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Details | Cowboy Poem | |

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.

Details | Cowboy Poem | |

Feline Alert

*The feline Texan way*

A fresh coat of paint,” on my nails
Red shade of lips," on my smile
Solid oak charms,” on my wrist
Country music,” in my heart
Flattering eyes,” a rustic, shell.
Join me, won’t you?
In this "Country Girls Tale"

~~

Every day I approach the morning dawn, 
I follow the landscape towards the new Texas sun.
Surround by yellow roses and cactus galore.
I brand my name everywhere I go,
I allow you near the limits of my Wild West soul.
I keep it above the snake level everywhere I roll.

Got my head up like a cowgirl, 
I slick my hands down my black leather chaps.
I tilt my bullhide hat leaving behind the sweetest Texas Trail.
 
I rode through many Texas midnight storm.
It took more than raindrops to knock me from my-  “2-Steppin’ world.”
A windy ride, bruises under the hide taking it in like- “A Real Cowgirl!”
I got a tight grip on my saddle, holding on to a brighter morrow.

Enjoying the voices and the sound.
Tex-Mex lingo, round and round.
Ropers and Wranglers, is how I dress.
I got it all covered, except for the top of my chest.

Living’ it up^, down here in the south.
Erin’ the lungs, shooting up the fun
Long necks’ and kissing under a rodeo’ moon. 
Honky-Tonkers’, tattooing the mocking bird.

Down here:
You will find me sitting on the Country ground,
Peacefully staring into the eyes of the "Alamo Stars."
Flowing with the art found in the flag I hold.
I am The Wild! 
I am The West!
“— A little crazy, but civilized!” 

Enjoying the morning breeze,
Where the dew sits on the tip of Mother Nature’s tongue.
There and only there you will find me,
Under the brightest Texas Star.


by; PD

Details | Cowboy Poem | |

Zuzuni on the badlands

Zuzuni on the badlands

Montana's muddy badlands spread for thirty seven miles
along a cleft of sandstone bed, eroded years before; 
the chestnut paced upon the bare of grass and well worn aisles
and I wore two new Navy Colts, of gauging forty four
beneath the noon light that defines but also eyes beguiles.

An anchorite, some years ago, upon the ridge of Grapes
where monasteries in the clouds are reaching out to God, 
I learned to draw and shoot amidst the fog's white waving drapes
and prayed til the time was ripe t' abandon this abode, 
cause solitude was molding deeds, constringing, thus, escapes.

I saw them waiting on the trail; three bandits stood apart: 
Coyote Chit, Cheesecake Labif and Mambo-Jumbo Crock
with cross-tied low their pistols stood, assumptive and upstart
bemocking fools who patented their e'er noetic block
that teachers, tho', could not explain; not even wise Descartes! 

My shots intended at their guns, the hoisted hammers broke;
I ordered them to start the dance that turns the clouds to rain
the land was in compelling need, as turf and plants evoked
the sympathy of Heavens that magnanimous ordained
the good ol' boys (and volunteers) to dance the rain's refrain.

Coyote was allowed to dance a prominent gavotte
meanwhile Labif's romantic soul preferred a marigold
but Crock's mazurka had untied the nimbus' Gordian knot
and rain began to pour upon those who the skies extolled
heroic men were meant to be, defining, thus, a blot.

Zuzuni, the Algonquin chief, had noticed this ordeal
and marveled at the outlaws forms, that caused the skies to rain
in order so, to buy the fools he offered a good deal
fourteen strong horses for each man, who danced to ascertain
that rains returned upon the slopes and also on the plains.

© 2014-10-15, G. Venetopoulos, All Rights Reserved
(Iambic heptameter)

