually stands next to his saddled horse
O  openly he weeps (so) full of his remorse
W  what is left of pale pink running rose that grew
B   blood floods from thorn pricks he's getting his due
O   oh! tangled web with his love he did weave
Y   yesterday she discovered all his cowboy lies believed

Copyright © Sara Kendrick

Details | I do not know? | |

My Arabian Stallion

My Arabian stallion
As white as the Arctic floors
As fierce as the fire dragon
My pride and joy ever more

Gallop through the Arabian Plains
Enduring the storm of sands
Enduring the odds and banes
As fast as lightning he ran

With this stallion I have
Man looked at me with envy
The challenge i shall accept
To prove my stallion is MIGHTY

With this stallion i have
Can't you see this lady stands strong
If you think you can step on me
Baby, you judge me wrong

This stallion is my pride
Proving nothing but strength and might
Dare you provoked this lady's tribe
With a sword and armour I shall fight!

Copyright © Siti Aishah Abu Bakar

Details | Free verse | |

Wild Horses ~ {a septolet}

beautiful bangtail
spirit untamed
racing tumbleweeds
across mesas

stallions wrestle
under night skies...

Copyright © Patricia Sawyer

Details | Light Poetry | |

' El Toro - Rojo '

Como’ Si’ Yama’, Senor’
Como’ Si Yama’, Por Favor’…
… for Below That Embroidered Sombrero’
Shone Eyes Like El Dorado

He Was A Tall and Handsome Hombre’
Like The Range of Sierra Madre’
…Now, He Sat Center The Cantina
Surrounded by Bonita – Senhoritas

He Smiled, “Buenos-Dias Senora’”
Por Favor, Por Que’ El-Hora’ ?...
If So, Have A Seat, Mi- Amiga’
And Mercedes, Bring Over More Cerveza

He Was… Rodrigo Reyes-Pacheco’
Best - of The West, of Vaqueros’
He Came to Compete in The Rodeos
And Win Fame and Fortune in Pesos’

He Came Thru El Paso De’ Tejas
Thru Dusty Rancheros and Mesas
To Ride on El Toro Rojo
Who Has Never Been Ridden Befo’…

La Viva’… Arriva’  … Rodrigo
The Brave and The Bold Caballero’
Champion Bull Rider, from Old Mexico
Vaya’… Con Dios’ !... Rodrigo

Now, El Toro Rojo, Was Dangerous
For Killing Men, El Rojo, Was Infamous
His Horns Had Pierced Many A Corazon
Ripped Flesh, Like It Was Piñata’ Hung

I Informed All of This To Rodrigo
The Hombre, Was Bent on Being Macho’…
… He Would Ride Toro Rojo, Manyana’
Said “Gracias”… But My Cares Were Por Nada’ !

La Viva’… Arriva’… Rodrigo
The Brave and The Bold Caballero’
Champion Bull Rider, from Old Mexico
Vaya’… Con Dios’!... Rodrigo

… Now, He Wasn’t Loco in La Cabeza’
I Just Didn’t Comprehende’ … “Que’ Pasa”
But I Saw Rodrigo Atop… El Rojo 
… ! He Rode Like A Latino – Tornado ! …

He Rode El Rojo, To The End…
Then, Turned ‘Round and Rode Him Again…
Rodrigo had Won… Just Like He Planned…
Because El Toro – Rojo …   …  Was Mexican !

La’ Viva’ … Arriva’ … Rodrigo
The Brave and The Bold Caballero
Champion Bull Rider from Old Mexico
Vaya’ … Con Dios ! … Rodrigo….
Vaya’ … Con Dios !... Rodrigo o o o o o

for Ruben Ortellao... 
I Don't Really Know 
What Your Branch of Humanity is... 
(Spanish, French or Other)
But I thought You Might Like 
This Whimsical Poem...  
Oh... And Thank You For Your 
Most Generous Comments... 
(Cause I Know You Are A Fantastic Poet... 
I've Read Several of Yours 
and I Love Them Too...)

