Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership




Cowboy Work Poems | Cowboy Poems About Work

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

If you don't find the poem you want here, try our incredible, super duper, all-knowing, advanced poem search engine.

Details | Cowboy | |

Hard Times

When hard times come they sit a spell, Like kin folk come to stay A-packin' troubles, pets an' kids That always get ‘n your way. It's drought an' flood, an' flood an' drought, There ain't much in-between. You work like hell to make ’em good, But still they’re sorta lean. The ranch went under late last year, The drought got mighty tough. The boss held-out a long, long time, But finally said, "enough!" So here I am dispatchin’ cops An’ watchin’ felons sleep, In Junction, at the county jail, A job I’ll prob’ly keep. The wife, she works at Leisure Lodge, Where older people stay, A-makin’ beds an’ moppin’ floors To earn some ‘extra’ pay. Though “extra pay‘s” the term I used, It goes to payin’ rent, An’ after all the bills are paid, We wonder where it went. We hocked my saddle, guns an' chaps, An' then our weddin' rings; Then when we couldn't pay the loan, They sold the 'dad-blamed' things. We felt real bad a day or two But then we let it go, Cause it got Christmas for the kids When money got real slow. When hard times come they sit a spell, Don't matter who you are; They'll cost ya things you've set aside, An' clean your cookie jar. You'll loose some sleep an' worry some, Won't pay to moan an' groan; But hang on to your happiness, They'll finally leave ya 'lone.

Copyright © Jim Fish

Details | Concrete | |

The Place that Shaped Me

  I left my
  heart   in 
 a magical 
  place. A
  place that
  holds years
 of wonder and
 awe. A place that
 knows me  better
 than any  other place
  I’ve been.  This place
  has changed me and 
     molded me into the
       person I am now.
     The forests, trees, creeks,
    and open skies instilled in 
  me a  love for God’s  works. 
The harshness of the winters has 
taught me to be patient and to endure.     My  small
town is where I  learned the  small-town work  ethic;
you don’t get what you don’t earn  and earning what 
you want takes  a little bit of  sweat  and  tears. Here
I  learned  that  you  don’t  have  to  be  blood  to  be 
family.  Brothers  and  sisters  are  made  throughout
years of school together. We relied on  each other to
be happy. This place will forever  hold my heart and
soul. I  am a small  town  girl  through  and  through. 
It’s who I will always be. Forever. Thanks IDAHO
for  shaping  me  into  something  more  than  I  was.

Copyright © Samantha Farr

Details | Rhyme | |

My Rodeo Cowboy

papa said 
son what you going to do 
with your life

now that you have 
no money job 
or wife

he said papa
I'm going to 
leave this town

think I'll
join up with the rodeo 
and break them bulls down 

Maybe even rope
me a stallion or
even a clown

Son you better
take another 
look around

for theres no money
for bull riders
thrown to the ground

or being stepped on
by a horse or bull
weighing over eight hundred pounds

Papa I promise 
Ill make you proud
of your rodeo cowboy when I'm done

And promise 
not to be thrown or bucked off
to the ground

So papa please come
visit when our show's
in town

for I'll be 
the one riding high on 
the biggest bull that's found

hanging on for just 
eight seconds while I'm
listening for that bells sound

just kicking those sides
of horses and bulls
jumping up and down

with coming out your
top rodeo champion and
bull rider found



Tribute To
The Rodeo Cowboys 
and Cowgirls


Hang Tough

Copyright © Katherine Stella

Details | Ode | |

Outrider, Churchill Downs

Outrider early morn,
When training hours are borne,
They are the needed arm,
Sun, cold, wind, rain or storm,

Outrider in the sun,
Whose work is never done,
Where horses on the run,
Keep bettors having fun,

Outrider in the cold,
Ones with hearts so bold,
Their stories often told,
Of skillful ways they rode,

Outrider in the rain,
Sha'n't wait the weather wane,
Is there to help again,
When loose ones run insane,

Outrider in the wind,
An utmost needed friend,
May everywhere they wend,
Such godspeed be with them,

Outrider in the night,
No fear, no fame, less light,
Night racing at its height,
Make safe the riders plight,

Outrider by and by,
Whether wet or weather dry,
They heed the riders cry,
They're the best, we can't deny,
Many "Thanks" we horsemen reply.