Contest Name: Sketch a Character
Sponsor: Gautami Phookan
Deadline: 11/17/2014


Details | Cowboy Poem | |

TOMBSTONE

Whistle does the lone desert winds, flowing downwards from
Boot hill cemetery, in icy chilling breeze full of echoing voices,
From the past, begging for redemptions last chance of salvation.
Roll does the crimson tumbleweed, towards the ghost town known as
Tombstone, a monuments graveyard to the old west.
In this rock cactus garden of venomous vipers, did the righteous
Live, amongst the uncivilized lawless, in this wildness country,
Of the unbridled frontier.
Blinded by greed's lightning flash, for quick money and easy cash,
Did the earth expose evil's shining metal, silver, from deep within,
Accursed is this place, purgatory's hell on earth, its deadly soil marred
And sanctified in blood sacrifice.
Left to the scorpions and rattlesnakes, as the only living inhabitants,
Ramshackle buildings remain, abandonment’s delinquent tribute
To a once thriving community.
But after night fall, others come forth, crossing the threshold of the
Nether underworld, the gun slinger, the gambler, and ladies of
Reputation's ill repute, claim this desert real estate for their own
Dark amusement park, still whooping it up at the bird cage theatre,
Indulging themselves. In all manor of seductions insidious erotic acts
Of depravity.
The condemned soulless walk these dusty sandy streets of limbo,
Forever banished are these bastered son's of the gun. Or until the last
Shot is fired at the O.K. Corral, on high noon's final sunrise.
Satan is the lawful sheriff here, in this the territory of the forsaken,
And his loyal deputy the Grim Reaper controls the posses of the undead.
Riding against the redden moon, seeking any innocent soul trying
To escape from this desert prison.
You've drawn the dead man's hand my friend, if you find yourself lost here,
For the condemned show no mercy's reprieve to outsiders, the screaming
Souls shout from above, run lone cowboy run, and don't look back,
For the devils possess rides behind thee, and the dark lord,
Takes no prisoner's alive.
Whistle do the lone desert winds, flowing downwards from
Boot hill cemetery, in icy chilling breeze full of echoing voices,
From the past, begging for redemptions last chance of salvation.
But light concurs darkness, and death's icy grip fades at the 
First rays of sunrise, and all evil must return to their crypts
Beneath the earth, from the dust from when'est they came, 
Until the next moon's rising, then wide will the gates of hell,
Swing again, releasing the germinate residences of a city,
Named Tomb Stone.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Details | Cowboy Poem | |

Compadre

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

Details | Cowboy Poem | |

The Winds of Time

One day I was passing time
And wrote these words upon the lines,
I know not where they came you see
The Winds of Time were there for me.

If I could open a door to the past
And there before me were the paths
I'm not quite sure which I would choose
But The Winds of Time would see me through.

The vastness there before God's Hand
Then came the heavens, the seas, the land
Eden, Noah and the Christ Child's birth
Is the path that I see first.

I'm not into Knights or dragon days,
Nor Robin Hood and his saving ways,
But give me a Viking as he crosses the seas
And I'll dream of the lands so wild and free.

The music of Irland calls to me,
Where Kathleen's heart has ever been,
And for Danny Boy the fifes do call
I'll shed my tears lest he should fall.

As Immigrants touched upon our shores
The Indians prepared to fight once more,
But fate stepped in and eased the sore
They'd live in peace forever more.

The  battles fought upon this land
To protect us from Tierney's hand,
The Civil War for Freedom's right
The Alamo where comrades died.

At Little Big Horn where our soldiers died,
As Indians defend their homes with pride,
The government later took a hand
And put them on Reservation land. 

I remember well, when I was quite young
The days of World War II
And how my father's life did change
When the family business he assumed.

Twenty-four seven was unheard of then,
But that was their working day,
They helped keep our nations trucks on the road
Their battlefield was here in the USA.

I'll choose the path with pastures green,
Horses, cattle and the cowboy scene,
This is the land of my mother's birth
The most precious land to me on earth.

I chose this land and took a stand,
Married a cowboy and we ranched the land.
Though now retired and family gone
This land will always be our home.

The Winds of Time, know well my soul
I'll rest at night with days of yore.
And as I wake a prayer I'll say
Please God, may we have Peace today?

                       Cile Beer

Details | Cowboy Poem | |

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 Poem | |

Cowboys

A man named Ben stood on a slope looking at the gates of hell,
He swore they’d never turn back, him and his best friend Del.
They knew the bandits came this way, they’d left a sloppy trail,
Sheriff and posse had given up but they, would never fail.

He reached into his saddle where he pulled some paper out,
Posters of the bandits, who had brought them on this route
There was Crooked Jake a killer who was merciless and drear,
He shot you if you looked at him, his colleges were full of fear.

