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Cowboy Loss Poems | Cowboy Poems About Loss

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

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Details | Verse | |

Will Shepard

The day Will Shepard shot my dog
His barn burned to the soil;
The flames licked at the Autumn sky,
The smoke as black as oil.
I dropped the torch onto the earth,
And felt the whole world turn,
I stood and watched Will Shepard’s barn,
I stood and watched it burn.

The day Will Shepard shot my dog
I set his horses free,
They galloped over grass and sand,
They galloped to the sea;
I dropped my whip onto the floor
And thoughts turned to my gun
I stood and watched Will Shepard’s herd,
I stood and watched them run.

The day Will Shepard shot my dog
I put him in the ground,
My bullets found his heart and brain,
He fell without a sound;
And as his lifeblood ebbed away
And light fled from his eyes,
I stood and watched Will Shepard leave,
I stood and watched him die.

And now I sit here in my cell
And through the bars I spy
The carpenter with wood and nails,
Who builds my gallows high;
My vengeance has been satisfied
As far as I can see,
For that old dog Will Shepard shot
Meant all the world to me.


Details | Cowboy | |

Compadre

We’ve shared the trail, kicked up some dust, An’ stood a storm or two. We’ve rode the plains, the wide frontier, The easy trails were few. You’ve listened like some wise old sage To ever thing I’ve said, An’ as a friend, supported me, No matter where it led. I wished I coulda carried you, The times you were in pain; Or rustled up some kinda shed To turn the blowin’ rain. I’ve come up shy with some your needs, You gave me more’n you got, But in your silence, seemed to know, I needed you a lot. Compadre, friend, amigo, pard; I called you all them things, But there’s been times, I swear to God, You musta had some wings, An’ He sent you to care for me Like no one had before. If you’as a man an’ not a horse, I couldn’t a-loved you more. We gave this ranch our sweat an’ blood, It’s yours as much as mine, An’ raised our young’uns through the years, An’ Lord they’re doin’ fine. They’re blazin’ trails an’ raisin’ dust, They’re off an’ runnin’ free. We’ve taught ‘em well an’ made ‘em strong; Compadre, you an’ me. I always knew the day would come When we would fine’ly ride, To join the Maker’s round-up time, Up on the Great Divide. I sorta hoped we’d share the trail But this was not to be, So, you go on, we’ll ride again; Compadre, you an’ me.


Details | Cowboy | |

Condo Cowboys

Those condo cowboys are clingin’ to things that used to be,
Starin’ out those city windows or sittin’ on balconies.
They can still smell the country, the ranch, the horses and the range—
At times they wear cowboy hats, though folks might think them strange.

And like those cowboys long ago, they’re roamin’ in their soul,
From Nevada, Arizona and old Colorado.
They’ve seen and done so many things that most can only dream,
Yet still they have the urge to cross one more mountain stream.

But now they’re just old cowboys, that’s all that they want to be,
They seek no big fortune, high status or fine pedigree.
They see the world too clearly, seldom hold or mince their speech,
They live the cowboy code and keep life’s truth within their reach.

Those condo cowboys are special, each one from a unique mold,
They just keep on ridin’ life’s long trail and never do grow old.


Details | Rhyme | |

Lakota

I'm very small
I am called Standing Tall
My story to be read as i live through it all.

Our Dakota lands are forest and vast
Where our ancestors have hunted
From long in the past.

Our tribes are, a confederation of seven
With our language of Lakota, Sioux heaven
We stand proud as we remember our past
And look to our gods, to make it all last.

A silhouette on the prairie hill i see
This shape in the distance is new to me
As we sleep in the night, we hear guns and blows
We arise from our camp, to look for the noise
We creep on the prairie to their surprise
Under the moon, where the land would flow
No longer the Buffalo.

We mount our ponies to challenge these men
What gives them this right to kill and maim
Bodies of beasts, furs cut away
Missing heads, a ghastly slay.