Copyright © Lawrence Ingle

Details | I do not know? | |

The Old Saddle Maker

He started working leather when he was a lad
Stop by the saddle shop on his way home from school
He knew that was his first love
Old wood burning stove for heat, It was all the old shop had
The old saddle maker on his stool
Seemed like they fit like a glove

There was something about the smell of that place
The rolls of new leather, their special scent
Old saddles brought in for repair, hours of tears and horse sweat
The old saddle maker worked at a slow pace
Owned the shop, paid no rent
Around the  old stove, is where the cowboys met

For pocket change, the boy would sweep the floor every night
As he would watch the old saddle maker work the leather
The young boy would saddle soap the old saddle clean
Some nights the old saddle maker would work until after midnight
Always seemed to be angry in hot weather
Saying," Hell no, won't have one of the fancy wind blowing machines" 

Knives, razors sharp, leather stamping tools galore
On the floor, scrapes of leather were everywhere
Each were a beauty, the saddle made by the old saddle maker
That was once the kid who once swept the floor
And learned from the old master who used to be there
The making of a old saddle maker

Copyright © Danny Nunn

Details | Limerick | |

The Naked Truth

<                                our top story tonight is Lawyers
                                  a pain in the ass and real spoilers
                                  with  fancy cars homes suits
                                  fifteen hundred kaboot
                                  rather hire cowboy wearing just spurs






Entry For Carolyn Devonshire's 
Lawyer Limerick's Contest

GL All
                                  
                                  

Copyright © Katherine Stella

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

Copyright © Smail Poems

Details | Cowboy | |

On Juno Ranch, A Cowboy's Day

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

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

     Ride 'em Pancho!


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

Copyright © Jim Fish

Details | Quatrain | |

THE AMERICAN WESTWARD EXPANSION

The Quakers, being religiously persecuted, set sail from expatriated England;
they were the first settlers to reach the shore of New England: a free land!
Later the Puritans came and settled in other eastern, bustling colonies
seeking the same religious freedom, but their urge was stronger than dreams.


Many moved westward on foot, on horseback and on overloaded wagons...
exploring the American wilderness plundered by indigenous Indians;
they searched for grassland everywhere, to let their cattle roam and graze;
first they built wooden shacks on vast, lush prairies full of Queen Ann's Lace. 


And out of this American westward expansion, came the fearless pioneers,
who sought gold mines...despite the wild cowboys causing troubles
with heavy drinking and desire for unscrupulous women, seeking money and pleasure, 
who served them more whisky and lured them to a room with a demeaning measure.


Beyond the Rocky Mountains' and the Appalachians Mountains' skies,
these diligent pioneers obtained wealth with sweat and sacrifices...
changing and shaping the wild landscapes of arable land,
avoiding the drudgery of getting stuck in mud and sand.

Copyright © Andrew Crisci

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. 

Copyright © Charles Fuller

Details | Rhyme | |

Cowboy Philosopher

An old cowpoke throwed his leg over the well-worn saddle horn,
And tilted back his ten-gallon hat that was sweat-stained and worn.
From his shirt pocket he took a Bull Durham tobacco pouch,
And with one hand made a roll-yer-own - at that he was no slouch!

"Son", he drawled, "I'd be much obliged if'n you'd lend me yer ears,
Whilst my hoss old Dan an' me take a break frum brandin' them steers.
You see, I've spent nigh on fifty years ropin' dogies an' fixin' fences,
Ridin' ever' day in rain, snow an' dust over these wild expanses!"

"I ain't never gonna git rich workin' fer fifty bucks a month an' chuck,
But I'm a helluva lot happier than them city fellers a-chasin' th' buck!
They jes' sits at their desks starin' at a computer screen ever' day.
I gits to see them mountains ever' day yonder across th' way!"