Then came Baba Barber as hairy as a lamb,
But nothing gentle about this one, he head-butt’s like a ram.
The third was Festus Farlow a man with just one eye,
Yet the fastest gun in Texas causen many a widow to cry. 

Ben turned to Del and with a sigh he mounted his beige mare,
Said, “guessen we’d better git started, Del ma frind tek care.”
The two had ridden hours with bandanas on their face,
Which only helped a little, for sand was all they could taste.

Both saw many carcasses and bones, bleached white from sun,
But also knew these badlands are not a place for fun.
All at once Del’s stallion, stood with hoofs boxing empty air,
Sent him flying to the ground, and in a rattlers face did stare.

Now when he fell he’d landed on a hard and rocky bed,
So he grabbed a stone and in a flash, crushed that rattlers head.
Ben had reached for his riffle ready to take a shot,
Knowing the sound of gunfire would give away their spot.

Six days later found cowboys, with cracked lips and weary bones,
Now huddled by the campfire listening to familiar tones.
High up on the rocky hill, a wolf sang to the skies,
His silhouette rare beauty, appeasing to their eyes.

Still sleeping at the crack of dawn, a voice woke them abrupt,
Crooked Jake stood before them, his hand his gun did cup.
He started laughing at the two still lying there in bed,
And Ben and Del were certain, that they would soon be dead.

Now Festus and old Baba, were going through their sacks
Finding pictures of two women, they had just shot in their backs,
Then they took their horses, saddles, hats and boots, sayen
‘’You’s ain’t gunna need these, when Festus Farlow shoots.”

Two good friends were shaking now as a dozen shots rang out,
And when loud echoes finally ceased, dead bandits lay about.
Ben and Del stood in a daze, and checked for bullet holes,
The sheriff and posse had come back, God, bless their souls.

10.03.2014
For Isaiah Zerbst Contest:
Cowboys in the Badlands 2nd

Details | Cowboy Poem | |

Cowboy Hoe Down

This long awaited date -
a hoedown it’s to be
shy smiles as we head in
we touch hands nervously

We allemande left and do-si-do
Then both head ladies chain
and breathlessly we meet 
in each other’s arms again

We swirl in sawdust on the floor
to the tune sweet Bye and Bye
Evocative is the patter
as the gold moon rises high

An anticipated moment
as the fiddle fades away
Your denim and my lace
soon lie buried in the hay

Sweet echoes of the evening
fill passion in the soul
Upon the amber straw
we both have lost control


written October 27, 2014 by Rick Parise and Andrea Dietrich
For Shadow Hamilton's Cowboy Hoe Down Contest

Details | Cowboy Poem | |

Riding for Independence

We have been riding for ever so long;
Now our search for our freedom seems to be gone.
We only took; of that which we need;
And we had no tricks; hidden there up our sleeve.

For me it began when the banker came round;
And my daddy's ranch; was burned to the ground.
We were all wanted, with a price on our heads;
And we hoped if they found us, we’d fight till we're dead.

We lived life as outlaws, with weapons at hand;
And if time comes for hanging, we'll die like a man.
But we’re not alone, there are others around;
They're not hard to notice, they’re wearing a frown.

So they're building our gallows, nail by nail;
And we think hard about it, here in this jail.
But we made our choices; and then we got caught;
Yet we lived life as free men, never owned never bought.

From the view out the window, it's people I see;
They're tipping their hats; and smiling at me.
We may be convicted, but we're not disgraced;
And you won't see a tear, running down from our face.
.
So they plan to kill us, but our kind will not end;
There's cowboy’s now out there; who'll ride once again.
Me and the boys, we ran out of time;
But there will be others that come down the line.

So To all of you worms; who crawl in the dung;
You'll never stop hearing, the songs that we've sung.
You're hoping to change us, or get rid of us all;
But if we all ride as free men, perhaps you will fall.

Details | Cowboy Poem | |

A Cowboy's Last Dream

They had camped near a bubbling spring with one lone mesquite tree.  The day had been hot and dusty, and the respite from the glaring sun was welcome.  The large herd of cattle had quenched their thirst at the near-by river, and were now settled for the night.  The soft lowing of the animals added a melody to the quiet evening.
The old cowboy finished his supper and left the company of the other trail hands. 