 (P.S.  Excuse the Spelling... 
I'm Spanish Illiterate (Smile)

Copyright © MoonBee Canady

Details | Rhyme | |

My Rodeo Cowboy

papa said 
son what you going to do 
with your life

now that you have 
no money job 
or wife

he said papa
I'm going to 
leave this town

think I'll
join up with the rodeo 
and break them bulls down 

Maybe even rope
me a stallion or
even a clown

Son you better
take another 
look around

for theres no money
for bull riders
thrown to the ground

or being stepped on
by a horse or bull
weighing over eight hundred pounds

Papa I promise 
Ill make you proud
of your rodeo cowboy when I'm done

And promise 
not to be thrown or bucked off
to the ground

So papa please come
visit when our show's
in town

for I'll be 
the one riding high on 
the biggest bull that's found

hanging on for just 
eight seconds while I'm
listening for that bells sound

just kicking those sides
of horses and bulls
jumping up and down

with coming out your
top rodeo champion and
bull rider found

Tribute To
The Rodeo Cowboys 
and Cowgirls

Hang Tough

Copyright © Katherine Stella

Details | Verse | |

Sum Day Up Thar

Ah done cum frum tha ol' times
Whar we's jist roams free
I's gots a gun, a hoss un grub
'Un bedroll 'neath a tree.

Sum times ah jist works fer grub
An theys the tother times
Ah's jist watches tha stars 'bove
An sleeps un tha moons light.

Don't likes ridin' un tha rain
When lighten  flies 'bouts
T'ain't safe ta be's board youse hoss
If'n youse tha tallest thin 'round.

Seed sum thin tother day
Done made me's feels so small
War a cowboy on 'is knees
An 'is hoss with head bowed low.

Tha cowboy held hat un han
Un front a wood cross
He war prayin ta tha Lord 'bove
Fer all tha pards we's loss. 

Theys air up thar, that I's knows
Bacause las night I's seed
Ma frien Charlie ridin herd
Next ta ma pa, Reed.

One days I's 'll be up thar
An sum one down balow
Will looks an watches tha stars shine
Un sleeps 'neath tha moons glow.
                                  Cile Beer

Copyright © Marycile Beer

Details | Lyric | |

Ride Em Cowboy

                                my heroes have alway's been cowboys
                                                  so giddyup go 
                                         my ghost riders in the sky
                                              let that whiskey river
                                     flow through luckenback texas
                                     for I'm a rhinestone cowboy 
                                                      the gambler
                                                     running bear
                                         just  a coca cola cowboy
                                               headed for El Paso
                                     strumming my teddy bear song
                                         cross the brazos at wacco
                                        at the 'Y' all come back saloon
                                    just waiting for Poncho and Lefty
                                      bringing that white lightning
                                wild horses and that burning ring of fire
                                           stays gentle on my mind
                               for all my rowdy friends have settled down
                           And it wasn't God who made honkey tonk angels
                               it was the daydreams about night things
                     So mamas don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys
                                      For I'll go to my grave lovin you

Tribute To Country's Best
The Lonesome Cowboy

Also Trying a new gig lol

Copyright © Katherine Stella

Details | Cowboy | |

Faces in the Night

When the campfire’s out and you try to sleep,
But things don’t seem just right—
You toss and turn on that ol’ hard bedroll
And see faces in the night.

It just may be dreams or a sense of guilt
That now keeps you wide awake—
It may be bad stew or a wrong you did--
A friend you had to forsake.

You shut your eyes tight and let darkness come—
Pray those faces don’t appear—
But they always come and silently speak
To your conscience and your fear.

You see father’s face like it was those days
And wish you’d both had more time—
To ease all the things that then stood between 
Before he died in his prime.

And then there’s the face of your bother Tom,
Who worshipped you like a God—
Till he had fever and you laughed if off—
Then buried him in the sod.

But night always brings another dim face
Of the girl that you loved first—
Before she went and married someone else, 
And how your heart about burst..

So when the dawn comes to strike you awake,
And with tired relief you rise—
You still see those faces in sun’s red glare
And know part of you yet dies.

Too soon again bright campfires now burn low, 
As the sunset still brings fright—
For you know that sleep is not a good friend
And brings faces in the night. 

Copyright © Glen Enloe

Details | Lyric | |

Hard Headed Women

<                                        she's a hard headed woman
                                          lovin a soft hearted man 

                                          when they get together
                                          they join hand and hand
                                          for loves be glory
                                          in this fairy tales story

                                          for she's a hard headed women
                                          lovin a soft hearted man

                                          a hard headed woman
                                          lovin that soft hearted man

                                          though shes stubborn as an mule
                                          but can make that man still drool
                                          as he's so shy
                                          but  captured her roving eye

                                          for she's a hard headed woman
                                          lovin a soft hearted man

                                          a hard headed woman
                                          lovin that soft hearted man

                                          now don't you just think
                                          romance can start out as a wink
                                          even if it may be a little lie
                                          come on little boy now give it a try

                                          for she's a hard headed woman
                                          lovin a soft hearted man

                                          a hard headed woman
                                          lovin that soft harded man

My Next 
Country Western Song   LOL

Copyright © Katherine Stella

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.

