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Cowboy Nature Poems | Cowboy Poems About Nature

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

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Details | Cowboy | |

Intelligent Design

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Details | Cowboy | |


Up in Colorado, in the forests of Pikes Peak
A cranky critters conference was held just this week
It was led by a mouse, 3 legs, whiskerless & without tail
"Against a common foe!" He said "We must Unite! We must prevail!"

He hobbled out to the edge of the woods & pointed toward a house
In that house, I once lived a good life, a young & healthy mouse
Then one day the rancher's wife decided she'd had enough
I will say she is a worthy adversary, Mercy she was tough!

He looked around at all the critters, weasel, skunk & squirrel
& said "I hate to admit it but I was bested by a girl!"
Its true, I escaped alive but she got her trophies, too
For I left my tail, paws & whiskers stuck there in her glue 

The squirrel spoke up in a streetwise Brando voice
I'll accept the challenge! For this mission, I am the best choice!
I know this lady well, having enjoyed seeds & nuts out on her deck
I am not afraid of her & will show her we deserve respect

So the squirrel plotted & waited until the time was right
He saw his chance & took it while in the birds she took delight
He scampered up a pine tree & scurried out on to a branch
While she was distracted with a phone call & a pretty bird, he seized his chance

He took a flying leap, landing square on her blond head
Taking great delight in her squeals of surprise & dread
He then let loose with a torrent of the defecation sort
"That's for all the dead & walking wounded!" was his parting retort
The moral of this story, for one there must be
Is be mindful of avenging squirrels when you sit beneath a tree 

Details | Cowboy | |

New Mexico

     The first time that you see her, She will steal your soul away,
And replace it with a being of her own,
Her white sands will glisten, underneath turquoise skies,
And make your heart always long, for New Mexico.

     There is magic in her mountains, secrets in her sage,
A special kind of wisdom, that only comes with age.
The music of her canyons, will echo and roll,
And fill your life with desire, for New Mexico.

     She'll captivate your spirit, keep it in possession there,
No matter where you are, you smell cedar in the air.
The song she sings you, comes from long ago,
And haunts you with a passion, for New Mexico.

     You understand the stillness, of a desert afternoon,
You're enchanted by the beauty, of yucca in bloom,
While you wonder at the colors, transformed by the sun's glow,
Your thoughts are of being, in New Mexico.

     Voices of the past, warriors and pioneers,
Urge you with their stories, of laughter and tears.
An unsettled feeling, is all you have to show,
As you roam familiar trails, back to New Mexico.

     Some will call her savage, some will call her wild,
In ever fleeting shadows, she remains but a child.
This boldness of character is restless and untamed,
Gentled only by The Power, that takes on many names.

     You'll hear her in the night sometimes, when Westward breezes blow,
And to fill that empty feeling, you know you have to go,
For once you hold her in your eyes, nothing else can make you whole,
And you're never really home again, until you're in New Mexico.

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 | |


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.


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 | 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 | Cowboy | |










Details | Cowboy | |

Where The Buffalo Roam

There once was a time
During the long forgotten era
The frontier so majestic
In the age of the arrow

All the tools needed
The Earth would provide
Nothing went to waste
Considered creed to the tribe

A land vastly open
Natives once called it home
A place where the buffalo
Majestically once roamed

Free from democracy
Yet peace was achieved
Answering not to dictatorship
Acknowledging only self beliefs

Men were not kept in cages
They were not hung for display
The equality was unimaginable
Freedoms not experienced in the present day

The ignorance of our species
Is second to none
People actually follow rules
Placed in force by only one

Our industrial evolution
Has destroyed the land
 Our lust for prosperity
Has tarnished this sand

The buffalo once roamed the planes
Standing oh so bold and tall
The natives had foreseen
The inevitable rise to fall
Prosperity brought damnation
Of an entire generation
Now we are the ones 
Who try slowing immigration

