Cowboy Mystery Poems | Cowboy Poems About Mystery

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

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Details | Free verse |

Groundswell Girl - Named by JB

Enter a storybook tale
Where I can be 
The heroine you hail
Lucid dreams of soft reflection
A touch heated with lust and desired protection
A breathe a gasp as we succeed 
Join the fairytale with me
Valiant night within dark eyes
the right movement and I make them shine
like moonlight on the steamy hot spring
care to follow for a little dip with me
Trailing like the water at my fingertips
Grasp me around my hips
As close as the breeze on my skin 
Whisper lies as I let you in 
Lips mumbling up my thighs
bare heart exposed to the sky 
fire burning in my veins
Am I a mistress of this lust or simply a slave
Trembling with desire
Take me till we've lost count of the hours
enter this storybook tale
Where I can be the heroine you hail

Copyright © Jay Loveless | Year Posted 2012

Details | Rhyme |

Chow Time On The Range

"Rise an' shine you lazy cowpokes!  Time to saddle up yer hoss!
Time to move them moo-cows to summer range!" yelled th' trail boss!
"You've lolled around here all winter, now it's time to earn yer pay!
Jump in yer jeans, pull on them boots an' let's git 'er underway!"

All winter long they'd grown fat in th' bunkhouse eatin' Cooky's fare,
But knowin' that on that long, dusty trail, grub could be mighty spare!
How they'd long fer good ol' gut-fillin' grub as they wuz mendin' fences,
An' roundin' up them wily dogies roamin' over God's vast expanses!

Come supper time th' cowpunchers would lounge about a blazin' far,
Smokin' roll-yer-owns, chewin' th' fat an' nursin' cuts frum bobbed war!
Thankin' th' Lord fer their grub, Cooky yelled, "Come an' git 'er fellers!
Ain't much, but me an' my ol' Dutch oven done purty good!" he bellers!

Th' menu never varied but they knew better'n to complain about his cuisine,
Er Cooky could be as grumpy as a rattlesnake er a disgruntled wolverine!
Ever' supper consisted uv th' same ol' thing - a classic case uv deja vu:
Beans, spuds, bacon, sour dough biscuits an' a dollop uv mystery stew!

Frum across th' valley a harmonica's melancholy tune wuz heard,
As th' night guard kept a wary vigil an' soothed th' restless herd.
Th' cowpokes dreamt uv a hearty breakfast but they already knew,
It'd be beans, spuds, bacon, sour dough biscuits an' a dollop uv mystery stew!

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

Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2011

Details | Cowboy |

No One Knows Where the Longhorn Goes

No one knows where the longhorn goes,
When his breed is scattered and few—
He once was king of the cattle ring,
But his time in this world is through. 

We all must go where longhorns go,
When the bone moon falls from the sky—
We will not hide when we ride no more
And the longhorn goes off to die.

Our land must be where longhorns live—
Where we all seek our destiny—
This once was land still full of sand
With longhorns far as you could see. 

We all must dream what cowboys dreamt
When they looked out upon the West—
We all should lead the life we need
As we follow the trail that’s best.

We all must go where longhorns grazed
On a ride through the green grass sea—
We all must lead and protect our creed—
But most of all, we should be free.

The path is hard, but we will climb
Up that hill where the longhorn goes—
Though the trail is long, it is not wrong, 
When we know what the longhorn knows.   