Copyright © Carol Eastman

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.

Copyright © Carol Eastman

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

Copyright © Tirzah Conway

Details | Tanka | |

What A Beauty

<                                    beneath swollen ..... moon
                                      in pasture of...... rolling hills
                                      standing  ....hind quarters
                                      a beautiful black ...... stallion
                                      simply took my breath ........ away

Entry For
Rick Parise's 
A Memory Of Beauty
Tanka Contest
G.L. All

Copyright © Katherine Stella

Details | Free verse | |

Clever Insanity

It’s another day, yes, another day
Another day to watch my cronies wandering around
meandering around aimlessly, flippantly like
they have no care…no care in the world
and just like that…bludgeoned by a badly worn cowboy boot!
Guts all over!

One time I dated one of those giddy ones
and I tried to warn her!
She thought she was too cute to be bludgeoned
Too cute…can you believe that?
After about 28 minutes of blissful dating
I left her alone for just a second
and just like that…clobbered by a red stiletto!
Guts all over!

I guess to say it tactfully...
Most of them fall short on the intelligence end of things
They tell me I’m lucky to have lived this long
They all bow to me

I am one of the lucky ones 
I am far more clever than most of them
I stay out of sight during the day
and just watch all of the guts
Don’t get me wrong I try to warn them 
but they just don’t listen!
They love to go out in the daylight and
scurry around…scurry around the first floor
over the Persian rugs…across the tile foyer
Right in the daylight, can you believe it?

It’s almost like they are asking to be stomped
Stomped just like that by a Skechers Shape-up
Guts all over!

The darkness has settled in now
and alas, it’s now my time to play
I engage in my recreation at night
At nighttime I can crawl through 
his jungles of chest hair and mangy mustache
and in and out of her furrows and crow’s feet
I only come out to frolic and meander 
when all the badly worn cowboy boots, red stilettos and ugly Shapeups 
are safely tucked away in the closet

I swing on the curtain tiebacks like Tarzan
I skate circles over the newly polished hardwood
I dance an impressive Irish jig atop the granite 
I merrily skip atop of the flat screen tv 
and nestle into the VHS tape opening
I’m so glad they have a VCR
‘Cuz those slots on the DVD players
are tough to get through

I am all alone but it so much fun to play
I bathe in a refreshing pool of milk 
left in a tall tumbler in the sink
It’s good for the skin they say
I feast on tasty crumbs in the bottom of the toaster
I’m so glad they don’t ever check there
I’m having such a blissful time
If only my pals would listen to me 
and come out and play only at night
when it’s safe
Ohhh noooo!!!
Devastated, I eye the newest addition to the family
I notice his long whiskers from a distance
As he stalks me with malicious delight 
I run as fast as I can but ultimately...
It's my guts all over!

Copyright © Natalie The Rogue Rhymer

Details | Couplet | |


It was the "Old West" and the town dusty
When in on his horse came a galloper named Rusty.

He ran into the saloon and shouted aloud
"Big Red's a Comin'" ... which stunned the crowd.

They started to disappear as quick as they could
Big Red's reputation dictated they should.

So out the windows and out the doors
Like an open floodgate the men just poured.

The only one left was the fella who tended the bar
Too scared to move, he just stood thar.

Then, very slowly a huge figure came ridin' up the street
Ridin' a Buffalo, big boots and spurs on his feet.

He looked like a meanun' Big Six Guns at his side
He didn't use a saddle, to ride that Buffalo Hide.

He wore a sombrero to shade his eyes
The black scruff of a beard fit his face and his size.

He had bandoliers of bullets crossed o'er both shoulders
And he looked like with one hand he could move boulders.

He busted the doors off their hinges as he strode in
Walked up to the bar, where the barkeep wasn't movin'.

"Gimme a Whisky", he barked in his way
The barkeep couldn't move, or even a word did he say.

"I SAID GIMME A WHISKY"  again came the bellow
As he grabbed the barkeep, a right dainty fellow.