Making his way to the shade of the mesquite, he leaned back against the tree and relaxed for a few minutes.  The sound of the spring made him sleepy, but he had no desire to give in to the impulse at the moment.  Removing his wide-brimmed hat, he brushed the dust from it and laid it on the ground.  He was dressed in faded jeans which had seen too many hours in the saddle.  His denim shirt was dirty and damp from the day’s long journey across the hot prairie.  A red bandana hung loosely around his leathery neck.
 
He could smell the leather and sweat from his saddle lying nearby.  Probably repulsive to some, but like a sweet perfume to his senses.  Reaching into the saddle bags, he removed a bundle wrapped in a heavy piece of mackinaw to protect its contents from the ever-present dust.  Unwrapping the bundle, he gently removed an old Bible, it’s brown leather cover beginning to show the wear of years, and the pages stained by soiled but gentle hands.

Tonight, he didn’t open its pages.  Instead he held it close to his chest, gripping it with both arms as though it might fly away.  He was tired from the long day, but something was different about tonight.  

He glanced up at the stars and thought of the God who was big enough to create the universe, and about the love of Christ which brought Him to this earth to die for sinners such as this old cowboy.    

His feet were tired, but he didn’t want to remove his boots.  He knew he had one more journey to make today, and he would make it with his boots on.  
As he continued staring at the sky, one of the stars began to grow brighter and larger.  It looked like it was coming closer, maybe coming just for him.  
And then, it wasn’t a star at all - it was Someone he had never seen before, but instinctively knew who it was.  His tiredness slipped away and he began to feel like a young man again.  He began to rise toward the Star-Person, knowing that everything was going to be all right.

As he began that last journey, he looked back and saw an old cowboy slumped against a mesquite tree.  He was still wearing his boots, and also a smile across his weathered face.  His journey was over and he was going home.

Details | Cowboy Poem | |

Cowboys in the Badlands

Rather lost, they stare over the divide,
how best to circumnavigate this obstacle?
They can see a path gently sloping down
but it is far off to the north two days ride.

West is back from whence they had come,
east is an impassable cliff of sheer rocks.
They can not see far to the south but maybe,
they talk it over and head into the unknown.

Tumble weed rolling by pushed by the wind
as playfully it blows them into their path.
Miniscule trees dot the flat plateau
and small shrubs popping up here and there.

In a hurry they head on swiftly southwards
and soon start to descend to the valley below.
Billy is pale with anxiety as they push on
his wife Betty is due to give birth.

Sammy casts worried looks at his friend knowing
there is little he can say that will help.
At last they reach the valley and gallop on
Just another five miles will they make it in time?

Their horses now struggling, sweat pouring off them.
Billy's homestead comes into view cattle scattering
as they gallop through the herd and into the yard.
Sammy hangs back as Billy dashes in to Betty.

In full labour she screams "Where have you been?"
"The preacher is here to wed us. Did you get the ring?"
"I have it here" said Billy and without delay they were married.
And within minutes the twins arrived a boy and girl both bawling.

"Geezers you cut that close Billy" said Sammy
as they slumped on the front porch drinking beer.
"We made it in the nick of time" replied Billy
flushed with the joy and fulfilment of life.

written 17/09/2014

contest: Cowboys in the Badlands

sponsor Isaiah

Details | Cowboy Poem | |

Cowboys in the Badlands

Cowboys in the Badlands 


Out West, across the great divide
great open spaces oceans wide
Beauty in these badlands does hide
everything fights us as we ride

Last stop, was exciting wild Abilene
shot an hombre that was very mean
Watched him bleed as he slowly died
his gal held him and loudly she cried

Before, she had sworn love to me
next his dying love she swore to be
Riding away fast, ahead of the Law
looking back, cloud of dust we saw

My partner lit out on me last night
cried this was surely not his fight
He turned back east galloping so fast
we had our time, had a damn blast 

Ahead the badlands beckon me on
this cowboy life sets me all alone
Hot as hell the water miles ahead
A night's rest to clear my head

Morning sun woke me to its heat
no bread, bacon and eggs to eat
My water is in very short supply
always fleeing, I ponder just why

No time to enjoy such pretty views
my path ahead my life must choose
Avoiding Indians and the chasing men
forever alone with never a friend

This beauty now I can slow to see
posse has surely given up on me
Coyotes call , rattlesnakes do hiss
comfort of town I do sorely miss

Found now, a trail to old Mexico 
across the Rio Grande I now go
Far behind, hot hell races after me
dancing with pretty senoritas I'll soon be!