Copyright © Glen Enloe | Year Posted 2010

Details | Free verse |


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

21 February 2013

Copyright © Smail Poems | Year Posted 2013

Details | Dramatic monologue |

I'm Your Only Sacrifice

I'm Your Only Sacrifice

You have me live up to your expectation and provide even more,could this be your own private game?
You call me mean,but I can't be nice when there's nothing nice in front of me.
You call me cold,but I can't be warm when the world iced over.
You call me sad,but I can't be happy when all there's is sadness in your own eye's.
You call me jaded,but I ca't reconnect to emotion that died in me upon your very wish.
You tell me over and over to smile,but what the point if I long forgot to smile.
You tell me over and over to be happy,but isn't the point to be thankful to be alive and live the life given to you.
You tell me over and over release those emotion and let other in,but I've seen the broken spirit of letting other near without a thought of the trouble.
You tell me over and over to be less distance and away from the warmth,but all that matter's is that what taken care of is done.
You tell me over and over to not grieve,but who are you to say such words when your the one grieving the most.
Though these be my own childish whim's,I refuse to let my wounds have salt poured into them and you look over me while they burn and slowly disappear.
I want to let go but for all that it worth these weren't your dreams for me,to build that break wall not only to other's but toward you as well.
I will hold your hand even while you cry,I'll hold on until i can't.For you see I am your backbone your my light the reason for my jaded heart.
This is my own sacrifice,I chose this one for myself and not one given to me.
In ever little thing this is m only true fear.I will lose myself in the end.So call me what you want for it nothing more superficial scandal,That I have no need to control no more even if I be your only Sacrifice

Copyright © Marcedies Rhodes | Year Posted 2012

Details | Rhyme |

Page 2

Page 2

Then I heard a kind a music

And some distant clink and clatter

Some tapping on the floor

Then a burst of background chatter 

Soon, the noise began to fade

I shook my head and blamed the heat

Grabbed a bottle from the bar

Then made my way back to my seat

I slouched back in that dusty chair

With my feet perched on the table

Tried to stay awake to drink

But at last, I wasn't able

It seemed that  I,  just closed my eyes

When suddenly I woke

The place was filled Dancehall girls

Card sharps and cowpokes

The piano seemed on fire

As the player smoked the keys

And I would be a lier

If I said I wasn't pleased

Then I saw The Singer lowered 

She was hanging from the ceiling

Seated on a swing

With a voice, most appealing 

With the whiskey flowing heavy

As dances filled the floor

I can't remember ever being

In a place like that before

To be continued Page 3

Copyright © Jerry T Curtis | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme |

Page 6 Zack Waverly

Page 6
The Lost Souls Saloon

The Dawn was growing nearer
As the Sun reached for the sky
I put my hat and boots back on 
Then strapped my gun back to my thigh
As I stepped back through the door
to make my way down to the bar
My fingers in the pocket
of my vest, found a cigar 
She never said a word,
never begged me to stay on
and the place seemed very quiet
like the patrons had all gone
I took each step, down the stairs
like my legs would soon give out
Then stood there kinda shocked
'Cause there was no one  about
I saw dust upon the tables
and cobwebs on the chairs
No a bottle at the bar
and musty smell now filled the air 
I proceed down the stairs
Where all the dancing girls had been
and that's when I remember
It looked exactly, when I walked in

Page 7 coming soon

Thanks Timmy for your support

Copyright © Jerry T Curtis | Year Posted 2015

Details | Lyric |

Down In Memphis

This poem came about by a discussion at work describing a memphis burger and a classic one. I told someone they flowed together and they didn't believe me so I wrote this:

I went down to memphis
There was this, classic chick
With them hips, and red lipstick
A kiss so delicious that
I promised to this miss I would not dissapear
But I was dishonest, I thought I made it clear
That this situation between the two of us
Was not serious But she was delrious
Became so furious that
That month she had two periods
It only takes one to end my sentence
25 to life, Im not doin the time on that sentence
Doesn't matter if she gets me presents
Don't care if she gets madder that I am not present, 
yet she gets sadder cause she still feels my presence
It wont be pleasant, if she doesnt let me leave peacefully
So I packed my things in the middle of the night
Took off asap so she couldn't pick a fight
Flew right back to my little house on the right
Split so fast like Kim Kardash was my wife
Realized that I just dodged a couple of knifes
It seems whack, But I just had to run and hide
This commital thing isnt for me
I am brittle, I crack too easily
Got to be careful cause I need Room to wiggle cant be
Strangled or tied down, I know It'll come back around
Hurt triple the times when karma
Shoots me down from the sky
So for right now, sayonara, beddy bye
Nice to know ya, good night