"Cowboyin' is hard an' dirty work an' I shore ain't in it fer th' pay!
I live in a rustic bunkhouse with six other fellers when I hits th' hay!
Durin' lightnin' an' thunderstorms I've had to calm th' restless herd,
An' I've drove 'em through ragin' blizzards 'til my eyes wuz blurred!"

"Well, I reckon I'd better git back to work a-fore th' boss gits on my back.
He's a purty square shooter but don't cut me a great deal uv slack!"
With that the weathered cowpoke said, "Giddy up!", gave the reins a jerk,
And the old cowboy and his faithful hoss Dan trotted back to work!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved

Placed No. 1 in Tirzah Conway's "A Cowboy Is" Contest - March 2011

Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw

Details | Cowboy | |

The Urban Outlaw

Being the urban outlaw has its own rewards, especially when this vingilante-like person is helping the Marshall oficers capture the bad guys. It's just like a modern-day version of the Wild Wild West, except that the buildings (including the saloons) have closed down or whatever. When one of the urban outlaws are riding their horses into town, they're either greeted by the townsfolks or feared by them. What's so great about the urban outlaws in the Wild Wild West is that the cowboys are playing a lot of poker and drinking, but minus the alcoholic beverages, let alone whiskey. Everybody knows that the urban outlaws have their backs, especially when corruption rises in their towns. The urban outlaw has to abide the rules that society has handed to him, especially the townspeople. God only knows that cowboys and outlaws are either against each other or working together and stuff. All urban outlaws also love sleeping by campfires and riding their horses through the heated desert and by the riverbanks. Not only does the urban outlaw has a lot of adventures, even in the Wild Wild West, he also has the freedom to ride his horse anywhere, even in town. Those cowboys and outlaws should be very proud of themselves. But what is so great about being an urban outlaw most of all is when he's on the run from the bad guys who he had jailed, even better. Well, I guess that's how these people roll in the Wild Wild West. Right now, I find the cowboys, the urban outlaws, and the Wild Wild West very interesting, especially when he and/or she's outside of the city. It's also as if we're back in the year 1867. And if there are going to be modern-day urban outlaws and modern-day cowboys everywhere these people go, even in rual places like outside of Dallas and/or Albuquerque, that would be awesome for everybody, even me.

Copyright © Brashard Bursey

Details | Rhyme | |

Not For Naught

What you do here, is your job, life, future and health.
Without each one of these, there will be no wealth.
Apply and learn each day that you live and breathe.
Give your all in whatever you do, protect with a sheave.
Don’t ever think, what you do, is just a plain job.
If you let this happen, it is your soul, spirit you rob.
What you do makes a difference, in someone’s life.
What mistakes you make, causes someone strife.
So take a new look, at what you do, every day for pay.
Take pride, take revelation look, and see life’s display.
Give thanks for all the work you do, with praise or not.
For without you and what you do, everything is for naught.

Copyright © cecil hickman

Details | Couplet | |

A Cowboy Is

He’s tender and caring in his own way,
From moving cattle to bucking hay;

He’s stubborn but gentle and hard as nails,
As he deals with all that his job entails;

He may seem distant but he’s filled with pride;
From the cattle he tends to the horse that he rides;

He’s defender of the small and weak,
And protector of the sick and meek;

He keeps the code of the cowboy way,
Standing steadfast from day to day;

Watching over and protecting from harm,
All of the beings that reside on his farm;

He’s sometimes reserved and far-away,
And he never really has too much to say;

Laugh lines cover his weathered face,
Something even time can’t erase;

He is a cowboy, born and bred,
From the boots on his feet to the hat on his head.

Copyright © Tirzah Conway

Details | Sonnet | |

Only The Strong Will Survive

       ONLY THE STRONG WILL SURVIVE
God gives not peace, it's only dreamt by man,
in all the world ,brought from catastrophe,
all things are made, since time was first began
by things upheaved so new life comes to be.

The weak must fail, be eaten by the strong,
and losers die the death along the way,
so new life grows, even if it is wrong,
there is no time the poor will have to play.

The lion who will lay down with the lamb,
will have a feast before the day is done,
and all the world will never give a damn,
nor care about the giants and their fun.

        The hunter takes his aim and fells the dove
          the weak in life are only dreaming of.

