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Cowboy Seasons Poems | Cowboy Poems About Seasons

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

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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 | |

guitar band dementia

camera three is having 
an existential crisis; 
his long languid lens 
has suffered in silence, 
an impotent shard of 
quixotic resistance, 
for his vision won’t 
focus on faecal injustice, 

camera three is having 
an existential crisis; 
mascots, despots, 
or other devices,
just won’t solve the problem,
or even negate, 
this delicate time 
in his delicate state,

camera three is having 
an existential crisis; 
Osiris, Anubis, Oasis and Isis, 
have all shed the skin of 
guitar band dementia, 
wheeling out wisdom 
for the fear of inertia,
camera three is having 
an existential crisis…


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 | |

An Ode to a New Year

It was New Year Eve night,

and although kids were up
the only sound to be made was the drinking of cups.

They were filled with the hopes 
that fireworks might start,
so they could see that big beautiful spark.

All through the night they sat just to watch
and the fireworks would start with a blotch.

After the fireworks were done
the kids ran on home,
to their beds where they slept cozily inside their dome.

By the time it was midnight the kids were all sleeping
only to miss the big ball that was beeping.

The ball hit the top of that very long pole
and the parents ran outside to go hit a bowl.

So as they years went on,
all those children who used to yawn
were all staying up to watch,
that big huge firework blotch.


Details | Cowboy | |

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.


Details | Cowboy | |

Ridin' That Ol' Chuck Line

Seems this winter is a long one,
But things will work out fine,
As I trail on from ranch to ranch—
Ridin’ that ol’ chuck line.

Been unemployed since fall shippin’,
But that’s a cowboy’s life—
Line camp’s too confinin’,
Just like a nosey wife.

What money I earned from trail drives
Was spent on gals and cards—
So now I ride this ol’ chuck line
Or borrow from my pards.

Each ranch has its grub to offer,
Though we have not a thing—
We’ll take those beans, stew and biscuits
And jobs that come with spring.

Yet while each winter’s a hard one,
Ol’ cowboys do not whine—
We just keep our horses movin’—
Ridin’ that ol’ chuck line.



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 | |

Life

Fineness who shall from this Life raise a
Soul disappeared In many ways sadness bolts of Bones
That fettered stands there Feet and manacled in hand
Here blinded with an Eye and where deaf with the
Whisper of an Ear a soul hung up as 'twere in chains of
Nerves and arteries and veins tortured besides each
Other part in vain Head and double Heart kindness who
Shall me deliver whole from bonds of this tyrannic Soul
Which stretched upright impales Me so that mine own
Precipice I go and warms and moves this needless
Frame a fever could but do the same and wanting
Where it's spite to try has made Me live to let me fly a
Body that could never rest since this ill spirit possessed
What magic could Me thus confine within another's
Grief to pine where whatsoever it complain I feel that
Cannot feel pain and all my care Itself employs that
To preserve which Me destroys bad words out this poem.


Details | Cowboy | |

It Seemed Summer Would Not End

‘Round the bunkhouse and corral—
Seven years old, without sin—
My yeller dog was my pal—
It seemed summer would not end.

The warm days went by fast—
It was time for me to wean—
The good things just do not last—
I was all of seventeen.

Like a horse the years go by—
Twenty-seven and still free—
All the years they seem to fly—
It seems that some things must be.

I am thirty-seven now,
With a wife and hungry kids—
A ranch, cattle, pigs and sow—
And look back on what I did.

Forty-seven comes too quick—
All my days peel off like bark—
Half my cattle are all sick—
All my days seem bleak and dark.

At fifty-seven comes fear
Of the things now up ahead—
So you live life year by year
And hope you don’t wind up dead.

Sixty-seven shows its face
And it ain’t your best ol’ pard—
Others wait to take your place—
This ol’ life is just too hard.

Seventy-seven’s now nigh
And your bones are weak and old—
So you ask the Lord just why,
Things don’t go like you were told. 

Eighty-seven was a dream
That you never thought you’d see—
But things aren’t as they now seem
And you’re content to just be.

Ninety-seven now comes fast
And it will not be a friend—
But you knew good things don’t last—
It seemed summer would not end.