Copyright © Mike Conway | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse |

funny man on the moon

heres how i see it
and heres how it is
living in this world where half of it is advanced
with indoor plumbing
cell phones
and a huge chunk of the globe is not
part of the world still has a hole in the floor for a toilet
and we say ignorance is bliss
oh funny funny man on the moon
the joke you really meant in the Hollywood basement
of one giant step for man
and one leap for mankind

Have we not clued in yet?
Do we not live blind leading the blind?
Am i the only enlightened who realizes
that we were in space probably 70 years before we made it public to the world 
and Nasa is full of it
oh funny funny funny man on the moon
why is society so gullible to think
that the governments technology hits the mainstream market
before they use it for years and perfect it and work out all the bugs
and then hands us something that just looks faulty
and we fall for it hook line and sinker

give me a moment
funny funny funny us
half the world buries their waste
and we flush it away
half the world has technology and half of it is in the stone age
and yet we seem to think
that whoever invents these things has no ties
or affiliation to putting us under their thumb
i mean come on do the math
they landed on the moon
how they tell you they send sattelites into space is a truth within alie
they made up 50 years ago
and were falling for it today

let me play
i get it 
society is dumb
I'll write something yesterday
say i wrote it today
no one will know what to believe
I'll even put a cowboy hat on
I'm sure those cowboy western movies
they had just as many cameras and cellphones
but didn't release them in the market

consider yourself a fool
if you don't think they don't have something in their pocket full of tricks they are 
working on right now
they're going to sell to the future
and no one gets the famous joke
the man on the moon told to the mensa geniuses
but a hush fell over the crowd
and I'm sure there was consequences for laughing
and chances are even they were blinded by the bling
life and blind leading the blind
such an easy concept to grasp
and man on the moon
your a funny funny funny man!

Copyright © Troy Nelson | Year Posted 2007

Details | Dramatic Verse |

The White man

He was young,
Had his guns on his hip.
Walkin the streets,
With a cigar on his lip.
The town folk were scared,
They knew what he could do.
They have seen what he done,
To a chosen few.
The leather he wore,
Was stained from the powder of his gun.
A sign of the battles,
That the slinger had won.
A family moved in,
That no one knew.
A white man,
And a wife that was sious.
The young man decided,
The lady would not survive.
Because of her color,
She would die.
In the street,
In the middle of town,
This is where the slinger,
Where he gunned her down.
The white man,
Anger in his eyes,
Decided to give the slinger,
A surmise.
Leave this town,
Be gone by noon at best,
Or feel a bullet from my gun,
Deep in you'r chest.
The slinger smiled,
I am too fast,
You are an ole man,
You'r time has past.
You'r time has come ole man,
Take you'r stand,
But I tell you now,
Better have a fast hand.
When the smoke cleared,
The slinger lay on the ground,
With the white man,
looking down.
The slinger had just one last request,
How did you learn to shoot that way?
The white man answered,
I'm the son of Doc Holiday.

Copyright © Charles Ruble | Year Posted 2013

Details | Sonnet |

when we Hallucinate our known fear

When you hallucinate our unknown fear, In the act of offsetting the oracles.Therefore Forworning ownself from its sacrosanctity shear, Subsisting off at the expense of the rescissive cycle, & It is risked to be answerably clear of the recidivistion, On our ragout heads would yet behest fairer? In the greegree region, If the unbeknownst boko were only so tinder, Would not its saracenic harem stoke. So they shorn in the allotments of massive  alopecician , As trying tardy in some doubtful spoke, Men left out in its tincture realms, spun in 
the air like a coin to come to face the faced,Grappling with the Hecates seeing an unkingly estranged from what had besought men  engendered.