On reaching their camp our bows stretched
Arrows screech, hit the wretched
Watch them fall to the prarie floor
Just like the Buffalo did hours before.

Years have passed as we are moved from our lands
These poisonous men, and their poisonous glands
Bringing illness fever and strife
Ending many a Lakota life.

We reach a point in History
Which made the white man sit up and see
Their Golden Child General George Custer
And the Little Big Horn, my what a disaster.

Arapaho, Cheyenne and us Lakota too
Sliced the Blue Jackets, their Scouts too
The US Cavalry would have their glee
At the Battle Of Wounded Knee
Where Siiting Bull would finally rest
Standing Tall's story last's the test
If we Indians had the same resources
Like the silhouette on the hill
These praries we always had. would be ours still.


http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/native-americans.php


Details | Blank verse | |

I am a cowboy

I am a cowboy
riding in the dusk
I am dirty, sweaty, and rough
I am a cowboy
Riding in the dusk.
I am on duty
Employed by a mother,
To hunt the man who killed her son.
I am smokin'
I am spittin'
I am kickn' ass
I am a cowboy
Riding in the dusk.


Details | Rhyme | |

The Cowboy Way

Watch those buckaroos lose their insides when saddled to a wild one untied it’s fer a sight when they ride . Yiddy –up was the wail when a bull of a devil left his trail some kinda fight on the road to hell.
No wonder I headed for Whiskey Row with some forty drinks down below sure is thunder in your hole will rock your soul as you face the mighty cold.
Strums my guitar and softly singing as the cowboys are around the camp fire ringing as the fire is blazinin another day is hazing. Got the notion for prayin as another cowboy was payin and he was sayin
Lord ya know the deeds I’ve done and in the shadows I have hung I just wanted  to be thankful for meeting me on this fateful day and in  thy range I will forever stay.
Vanita Allgood	


Details | Senryu | |

Tombstone - Like The Four Horsemen

they walked along
weathered, carrying their guns;
like the four horsemen…

down to the O.K.
guns blazing, bullets flying;
smoke clears, the strong stand…


Details | Verse | |

Last Chance Saloon

NOTE: I don't find the time, neither do I have much inclination, to write a great deal these 
days. However, the occasional new piece gets composed, and this is one. I would like to take 
this opportunity to thank everyone - Ruben, Raul, Andrew, Elaine, Patricia, Carol, Adeleke, 
Krista, Trudi, Kristin, Bill, Shishir, Sami, James, Trudi and many, many others - who have 
been so kind, supportive and appreciative both now and in the past. You are stars. I am in 
your debt.

I know it's not the happiest piece, but it's what I have at the moment.

T.

Last Chance Saloon:

The deadbeat shuffle from Boardwalk to Boot Hill
Implores the synapse circuit of a short walk to the kill,
With one foot out of line one soon is gone
In Winter rains that fell all Summer long;
Never once did Zeus advise to pack a bag,
Only suck it up and tread the old main drag.

When first she shed her morals and her dress,
The channel burn adored her more than less,
Post-coital walks, romancing in the sun
Beat a path to living in the shadow of the gun;
As expectation always lets one down,
Rends the heart in two by softly skipping town.

From the stained-glass of an alcoholic haze
Wherein kaleidoscopic migraines snap and blaze,
The rusty barrelled gun scrapes at the head,
All the chambers full of coals and glowing red;
She resurfaces like some immortal doll,
And each bullet tastes of paracetamol.

So to raise the weary glass to mouth again,
To curse and toast her godforsaken name,
To down the medicine and down some more
And ride the bona-fide revolving bat-swing door;
Swear by saints alive to never leave this room,
No more chances left to chance in this last chance saloon.


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 | |

Untitled

Tainted love 
or tired love?
Smug attitudes
and weak games
Look at you!
Your such a lame!
Me cry?! Ha! Not no more!
NOT EVER!
Five point five years
What a joke?!
All you do is lie
Keep smoking your life away!
Wake up before its too late!
Before this love turns into hate!
Your too old to act this way!
Your too comfortable
You cant stay!
In my life!
In my way!
Goodbye to you!!!


