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Cowboy Inspirational Poems | Cowboy Poems About Inspirational

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

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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


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 | Free verse | |

THE DUKE

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.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN


Details | Cowboy | |

On Juno Ranch, A Cowboy's Day

If you'd have lived and worked on Juno Ranch, you’d have come away better for it. It 
may not have seemed like it at the time but Pancho (Uncle Frank) would put it to you, an’ it 
was for you to decide to do it, what to do with it, or to fight. The motto was, “You either work 
or fight, there ain’t no quittin’ on this-here ranch.”

     Pancho cultivated a reputation as a living legend in his fifty-some years in the Devil’s 
River country of the Texas frontier. He loved his life, family, work and felt plumb lucky to be 
livin’ it. He believed there was art in every undertakin’ an’ practiced the highest standards in 
dealin’ with any an’ all comers. He savvied horses, cattle an’ the land; and death was just the 
gate that opened into higher pastures.

     Ride 'em Pancho!


The cowboy wakes before each dawn With blurry eyes n'a mournful yawn; Gets breakfast down, just bacon'n eggs, An' biscuits dunked in coffee dregs. He feeds the stock some oats an' hay In growin' light of break o' day. Then Pancho comes an' rigs a hoss, An' chews his butt, 'cause he's the boss. “The sun is up, you little bride! We're loosin' light! We gotta ride!” So they ride out to make their rounds In echoed clops of hoof-beat sounds. The sun is high 'bout half-passed noon, An' dinnertime is none too soon. He eats his beans an' taters fast, Then rolls a smoke an' rests at last. He dreams of how he'll spend his pay When he's in town on Saturday, An' where he'll go to have some fun With gals who'll laugh and call him, "Hun..." He gets his hat an' pulls it down, Forgets the dream of gals in town, Cause if he ain't just damn near dead, The work comes first on Pancho's spread.


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 
Skat's 
Halloween Costume Contest
G.L. All
                                      

 
                                      
                                       


                                     

                                     
                                       


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 | |

Cowboy Legacy

There’s a legacy inside him,
As he sits upon his steed;
His heart is filled with honesty,
Not perjury or greed;

He rides the same old range,
That his father rode before;
And it’s been that way for forever,
A hundred years or more;

Pushin’ cattle, brandin’ calves,
That is a cowboy’s life;
Someday he may settle down,
And make some girl his wife;

He’s spent so many lonely nights,
Sleeping under the stars,
He hasn’t got a tattoo,
What he has are battle scars;

There’s a rip across his stomach,
From a rangy longhorn steer;
And even though it hurt like hell,
He never shed a tear;

He always outs on a brave face,
Emotions locked inside;
And for his cowboy heritage,
He feels only pride.


Details | Cowboy | |

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 | |

Lessons I Have Learned

A handshake speaks volumes, keep it firm & strong
Learn from your mistakes & admit when you're wrong
Stand your ground when you know you're right
Never drop your guard or waver in a fight

Never give up & put your best in all you do
Follow your heart & to yourself stay true
May every word match every deed
Always lend a hand to those in need

Things turn out better when you take time to pray
A light heart & hard work keep the storm clouds at bay
Hold your friends close for each is a treasure
In your family, look always for solace & pleasure

A light touch on the reins is only half the battle
Make sure you set deep & tall in the saddle
Treat horse & man with equal respect
When asked for advice, be kind but direct

There's a bright side to even the darkest day
You'll gain more from life if a smile leads the way
A true friend is one who cannot be bought
These are a few of the lessons I've been taught

By those who have guided me throughout my life
My  wellspring of wisdom to rely on in times of strife

© December 2003



Details | Free verse | |

THE TUMBLEWEED LULLABY

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.


BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN






































































































































































Details | Cowboy | |

April too lenient

comatose commas thought April too lenient; 
birth was postponed until June, 
provided preference for instant coffee 
or selfless gratification, 
minus the flack fouled narcolepsy, 
however insistent … 

cruelty followed, 
as cardboard mansions collapsed under oath, 
if under cardiac-arrest, 
below if not adjacent to, the end, 
regardless of means… 


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 | Free verse | |

THE CONVOY MAN

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

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN


Details | Cowboy | |

First True Friends

You see that man over there
sitting stern faced in his chair?
Look closer, see that twinkle in his eye?
That's a glimpse of softness that you spy 

You see that woman laughing there
dancing eyes & witty air?
Look closer, see the iron & grit?
That's a glimpse of strength, wrapped like a gift
 
They made me who I am today
tightened the reins when I went astray
The calming center in a teenage storm
The home fires that still keep me warm 

He gave me the gift of discipline & control
She is the sunshine that fills my soul
He taught me young of the cowboy ways
She set my passion for words ablaze 

He taught me to be fair & just
She showed me kindness was a must
He showed me how to draw respect
She taught me to rely on humor & intellect 

A parent must first be your teacher
sometimes judge, jury & preacher
Their wisdom guided me in my youth
They guide me still, to tell the truth 

(c) August 2003


Details | Cowboy | |

Wyoming way

Natures best right here in the West,
just East of the Rocky Divide.
Capture's the imagination, 
of the way it was;  traveling, 
on a wagon-train ride.

Miles and Miles of open land,
yet the Eagle see's it all,
from his predacious flight plan.
Prairie Dogs whistle a shrill alert,
retreat my friends or be Eagle desert.

Antelope scrub their sent glands, 
on every sage brush around.
While the Badger just waddles, 
his waddling way, to where ever, 
the next home, can be found.

Wild Horses still roam on their grassland home,
Just West of the Bighorn Mountains.
While Buffalo still graze,
in old Yellowstone,
Next to mud-pots, geysers and fountains.

Oh;  Wyoming,  land of my heart,
If Heaven is anything like you,
then I pray this day,
I make it your way,
after I'm dead and buried and forgotten. 


Details | 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 | Prose Poetry | |

Ghosts of South Dakota Intro

                                                                                                        
	In 1957 I took my teaching certificate back to the land of my mother.  
She was raised on a cattle ranch in the north central area of Nebraska.  The 
famous Sand Hills.  It was there I found my cowboy and we ranched for fourteen 
years on the eastern edge of the Rosebud Reservation in South Dakota.  The 
teacher in this story is my mother's sister and our experiences at the Indian 
Government School of Spring Creek during my early years.
	In the year 2002 Cowboy and I moved to a very special town, Harper, 
Kansas.  This town is just a few miles down the road from the memories of my 
Kansas childhood. How lucky to be able to have all of these memories and with 
the help of God maybe another dozen or so years down the road I'll have another 
set of memories to pass on to another generation.   

                                                       GHOSTS

	Yesterday I was sitting at my computer working  when I looked out of 
my magic window 
and noticed the swing set.  The wind was fiercely blowing up a gale and the 
swings were rocking to and fro.  That didn't bother me, but when I saw the glider 
was in motion, I didn't even have to close my eyes to picture the children playing 
on it.  They weren't my grandchildren.  They weren't my children.  They weren't any 
children I could recognize, but I felt blessed.  I didn't care who they were, they 
were happy.
	And then I thought back.  Back to the reservation.  I could hear the 
laughter of the Indian children, but whenever we came into view they would run to 
hide behind their mothers or grandmothers and peek around at us.  Some of the 
older ones, seven, eight, nine or ten year olds would line up in front of the shack 
or tent to stare at us.
	I can still see them dressed in faded, wrinkled, soiled clothing.  
Disgards from who knows where that ended up at the mission.  Their large 
round brown eyes staring from behind the greasy scraggly black hair. Some with 
their dirty fingers stuffed in their mouths. The little ones clinging desperately to 
the skirt as they peered around at us,  always had snout trailing from their nose, 
and their feet were either bare or encased in shoes three sizes to large for them.
	I don't know if it was a tradition of some kind but it seems, in my 
memory, there were never any men.  Only women and children came forth.  I 
have my ideas where the men were but I shall not go into that here.