The hypocrisy in our laws
Exposes the true foundation
Who are we to deny
Anyone into this nation

It has yet been noticed
By the ignorant youth
The basis of history
Rarely holds truth

In a place so very near
The buffalo once roamed
The land filled with life
Now stripped to the bones

With the right kind of ears
You might catch the tone
Heard only by the damned
The sound of nature's wrathful moan 

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 | |

Things Change

Now, I find it kind of funny how quickly things change
Once was a time when everyone wanted a home on the range
A place where they had room to stretch & grow
Out where the cattle bawl & the west winds  blow

The city folk have all gone country or so they’d like to think
Why, there are new houses going up faster than you can blink
You remember that prime grazing lease? Take another look
Its looking more & more like an architect’s pop-up book

They come out here to escape all the big city worries & trouble
They said they weren’t concerned if their commute doubled
Now they are talking of bringing a super market in
And an increase in crime spreads our deputies thin

They thought that grazing cattle made a picture quite quaint
Now those same cows holding up traffic is an oft heard complaint
They throw out words like eco-friendly & enviromental plan
then scrape the land as clean as momma’s griddle pan

Yes, everybody wants a home out on the range
And I am just a cowboy trying to reconcile the change
I watch the valley whittled down into an urban scene
 and wish that I was back again in childhood fields of green

(c) Februaury 2004

Details | Terza Rima | |

Cowboys in the Badlands

Out west, near Black Hills, over South Dakota way,
On land where layered rocks records eons before –
Some thieves rode the badlands that hot steamy day.

Rough riding rustlers raided a ranch; stole a boar.
Those thieves took, tackle, grain, food, and wine grapes.
Two rife and rifled cowboys planned to settle the score!

Rugged and fearless with sweat on hot napes,
They rode where the rattlers and bull snakes call home.
Both galloped fast and hard … must not let thieves escape.

But they stopped with their horses when they saw bison’s roam.
Felt stillness; saw vastness; amazed, each life reshapes.
The wilderness teaches with its silent, “Shalom.”

Paused, distantly viewing weird-wonderful shapes.
Great towers of fossils that give wildlife a home.
Two soul-searching cowboys ponder nature’s landscapes.

While prairie dogs and cottontails run for the loam,
The bobcats and vultures look down on the plains.
And turtles stay still in their portable home.

The Bighorns and badgers walk gullies in rains.
Meadowlarks sing songs while pretty pronghorns prance.
There, valleys hide critters in flowers and grains.

It’s a desolate land; so, it seems at first glance.
Plenty of majestic views extending for miles,
Masking deadly dangers that stalk the great expanse.

But back on the ranch families stock up woodpiles,
They tend to the gardens, feed chickens, and cows. 
Their work is quite hard but they manage with smiles.

The villains still steal and the farmers push plows.
But two soul-searching cowboys made Heavenly vows.

Copyright October 12, 2014

Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: Cowboys in the Badlands - 
Sponsor	Isaiah Zerbst

Details | Cowboy | |

Moccasin Moon

It slides softly in the night sky,
That pale moccasin of the moon—
It lights up a snow-bleached prairie—
Whispering summer comes too soon.

We trace the trail of coyotes—
Avoid the dark dens of the bear—
The full light of your white footprint
Lures us now to your fatal lair.

Oh, we chant into the black dome
Of all the things that used to be—
There’s no more Indian summer—
Long gone are Cree and Cherokee.

Yet, still the silky stealthy tread
Brings back images bright and keen—
Of lost Native Americans
Where so few are now seldom seen.

But moons do not let us forget
All the wild blood shed on both sides—
As we trace steps of moccasins
To where the dark of the moon hides.

Yes, it walks gently in tall sky,
That faint moccasin of new moon—
So gently it illuminates
As we dance mutely to its tune.