10/11/2014

Details | Cowboy Poem | |

Heroes

I'm waiting for a cowboy whose waiting for a lady,
just a plain, hard working man is all I need,
He'll be my Knight in shining armor,
He'll be my shoulder when I falter,
and you can bet he'll get the best of me;
cause cowboys need ladies and ladies need heroes
and heroes don't grow on trees.
So god gave us cowboys cause heroes don't grow on trees.

I'm waiting for a cowboy with the right words to say,
when all my worries stand there in my way,
I guess he'll see right through me,
but I swear, he'll love me truly,
and for all he sees he'll love me just the same.
Cause cowboys need ladies and ladies need heroes,
and heroes don't grow on trees.
So God gave us cowboys cause heroes don't grow on trees.

Details | Cowboy Poem | |

A Lonely Christmas

I walked up to the bunkhouse, beneath a cloudless sky,
searching to find the Christmas star, still shining there on high.
The bunkhouse was warm but lonesome with no other cowboys there.
They had all gone home for Christmas. I pretended not to care.

Christmas carols on the radio brought back thoughts of the star
that had shown down on those pastures in that Eastern land so far.
Taking off my vest and Sunday shirt, I threw them on the trunk.
I stripped down to my underwear and crawled into my bunk.

My day had started early. I had worked hard with the crew, 
so they could start their Christmas fun, when all the chores were through.
With no wife nor kids to need me, I had told the rest I'd stay
and watch out for the cattle.  They could have their Christmas Day.

The warm room made me sleepy and I started into doze.
Right there before my astounded eyes, the Christmas Star arose. 
I was a lonely shepherd in that land so far away,
who had been left to guard the sheep until the break of day.

I heard the angels singing and saw the moving star.
I marveled at the beauty and glory from afar.
The bright star beckoned to me and angels led the way
to where the future king of all lay in a mound of hay.

I wanted so to follow them but I had pledged my word.
I had to turn  a deaf ear to the messages I heard.
I knew my solemn duty lay in guarding helpless sheep.
I prayed the Lord's forgiveness but the vigil I must keep.

The star reflected in the eyes of creatures all around,
waiting for the lonely stray or any sheep they found.
I could not shirk my duty to seek Him out that night, 
but I knew I never would forget that glorious, wondrous sight.

I had that dream some years ago, but should that star reappear,
I've hung my rope and saddle up.  I can follow with no fear.

Posted: 12/1/14  For "One of your best" contest

Details | Cowboy Poem | |

Cowboy Saturday Night Hoedown

The cows is lowin' in the old corral and all the evenin' chores is done.
Hank scraped the manure off'n his boots 'cause he's a fastidious son-of-a-gun.
He drew his pay, jumped in his pickup and headed fer Clyde's Saloon,
To quaff some brew, grab a gal er two and dance to the fiddler's tune!

There was a hoedown at Clyde's where cowpokes met ever' Saturday night.
There they danced, boozed and let off steam that usually ended in a fight!
There was a band with drums, banjo, fiddle, bass and a steel git-tar,
And the pianer player Mike McGurk (when they could pry him from the bar!)

A gal named Mousy Bush sang with a voice that quivered like Robin Hood's bow.
That's where Hank hung out Saturday nights to blow his hard-earned dough!
Hank was dancin' the Texas Two Step and havin' the time of his life,
When an incident occurred that occasioned another night of strife.

Some dude splattered a Coors on Hank's new Calvin Klein shirt and jeans.
Now, stuff happens and normally this wouldn't amount to a hill of beans,
But this got Hank's dander up and since he never held his hootch all that well,
He punched the guy, bloodied his schnoz and began a-raisin' hell.

