Kurt Philip Behm Poet Rhyme

His Last 8 Seconds

The only child
but favorite
of two ‘outlaws’
mare and stud

He bucked each
gelded moment
on their wild ride
of love

Until that day
he up and left
their branding iron
of pain

To wander high
and lonesome
mongst the free  
and tumbling sage

In search of one
last bronc to mount 
that one last 
horn to make

And spur the wreckage
of his youth 
as Angels
— pull the Gate


(Pendleton Round-Up: June, 1993
Elko Nevada: Cowboy Poetry Reading: January, 1994)

♡Like0

Share Poem

---

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.

Please Login to post a comment