Off the walls he bounced him and off the ceiling too
Then threw him back behind the bar for his work to get to.

The barkeep put up a bottle which he grasped in his paw
Broke the neck on the bar and guzzled its contents as the barkeep watched in awe.

He didn't stop drinkin' 'till the bottle was empty with whisky not a trace
Put his sleeve up to his mouth and wiped the drops off his face.

He belched once or twice as he looked around
Then turned to the barkeep when he heard the sound.

" want a..another" asked the barkeep's frail voice
The Big Man looked at him as if there were no choice.

"No...I gotta be goin'", he said in dismay
"I heard that 'BIG RED' was headin' this way"!

Copyright © Daniel Cwiak

Details | Free verse | |


Oh lord hear the lonesome cowboys lullaby, singing beneath
The vast prairie open sky.
Hush, do they not lull the restless cattle to sleep, by a soft
Undertones sweet melody.
Drifting plains men, singing of the sorrows broken hearted,
And dreaming visions of their beloved, they've left behind.
Guitar strumming minstrels, of the fire hearth, accented
By the lone harmonica, playing off in the distance
Amongst a sea of cows, and horses.
In harmonic rhythm is this grassroots orchestra, as the fiddler
Strikes up his bow to join in, and playing ever so gently along,
To harmony's rhythm.
On the rocky cliffs mixed in the sandy dunes, the heckling
Coyotes, give an eerie ambiance, to this old western chorus.
Do these desert whyly creatures, howl in perfections tune,
To the wrangler's musical beat, of these wide grassy expanses,
That they all call home.
The rattler shakes it's tail in defiance, against the munching
Prairie dog, whom got away at the last moment.
Listen closely to the sounds of the meadow-lands, does not the crickets,
And locusts, add a natural flavor by their clicking and chirping.
Near the rivers stream, as the winds do blow, along the waters edge,
Another elements assent, is bestowed by the forcing of the reeds, to
Bend hitting them against the hollow log, causing a thumping's,
Drumming, to this uniquest of bands.
As twilight's distant starlight, flickering in the vast
Blackness above, these rambling souls whom wander so.
Down these dusty trails long journey, yearn for nothing
More than to know the quite serenity, of their home
That seems so far away.
Let your music fill your emptiness, for one nights
Beautiful dream, and remember the memory as if it
Were real, a vivid vision of illusion, and rest
In complete bliss, good night my young
Cowboy of the open sky.


Copyright © cherl dunn

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.


Copyright © cherl dunn

Details | Limerick | |

The Naked Truth

<                                our top story tonight is Lawyers
                                  a pain in the ass and real spoilers
                                  with  fancy cars homes suits
                                  fifteen hundred kaboot
                                  rather hire cowboy wearing just spurs

Entry For Carolyn Devonshire's 
Lawyer Limerick's Contest

GL All

Copyright © Katherine Stella

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.

Copyright © Lawrence Ingle

Details | Free verse | |

Theys True Love Story Part 3

Her grand gals axed her one time
How did hers ever gits a date
Her done went ta a all gals school
Theys wudn't let no boys in
Ut makes me's won ders 
Yep ut sure do

Theys at that datin age
And figgers theys
Finds oot if's hers was a good 
Gal er bad. 

Her tells um 
Theys jist bet er be's
Good gals er else.
Youse cain't gits a good 
Feller if'n youse any thin else

An than her tells um it were no never mine
Her knowed where her cowboy her'd fine

Her went ta school 
An gots her job
Near tha H bar T rench
What were a  real sandy spot

Tha lan' lady her 'vites the cowboy
frum up tha nex rench
Ta comes down fer a little supper
An ta meets tha new gal what are gonna teach.

Theys  played cards er sumthin' or so her seys
An when him are ready ta leaves
Her axed him if'n he's cuds 
Puts her saddle in the barn, please

Sunday her's was over ta tha school
Gittin ready fer ta teaches tha golden rule

When him done stops an tells her
He are a goin ta the ropin club 
An seys theys room in tha car fer her.

Her seys hers will goes with um
But hers did unt axes 
What kinda drinks theys serves  
Et this club.

Him were a proud cowboy feller were he
His job were m-portatnt youse see
An sum times if'n he gits his work all done
Him jist mights calls her on tha tel-e-phone.