Details | Cowboy | |

Winter Western

We are far from the hum, but not far enough—
Worlds not of our making intrude – life is rough.

Winter birds are not wheeling in the steel gray sky—
Seems seasons bring questions, but no good day to die.

Unlike black and white westerns, there’s no good end—
We may beat back bad men but die without a friend.

Oh, we all wish that things did not turn out that way—
But God is not silent and has the final say. 


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 | 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 | |

The Revelation

"I saw heaven standing open 
and there before me was a white horse…" 

Revelation 19:11 

I’ve talked to many a good man 
facing his own end 
And pretty much they all wonder 
about the same thing 
Will passing thru that final gate 
put an end to things we love 
Will we all hang up our cowboy rigging 
when we see the dove. 

And, well I’ve begun to wonder 
when I’m called before the throne 
And stand and face my deeds on earth 
and do my best to atone 
As I stand there in Stetson hat 
and rusty, bent spurs 
Will I be bunched with the righteous 
or will I be corralled with the curs. 

But, then I’m a wondering, 
what about my way of life? 
Will I still be a cowboy, 
will my way be filled with strife? 
Will I have to sell my saddle?   
Will I give up my puncher ways? 
If I can’t cowboy, 
how will I fill up my heavenly days? 

But, then I remember reading in Revelation, 
chapter 19, eleventh verse 
And my heart is filled with happiness, 
ain’t no reason now to curse. 
Cuz the good book tell us all, 
we’ll be cowboying up in paradise 
Riding herd for the real King Ranch, 
punching cows and doing right. 

Cus it’s written in the Bible, 
you all can now stay the course 
“I saw heaven standing open 
and there before me was a white horse” 
So, I’ll grab my old saddle 
and swing it up on that critter's back 
And ride that heavenly range forever, 
me, that white horse and my old kack. 

G.Casey Allen 
© July 25, ‘03


Details | Cowboy | |

When a Cowboy Talks to God

Lord, you know that I’m one small seed
Blown across the fields of this world—
You could lose me in a moment
By the power you have unfurled.

But when I need to talk to you,
I know you’ll hear me and stand mute—
Then bless me with your vast knowledge
In green valley or lonely butte.

Yes, I’ve strayed down many wrong paths,
And it’s all my own fault, of course—
But now I just ask your blessing
When I’m too frail to ride my horse.
 
And though it seems I ask often,
It is not always just for me—
I can only gain forgiveness
In the eyes of eternity.

Lift me to your silver saddle
And we’ll ride that ivory cloud—
As I dally the light’s wisdom,
And make the big trail boss real proud.



Details | Cowboy | |

Snowstorm

Ranchin' ain't easy,
an' it don't get no better
when chores are plum' awful 
on account a the weather.

Storm clouds start gatherin'
above the horizon-
I dig out long-handles,
I hate 'em like pi'son.

A cold wind starts blowin',
chills a man to the bone.
The future is troublin'
out here on my own.

The house starts to creak
but stands up to the storm-
another log on the fire
keeps it cozy an' warm.

I pull on my old coat
'n boots--pretty worn,
turn up my collar,
an' head for the barn.
                
Snows blowin' sideways
an' stingin' my face,
I think I'm half crazy
to stay on this place.

Wind keeps a howlin',
snows pile up an' drift.
If I don't find them cattle,
they may fall off a cliff.

With my trusty ol' horse,
we herd some to corral-
we've been long together
so he's more like a pal.

This task is repeated,
in hastened routine,
while the storm grows
more fierce, angry, an' mean.

I take to my bed
in wee hours of morn,
tired an' half froze,
wish I'd never been born.

The fire's dyin' down,
burrow deep in my quilt,
complain to my maker,
then, feel plum' fulla guilt.

'Cause I know He saved me
from that terrible storm
as my limbs start to thaw,
an' body gets warm.

Last thing on my mind
as I drift off to sleep,
"Lord, I'm sure grateful
this cowboy you keep!"


