Cowboy Courage Poems | Cowboy Poems About Courage

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

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The poem(s) are below...

Details | Rhyme |


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.

For Isaiah Zerbst Contest:
Cowboys in the Badlands 2nd

Copyright © Brenda Meier-Hans | Year Posted 2014

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 | Cowboy |

On The Prairie

           On The Prairie

Congregated on the prairie western clear with beasts
Cowboy chews tobacco, swirls black liquid, spits
Projectile clean, target hit, lizard quick
Long tongued creature stunned
No time to snatch a timid bug
So much hungry love undone
Reptile rolls over rounded rock pin ball like
Looks both ways before crossing into dark
Cowpoke silhouetted, floated on campfire
Smiles Clint Eastwood style
Slips a small stogie through cracked dry lips
Moves it from left to right
Lights it, inhales harsh life
Jagged teeth, yellow, tinted by time
Clinched while he thinks about old wars  
A warrior down to the core 
Grins at the beans bubbling up
Old iron skillet and the western sky 
Gazes at the long lost stars through smoke
Shakes sand off hat and boots when done
Speaks not a single word 
But with a sigh he rises and rides off

Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2015

Details | Senryu |

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


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2014

Details | Couplet |

My Gun

I feel for the miserable day,
They try to take MY gun away…

Copyright © Tirzah Conway | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |

Cowgirl Up

Subdue my senses like serenities face
a heartfelt happy embellished
his canter skilled with heavens grace
a companionship barley unblemished

except that she rides alone

Into the storm gathering speed
she squeezes her knees tipping her heels
gunning for the feeling she longs to be sealed
unleashed like the fury of a thunders peal

Her saddle steals with shift of weight
her balance for the run
like symmetry never expecting to yield 
adrenalin hiking the fearful unknowns

There she rides alone

Her life is cinched an aimless roam
her hunger for the feeling of home
with subtle sounds like flexing leather
is the tearing of her heart like the storms she weathers 

carried on waves of an emerald trail
turned wheat in Autumns image
Buckskins beat secures her seat
and gives her thoughts to visage 

Though there's nowhere in this world she'd rather be
she can't shake the feeling of the missing
destined to wings that fly alone
no companion for her soul in the cheering

This is why she calls him Tuff
Hedeman in a lady she cowgirl's up...
looks her pony in the eyes
reminding her that the tough don't cry

Just take Bodacious by the horns
knowing "impossible" will not hold the throne
always through pain our courage is born
though every eight seconds she rides alone

She'll keep her head up high
never giving in to the pain
lessons she learned from her hero's
Cowboys Tuff and Lane

Copyright © Sarai Virden | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |

Cowgirl Up

Rise at first light.
This cowgirl enters up to ride this day.
She dawns her hat, for this is not any day.

Ready to pay her dues.
The sun will beat down,
hot and hard is how she'll ride.

Cowgirl up!
Into the shoot we go.
The blood pumping, muscles quivering.
Ready to go!

The gate slams open.
Off we go!
 My mustang and me,
to round that first barrel.

Away we go!
Rounding our second barrel.
Sweat trickling.

Thundering down to that third barrel.
We round that barrel,
the dust will follow.

With a war cry, 
We head down the long path home.
Followed by cheers and jeers,
she crosses the line!
Cowgirl is up and paid her dues.

Copyright © Gypsyof Essence | Year Posted 2013

Details | Couplet |


Who am I?
Am I defined by what is near in sight?
Am I defined by what I have done,
Or am I defined by what I could become?

Perhaps I'm of no use.
To him, or her, or I, nor you.
Or perhaps I'm too misunderstood to be defined,
And it is something like understanding that comes in time.

And if to the world I'm never shown,
Yet in my own light I've grown and grown,
And so I can know no happiness but my own--
The reason for my smile, to you, will forever be unknown.

I do not pray for the world to know my name.
For it and verse; the letters are the same.
And if a man should find his sorrow in what he reads,
I pray his pain my words to keep. 

Should his eyes rain on my page,
Better tears than storms of rage.
And if a man should find his sorrow in what he reads.
I pray his pain my words to keep.

And if to the world you're never shown,
Yet in your own light you've grown and grown,
And so you know no happiness but your own.
Let the reason for your smile, to you, only be known.