Copyright © kelechi Emeaba | Year Posted 2012

Details | Rhyme |

Page 5 The Continuing Saga of Zack Waverly

The Lost Souls Saloon

The oil lamp was dimmed
as the light defined her face
and it made the room a fire
silhouetting our embrace
With her arms around my neck
and her legs around my waist
Her lips became more supple 
while her eyes drew more debased 
I was somewhere, caught between
A place called heaven, and one called hell
And somewhere in the distance
I heard an erie sounding bell
We rolled around the mattress
Like a thunder cloud in spring
Making love like no tomorrow
"Till I couldn't feel a thing
I was falling to perdition 
In a never ending well
never to escape
Not, as far as I could tell
But I had to gain my senses
Had to stand up on my feet
Had to fight for my existence
Had to make for my retreat

Don't stray
Page 6 is on its way............Yeeehaww

Copyright © Jerry T Curtis | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme |

Page 4 the continuing Saga of Zack Waverly

Page 4 The Lost Souls Saloon 

With a wave of her hand
The cowhands all dispersed
Then she spoke to me some words
I'm sure were well rehearsed  
She leaned a little forward, 
placed her palm 'long side my cheek
Said, "I could be the one,
if it's companionship you seek"
I admit she put a smile
on my ruff and worn out face
and my eyes began to wander
down her corset made of lace
Then she grabbed me by my vest
as she pulled me from the chair
dragged me 'cross the floor
and made me stumble up the stairs
We landed by a door
when she pulled me by my shirt
Then slammed me 'gainst  the wall
and said "please now make me hurt"
I was taken back and tongue tied
So I answered with a kiss
and though I've been with gals before
There was never one like this
Then I entered through the door
Seeking conquest and its glory
As cast aside my faith
In this place called purgatory 

Don't want to miss page 7 
coming soon rated PG

Copyright © Jerry T Curtis | Year Posted 2015

Details | Cowboy |

Matters of life and death

Isn’t life short, today here tomorrow gone.
Switching the world off, turning eternity on.
How many before us, in the world have lived?
Just in a short while, to embrace their grief.
Many sort and earned great treasures
Many lived chasing around pleasures.
One moment masters of the world,
The next buried corpses in the ground.
Once celebrated figures of glory,
Now buried skeletons of history.
As many a poor men stagger upon wealth,
Just as many rich, succumb to poor health.
In the end we are all prisoners with no say.
We are all dogs waiting for our day.
Life is a dark winter seldom warmed by cups of tea.
And everyone is but a tiny fish lost at sea.
We may prosper here and conquer there,
But soon our strengths and efforts wear.
If you are lucky, it’s just you and a few friends,
By your bed side as your life ends.
Life is like a painful recurring bee sting,
Which you will pass down to your offspring.
you leave in them your blood and with them your name.
They believe their time is better, but its all the same.
They don’t see that the future is but a deck of cards
And you can only play the hand dealt in your hands.
Some are born to wear gold watches and to live in mansions.
Some are born to poverty and the consolation of sacred songs.
The rich man’s heaven Is drinking wine in hotels by the  beaches.
As the poor man in his hell, waits upon his resurrection to riches.

Copyright © Jack Nganga | Year Posted 2015

Details | Cowboy |

Zack Vol 6 page 4

Page 4

Another voice then raised up
It was the doctor of this town
"I've examined the Sheriff's body
But no bullet wound was found"

"Now gentlemen, I advise you
There is something I suspect 
if you go and hang this stranger
It'll be something you'll regret "

The crowd became solemn
and took the rope from 'round my neck
Some said "They're sorry
and other's "What the heck"

Some were disappointed
while others were relieved
But, I was glad the doctor was a man
they all believed 

I pushed my way through the crowd
to were the doctor had knelt down
He still was searching for a wound
While folks, watching made no sound

But as I stood there looking
something evil came to mind
I told the Doc "Remove his scarf
and see what you might find"

To be continued Monday
Zack says "Have a great weekend"

Copyright © Jerry T Curtis | Year Posted 2016

Details | Cowboy |

The Pox Man

Oh, he rides though forest, he rides now through the hills—
The Pox Man is coming and he kills and he kills…
He lays waste to the red man and the white man, too—
He brings that soft darkness to both me and to you.

It may come with blankets; it may come with his horse—
It marks and gives you fever to run out its course.
He’s a tall, solemn scarred man that fills you with dread—
He may spare you your life or he’ll leave you for dead.

Oh, turn from the Pox Man – to him you do not pray,
His mercy is random, he has little to say.
He will ride off now soon - touch the weak with his breath—
He’s giver and taker – yes, we know him as death.