Details | Rhyme | |

The Cowboy

The Cowboy

one day I met a cowboy
he had no saddle boots or hat
but he showed me the reasons
why a cowboy's more than that
the first thing that he showed me
that no cowboy would forget
is how to tell when someone
tries to make him swallow poop
he said what a cowboy swallows
is the cure for any ail
so grab youself a bottle
cause a cowboy does not fail
then he told me how a bottle
was the cowboy's perfect drug
cause he gives someone a bottle
for a hand shake or a hug
I watched for years as people came
with problems much to great
he'd hand 'em each a bottle
then begin to demonstrate
he made everything look simple
passed nothing off as fate
then told them all try harder
and don't wait till it's to late
legend says the cowboy
was christ's righteous afterbirth
left behind with cattle
where it took root in the earth
the cowboy is as godly
as a man of earth can get
he can almost walk on water
just one foot gets wet

By: Jeremy Siedlecki


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 | Narrative | |

A Blessing In The Heat (Part 2)

Johnny Clare is an example of many a young man who Cowboy'd in the truest sense of the word. He did a job. He did it well. Though he met an untimely end, his life did not go unnoticed. Continental Oil Company put up a monument to a young man who worked for them, but Larry McWhorter's words made him real. The essence of who he was is immortalized in that poem. It is more than a poem about one Cowboy...it is a poem about every Cowboy who ever rode for the Brand. It is a poem about the heart and soul of men who built our country through hard work and sacrifice. It is a poem about one man's basic belief that time may march on, but those everyday Cowboys like Johnny Clare will not be forgotten. The monument stands as a reminder of "where," but Larry McWhorter's words stand as a reminder of "why." His words, a tribute to the spirit of man and a lesson on how to live what you love.

I cried that day. Tears of joy for having shared this moment with Larry and Andrea; for having one of my heroes of Cowboy Poetry recognize me and for his gift of words to me. We have been friends since. I love and respect him and Andrea; because they are good, kind, strong people of the land with deep conviction in their faith and strong relationship with the Savior. They live each day with grace, they give that grace to others and they make all strangers friends. Proud am I that I know them. Lucky am I that I got to go to Weatherford, Texas that day.

I have learned that it's not the trail we ride, but the tracks we leave behind for others to follow that matters. Time may march on, but word and deed live on forever; as does the spirit of any person dedicated to living life to the fullest while serving their fellow man. The impression we leave is our memorial to this earthly life. Building a monument with words and telling the stories about others so they are never forgotten is our memorial
to those we love and admire. Johnny Clare, Larry McWhorter, all those men I grew up with and those I am privileged to call my friends; all living life their way by the Grace of God, all fighting the good fight and marching forward no matter the obstacles, all inspiring us to live life to its fullest. When it comes to great men of heart and spirit the memory never fades and the words of praise are endless. And that, my friends, is the greatest monument of all.


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 | |

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 | |

When He Visits

 He visits often 
I can feel him take my hand 
whether in the barn at daybreak 
or when with my ponies I stand
 
I hear his laughter on the wind 
and his voice fills my heart 
though he walks this earth no more 
in my memory we're never apart 

on shadow pony he comes riding 
each night to knock at my heart's door 
in dream time we share the stories 
old family secrets, the laughs & glories 

and in the sunrise hour waking 
I hear him whisper evermore 


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 | |

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 | |

A Cattleman's New Year

There was just the wind 
in the tall swaying grass, a whisper
and no other sound.
The cattle were fed and 
we were on the way home
when we saw a newborn calf on the ground.

The calf flicked an ear, but stayed 
in his spot where his 
mother told him to stay
when we had called 
with the honk of horn
to come as we threw out the hay.

Now we watched, while the day 
had come to its close the sunlight
lengthened and died
the air was filled with a cows low
moan and she ran as her newborn replied.

We sat holding hands as the 
evening crept in and the stars
stood out in the sky
sharing that moment, a breathe in time
and a bovine lullabye.