Details | Rhyme | |

A Cowboy Is

A cowboy is what we are not 
and never will again be 
what I loved most about his ways 
he kept in tune with nature for he
knew this was his destiny
the nature we have now is not the same
it is corroded and tossed aside 
the same can be said with the rules 
given that we cannot follow nor abide
how I wish I could go back in time
to live among the gifted
lots of hard work no crying in mind
the cowboy has been forgotten and shifted

contest: A Cowboy Is
by: Virginia Frayer


Details | Couplet | |

A Cowboy Is

The movements of others to far away lands
Drifted into American folklore, within histories hands

Fur trappers they started many centuries ago
In a country to become as the years truly flowed

Centennial by centennial, amidst wars between they
Slowly they emerged into cattle driven play

The vast expanses of prairies so green
Lured Barons of the beast to their riches they always dreamed

Herds in vast amounts recreating the Bison's exist
Where they eventually replaced in numbers, in numerous consist

The eventuality of the Iron Horse, opened these lands up even more
Sheridan, White Oaks even Tombstone, led to street filled open sores

The James Gang and William Bonney, are two that history has shown
No care for what they declared that the Wild West was their throne

The sad thing about the cowboy era, is in the scenery that was left behind
On many a prairie from their past, where greed has left them so blind

We have the opportunity to look back and rewind, for hindsight allows us to do
So many were never ever heroes, just what do we find in them so true

Just for a moment to the future, whilst countries in our time have been invaded
They are the modern Indigenous, like the past, the cowboys left degraded

The above are written from my heart, if you know me you will know me to be true
For if I was born to the Indigenous, to your ancestors, I'd stand in front of you





Details | Romanticism | |

The drummer who...

The drummer who 
only plays on Wednesdays;
plays with purpose…
rhythmically dispersing 
the pulmonary clutter 
of the pig eared philanthropist;    
the twaddle raddled paddle… 
or the crescent topped cacophony… 
neither either nor song… 

the drummer who only plays 
on Thursdays; 
plays with porpoise… 
the singular plural plectrum… 
the aquatic harpooned bride… 
annul… abrupt… annul… 
annul… abrupt… 

a week away from the day… 
an hour’s hindsight… 
the overly possessive impressionistic ploy… 
time… as in reason… 
the arrogance of self…
the drummer who only 
plays on Wednesdays;
plays with purpose…


Details | I do not know? | |

Drowning

drowning...

Screaming silently for that one breath

of life...

that whirling maelstrom of beaten-down loss upon wrap-around defeat

of life...

that mercilessly shovels heaps of leaden rubble as you try to get back on your feet

drowning...

mute and dumbly flailing in the raging torrent

of being...

but a mere speck of dirt on the tapestry of a world, that at times, is quite abhorrent

drowning...

quietly wishing to surrender to the nothingness that seductively beckons, as you gasp

while...

hoping against all hope that a lifeline would appear suddenly within your grasp

drowning...

yet caught in the ghastly waters of unchartered isolation

feeling...

a trickle of hope amidst the gushing liquid of sheer desolation

drowning...

whilst holding on to slivers of sanity when blistering madness calls out to you

as...

faltering weaknesses snap and gnaw at your state of being, out of the pristine clear blue

drowning...

i have felt the pull of life's devious current as it has stripped me of my self and left me naked and bare

and still...

i fight with every suffocating breath left within

to surface and to cling onto

another gulp of life's coarse and putrid air...


Details | Free verse | |

Tears of My Heart

if poop could be named anything what would you name it?  id name it bob and id make him sit on a log in a bog and say get out of here you hog that looks like fog from a bog thats near a log with bob sitting on it who attacked the wacking wackers with all his heart and shattered, he fell to the floor.  dont name your poop bob because then youll have tears in your heart.


