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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 | Free verse | |

Wind Song, With Birds

The wind
howled ice-cold, clear-sky
lullabies

and awoke the moon,
who gazed, heavy-lidded,
at the stars around her

Leaves and dust
danced sambas and pirouetted
along the desert's river,

who was shivering uncontrollably
while midnight birds
struggled to fly upstream

against the manic,
stinging, musical currents
of turbulence and wonder


Details | Free verse | |

Work

Work.
Toil.
The pain I put in the ground.
For such a precious thing.
Corn. 
The family enjoys their meal.
They plant their leftover kernels.
And wait for me to tend to them.
Work. 
An endless cycle in which happiness is born.


©Demand4poetry
21 February 2013


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 | Free verse | |

Ranch Hand Sunset.

Upon the flushing milieu of twilight,
     Vague shadows of the ranch hands brook.

 A proud slow march on hackneyed legs,
     In the slow emergence of autumn’s dusk.

Today’s sullied labor grimes the worn denim chaps,
     In the dawn to dusk harvest of the seasons haying.

An aching exhaustion on sweat muddied faces,
     The price and the pride of the old rancher’s toils.

Barns piled high from the summers green fields,
      The homestead prepares for the silver of winter.

Lost in the muted glow of sunset’s backdrop,
     The prairie echoes thanks with a soft cowboy song. 


Details | Haiku | |

'Yellow Rose of Texas' (Haiku # 14)

‘ Yellow Rose of Texas ’ Haiku  # 14

         A Lone Star Shone On
         A Yellow Rose of Texas
         and Bluebonnets Grown


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 | Haiku | |

Circles Turn

Hoe bites, turning earth
Rain falls bringing life anew
Cool on sunburned skin


Details | Englyn | |

PHLOWERY PHOOLS

         FLOWERY FOOLS

I totally take gardenias for granted
As do I the petulant petunias someone planted
I neither bless nor bow to any bouquet
Nor any overused flowery cliché
I walk by the willows and never weep
And I wish morning glories wouldst, all day, simply stay asleep
No oak is okay with me
And may the graves of those gardenias soon come to be

The rain gives the garden sustenance as does a sunny sky
While I stroll by a stand of birch and wish they all would die
I care not to see a rose arise 
But pray the buds bid all goodbyes
I don’t give a damn when a forest is on fire
And I’m telling all you fools someone’s a f*****g liar
For me there is nothing as fabulous as the forest aflame
And the spark t’was Mother Nature, do curse I her name
             ©  2011.…..Phreepoetree   ~free cee!~ 


Details | Free verse | |

Wanderer

A dusty old town-so quiet
a man, a traveler
takes off his pack-so heavy
and reclines for a rest.

they dont know his name, they never do
they wont even bother to ask
he troubles them-his mysterious past
leads them to prejudiced views

but were one to ask, for if naught but a name
what would this traveler say- would he speak?
a word, no. a name, he would give them and pass
"Im Wanderer, the world is my street."

Wanderer-what a name
does it signify much of his life
or is it a code- a cypher?
an enigma to his past.



Details | Pantoum | |

HOT NOON ON THE PRAIRIE

Dehydrated by the unbearable heat, they constantly sweat and suddenly leap;
where would they find on a prairie a cooling shade,
if their exhausted brains tells them to lay down and sleep...
when its not dusk yet and their bodies seem bone-tired and out of shape?


Where would they find on a prairie a cooling shade
as the rolling grassland is not gentle on their dry skin,
when it's not dusk yet and their bodies seem bone-tired and out of shape...
like the limping travelers who searched all day for a small tavern or inn? 


As the rolling grassland is not gentle on their dry skin,
it gives no shelter to the buffaloes that billow and beet thirsting for water...
like the limping travelers who searched all day for a small tavern or inn;
no, not under the cacti sizzling into the hot noon, where the cowboys sleep on fur!


It gives no shelter to the  buffaloes that billow and beet thirsting for water,
if their exhausted brains tell them to lay down and sleep...
no, not under the cacti sizzling into the hot noon, where the cowboys sleep on fur!
Dehydrated by the unbearable heat, they constantly sweat and suddenly leap.


Details | Haiku | |

In the Afternoon

a diamond back suns
in gravel strewn arroyo~
lobo pups wrestle
 


Details | Free verse | |

Shoshone Moons

I am Whispering Elk,
Shoshone.
 
The land
grows dark with white men
like so many ants.
 
It is time
of green corn moon.
 
Their tribe grows: blue knives,
buffalo men, yellow hairs.
 
They speak many tongues,
break words.
 
Yellow corn moon
fills bellies.
 
They still come.
 
Days grow less
like buffalo.
 
We see blood
on brown corn moon
looking through trees.
 
Their tribes grow.
 
I am Whispering Elk,
Shoshone.
 
Our moons
grow few.  


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 | 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 | |

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 | 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.


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 | Free verse | |

Why do I feel

          Summer time hits 
       and I feel like s.h.i.t
    Can't control this feeling inside of me
           I feel out of place
         I can't keep up with this race
      I'm constantly falling backwards
        Nothings happening  
      Why does this always have to be me
        I'm just a scared little girl 
        being force to grow up
       I have to face this world
       but they've denied me entry
         and it seems like everyone else
             has made it
           everyone knows exactly what to do
          and here I sit so out of place 
         and I don't know what to do
           So why do I feel 
          So useless inside
           It's how you made me feel
              when my access got denied
               I got denied the world
              Everyone keeps telling me I have to do something
               I can't just sit on my a.s.s 
            and expect things to happen
              But how am I suppose to 
                  make miracles
                        by myself
                     I need your help
                       Why do I feel
                          So alone?


Details | I do not know? | |

And the Seasons Burn

Sage, bows out in final rage
As prairie shows its age
And the seasons burn...

Gone, is the summer upon
A dark gray sky that's wan
As tumbleweeds churn.

Corn, stalks the dead frosty morn,
Cold as the day we're born
When all we did was cry.

So, the far-flung geese do know
When it's high time to go
And all things must die.

Soon, comes the dark mother moon
Amid the scream of loon
Across vast prairie.

How, we heed the call of cow,
No one knows even now--
But it just must be.

Trees, so softly do appease
And turn that final breeze
To what yet must come.

Chills, then starkly cringe the hills
As that cold first frost kills
And summer's struck dumb.

Gone, is the summer upon
A dark gray sky that's wan
As tumbleweeds churn.

Sage, bows out in final rage
As prairie shows its age
And the seasons burn...