Copyright © Glen Enloe | Year Posted 2008

Details | Cowboy |

Some Place That Used to Be

It’s some place that used to be
Where all things would fall twixt—
A beat, battered, broken shell
Off old Route 66.

He rode a Silverado
That was a dusty gold,
His clothes were worn and ragged—
Their style was odd and old.

They watched him as he walked in
To Wally’s Waffle Place—
With silver spurs that jingled,
A hat that hid his face.

He strolled up to the counter
And placed two gold coins there—
“I’ll take a big heap,” he said,
“Of yer fine dinin’ fare.”

Well, he sat down on a stool—
Pulled makin’s from his vest—
“No smokin’!” growled the waitress,
“This here ain’t the Old West!”

Well, the stranger tipped back what
Looked like a cowboy hat
And then slowly rolled his smoke
And grinned just like a cat.

“I don’t mean no disrespect,
But this here’s open range—
Though I must of wandered off,
‘Cause you folks sure is strange.

“See, I had to leave my hawse
When he done pulled up lame—
Then found that hawseless carriage—
Got me here all the same.”

It’s some place that used to be
Where all things would fall twixt—
A beat, battered, broken shell
Off old Route 66.

“Seems some things has changed ‘round here—
They caught the James Gang, yet?
And how ‘bout Wild Bill Hickok?
He’s still real fast, I bet!

“And what ya hear of Custer
And all of his good friends?
Heard he’s clearin’ our country
Of all the Indians!

“Reckon I’m out of touch some—
Been ridin’ ‘round so long—
It feels like forever
And that now I don’t belong.”

The waitress stared – told the cook
To dial up 911—
She knew something was not right
With this old cowboy son.

“Now, we don’t want no trouble,”
She stated in soft words—
“But all I want is my grub,
‘Fore I rides to the herd.”

“Say, mister – you all right?” that
Waitress asked all concerned,
But then she saw his six gun—
“Well, now I’ll be goll-derned!”

Then that cowboy disappeared—
The Silverado gone—
With tire tracks toward the desert,
Lost in the purple dawn.

And so all the legends go—
But these are just the facts:
They say they found that old truck,
Then just a horse’s tracks.

So when you go to Wally’s—
If that’s what you must do—
You’ll find a deserted shack
Closed in 1992.

It’s some place that used to be
Where all things would fall twixt—
A beat, battered, broken shell
Off old Route 66.


Copyright © Glen Enloe | Year Posted 2007

Details | Free verse |

On Going . . .

Under a witch’s moon
blows the wind that blows within
she sings her songs
in out of tune 

In her troubled heart
sorrow blows across her soul
on a restless storm
going . . . . away

Her slender shoulders carry weight
of you
who looks inside and weeps
God you were a friend
she cries
a river winding
through valleys dark
where you have gone
Where endless deserts end
sand catches between her toes
scuffing pretty plumes 
of prismed moonlight
into dust

Copyright © Jill Martin | Year Posted 2006

Details | I do not know? |


So strong and self assured
He rides alone always wanting more
Never satisfied with what's between those fences
His spirit will wake up your wildest senses

By the cross and thorns that is emblazoned on his arm
His substance runs deeper than his cowboy charm
A tame Christian man with a spirit wild
A man of God, he is your child

His reckless nature will never subside
Yet humble he still has his foolish pride
His heart is bigger than the tallest mountain high
And you feel weak when you look into his eyes

His hands so rough yet so soft to touch
For him no ride is ever too much
He welcomes the mystery that comes in the night
A lover at heart born ready to fight

The complexity of this cowboy man
Every woman dreams with him she would stand
Alone, looking at the midnight moon
In her dreams, she whispers...sometime soon


Copyright © Jacquelyn Lara Johansson | Year Posted 2009

Details | Cowboy |

Shadow Cowboy

Who was that tall cowboy I saw ridin’ by the door?
He seems just like some shadow that I’ve seen before.
He shimmers in the twilight – he was here and then gone—
Just a shadow cowboy like the horse he rides upon.