Details | Cowboy | |

NIGHTMARES & WHISKEY

In a room stark & white 
A nightmare he will ride tonight 
Twisted sheets in a rider's grip 
as he settles in for that fateful trip 
silently he screams & shouts 
This time there'll be no turn out 
The final clash of beast & man 
In the mind's arena plays out again 
Once was a time he was among the best 
Until that Brahma stepped on his chest 
Now he's locked in a ride he can't quit 
as his wife & his family at his bedside sit 
How he longs to be up & out of this bed 
Away from the demons in his head 
But you can't drown a nightmare in morphine 
And every night he rigs up again 

In a room stark & white 
She'll replay the ride tonight 
"Just one more ride & I'm done 
I've got to help raise our son" 
He'd said as he climbed in the chute 
and straddled that Brahma brute 
With a nod & a prayer, he marked out 
His last would be his best, no doubt 
Then, with a sudden twist & a flash of horn 
The cowboy from his seat was torn 
She watched him fall & struggle to rise 
Numb to the crowd's horrified cries 
Now she sits here each night without rest 
Cradling their baby boy close to her chest 
How she longs to have him hold her near 
Later, she reaches for the bottle to chase the fear 
But you can't drown a nightmare in whiskey 
And every night she rigs up again 

Under the arena's bright lights 
He'll dance with a nightmare tonight 
Wearing a greasepaint smile to hide the pain 
He plays out that fateful ride again 
One step out of rhythm & rhyme 
He'd lost the race against Brahma & time 
Word's haunt him still of a Cowboy's last request 
After that Brahma had stomped on his chest "Tell Katie I love her & I'm sorry for this" 
"If I'd listened to her, I'd not be in this mess" 
"You & the boys take care of her & my son" 
"I hear the chopper landing, guess this ride is done" 
How he wishes he could run that race once more 
The memory pushes him hard, it won't be ignored 
But you can't mask a nightmare with greasepaint 
And every night he rigs up again 

A wild Bullrider, loved one or clown 
no matter the poison the memory won't drown 
Nightmares, whiskey, greasepaint or morphine 
Can't kill the demons that ride through your dreams


Details | Cowboy | |

Brahma Dark

Death rides a pale horse, it is often quoted
to resurrecting bitter memories it is devoted
But the killer of dreams is Brahma dark
and with a twist of its head, hits its mark

I’ve ridden the memories until I’ve about lost count
Sometimes I wonder which of us is actually keeping score
and I’d gladly welcome that pale mount
just to dare to dream once more

© July 2004



Details | Cowboy | |

The Cowboy Way

I’ve ridden many a trail in my life & regrets I have few
For I lived the life I chose & to the Cowboy way stayed true
I will not ask for a mansion when I stand before God’s throne
I’ll be happy with a bedroll, a good herd & a sturdy roan

A cowboy’s dream is what I lived for so many happy years
I had my spread & family, made a good living from the calves & steers
So do not cry when you think of me, for I would rather see you smile
Rest easy in the knowing that because of you, my life was not a trial

Do not stand around & speak in hushed & hallowed tones
For there is nothing in this casket, except for husk & bones
My Spirit saddled up & hit the trail, heeding the Master’s call
And though I ride for him now, I’ll miss you one & all

In the creak of saddle leather & the jinglebobs you hear
I hope you think of me & know that I am ever near
I ride a range that knows no end, no stampede or rain
And I’ll keep one saddled for you until we meet again


Details | Cowboy | |

Ol' Blue

One eye was brown, the other blue,
Australian Shepard his breed-
a workin' dog with one heck of a nip
to the heels a cattle an' steed.

Just a little fur ball when I got him,
but I well remember the time,
he could out run 'n outsmart the lot,
an' make 'em all turn on a dime.

Those cold prairie nights, sleepin' under the stars,
that dog would warm my ol' bones,
I'd play my mouth-harp to settle the herd
while he sang in soft muffled tones.