Details | Prose | |

The Riders

Four young fellas rode by around midday.  
Sun was strong as whiskey scratching the back of a three day dried throat.  
The three girls were out front and Ma came out pointing her loaded shotgun.  
Riders like these and the hot sun wasn’t gonna be anything 
but a barrel full o’ trouble.  
They tipped their hats, asked for water.  
Kitty with her blouse all open and them nubile breasts of hers just pouting 
like peas in a pod just ready to pop.  
Ma saw the way she was eying up that dark haired fella.  
She just hollered at her to get her trouble seeking ass inside.  
Ginny, the eldest girl, fetched them the water.  
Seemed like they weren’t in any hurry to leave, so Ma fired off a shot, 
whistled by the blond one’s ears so his horse darn near threw him.  
Ma wasn’t the kind to tell anyone anything but once, 
cos she said you can’t be wasting the Lord’s precious breath on hard eared scum.  
They got the message well enough.  
Don’t reckon we’ll be seeing them back this way again any time soon.

Details | Rhyme | |


Unlikely the explorers of the Wild West,
I'm bound for sheer adventure, not amazing discovery;
finding gold is far from any quest 
while this clanking, slow-moving stream locomotive
will take me to places so primitive... 
even a small ghost town has tales that conjure mystery!  

Whistle along train as your steam puffs...
reaching clouds and turning them into raindrops,
California is still a seeker's dream for the unhappy folks living 
in bustling cities enduring noise and pollution;
soundless are the canyons drifting
by without any fearless cowboy riding,
but the watchful coyotes will resent this intrusion...
whenever your whistle startles them when they are napping!

Whistle along train as your steam puffs,
I didn't bring along a single book to read not to be distracted by reality,   
only a huge map showing me historic towns...
where daily shootings were as common as drinking whiskey!
Imagine seeing the ghosts of Billy the Kid and Jesse James 
roam the dusty streets ready to start a gunfight;
see crowds gather and wait for the winner to shout...
it's like watching a Clint Eastwood's western movie drawing his guns!

Details | Cowboy | |

Muck Dance Ballet

(French terms to know: arabesque (ar-a-besk) stand on one leg, other leg extended back
with knee straight, arms out; pirouette (peer-oo-et) a full turn of the body on the top of
the toe or the ball of the foot; releve' (rel-vay) rise up from the whole foot onto the
ball of the foot; demi plie' (dem-ee plee-ay) half bend of the knees; port de bras
(por-de-bra) continual movement of the arms through a series of positions; fouette
(foo-ay-tay) series of turns on one leg, the other leg extending rapidly to side and
whipping around body; glissade (glee-sade) a connecting sliding step

When corrals turn to mush
and all dirt roads are slush,
springtime has arrived at our place.
The challenge begins
since I'm sans webs or fins
to walk outside with upright grace.

I don my galoshes
and cov'ralls that washes
to feed stock that wait in the lots.
By the time I return
I will honestly earn
my decor of brown and green spots.

As I step in the slop,
my galoshes do flop,
as ankle-deep mud gets a grip.
In slow forward motion
I ease through this potion,
resisting the muck's pull to slip.

I feed several hay bales
and balance two grain pails,
while working my way through the soup.
But before I am through
I'll lose one boot or two
from suction of that muddy goop.


My foot's poised in the air
as I (gasp) balance up there.
I execute an arabesque,
a slow pirouette
so I shan't get all wet.
What I need is a chair or a desk!

My predicament here
since my boot is so near
is to turn it around in the slop.
My balance must hold
while my foot's in this mold
and fearing my body will drop.

A controlled releve'    
and demi plie'
are more than my posture can stand.
A wild port de bras
while I desperately claw
finds me catching the ground with my hand.

I snap a fouette'
and turn the other way.
I manage a slippery glissade.
For it's not every day
you see Muck Dance Ballet--
just when ankle deep mud makes you wade.