Copyright © Kristopher Higgs | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |

Rodeo Cowboy

Spurs and Chaps and the Rodeo,
The Smell of Leather and Hay,
Lend a Romantic Excitement
To Being a Cowboy Today.

The Last of a Dying Breed,
These Cowboys Lead a Great Life.
They Travel All over the Country,
But the Majority Have No Wife.

There Isn't Much Room for Commitment,
Except to the Rodeo.
There's Something Way down Deep Inside,
Known as a Cowboy's Soul.

No One Else Can Understand
The Feeling He Has Inside,
And the Unique Excitement,
That Comes Before Each Ride.

Yes, He's a Rodeo Cowboy
His Life Is Lonely at Best,
But it Is in His Blood,
'Till the Day He's Laid to Rest.

Connie Moore

Copyright © Connie Moore | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |

8 second ride

Up before dawn, his feet hit the floor
He can't pretend to sleep anymore

His clothes displayed neatly, beside his bed
He places his hat atop his head

Today is the day he will pay off his debts
He won't return home with any regrets

The first to arrive, empty stands
Soon to be filled with clapping hands

In the blink of an eye, the parking overflows
With tickets in hand they fill in the rows 

A couple of clowns to fill in the gap
An impatient bunch, he can hear their feet tap

Alone in a stable with his hat on his chest
He prays to The Lord, that he will do his best

Peaks around the corner for a glimpse of his opponent
An unstable beast and he has to tone it

Brushes off the doubt and dusts his boots
Exposes himself, "Yeehaw", he hoots

Ready to go, signed the waiver
Cards seem to be playing in his favor

While riding him bare
A split second scare

He regains control
At the delight of his soul

Held steady till the crowd cried
Landed on two feet.  It was an 8 second ride

Copyright © Anna Hopper | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |


A lone rider sits high in the saddle,
As the horizon's sunrise spreads across,
The open prairie.
Twin pearl handed pistols rest at his side,
As rusty spires clang against wooden planks,
At the deadwood saloon.
Legends cowboys whisper his name,
On the dry desert winds,
A giant of a man whom breathed
Life again into the legacy,
 Of the old west.
His side swagger's walk trademark
On the larger than a life screen.
The duke truly represents the great 
American hero on horse back.
Six shooters drawn at high noon's 
Count down,
John Wayne's the trail dusts equalizer,
He always remained on the right side,
Of tin stars law.
The tumble weeds rolls along a dirt path,
As tall cactus stand on an arried canvas,
Life here is harsh and mean,
Where only the strong survive.
Bold individuals with the inner
Strength against god's forbidden land.
Harden men whom lived by one simple,
Rule I will do what ever it takes
To stay alive.
He'll join the ghost riders,
Forever driving the lords herds
Across the grand divides vast
Prairie sky’s as the sunsets
In the old west.
Alone figure rides high in saddle,
Set against a legends back drop,
Hell bound for glory,
In a cloud of gun smokes fog,
Behold the duke emerges,
With his hat on straight
And gun at the ready.


Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2013

Details | Carpe Diem |


Your  love pricks me like a rose each thorn grows but no one knows Your so full of 
it as it shows so carry on now go on, go. I'm fed up with the phony and  i'm 
through with the tears, you couldn't pay me all your money to make up for those 
years. Someone help me I feel faint how could I think he was such a saint and 
worst of all I let me fall into a spiral down below. A magic called love carried 
by the dove of someone I use to know.

Copyright © Sam Ruby | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |

Ride Like the Wind

" Ride Like the Wind " Off now we go!... horses carryin' us fast~ Down through dust canyons & townfolk aghast~ We rode as a wind from hell we did so~ Knowin' only we knew... not where we'd go~ No answer we had of our tremendous fast flight~ No clues or reason nor practical sight~ Just ride... ride... ride hard & down~ Through canyon's depths & unsolid ground~ 'Til we'd seen what... was much as never before~ That o'such... had before been folklore~ Guns quickly drawn & hammers cocked back~ 'Twas not courage but wisdom... that which we lacked~ So did end... final ride of the four~ Knockin' then... on heaven's dark door~ So songs were sung & still to this day~ Of cowboys most often we've heard 'em so say~ Ride then ride... ride fast as that wind~ For you know such as that... has been your great sin~ Step from that saddle back to fair earth~ You've proven your courage & so your true worth~ Yet no such thing could ever so be~ For that cowboy must... of all things be free~ Ride then ride... ride fast as your wind~ Damn... damn cowboy... we know what's your sin~ SeaWolf ©