Last winter there came a fierce blizzard,
we were caught in a mighty snowdrift.
Ol' Blue hunkered down, an' just held his ground,
saved us both from descendin' a cliff.

They talk about loyal in people,
an' I reckon there are quite a few,
but I trusted my life, even more than a wife,
to that mangy ol' dog name of Blue.
                             
His muzzle fin'lly was grayin',
an' his gate turned to limpin' 'n slow,
but no matter the job I was doin',
he'd follow wherever I'd go.

One mornin', I rose from my dreamin'
but Ol' Blue just didn't get up;
I saw in his bed that slumberin' head,
an' thought sure he resembled a pup.

Now, cryin' just ain't in my nature,
nor whinin' 'bout things I can't change,
but I gotta confess, my heart broke at best,
an' was sad 'n plenty deranged.

I laid him to rest on the prairie
for the coyotes to sing him a song,
'cause no dog was quite so deservin'
to live on this Earth for so long.

An' if there's a Heaven for doggies,
I'm sure that's where Blue is today-
waggin' his tail, an' just proud as hell
of the work that he done without pay. 


Details | Cowboy | |

The Beach House

I’m building castles in the sand
on the shores of a grey, grey sea.
The clouds have gathered overhead
and the shells are wave-washed clean.
Footprints wander down the shore
of the vast and vacant sea,
the waves are buffing them away
and turning the sand sateen.
Beyond the berm and the waving grass
inked upon the setting sun,
someone sits in a house of glass
as sand through fingers runs.

I’m watching seabirds dodge the stars
when the waves reflect the moon
and pulling seaweeds from the rocks
they drearily festoon.
And the sand’s run out of the fingers now,
and the drink’s run out of the cup;
the house of glass is quiet now,
all the shutters drawn up.


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 | Cowboy | |

The Pox Man

Oh, he rides though forest, he rides now through the hills—
The Pox Man is coming and he kills and he kills…
He lays waste to the red man and the white man, too—
He brings that soft darkness to both me and to you.

It may come with blankets; it may come with his horse—
It marks and gives you fever to run out its course.
He’s a tall, solemn scarred man that fills you with dread—
He may spare you your life or he’ll leave you for dead.

Oh, turn from the Pox Man – to him you do not pray,
His mercy is random, he has little to say.
He will ride off now soon - touch the weak with his breath—
He’s giver and taker – yes, we know him as death.


Details | Cowboy | |

Cherokee Summer

Paint ponies by the lodge
White manes

Turned silver in the moon’s glow
Taste of Mother Earth

Burden baskets hang at the door
They hold many seasons

Of worries & fears
The night owl comes

He sings the death song
Your time here has ended

The West door beckons you
Night Owl grows silent

© March 1984



In Memory of Jacob Michael MacCallister
March 18, 1957 ~ January 26, 1983


Details | Cowboy | |

Wild horses

On an island in the sun
wild ponies are free to run.
The indignity of man
They swim to the main land.
Once a year in July
under a warm summer sky
People gather all around.
No space in the water can be found.
boats and people everywhere
The babies struggle to keep up with the mares.
Out of the channel lead down a street
lead to corrals in humble defeat.
The young are sold
to the the highest bidder I`m told.
Back to the isand the other ones go
The last indignity of man is showed.
The young ones looking for their mothers
No reply not even an utter.




Details | Cowboy | |

Tucson to Texas

She says she feels the safest standing in the pouring rain
But it could rain for forty years and never wash away the pain
The bitter taste of grief will always be hers to swallow
Since she lost her heart's desire to that blessed curse called Rodeo

"Just one more ride & I'll be on my way, never more to roam"
now she wanders through an empty house that'll never be a home
how she longs to hear him whistling as he comes through the door
instead the silence is deafening & it tears her to the core

She wishes she could turn back time & stop the hand of fate
now he sleeps up on the hill & she will have to wait
to whisper soft "I love you" or one last "good bye"
she wonders if he hears her, as she silently asks "Why?"