When Thanksgivin comed round
Her wents ta Kansas an seed her folks
An him wents ta Wyomin ta looks at a rench

When him did comed back
Him stops fer a spell
An when him are goin ta leaves
Her walks him oot ta the car ya sees
An tells him hers goin ta a weddin
On June Nine teenth

Him jist looks at her an seys 
If'n him are supposed ta be's....
Well youse knows tha rest

Her done it
Him comed
They's war forty seven years an two weeks
Ez one

When her gits done tellin her grand gals
Theys mouths was open big

An her tells um 
Yep her did
That's how youse 
Comed ta be's.

Her telled Billy what her telled tha gals
An him seys, with a spark in his eye
Him were a weldin
"I's never did axed youse ta marrys me,
Youse knows youse er right."

Now  when Billy looks down et her from aboves
Her kisses hers wedding ring with love
Cause on theys wedding bands youse'll finds
Tha stars an tha moon fer all times

I's mad that lan lady did unt vites me's down
Then maybe's them gran gals wud a
Be's mine.
                            X.......John e Cowpoke

Copyright © Marycile Beer

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




Copyright © Katherine Stella

Details | Limerick | |

Trader Joe

<                           once there was a man named trader Joe
                             could do nothing with hair so let grow
                             under big coonskin hat
                             fleas tick and his pet rat
                             mercantile's just say Oh Hell No

                            once there was saloon name lucky spur
                            where traders brought in their hunted furs
                            in walks old trader Joe
                            miss Molly said let's go
                            now both itch scratch from leftover burrs

Copyright © Katherine Stella

Details | Free verse | |

Western Melodies

Give me a "Home On The Range"
Where my granpa once roamed
Out on the lone prairie
From "Deep In The Heart Of Texas"
He cummed  up the trail
Following the "Cowboys Dream"

All the way to "The Chisholm Trail"
There "At The Cowboys Dance"
He met "Sweet Betsy From Pike"
And danced with "The Buffalo Gals"
Early next morn he hit the saddle once more
Headed for "Cripple Creek"

"The Yellow Rose Of Texas"
And "San Antonio Rose"
He met on the "Streets Of Loredo"
In "Red River Valley"
He met that "Red River Gal"
Headed for the "Lone Star Trail"

This "Texas Cowboy"
Hit a new trail "Way Out In Idaho"
But when "Windy Bill" gave him a taste of 
"Life In A Prairie Shack"
He jumped on "Old Paint" and did leave.

He headed north to "Dakota Land"
Where his last years he did spend
Proudly he'd boast "I'm An Old Cowhand"
And sits and tells them his tales.

Of the "Grand Roundup" as he rode "Wild Buckaroo"
When "Down In The Valley" he ranched.
But tears filled his gray eyes
As he told of "Little Joe The Wrangler"
On the "Trail Of The Lonesome Pine"

When "The Work's All Done This Fall"
"Git  Along Little Doggies" he'll say
It's about time for the "Last Round-Up"
Which is the "Dying Cowboy's" dream.

                                               Cile Beer

Copyright © Marycile Beer

Details | Quatrain | |

Blue Jeans

I'm a country boy who needs you
The first time you're washed you bleed blue
You go with all of my T-shirts
If I rip you I will be hurt

As crisp as Mississippi's air
I still will wear you with a tear
You are something I'll never share
Got four or five favorite pair

Something I won't trade khakis for
Brown as bags from the package store
Since my favorite color's blue
I want you in every hue

From the stonewashed to rigid you
When I can't buy I visit you
I'm hoping that they give me you
'Cause your fit I'm addicted to

Copyright © Michael Wyms

Details | Rhyme | |

Granpa, Tell Me

Granpa, when you was a kid
Did you thinks a running away from home
And look un see what's over that hill
Roundup wild horses
An bucks um out jist for a thrill?

How did you comes to get clear out here
I hear Pennsylvanie ain't to near
Was you a kid or was you old
When you packed up your bag un left home?

Was you in the war like Uncle Zeke and Granpa Don
Has you been up to the mountains like Davey done
How bouts the Injins did you knows any a them
An how bouts the buffalo how many did you kill?

Tell me granpa was granma way out here
Or did you has to goes someplace else to gets her
What about my daddy was he anything like me
Or did he jist wants to see what he could see?

I know's I's jist a girl, granpa
But I don't wants to does womans things
I wants to be a cowboy and does what they does
Help me, help me granpa, I come to you because
You're the smartest, wisest, kindest man I know

I love you, granpa

Copyright © Marycile Beer