Our New Year unfolded on the prairie
that night with a little black calf
on the ground, the whisper wind
in the tall swaying grass, a whisper 
and no other sound.


Details | Cowboy | |

Buffalo Dance

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


Details | Cowboy | |

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 | |

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 | |

A Place in the Heart

"Where is this place they call The West?”,  
   a stranger asked of me;  
“Where does it begin, where does it end,  
   where are the boundaries?"  
 
I gave this question lots of thought,  
   I considered it quite carefully;  
For everything from the Atlantic coast is West,  
   all the way to the Pacific sea.  
 
Cowboy is a often an mis-used term,  
   open to interpretation,  
And so it is, with The West,  
   it becomes a generalization.  
 
The answer seemed too simple,  
   though it gave me cause to ponder;  
The ways and life of the Cowboy  
   and how he is bound to wander.  
 
I smiled as I gave my answer,  
   and please don't think it odd,  
But the words I spoke, I truly believe,  
   were given to me by God.  
 
"Everyone has a different definition,  
   and no single one is right;  
It's like trying to define the Universe,  
   or freedom or faith or sunlight.  
 
The West is like the sky above,  
   endless and wrapped around us all;  
It's anywhere there's the soul of man,  
   or the sound of this Earth's call.  
 
It's the place where we're going,  
   all the places we have been,  
The past, the present and the future;  
   where-ever you find a friend.  
 
Where is The West?  
   You're standing there;  
It's no one location,  
   it's everywhere.  
 
It's no place in particular,  
   it's anywhere living is an art;  
It's any place a Cowboy is,  
   it's A Place in the Heart."  
 
 


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 | |

The Cowboy's Cathedral

As he lingers off his horse
At the end of day’s long ride—
The sunset is his stained glass
And there is no place to hide.

His old saddle is his pew
And the cattle herd’s his choir—
The creek’s murmurs are his hymns—
His scars all made by barbed wire.

Green mountains are his steeples—
A chuck wagon’s an alter—
Hard tack serves as his wafer
And his prayers seldom falter. 

Yet saying grace seems mere words
That will make belief too small—
A clear night sky gives him faith
To put aside pride and gall.

There’s no word for religion
When he’s on the open plain—
It’s a thing he can’t describe,
Making sense of what’s insane.

Thunder’s his organ music—
Stampeding them to slaughter—
His prayers come when he needs them—
His blood of Christ is water.

The sage serves as his sermon
And wild rivers cleanse his sin,
As he seeks out his purpose
To be a man among men.

And though he now seems alone,
That’s not really how it is—
He is always with his Lord,
And the peace he has is His.

And so as he comes forward
From the pasture he did tend—
He has found his cathedral—
Leaving offerings on wind.

Then as he seeks acceptance
And the peacefulness it brings—
He soars above blue pastures,
Riding nestled on God’s wings. 


Details | Cowboy | |

MUSTANGS

     I went to work for him that year,
early on, in the fall, 
It was my job to help feed, 
water, and clean the stalls. 
  
    The quarter horses that he raised, 
were among the finest to be seen. 
Then there were the mustangs, 
rough and rank and mean. 
  
    From time to time, the mustangs, 
would somehow make an escape, 
No matter how carefully it was chained, 
they seemed to be able to open the gate. 

     Then we’d saddle-up and chase ‘em, 
and push ‘em back to the pens, 
When it came to the mustangs, 
trouble knew no end. 

     He never really answered, 
when I asked him why, 
He kept these three, who were dangerous, 
with such wildness in their eyes. 

     Once, he said,”They’re the last of our kind, 
a rare and special breed, 
Spirits, not of this earth, 
waiting to be freed.” 

     This didn’t help me understand, 
the mustangs or this man, 
Who seemed to keep them at all costs, 
though they didn’t wear his brand. 

     Then, one day as we fed, I saw him...
as He took loose the chain... 
Softly, he said, “Come with me”, 
and we walked to the truck in the rain. 