That Brahma wasn't lined out for that chute that day
The rigging that he'd used was new, a present on Christmas Day
It wasn't anything down & dirty, just an exhibition ride
one quick show for the kids & he'd be back with his new bride

Now she sleeps in his old work shirt and dreams of his embrace
she fingers his battered Stetson & pictures his smiling face
No matter where she turns "He's gone" is all she hears
and stretching from Tucson to Texas, you'll find a trail of tears 

(c)August 2002









Details | Cowboy | |

Best of Friends

He was to be for my daddy, they'd said
as they scooped him up from the pick up bed
He was speckled & flop eared & soft as a sigh
My Daddy knew he had lost by the look in my eye 
With his masked bandit eyes, only one name seemed right
Thus, Ringo, was christened that long ago April night
Part wolf, part samoyed, part collie & aussie
He would herd anything from small kids to old Bossy 
Every morning he'd walk me to the school yard gate
Every afternoon he'd return & patiently wait
When I graduated from high school in June of ‘82
I argued with the principal that he deserved a diploma, too 
Wherever I wandered he was close at my side
Through my childhood years, we roamed far & wide
We hiked every inch of the old Hilton Spread & the Total Wreck, as well
I knew to bring him in with me, when my daddy would start to yell 
He moved quick & shadow silent & hardly ever made a sound
But just say the word "Ranch" & watch him come unwound 
He loved to chase the rabbits & running with the 'yotes
Its to his credit that some coyote pups had speckled coats 
I learned to trust his instinct when the fellers started to call
Why, when his hackles started rising, I knew to end it all
He'd step in between us & stare them down to size
Yep, if Ringo didn't like you, there would be no compromise 
He's gone on across the Rainbow bridge where all good dogs abide
But he'll be waiting at Heaven's Gate, to fall in at my side
He taught me loyalty & trust, & that love never ends
For sixteen years, through thick & thin, We were the best of friends


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 Teardrop Away

I hear a hawk cry to its mate
Takes me back before "too late"
Lonesome lyric desert wind
Sings me into your arms again

How I wish that it could be
not just a dream but flesh & blood reality 
Gone but not forgotten, you will always be
just a teardrop away in my fondest memory

The whisper of the wind brings you back again
to dance among the shadows of my heart 
Thunder echoing down the hills
I hear your voice so close it chills

Lightening dances cross the sky
recalls the laughter in your eyes
Suddenly we're once again
Dizzy dancing in the rain 

Gone but not forgotten, you will always be
just a teardrop away in my fondest memory
The whisper of the wind brings you back again
to dance among the shadows of my heart 

Gone so swiftly without goodbyes
but I know true love never dies
As I kneel at this headstone
I know I will never walk alone

For you'll always live within my heart
guiding me from the deepest part 
Gone but not forgotten, you will always be
just a teardrop away in my fondest memory

The whisper of the wind brings you back again
to dance among the shadows of my heart

(c) January 2002


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 | Rhyme | |

The Gunslinger(The Beginning)

He use to carry guns,Back in the day.
But he had put them up,to start a new way.
He found a wife,and would settle down.
Just a short stretch,on the outside of town.
A young daughter,the two would raise.
And soon forgot, his gunslinger days.
Then they came,their intentions were clear.
To rob and kill,anyone who was here.
They left that house,one thing they would dread.
They didn't make sure,everyone was dead.
He opened his eyes,saw her laying on the floor.
As he caught a glimpse of them,a dozen or more.
He healed from his wounds,laid his little girl to rest.
He vowed for revenge,as he opened the chest.
He put his guns on again,looking straight ahead.
He would not stop,until they all were dead.
Out the door he went,to the house he would never return.
He would go to his grave,with a heart that would burn.
And now you know,the gunslingers story is told.
The killing of his family,and the way it would unfold.