Copyright © Vee Bdosa

Details | Cowboy | |

April too lenient

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

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

Copyright © William Ward

Details | I do not know? | |

Statue of Liberty

Republic State
A lance of apostrophe
Witness the greatest marvel since …
Never again
Guy Fawkes failed
The new generation Guy Fawkes will fail
Witness a marvel
Dead quiet
A man stands to take the place of Mrs Liberty
The president of the United States
George Washington never saw this coming
Abe Lincoln rolls in his grave
Hilary Clinton is evil
Obama is in the words an Obamanation
No one is just
Who do you work for?
In reality
You never worked for us
You never work for the people
You work for the secret
What is it?

Copyright © Moses Samandar

Details | Haiku | |

Circles Turn

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

Copyright © Jack Meadows

Details | Cowboy | |

A Cowboy's Work

A cowboy’s work is never done, 
Like Sheppard’s among the sheep
No matter what, up with the sun,
Not really much time for sleep
You stay up all night to help out the weak
Even ones that won’t  make it through
Let’s face it, that’s what makes you unique
Without it, you wouldn’t be you
You may not cry when you lose a calf
But it’s not because you don’t care
You hold strong for other’s behalf
And inside you feel only despair
You know deep down you can’t save ‘em all
And it’s not really up to you
It’s never stopped you from hitting a wall
‘Cause that’s what helps pull you through
But instead of giving in you move to another cow
It’s how you know calving season is here
You just step by her side, furrow your brow
‘Cause that’s life out on the frontier
You will always be there for her
That’s what being a cowboy is all about
Stay by her side till her calf is astir
No matter your fears or doubts
And seeing the calves running around
 Was worth your all sleepless nights
You watch the play without making a sound
It’s what helps you keep fighting the good fight

Copyright © Tirzah Conway

Details | Cowboy | |

Trails Old & New

From the Black Hills to the prairies,
he sighed as his eyes turned hard & dark
That was the path of the Buffalo,
His finger traced a wide & sweeping arc
You could tell he longed to be out there
Just his dreams & the wide open plains, 
Crying out in triumph, as a buffalo he slew
Now, the prairie is filled with big rigs & amtrak trains
Still he dances & honors the old ways
and waits for the prophecy to come true
 
From Texas in to Saskatchewan,
he sighed as his eyes turned hard & dark
Along the Western Trail they pushed the longhorns
His finger traced a wide & sweeping arc
You could tell he longed to be out there
Just his dreams & a dusty cattle trail
Now, the cattle trails are covered in asphalt
And Big rigs haul everything from cattle to the U.S. mail
Still he rides & honors a time long past
Marveling at the blending of trails, old & new 

From Hoover Dam out across the desert,
he sighed as his eyes turned hard & dark
That's the route the big rigs run,
His finger traced a wide & sweeping arc
You could tell he longed to be out thereJust his dreams & a wide open highway,
In a decked out Peterbilt, shiny & brand new
a different road, another adventure as night blends to day
Hauling cattle, freight or cars, didn't matter
each sunrise brings a different picture window view 

© January 2004

Copyright © Catherine Devine

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.

THWOOP!

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
terryhenderson.net

Copyright © Terry Henderson

Details | Cowboy | |

Rancher, Ranch Hand, Cowboy, Cowhand PART 1

I have a name for my husband. One that can be repeated.  I call him cowboy. But 
he tells me I am wrong. He never redeoed, nor a Saturday night cowboy was he. 
And he was way to young for the cattle drives of history. Born on his father’s 
homestead in Nebraska sandhill land. He started working full time on a ranch as 
a lad of fourteen. All of the work they did back then was done with horses and 
teams. True cars were around in ‘45, but tractors were hard to be found. So for 8 
years he proudly worked on the famous 101 Nebraska ranch. In l9 hundred and 
57 I started teaching up there. When my teaching job was done the cowboy and 
the teacher became as one. I moved up the beautiful valley to the ranch where he 
did work and don’t laugh I then became the cook. And while we worked we kept 
our eyes and ears open for a ranch of our own. At last we were blessed with the 
ranch of our dreams on the Rosebud Reservation in South Dakota Land.