A grand brawl ensued with ever'one tossin' punches, chairs and tables.
There was a heap of cussin' with patrons lablin' others with tawdry lables!
Hank arose Sunday mornin' with a poundin' headache and two black eyes,
But he'll be back at Clyde's Saturday next to enjoy a hoedown with the guys!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved

(Not for the contest)

Details | Cowboy Poem | |

Quest for Gold

painted desert lay before them hills with rings of gold and amber clay few plants, scarce water just a coyote or roadrunner on horseback they rode dreaming of hidden gold saddlebags filled with mining tools but not one nugget of treasure badlands had not been kind to them but determination still burned another excavation, another disappointment “fool’s gold” took on new meaning blistering day came to a close time to set up camp but the striated hills had eyes Dakota Tribe waited for dusk arrows flew fiercely bullets pierced the warm night air war chants accompanied thundering hooves intruders not welcome in their land two weary cowboys lay dead by morning adventurous spirits slain now just statistics in the quest for gold
*October 8, 2014

Details | Cowboy Poem | |

Cowboy Hoe Down - Maurice Yvonne and Seren



Written by Maurice Yvonne and Seren


Crack that whip, jerk the line, 
Let's start dancing it's no time to dine. 
First you holler, then you sing 
All join hands and make a ring. 

Now if you please circle wide, 
spread right out like an old cow hide. 
Feed the Hogs, brand the calf, 
Swing your honey once and a half 

Now you switch on the heel and toe 
Come gals and cowboys, don't be slow. 
Allemande left with the corner maid, 
Meet your own and promenade. 

Everybody swing and whirl 
Swing 'round and 'round with your pretty little girl. 
Do si do don't you know, 
You can't grab a rabbit until there's a snow. 

Bow to you partner and the corner miss, 
To the opposite lady just blow a kiss. 
Chicken in the bread pan scratching out gravel, 
get your maid & away you travel. 

Lassies to your seats and gents you foller 
Thank the fiddler and kiss the caller 

Dated 11 October 2014

Details | Cowboy Poem | |

A town called Rotgut

as I sit in the dingy saloon. Dehydrated and week.journey so long,I hardly feel 
my feet.town name, town name, plays over in my head.the name rot and gut is 
playing over instead. my insides are the first, and the second are the same.my 
travils have prevented me from from feeling sane.as I turn my head, to view all 
that is around.the whiskey and beer is flowing so sound.relief ,relief, is all I 
need.so I raise my hand for the bartender to see.the room is humming,with an 
awkward sound.one as if, just alchaholics around.as I order my drink,I feel a 
pain inside, been to long, no alchahol to be found.as the drink gets slammed in 
front of my being, the name of the town releases it's fear, rotgut,rotgut once 
again in my mind.as I look around,there is no real cowboy to be found.i pick up 
my boots and head for the door.never again will I drink no more.making my way 
out the dusty town,my life looks better, no rotgut around.

Details | Cowboy Poem | |

Cowboy Hoe Down

On a Sunday in the evening
The old barn becomes a hall
Social place where every weekend
The town folk go for a ball.
 
The inside is decorated  
Lights are lit, the banners sway
By the walls barrels and cartwheels
Wooden stools and bales of hay.
 
Everybody loves a shindig
Where square dancing is the craze
Violins, guitars and banjos
Hillybilly music plays.
 
There’s a guy who’s always present
He’s the handsome Cowboy Kurt
On his head a leather Stetson
Dressed in jeans and chequered shirt.
 
Carol comes in golden pigtails
Gorgeous looking in flared skirt
She stands out; her smile is charming
She is hot and likes to flirt.
 
Cowboy Kurt looks quite appealing
He taps his feet to the beat
As other couples are reeling
Pretty Carol takes a seat.
 
Kurt decides to mosey on up
And lay his heart on the line
See if Carol would share some grub
Perhaps a swig of moonshine.
 
Tiny Carol surprises Kurt
Chugging down half a bottle
She eyes him coyly, looking pert
Then starts to jig full throttle.		
 
Stunned Kurt is reeling to and fro
As wee Carol takes the lead
Dance floor clears; they put on a show
Kurt looks like a tumbleweed.		
 
Music wouldn’t stop fast enough
For Kurt who couldn’t square dance
Carol is made of tougher stuff
And has high hopes for romance.
 
Totally lit and loving it
Carol trots to the outhouse
But when she returns, Kurt has split
“Where’s my man?” Carol does grouse	
 
In his truck Kurt has hit the trail
Head still spinning from the dance
Carol sits upon a hay bale
Hoping he’ll return to prance
 
After the hoe down was over
Banjos and fiddles tucked away
Cowboy Kurt was still a rover
Out cold on the hay Carol lay.