Copyright Terry Henderson

Details | Cowboy | |

Ancient Echoes

As I stand here at the rim, father sun comes peeking
all around me I can hear the old ones speaking

Journey Deeper

The trail draws me down into the womb of Mother Earth
and from the canyon walls the sounds of childish mirth

Journey Deeper

standing, bone drenched, under a waterfall so tall it seems to wash the sky
I hear the ancient courting flute, as ancient lovers sigh

Journey Deeper

slowly I work my way to the rushing waters at her heart
I hear the anguished cries of the men who’ll never depart

Journey Deeper

I sit beside the river’s edge, & search the canyons of my mind
and lose myself in the ancient voices, echoes of mankind

Journey Deeper

© June 2003

Details | Cowboy | |

Yansa Sea

Tall Grass bends beneath
undulating waves of gray brown

Mystic energy pulses through
the crisp dawning sky

Smell of sweat & acrid fear
The sound of the hunt Cry

mixed with the thunderous crashing
of Buffalo waves on prairie sod shores

Pony & warrior riding the crest
Arrow loosed finds its mark

deep within Yansa chest
Hunter’s cry of triumph

In harmony with the last bellow of death
as the waves of the Yansa sea

ebb & flow across the Tall Grass plains

© June 2003

** Yansa is the Cherokee word for buffalo**

Details | Cowboy | |

Canyon Symphony

I awaken in the dawn
to the canyon's morning song
I hear the hawks good morning cry
High in the trees, ancient voices sigh

Sister owl settles in for a rest
A whitetail fawn gives her legs a test
Somewhere down canyon, ancient drums repeating
Patient ponies nicker in greeting

Mourning doves & quail in lilting harmony
Add the final notes to this morning symphony
I sit silent in the twilight, as the day grows long
reveling in the canyon's evening song

I see the ancient campfire's glowing, in the darkening sky
High on the ridge, a coyote choral begins its cry
Sister owl takes to flight, carrying messages into the night
A hunter's moon rises, bathing the canyon in its light

Some where in the shadows, ancient voices calling
As I wish on a shooting star falling
Cicadas & river toads in raucous cacophony
Add the final notes to this evening symphony

© June 2004

Details | Cowboy | |

Sage & Thorn

From a Cowboy heart is born
Poets of the sage & thorn
We speak so all the world might see
The cowboy life, our legacy
Whether in the city raised
Or with the cattle as they grazed
You're transported swiftly back in time
When gathered to hear a cowboy rhyme
To wild & western days now past
Slowing a world which moves so fast
We offer our memories as a gift
hoping that your spirits lift
We are all Cowboy bred & born
Poets of the sage & thorn 

Details | Cowboy | |

' The Cowboy And Clouds ... ' (Cowboy Poem # 13)

The Cowboy In The Storm-Cloud
Thunder, Is His Horse
Rearing-Up and Neighing Loud
Aimed Lightning Crack, With Force

Cowboy In A Sun-Cloud
Chase Bad-Guys Away
Pearl-Handled, 6-Shooter, Pow, Pow, Powed !
 and Light Posse, Saved The Day

A Cowboy On A Star-Cloud
The Marshal Of A Moon
Galaxy-Badge-Vowed, to Cosmic-Crowd
 Uphold Law, Light-Years-Away at High Noon !

Details | Cowboy | |

the fishing hole.

Just off the san pedro river, 
where the catfish only hit on liver.
Lies a stock pond full of fish,
where some come to make a wish.

it takes about an hour to drive,
you'll soon find out only the strong survive.
Now make a left at the tree,
and the fun will start, you'll see.

dont forget to lock the gate,
dont worry about the bait.
now cross the field,
and try not to get killed.

stear clear of the log,
its the home of the barking dog.
stay low and dont make a sound,
for the owner may be lurking around.

just when you think your here,
watch out for the proud cut steer.
not much further now,
and I was just kidding about the cow.