It seems we never saw him when things were at their best,
But things just don’t stay that way out here in the West.
Some say he’s a vaquero that died out on this land 
By way of some injustice that no one understands.

When maw came down with fever as hot as burnin’ Hell,
We heard spur chains outside and found water from the well.
And in a fleetin’ glance I saw him when maw died—
But I was just mistaken ‘cause cowboys never cried.

Who was that tall cowboy I saw ridin’ by the door?
He seems just like some shadow that I’ve seen before.
He shimmers in the twilight – he was here and then gone—
Just a shadow cowboy like the horse he rides upon.

I never saw him again till fall took paw away—
And in he came a ridin’ without a word to say.
Or was it just a shadow that flickered on the hill?
Or that dark shadow cowboy that came to sap our will?

He is gone now forever – of him I do not speak—
I do not see him at the door or down by the creek.
But pains and aches are heavy and life is just not fair—
Before I turn ‘round, I know his shadow will be there.

Who was that tall cowboy I saw ridin’ by the door?
He seems just like some shadow that I’ve seen before.
He shimmers in the twilight – he was here and then gone—
Just a shadow cowboy like the horse he rides upon.

Copyright © Glen Enloe | Year Posted 2006

Details | Cowboy |

Top Secret From The Poetrysoup Undercover Agent: Re, Aliens

Keep this under your hat, guys....I'm just back from an undercover investigation of 
what turned out to be a real hidden nest of Alien invaders....they foolishly made 
serious strategic mistakes, which, of course, your favorite spy here, caught on to 
immediately.  Quick recap.....remember, this is on the Q.T.!
  I penetrated an alien cell in the Vassar Brothers Medical Center in upstate New 
York.  I'll explain how.....shhhhhh!!!!!.....I was admitted under the pretext of 1)being 
dead 2)mentally unbalanced!  Imagine that!!
   First thing I noticed is some of the alien technology thay failed to mask 
adequately....they were all walking around talking with their shirt pockets...which 
somehow seemed to, that's just a plum give-away!!!!  Next, I 
noticed a plastic container hanging on the wall, marked, foolishly, I'd 
think...."Impervious Gowns"....yeah, right, like such a thing exists!  Come on, 
where'd ya get it, from Superman?  There were smaller clues too; like what 
earthling would have a bright red food blender/mixer hanging on the wall?  Come 
on. Martians, you can do better than that!!!!   But the clincher, the absolute proof, 
was when I finally peeked out the door....the whole buiding was totally round!!!  I 
was actually IN a flying saucer!!!!   Pretty cool, huh?  And the stuff they labeled as 
food was, certainly not of this earth....they even had something they 
euphemistically labelled a "Cheeseburger"?  It was obviously an alien child's 
plastic toy, or perhaps, a concealable obviously would be fatal is one 
were struck with such a thing..... and I'll report on my O.H.S.A. investigation as 
well, next week.   And I escaped, undetected!!!  Pretty classy, right?  Okay- enough 
for now.....remember.....this is not to be discussed, officially, it did NOT happen, 
and my alias, (agent) Benjamin (call me Ben) is now 
concluded....regards, Ben Dover!

Copyright © tom bell | Year Posted 2007

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.

Copyright © donna hatton | Year Posted 2005

Details | Cowboy |

Ghost Dance

While the Ancestors worshipped 
   they shot them one and all. 
They thought they had stopped the dance 
   as they watched the Old Ones fall. 
But what they did not know 
   is that we do not die... 
Their bullets set us free 
   and sent our souls to fly.   
High above this shadow plain 
   where the spirit beasts do roam; 
We roost upon their sacred backs, 
    and the Buffalo carry us home. 
We dance for our lives 
   for the secrets of the Earth. 
We dance while they kill us 
   and through death find rebirth. 
We dance night and day, 
   to the drums thundering low. 
Singing medicine songs 
   to honor the Buffalo. 
Though we may not rise today 
   The People will not die; 
As long as we keep dancing, 
   the Ghosts...You...and I. 