Copyright © Marycile Beer

Details | ABC | |

Gold Rush

Able bodies come..
dig .. excavate.. find gold..
how I jumped..keep looking..
mercy.. Nothing!.. 
ore... picks..quick rising 
settlements.. tents.. Unbelievable..
Vigilantes.. Worries... xenophobic.. 
yelling zestfully..
 

Copyright © Patricia Sawyer

Details | Cowboy | |

Cowboyin'

We branded alla our cattle today,
And man, that job is rough;
If you ain’t gonna help, get outa the way,
Cause cowboyin’ is only for the tough;

Rope them calves and drag ‘em in,
Make sure yer rope is taut;
An’ soon the brandin’ will begin,
Once the battle has been fought;

Flank them calves and hold ‘em tight,
Cause one kick s’all it’ll take;
Better hold on with alla yer might,
Till the calf is outa the gate;

Tag ‘em, brand ‘em, an’ give ’em a shot,
Then send ’em on their way;
 Get ready, once the calf is caught,
You’ve gotta jump into the fray;

Cowboyin’ is a dangerous job,
But it’s one that’s gotta get done;
Work until yer fingers throb,
Usually from sun to sun!

Copyright © Tirzah Conway

Details | Cowboy | |

The Dead Cowboy Poet's Society

Now, ol’ Twister Tom he was quite a cowboy find—
A real rock hard cowpoke, though the question begged—
Some say that he was a legend in his own mind,
He’d a been six foot six if he weren’t so bow-legged!

But standin’ five foot two he was a dryin’ breed,
So he took up wordin’ and became a poet!
At eighty-two years all the big world he had seed,
So he was a master bard before he knowed it!

So Tom the bronc twister he done went on a tour
And he read his poems at cowboy gatherin’s—
They liked his gravel voice and his odd looks for sure
And they loved all his colorful palatherin’s!

But there got to be so many versifiers,
That it started to seem lots of folks didn’t care—
So they all turned into cowboy verse deniers—
It was so dern crowded that nobody went there! 

Tom joined the ranks of Barker, Kiskaddon and Clark,
Chapman, Morant, Fletcher and his great Knibbs—
“It shore beats singin’ ta all them cows in the dark,
And I don’t like wearin’ those overalls with bibs!”

And rarely in recitin’ did Tom make a flub,
But there was a lot he lacked in propriety—
They said he was so dern good he should join a club,
Like the famed Dead Cowboy Poet’s Society!

But with Twister Tom that just didn’t set too right—
Said, “I don’t want ta be in no society,
What takes in any ol’ buzzard just on his sight
And would accept as a member that likes of me!”

But they swore that he’d be a perfect candidate,
Yet he then said, “It seems there’s somethin’ you ferget—
Before I is one of you cowboy poet’s, mate—
They’s just one thang you overlooked – I ain’t dead yet!” 

So ol’ Twister Tom he kept makin’ him a name,
He read his verse smooth and with no anxiety—
And when he was dead wound up in the hall of fame
And in the Dead Cowboy Poet’s Society!

Copyright © Glen Enloe

Details | I do not know? | |

Packin In My Dreams

45 years behind me
I’m startin', reachin’ for the dream
I left my front porch crying
Only tears of fear
Then wiped my face
To keep it crystal clear

Your too old
You’ll unfold
They’ll laugh at your attempt
Get back in the house!
Cook a meal !!
Don’t continue.
Check the menu.
The kids are needin’ ya now!
Leave your dreams.
Give it up.
Hubby’s havin’ a cow.

I had my dream evaluated
Measured, tested, and weighed
All the experts told me
I really should have stayed…
home on another cookin’ course!
Well I’m not a cook or waiter
So instead of changing all my dreams
I traded in ‘the evaluator’
“neeeeeeeeeeeeeext!” that's my theme!

Your to old
So I’ve been told
Yep they laughed at my every attempt
Get back in the house
Don’t continue
Give it up
Pack it in
There’s nothing for ya here
There’s no chance to win a grammy!
Just relax and have a beer.