You got this far, you've done well,
i know you think this is hell.
one more obstacle you must pass,
watch out for snakes in the grass.

if your will to take this mission,
dont ever ask the owners permission.
is it free? I think not,
and dont worry if you hear a shot.

always enter from the rear,
dont forget to bring some beer.
so grab your truck and your pole,
and we'll see you at the fishin' hole.

Details | Cowboy | |

The Cowpokes Song

There's moonlight on the prairie 
With the campfire cracking
He sings his cowpokes song

He dreams of the day 
Of catching the bouquet
The time and pleasure
Watching sons and daughters grow

Rocking on a wooden horse
Watching  the flowers sow
Now he eats the dust of another days labor

Only wishing 
For a drop of water to quench his thirst
Umable to sing
A cowpokes song

Details | Cowboy | |

' The Cowboy and The Rainbow ... ' (Cowboy Poem # 3)

A Cowboy, Neath A Rainbow
Rode The Range, Far and Free
Holding Lightning Reins, and A Lasso
Strung Around His Untamed Dreams

Riding On His Horse, named Bullseye-Shoot
A Big, Bay Thoroughbred
Galloped Long, Nudged by The Cowboy’s Boots
To Race, As Dark Clouds Fled …

… Away, As Each Hoof Struck The Ground
Sounding, Just Like Thunder !
The Cowboy and Horse, Were Rainbow-Bound
Both, A Romantic, Climatic-Color Wonder !

Flashing Across The Range
On A Silver Saddle and Same Kind of Spurs
The Cowboy’s Hat and Horse’s Tail and Mane
And Sunset … All Became A Rainbow-Blur …

As The Cowboy, Lassoed The Wind
So Fast, They Did Go !
So Fast, His Lariat Did Spin …
I Think He Caught His Rainbow…

… A Cowboy Neath A Rainbow
Rode The Range, Far and Free
Holding Lightning Reins and A Lasso
Strung Around His Untamed Dreams …

          For:  John  Moses Freeman,
You Are Of The Gallant, Galloping Breed

From:  Country-Gal, Poet-Pal

Details | Cowboy | |

Bubbles on the Lake

An ol’ cowboy was just sittin’
On his horse for sittin’s sake,
‘Mongst the trees of time regrettin’
Those brief bubbles on the lake.

They reminded him of childhood—
They brought back his very youth—
When all things were simple and good
And a man’s vow was the truth.

But things got so complicated
As all the years made him wise,
And he loved things he once hated
And life became compromise.

So here he’s now just awaitin’
In this world that he did make—
To shun or shake hands with Satin
As bubbles burst on the lake.

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 | |

The Owl & Me

The Owl & Me

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

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

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

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

Catherine Lilbit Devine © September 21, 2005

Details | Cowboy | |

It Used To Be An Open Range

In these dark days of war and death, in these days of turmoil and change—
In these days of political correctness, it sure does seem strange,
How once we did what we wanted – it used to be an open range.

I know now how it must have felt when they strung the range with barbed wire—
An era ended on those plains; the land and men put up for hire—
A way of life and freedom gone – a hard rain that put out the fire.

And nowadays in word and rhyme, it seems poets are all fenced in—
To write of history and yesterday, just seem to be a sin—
They only want these modern ranching times and not those way back when.

We know the world has changed a lot and all our freedoms have a cost—
It seems liberties’ now another word that comes each year with frost,
As mournfully we gaze on sunsets and dream back on all we’ve lost.

So hoist another cup of Joe and raise your drink for one last toast—
Like phantom bison and wild horses, our free ways give up the ghost
And sadly we lean back in saddles and lose the thing we love most. 

In these dark days of war and death, in these days of turmoil and change—
In these days of political correctness, it sure does seem strange,
How once we did what we wanted – it used to be an open range.