We dance for the things for which we yearn; 
Grass covered plains, the Buffalo’s return. 
The fever of freedom forever will burn,  
While we’re dancing with the ghosts. 
For there is no time frame on prophesy, 
This is the Vision Great One gave to me, 
The Heart of The People will always be, 
Dancing with the Ghosts...

(Wado Waya Streeby for understanding.)

Copyright © Debra Coppinger Hill | Year Posted 2005

Details | Couplet |

The Fool Kid Named Benny Pence

October had now come again just like it did back since,
The gunfighter Sam Holt had shot the kid named Benny Pence.

It was on All Hallows’ night with the moon high and blood red—
When Benny came lookin’ for him before he shot him dead.

Why would a fool farm boy try to draw on that gun slinger?
When he had no chance on God’s earth if he raised a finger?

But sure enough on that night, that’s what all the town then saw—
When Benny Pence raised his gun and said the fatal word: “Draw!”

But that had been a year ago come this All Hallows’ Eve,
And Sam Holt felt a cold wind blow that made him want to leave.

The harvest moon now hung above as Sam walked down the street—
He stopped for one brief moment at the place where they did meet.

Then like a dream that voice came back that meekly called him out—
Sam’s cold, sweaty hand then trembled as he began to shout:

“Don’t call me Ben! I’ll shoot you dead, and this time I’ll make good!”
Then Sam wildly drew and fired at the pale moon where he stood.

Somewhere a hoot owl screamed and Sam’s loud shots rang out on high,
As he fired and fired again at Ben’s shadow so he’d die.

But when the gun smoke cleared and that dim vision was not there,
Sam Holt now stood just a dyin’ in the dusty street square.

There were no gunshots in Sam’s body, no marks found at all—
His hair now white, his once ruddy flesh now a deathly pall. 

Yet when the town folk buried Sam, they noticed at Boot Hill,
Two other graves marked Pence by the one they had come to fill.

Benny Pence and his brother Bud, had died a year apart—
Both shot down by Sam Holt that feared gunslinger with no heart.

And so the three now rested within gun fire of the others—
Holt now dead of fright from those two departed Pence brothers.

And so each year it happened: other slingers would meet fate—
And die of fright All Hallows’ night when the hour was late.

So now folk knew the story of that fool kid Benny Pence—
Come back to revenge his brother each All Hallows’ night since. 

Copyright © Glen Enloe | Year Posted 2006

Details | Cowboy |


Whenever I see a horse decked out in fancy tack
or going round in circles, it always takes me back
to a part of my childhood I remember so well -
riding the carnival’s calliope carousel.

We’d purchase the tickets and the minutes we would count
until that gate opened and we’d race for our own mount.
The horses were all decorated in brightly colored array
and my favorite was a jumping horse, a big dappled grey.

It was exhilarating fun to sit on that equine toy.
I’d fantasize about me being a rootin’ tootin’ cowboy.  
I loved the happy music as the racing horses spun
and I hated to dismount when the carousel was done.

Some kids would only ride for five minutes or so,
then they would lose interest and off they would go.
But I wouldn’t leave until they finally shut it down.
It was a circle of happiness, that wonderful merry-go- round

Copyright © harold miller | Year Posted 2006

Details | Cowboy |

The Return of Dan McGrew

Some of the local thugs were tipping their mugs in the Malamute Saloon;
The music box sat still, as the keep slammed the till and wolves howled at the moon.
Then there appeared, right back of the bar, an apparition that no one knew;
Down in the dumps, that once Queen of the Trumps, sat the lady known as Lou.

It had been thirty years to the day it appears, that the famed shooting took place,
As Lou saw the scar on the man by the bar, she slowly recognized his face;
She quickly clutched at her throat for he had gotten her goat as she turned blue;
Because for all the world, playing a solo game, sat Dangerous Dan McGrew.
The now old man that plays the music box was starting a sad waltz song,
When in drifted a miner cold from the creeks that had prospected much too long.