     We rode the truck to the hill, 
where we could see for miles. 
Motioning to the tailgate, he bade me sit, 
and gave me a knowing smile. 

     Below, the mustangs had finished their feed, 
and, as if they had good sense, 
They began their morning journey, 
around their pasture, checking fence. 

     When they came to the gate, 
for a moment, they did pause, 
And gave a glance towards the hill, 
as if they knew the cause. 

     I will remember the next few moments, 
Forever, they are etched into my mind, 
And the emotion I felt, as we sat in silence, 
never again, shall I find. 

     We watched them bolt from the gate, 
Running for all they were worth, 
All four feet up off the ground, 
Flying, between Heaven and Earth. 

     The explanation that he gave, 
he didn’t have to give. 
But, his words ring in my memory, 
all the days, that I live. 
  
    He said, “I let them go sometimes, 
so I can remember, when I see, 
What it’s like to break loose, 
and truly, be Free. 

     For awhile I’m allowed, by Grace of God, 
to be a part of wondrous, unseen forces... 
And that, my fine young friend, 
is why I keep wild horses." 


Details | I do not know? | |

A Look Beyond The Gate

He rose at dawn to start each day,
And though the work brought little pay...
The cowboy loved his life!
To rustle cows and hit the hay
Beneath the moon...is what he'd say
Was perfect, with no strife.

The trail was long and dusty too,
But oh those ragged mountain views
Stirred music in his soul!
And by the campfire where the crew
Told tales around the dice and drew
Their luck with games not droll...

Comradery was thick and bold,
Where every story that was told
Became their common fate.
And when the dice lie still and cold,
Each cowboy knows he's growing old...
He looks beyond the gate.
 


Details | Cowboy | |

THE COWBOY CODE


I'm riding with an outfit
That’s loyal to its brand.
I've got a gun and a rope
Which I keep close at hand

Anyone who would harm 
What belongs to the brand
They are my enemy, 
No matter who the man.

Never have I ever lied 
Or stole from my boss, 
Nor let anyone else 
Regardless of cost.

Late at night, beneath the stars, 
We sit around the fire;
Drinking coffee and telling stories 
About whatever we desire.

I feel the Lord cracks a smile 
When he watches us cowboys 
Looking up from down below 
At heaven with all its glories.

Once I was so in love, 
I married a beautiful wife;
 She took ill and passed away 
So I chose a cowboy's life.

My boss has a pretty wife;
His family I respect.
They treat me as I treat them 
So their lives I shall protect.

The cowboy code can be found 
On the ranches of the West,
Where real men still earn their place 
By being their very best.


 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Hole

I was born in a very small town in the middle of a vast, vast land. 
It was filled with ranches, cattle and grass and the world’s toughest breed of man. 
I was raised with the mythical western cowboy but he halts no mystery for me
for they were my friends, neighbors and some were my family. 
Large ranches leave little room, for things that bloom, that a cow will not eat up, 
the mystery is not in the cowboy but it is in what the cowboy loves.
In West Texas there stands a great giant hole a void where only the cattle grow, 
there are few schools and little to do, but work and watch the wind blow. 
It is a harsh land and it has culled many a man for not being tough enough, 
he will pack up his kit and hit the road go looking for something more to love.
I was born and raised and culled from there and for me the mystery goes on. 
I have given it thought for many a year just what is it that the cowboy loves. 
If you find yourself in West Texas stop in on any little town
where you can shake the hand of the world’s toughest breed of man 
and ask him what it is that the cowboy loves. 
He may share his secrets with you. or just say he doesn’t know, 
stay only a day then drive away get the hell out of that hole.
For it is a harsh but magic land were you must bring your own opportunely. 
So if your ignore my warning and give to the lure of the Prickle-Pear and Mesquite tree, 
then I’ll envy you, to be the few, who live in the hole where I so long to be, 
for I love and miss those tough hardy souls with there open hearts, who greet you so
gracefully. 
Maybe that is what the cowboy loves and it was always there for me to see


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