Details | Cowboy | |

Silent Guardians

You stand there, silent & watching
each of you in turn holding a bank of memories
That are mine to draw from each day 

To the North, the Catalinas
Draw me back to childhood days
of breakfasts, camp fires & snow ball fights
teenage drives & love's first kiss 

To the East, the Rincons
Where I have wiled the time away
I've hiked your trails & greeted the moon
watched storms roll in & lightening play 

To the South, the Santa Ritas
Long forgotten roads & ghost towns
hold my grief & pain, sorrow & tears
when from adulthood & its trials I ran 

To the West, the Tucson Mountains
settling low & wide, hold a poet's dreams
Just me & a cactus wren serenade
as day gave way to desert night 

You stand there, silent & watching
welcoming me home & drawing me close
At every turn I find you there
Solid & watchful, ever the Silent Guardians

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Mustang Band

Up in the pinion covered highlands,
I came upon a wild horse band. 
I counted six rangy horses, grazing there,
including the Stallion and the lead mare.

It was truly a range cowboy's delight.
there were four bays, a roan and one mostly white.
The  muscled stallion stood watchful up on a rise,
and followed my every move with his eyes.

Then the stallion somehow signaled the lead mare,
in a language only wild horses can share.
She led her charges up a winding trail,
and her movement broke my hypnotic spell.

I admired their surefootedness and their survival skills,
as they quickly ascended the rocky hills.
The Stallion was last, bringing up the rear,
It was self preservation, not nervous fear.

it was awe inspiring as I watched them flee,
but a melancholy wistfulness came over me.
The Mustang, like the cowboy,symbol of the west,
drifted into the sunset, and went over the crest.

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Deer linger in the bitterbrush
Below the gambel oak—
The brittle fern shows no concern
For killdeer or cowpoke.

The miner’s candle lights our way
Now lost in limber pine—
The water birch does not besmirch
Beargrass at timberline.

Sky pilots bend on mountain side
Dark as the black hawthorn—
A horned lark rests on the ninebark—
Between the two we’re torn.

We journey south through water oak,
Coral bean, supple jack—
We ride beneath magnolia leaf
And miss not what we lack.

A canebrake rattler comes too close,
Like death in the sweet bay—
Chinaberry makes us tarry
This oleander day.

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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

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Salt River Canyon

Do you hear the long gone voices as they echo off the rock?
Does your heart begin to quicken at the keening of the hawk?
Does your soul seek out the rhythm of ancient chants & song?
Do you feel at rest here, like you’ve come back where you belong?

It’s the canyon’s ancient people that are welcoming you again
They raise their voices in celebration of a circle without end
They’ve kept a fire burning in the hope that as you roam,
you would stop to hear the hawk’s cry & let it lead you home

You’ll find peace here in the canyon & its healing waters, too
Stand here in the rushing current, you’ll soon feel brand new
In the water, silt & red clay, ancient energies still surge
Go ahead & dance to the ancient rhythms, give in to the urge

Sit & rest here on these rocks a while & offer up a silent prayer
then tuck these moments in the pocket of your soul to revel in anywhere
For once you’ve stood in the Salt & let it fill both soul & heart
You’ll carry the canyon with you & never quite depart

© July 2003

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Moon Shadow On the Snow

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

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

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New Spring

Oh, the springs run to the rivers
And the redbuds paint the banks,
As the dogwoods burst to bloomin’
And the cowboys all give thanks.

They’ll be dustin’ off their saddles,
Checkin’ cinches and their string,
When that range all starts to greenin’
And they know that it’s new spring.

That black coffee now tastes better,
Boiled out on the open flames
As they round up their remudas
And give horses their new names.

Their boots are all clean and shiny
And the tack is soaped and fixed—
They even done their spring bathin’
In the pond and in the cricks.

Them cowboys and cows are anxious
For what a season will bring,
As they gather and head on out
In God’s glory of new spring.