Though most of the gold had long left the fold, a miner’s dust still had some joys,
He relished his women, booze and smokes, and bought drinks all around for the boys.
His eyes were the eyes of a man half-dead – a man that the world’s forgotten;
And Lou did think she’d seen him before, but lately her memory was rotten.
He toasted her health and counted his wealth, then drank long with that sodden crew;
And we wished him good cheer, then hoisted our beer to Dangerous Dan McGrew.


Copyright © Glen Enloe | Year Posted 2005

Details | Cowboy |


It sat way back in a thicket of of pine and oak
with the roof falling in and all the windows broke.
with brush as tall as the roofs eve,
to find this one could not believe.

I was chasing down this ferro calf,
as I went to dally, the rope snapped in half
dazed from the rope that bounced off my head
and hoping that would die, just left me seeing red

heading back to grab a new rope
is when my horse broke from his lope
he must have seen the same reflection as i
i saw the house, i thought who built here and why

I walked in just to check things out
all hand crafted furniture, they sure made em' stout
 kicking though the dirt, was an old pair of spurs
aged from time i could only make out the word her's

an old letter, newspaper and the spurs was all i took
as i rode away i gave the ole house one last look
just as i left the canyon, i swear i heard a girl cry....
and only for that instant, my throat had went dry...

feeling uneasy about taking what was not mine
i searched for hours and could not find that thicket of pine
it was as if the house was not there
then a coyote cry came from nowhere..........

back at camp, I didn't know what to say
that old spanard saw the spurs and rode away.
yelling something about a cry from above
and never mess with true love.........??????

to this day i do not venture out,
my foot that kicked up that spur, is infested with gout.
everytime I look at those spurs
I hear the cry that must be her's...........

Copyright © Tom Guilliams | Year Posted 2006

Details | I do not know? |

O Standing Still

A whippor-willow
Standing still;
O the torturous serenity,
A curse to say amen;
To see the lashes set and silent
Makes one wonder. Why
Spent, do these seconds
Brag to be a speck?
Funds of time derived from madness;
We are glad;
Stress is whipped away most times
By whippor-willows playing host.
Rhymes of a heart inside a body
taken from what wind may shod;
Even they'll stop in an instant;
Watch them and they will not wince.
Stick your feet into ground, solid.
Do not try to crawl.
It will happen in this night:
Frozen time and deadly bliss.
Flight won't come, are you ready?
The moment when the whips won't spread
See the willow standing.

Copyright © Bridgette Lace | Year Posted 2008

Details | Cowboy |

Texas Lullaby

Night air grew warm and stiflin’
And the lightnin’ flashed the sky—
As night herders sang those notes
Of the “Texas Lullaby.”

The notes came low and trembled—
Wailers did not yell or shoot—
Their voices rose on high now
To quiet cow and galoot.

The lightnin’ then grew brighter
Like an eerie prairie pyre—
It balled and jumped each cow’s horns—
The ghost of St. Elmo’s fire.

Those two night guards now sang on,
A soft song not made of words—
Syllables and tones to soothe
And calm down uneasy herds.

The cattle moved in circles
And then would have stampeded—
When a cow bawled for its calf
And that’s all that was needed. 

The rain came and lightnin’ ceased—
Herders sang softly and high—
The cows bedded slowly down
To that “Texas Lullaby.”

And on they kept a singin’—
Not on words did they rely—
Just tones and soft syllables
Of that “Texas Lullaby.”

Copyright © Glen Enloe | Year Posted 2006

Details | Cowboy |

A Day

He never thought
A day will come
Over his thirty years service,
He will be insulted
And kicked out
By his junior owner,
Last full week
Weather was freezing all,
But the junior owner
Enjoyed the whole week
With his feather pillows
And a healthy young body,
Delivered his message
A young lad came always
With his new order,
But a poor old life,
Feeds the cattle’s
And removed their mess.
It was a sunny day,
The sheep’s were grazing 
In the field,
He was standing on the rock
Looking into the sky
And speaking with someone,
I never seen you
But you are great.
Nobody had control
This Air is free,
I can breathe freely
Can sing and talk
I always embraced 
When it came to me,

Copyright © Daljit Khankhana | Year Posted 2005