------------------------------------------------------------
Written 6th October, 2014
A collaboration by Paul Callus and Carolyn Devonshire


Details | Cowboy Poem | |

LOOKING FOR

lookING
 I never ever miss u 
like ur cool eye
obscure my heart
voraciously deserted
Engaged me on u  i am looking for u


                you are the rosemary 
                made me happy
                 thought in my mind to be ready
                 i miss u  from my seeing because u r lovely

Details | Cowboy Poem | |

CRACKED AN' BLOWN

It’s a’ hundred an’ ten, 'Neath the shade of my chin, An’ the prairie’s cracked like old leather. Looks like my skin, Where a boys face once had been, The years; how they do gather? Time’s been cruel to the Staked Plains, Once gorged by ancient rains, Now seized in her dusty wrath. Barren amber grass now remains, Scorched breath tries removin' her stains, Beseechin’ her forbidden bath. Pony or calf my only shade, ‘Cept what little Resistol made, Bestowed Blessin’s upon an’ open range. A Prairie Moon brings little aide, North Star brought a wind laid, Thanks Lord, it’s a welcomed pleasant change.
By: Jim “Ish” Fellers Copyright ©; June 1, 2008 ~ Sunday

Details | Cowboy Poem | |

Brokeback Mountain

(The Movie) 

eyes dart with red
black, white and sepia hue
the horse slows behind

selfish cotton hide
lust, under the pale moonlight
rustic underwear

Hearts not meant to be
A mountain covered with dust
Orion's chap- stick

Plunging, campfire
Temptations broken wall
Cowboy makes his mark

by;PD

Details | Cowboy Poem | |

All Hat and No Cattle

They hung around the beer joint with the finest Western wear
With thumbs tucked in their belt loops and such a studly air
But those boots weren't made for stirrups and were polished to a sheen
And on those fancy cowboy hats not a sweat stain could be seen

You could be sure they hadn't spent much time around a branding pot
For the only brands they recognized were ones on stuff they bought
And if they ever passed the time just musing 'bout their spread
I'd be the one around their middle or the one they put on bread

Just a bunch of blowhard braggarts in a cowboy masquerade
But they had the biggest pickup trucks that Detroit ever made
The beds were big and beautiful without a scratch or scuff inside
'Cause the only thing they hauled around was a horse's big backside

As they stood around outside the joint, in a smart-ass state of mind
In pulled an ancient pickup with an old horse trailer hitched behind
The truck an old green Chevy, year 'bout nineteen sixty-nine
With two high wooden sideboards and hay bales bound with twine

Out stepped a skinny hombre, with steel-blue eyes and bandy legs
But he had a rippling six-pack while all the boozers sported kegs
His cowboy hat was sweat-stained, high-heeled boots were dusty gray
He kicked off a chunk of cow pie, then he grabbed a bale of hay

He was mighty parched and dusty, but he wouldn't quench his thirst
'Cause you're not an honest cowboy unless you water horses first
The pack of fools gave out a hoot, yelled "Hey there, Texas Pete!
Get yourself a man-sized truck and take that geezer off the street!"

As he finished with the horses, up walked two ladies smokin' hot
The cowboy promptly doffed his hat, while the posers there did not
The cowboy got a long admiring look and the rounders just a sneer
As the sham was so apparent when a real cowboy was near

They flashed the dusty cowboy a big ol' smile 'bout ten miles wide 
Said "Honey, would a gent like you care to escort us gals inside?"
He winked, then gave the trucks a look and spat a stream of juice
Said, "Boys, y'all's might be bigger, but mine gets a sight more use."

Details | Cowboy Poem | |

A Cowboy Is

heartbeat of the American dream early settlers escaped tyranny rode West, used squatters’ rights claimed land and turned to ranching nights ‘neath stars and grub by campfires from nearby hills wolves howling driving cattle across wide prairies boomtowns erected when gold was found ghost towns remain as a symbol of lost wealth cowboys saw the growth of a nation encountered tribes that rebelled met others that passed peace pipes Tombstone today haunted by sounds barroom brawls and sultry saloon singers not an easy life; the strongest survived few emulated Clint Eastwood or John Wayne just men who still enjoy freedom to roam the range but freedom always comes at a price few riders had family ties ladies of the night were their comfort only a handful became rich ranchers still they ride still they ride