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Boulder Ridge

The moon is full above the canyon 
   listen to the call... 
The music of the river 
   echoes between the walls. 
A love song for the brave 
   who boldly choose to walk, 
The path of their true destiny 
   as the drums begin to talk. 
The boulder on the ridge 
   catches and holds the light, 
Providing a mystic place 
   for passion in the night. 
Hearts beating to the cadence 
   of the drums far below, 
Sharing souls and secrets 
   only the moon will know. 
Breathe deep the magic moment, 
   It is here by more than chance, 
Come out of the half shadows, 
   Listen...Live...and Dance. 


Details | Couplet | |

Autumn Cowboy

The cowboy in cascading leaves has lingered much too long,
As he sings amid red and gold, summer’s last dying song.
The sky is clear and blue this day, but change is in the air—
Far mountains shine with crisp, white caps and blow cold wind through hair.

He softly spurs dreams into a stampede of falling leaves—
Wishing that the best of worlds would bring bad men to their knees. 
He turns his horse to the north and heads for that old line shack—
Hoping that the larder’s full and come spring he’ll be riding back. 

He trails sweet salmon sunset as brass leaves rustle the breeze—
Far sky melts to shining white as snow is held back by trees.
He knows hard winter’s coming, its cold silver slides in fast—
For a time he savors summer, knowing good things don’t last.

The cowboy in cascading leaves has lingered much too long,
As he sings amid red and gold, summer’s last dying song. 

Details | Cowboy | |


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 | |

Spring Part 1 Prose Poetry


	Ah, spring is in the air.  The time when Mother Nature renews herself. 
The loving arms of the sun and the tears of the clouds bring forth the little green 
shoots of promise.  The little animals have preformed their dances of renewal 
and their species is ensured. Ranching on the Rosebud Reservation of S. D. we 
had a cow calf operation.  Our springs were in tune with nature and not only did 
we calve in the spring but we also had a fall calving group.  We ran about four 
hundred cows and since we were basically a one man operation there were 
times my poor husband had to yield and allow me to help.

Details | Cowboy | |

Barn Therapy

I go hide out in the barn sometimes, 
   just to take a small vacation, 
from the telephone and the fax machine, 
   and my all too close relations. 
Hiding out in the barn,  
   sets my mind at ease. 
I watch the chickens, sit on the hay, 
   and listen to the breeze. 
I learn a lot just sitting there, 
   observing the things I see, 
and hiding out in the barn, 
   is cheaper than therapy. 
I can psycho-analyze my id, 
   get in touch with my inner self, 
meditate and mediate, 
   and improve my mental health. 
There are times, 
   (I’m not ashamed to say), 
I go hide out there, 
   for the better part of the day. 
There’s much to be said, 
   for just hiding out, 
I come to understand, 
   what life is all about. 

I leave the barn, 
   refreshed and renewed, 
my problems are minimal, 
   and my tensions subdued. 
I know I am lucky, 
   to have found the key, 
to putting my world in order, 
   and finding perfect tranquility. 
So if you come looking for me, 
   I’ll be where the simple things hold real charm, 
getting a dose of therapy, 
   hiding out, in the barn.

Details | Cowboy | |

A Day

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

Details | Cowboy | |

$weet Violent

Ask Me no more where Jove bestows when
June is past, the fading roses, for In your beauty's
Orient deep these flowers, as In their cause sleep ask
Me no more whither do stray the golden atoms of the Day;
For in pure love Heaven did prepare those
Powders to enrich your hair ask Me no more whither
Doth haste the nighttingale when May is past;
For In sweet dividing lawn She Winters, and keeps warm Her
Note ask Me no more where those Star's light, that
Downwards fall in dead of Night for in your Eye's they
Sit and there fixed become as In there sphere ask Me
No more if East or West the foundation builds Her spicy
Fragrant sweet violent sent love thou art absolute sole
Lord I gift writing poetry to prove the word we'll now
Appeal to no none of all those thy old Poet's great and tall.