My new dream evaluator looking up said “mama mia”
Rubbed his chin and promptly asked
“who gave you this idea??’
I gathered up my things
Tried not to take a swing
He blurted, “for goodness sakes!!”
I’m only asking…
I’m just saying …
Looks like this is it…
Think ya just caught your break

I was told I was too old
I was told to pack it in
I was told to not continue
I was told I’d never win
I was told to get in the kitchen
Good things can happen to those who clean!
Today I’m packin’ for seven
Yep I said “for seven”!
My whole family shares my dream

I traded-in my evaluator instead of packin’ in my dreams
I’m not packin’ in my dreams
I never did pack in my dream
neeeeeeeeeeeeeext was my new theme!

Copyright © Barbara Tremblay Cipak

Details | Cowboy | |

Rancher, Ranch Hand, Cowboy, Cowhand PART 3

OK, maybe he is right. Maybe a cowboy he's not. He is a mechanic, a 
pediatrician, an obstetrician, a veterinary, a plumber (wells), a house keeper 
(stalls), a blacksmith, a dietician, a truck driver, a farmer (crops), a carpenter 
(corrals and maternity wards), a construction worker, a landscaper (fencing), a 
teacher, a road grader (keeps roads oven year round), a hunter (hunts stray 
critters), a trapper (beavers to keep our water ways open and skunks to keep our 
sinuses working), a cowboy (cattle work), a welder, a rancher, a ranch hand, a 
cowhand and a_______     I give, I give. He is a Jack of all Trades, but since his 
name is Billy I can’t go around calling him Jack, so he will always be my cowboy 
to me.  P. S. he is definitely not a modern cowboy. No three wheelers, no 
pickups, no motorcycles.  He did his cattle work by horseback.

Copyright © Marycile Beer

Details | Rhyme | |

4. Billy, the Kid

Continued From:
3. Quien es?" "Who is it?" Part 3
 http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=195853

****************************************************************************
 
"I find it very hard that I should be the only one to suffer the most extreme penalties of the 
law." - BILLY the Kid 
-  In an interview while on route to his execution in Lincoln County New Mexico where he was 
sentenced to be hanged.
 
Back then it didn't matter who was right or wrong. 
What mattered was who had the fastest gun.
The untamed Old West lived by a code back then. "I'll Die Before I Run."
An 18 year old boy wanders into town. All of the locals stare the young stranger down.
All of his instincts tell him to turn around, but he can't turn his back and run.
The youngster can't afford any fear. The kid's found himself much needed work here,
but the competition's greed is ruthless. That's why he wears a gun.
Young William Bonney was just another cowboy 
looking for work to earn an honest day's pay.
He rode into Lincoln County, New Mexico as a simple hired rancher's hand, 
but he'd ride out to become a legend one day.
Today he's America's most famous bad boy, 
but he left us more legend than fact of all he did.
His legend continues to live on in stories, movies, books and song. 
Who hasn't heard of BILLY the Kid?
BILLY the Kid's life of crime for many it seems 
has been greatly exaggerated to the extremes. 
He never robbed a bank, stagecoach or train. 
He never harmed an innocent for pleasure or financial gain.
He was just a common stock thief. He'd steal horses and cattle 
from corrupt, rich Cattle Barons who'd respond in bloody battle.
It was a lifestyle that Billy truly didn't desire, 
but when your wanted by the law employers don't hire.
 
****************************************************************************
 
To Continue Go To:
5. Billy, the Kid Part 2
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=195851

Copyright © SillyBilly theKidster

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 

Copyright © Catherine Devine

Details | Rhyme | |

The Cowboy

Look in your mind,and picture if you can,
The dusty clothes,of a tall rough looking man.
The weathered chaps,the saddle worn pants.
It's some one you would know,at just one glance.
The worn boots,that he wears on his feet.
The sweat soaked handkerchief,from the hot summer heat.
The two six shooters,one hanging on each hip.
To the thick burly mustache,that rides on his lip.
The ca lust hands,from holding the reins.
A lifetime of work,from nothing he gains.
Driving cattle,his love and joy.
I tip my hat,to this real cowboy.

Copyright © Charles Ruble