Details | Cowboy | |

Speed lesson

When I walk into a barroom and every one looks up
I get the weirdest feeling I’m not there
When I walk into a barroom and they all look away
I feel I’ve never been in their affair
Now reading a barroom aint like reading in a book
There’s a lot of things that need a second look
There’re some I never stayed in
An some I wished I left
And that fella with the pool cue’s
Way too tall
Now I can run a table
Sometimes even four
But here I think I’ll settle for the door
Easy money needs an open floor
An that shark has lost a bite to me before

Just thoughts of times spent waiting for the rush hour traffic to leave
And memories of losing and winning

Details | Cowboy | |

Texas Lullaby

Night air grew warm and stiflin’
And the lightnin’ flashed the sky—
As night herders sang those notes
Of the “Texas Lullaby.”

The notes came low and trembled—
Wailers did not yell or shoot—
Their voices rose on high now
To quiet cow and galoot.

The lightnin’ then grew brighter
Like an eerie prairie pyre—
It balled and jumped each cow’s horns—
The ghost of St. Elmo’s fire.

Those two night guards now sang on,
A soft song not made of words—
Syllables and tones to soothe
And calm down uneasy herds.

The cattle moved in circles
And then would have stampeded—
When a cow bawled for its calf
And that’s all that was needed. 

The rain came and lightnin’ ceased—
Herders sang softly and high—
The cows bedded slowly down
To that “Texas Lullaby.”

And on they kept a singin’—
Not on words did they rely—
Just tones and soft syllables
Of that “Texas Lullaby.”

Details | Cowboy | |

Missouri Dirt

Now, parts of Missouri is fertile
And they grow a right hefty crop—
But others is downright pitiful
And is good fer cows and hog slop.

It seems to the south and very heart,
In that now beautiful Ozark land—
The earth is plum full of dad-blame rocks—
More than a sane farmer can stand!

And it seems that the more that you dig,
All the more pops up to yer eye—
Jest like you were raisin’ rock babies
That continues to multiply!

So you keep on diggin’ them all up
Till your back does begin to hurt—
And you know you best stick to cattle
On this here ol’ Missouri dirt! 

Details | Cowboy | |

The Charlie Russell Range

On a Charlie Russell range under royal Montana skies,
Pale Shoshones and bison bones bring tears to old squaw’s eyes.
A purple wash of prairie sun slides slow beneath the rim—
A crown of gold and purest while brings awe to horse and men.

God’s claret brush and russet rain breathes life into sunset—
Cast stark in brass and iron and bronze without but one regret.
They silhouette Indians like Remingtons on the hill—
Their art will last for centuries while mere man never will.

So hold them high in the sky and let no man call it strange—
Art is sweet insanity beneath a Charlie Russell range.   

Details | Cowboy | |

When Wind Waltzes Through the Wheat

Its nearin’ trail’s end and you’re windin’ down the drive,
There’s a touch of cool breeze and it’s good to be alive—
You’re headin’ toward the railhead and hear the cow’s bleat—
The ends always near, when wind waltzes through the wheat.

You’re happy on your haunches though you ain’t well fed—
You know the drive’s a good one when you don’t leave no dead.
And in your mind are mountains – the rain and the sleet—
Things that always last, when wind waltzes through the wheat.

So now you’re through with shippin’ and the work’s all done,
And you ride off to some line shack where it all begun—
But in dreams you’re prayin’ for more summers and heat
And all those old times, when wind waltzes through the wheat.

Details | Cowboy | |

Equine Knocks

Oak leather and loose latigo
Wash wind as saddles sing—
Splashing cool creeks the horses know—
Humming hoofs summers bring. 

Sun sparkles dappled trees ahead
As we now gallop on—
Our eyes are clear and faces red 
As we race to the pond.

We’re twelve years old and full of spunk
As my horse rears to buck—
Then I fall hard and go kerplunk 
And run clear out of luck!

Just as I hit upon my bun,
I think that I have died—
But then I see my luck’s not done—
That cow pie is all dried!

Oak leather and loose latigo
Takes us on that short ride—
With nothing broke or left aglow 
Except my own dern pride!