Copyright © Caribbean SeaWolf | Year Posted 2011

Details | Rhyme |

Some Get Gold

Cowboys on a cattle drive
whiskey, sun and song.
Days are hard,
nights are cards,
the rivers run so strong.
Victor’s spoils,
dark horse fail,
they say dead men
tell no tales.
To persevere
is paramount,
and hidden talent
does not count.
Life’s a game,
you raise or fold -
some get gravel,
some get gold…
Copyright © 2013

Copyright © Cole Banner | Year Posted 2013

Details | Cowboy |

Surrendering control

Surrendering control

Willful ignorance is not bliss, but a coward’s way of surrendering control.

Copyright © Clemon Beverly | Year Posted 2015

Details | Cowboy |

The Brave

Here's to the weirdos; here's to the wild;
Here's to the loners, the whimsical, the mild;
Here's to risking taboo land mines;
Here's to the principled, in troubled times.

Copyright © Elinor Swanson | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |

Passion And Shame Torment Him

otra vez,otra vez` I do, say and say again I am the rock star of the ring I risk my life again and again for fame, Some might think of my passion As just being poetic and practical Or simply culture or unethical However, nevertheless not when my life is on the line Stronger than a herd of Buffaloes Faster than the Speed of a race horse, He is now broken free of his corral A streak of fury, rushes me Despite my fear of dying, My main focus is to Take the bull down by its horn >> I looked deep into his eyes, I saw mingling of rage I carefully swung the cape, A taunt of furling red Aiming for its horns The crowd roars, while The old ladies sob for the bull The men cheers for Salvatore the Matador Nothing more stimulating than the ladies with the beautiful smiles The bull is going to die

Copyright © Annie Lander | Year Posted 2013

Details | Blank verse |

wild fire


Fire, we fear flames seeking to obliterate
to cleanse forest and plains so the land can grow
again green shoots the world has been
the cycles can start again
having cleared the undergrowth that hindered 
the freedom of samplings 
There is a flower that only bloom after a fire 
fire ephemerals can cover mountainsides 
in a multicolour of wonder.

We feel a strange attraction to the flames 
we wish it could rinse our sins, yet, we have 
a great terror for the fire of hell 

The fire we dread the most is the fire 
in mans` heart it can be wonderful but so easily 
became ruinous and manifest itself 
in greed and destruction of what is good 
There is a wildfire raging now and the Nordic
tremble and fear they might be consumed
by the firestorm.   

Copyright © jan oskar hansen | Year Posted 2016

Details | Couplet |

Learning Country

My sister said, "Let's go dancing.""Not a chance." 
 "I don't know how. I don't know how to dance."

"They give beginner's lessons at The Yellow Rose.”
 "They'll have a live band to keep you on your toes." 

I gave in to her begging and gathered up my spunk.
Those at the Rose were probably already drunk.

So I said, "What the heck; how hard's it gonna be?
Those guys are too busy to watch the likes of me."

In most of my endeavors, it's always been my fate,
there's some hidden truth that I didn't anticipate.

Every song had a different dance, no two were the same.
I stood with eyes popping, thinking this was insane.

"What kind of style is this?" I muttered, watching the dancing.
They were clapping and yelling,, twirling and prancing;

with thumbs hooked in pockets and fancy boots on their feet,
they shuffled, hitched and swayed to a crazy country beat.

Not dancing with one another, they formed a perfect line,
  turning and bumping hips and stomping in double time.

They even did a Cha Cha,, a Charleston step or two,
Cheater's Waltz and Black Velvet, twining through.

Sister said, "Come on, let's go!" Well,  it's do or die,
maybe I'll flop, maybe not. I'll never know, unless I try.

I wound up teaching beginners at West Side Senior Center,
and at local "Silver Games," became a gold medal winner!

I performed with the gang at nearby nursing homes,
in matching western costumes and sequins in our combs.

Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |


Where has the American cowboy gone, 
Did he ride off into the dust trails of history,
A faded figure, melting into the last horizons sunset.
Nay, unbridled the mustangs run free now,
No riders lasso, snaps against the winds of destiny,
A legacy's true American hero, has finished the
Last round up.
Hey, you'd better halt there, just one dang gone
Minute, you city slicker, them be fighting words,
That you all have just written.
Hush your mouth now, the American cowboy lives on,
Not on horse back, but behind the steel of the 
Eighteen wheeler, copy that you'd better, breaker dude.
Show some respectful pride, to the man whom
Has helped to build, this great nation, we all call home.
Driving down the back bone, of America, in the name
Of glory's flag, believe you me brother, a hard
Road does he roam alone, just to keep house, 
And home alive.
For all of the feminine persuasion, yes’s em, mam
He still whisper’s, that same old lonesome tune.
Tilting his ten gallon hat, to all you young misses.
After all the convoy man, is still a gentleman
Beneath his rough hued exterior.
Four horse power to the floor, no more, he's
A hell bound creature, in need, for sixty-fives
Speed limit sign, it keeps the old cowboy inside
Alive, down the highway of life.
Thriving on the adrian rush, of the open
Road to freedom, lying ahead of him, no
Boundaries can hold this man, yielding to
The desire for liberation's winds, blowing
Against the trails of progress.
Steel belted radials, burning rubber across
The asphalt turn pike, get far out of his way,
This true road master, swiftness control at his
Command, excelling beyond the boundaries
Damn, don't you all try to fence this free spirit in,
Or he'll run you down, times dead line, haunts
Him, the devil boss's hounds are biting at his heels, 
And burden's heavy load, rests upon those broad shoulders.
The Lord God himself does sit, in the passenger seat,
 Beside him, heaven's copilot, for this steel driving man,
Bringing him home safely, to those whom love him,
This the convoy man.


Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2013

Details | Cowboy |

An Egg

   Have we ever understood 
   Why,Sun,moon,planet is in a round?

   Why, some one did"nt told why some 
   fruits are in round shape?

   Why,trees are in round? 
   Why, wheel invented in round shape?
   Why, rings are round?
   What,came in some one head? 
   to make zero in round
   why most of the things are in 360 degree?

  Because HEN is the first who came before 
                AN EGG.

 With love all
 Jagdish bajantri

Copyright © jagdish bajantri | Year Posted 2016

Details | I do not know? |

Hands that Held the Rein

Locked in the history through the doors of his mind
Are the remains of an unwritten contract he signed.
The rules he lived by with his own flesh and bone,
Wrote in his blood and signed alone.
An Indian father or a Spanish bride,
The white mans greed won’t alter his stride,
The black mans courage with endurance within,
Mixed with trials errors and mortal sin.
Through the hardship and horses through courage and pain
These are the hands that held the rein.

Annie Oakley, Kitty Wilkins and Bell Star,
Combined lace with leather and created a gender scar.
From Picket, Custer, and Crazy Horse,
These are only a few who would not alter their course.
And those less know on Oregon’s trail, 
Who sold all they had and to the west set sail.
Chisholm, Goodnight and French, some of the Cattle kings,
They all are the reason a cowboy sings.
And their blood still flows through our veins, 
These are the hands that held the rein.

Forgive them for they knew not what they done,
As they settled the west with hand and gun.
Fought for open space they went through,
Not knowing that greed and politics followed them too.
Restless by nature a curious kind,
Searching for answers they will never find.
An unwritten code he rides for the brand,
It pumps through the veins into the soul of this man.
He gathers those memories and tries to remain,
These are the hands that held the rein.

Writing no letter for he can’t but he would,
To who he’s not sure but it is understood,
There is no place to send it anyhow,
So he saddles his pony and rides for the cow,
Sings a song and says a poem in rhyme,
To cut the quiet and pass the time.
That helps keep the stories of his horse and life,
As he sings of a friend and dreams of a wife.
Through the doors of his mind those memories remain,
For these are the hands that held the rein.
Like shuffling a deck he’s held in his hand 
He has gambled his life and made a stand,
And made a vow he will try to fulfill,
With the luck of the draw his blood flows still.
To the next generation, with changes in time,
We still hear his stories in song and rhyme.
And if one more day could be spare 
For the songs sung and poems shared 
Let him live just one more day,
Let him ride for the brand and draw his pay.
In our future let our history not be in vein,
For our hands are now what hold the rein.  

Copyright © A. Kathy Moss | Year Posted 2005

Details | Limerick |

Jokes so Costly

Amidst strong foes, in real, he plays the hang
disturbing a hive to trouble the gang
one on a town to sweep
ride on sea with a jeep
placing the hand on a poisonous fang.

Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2017

Details | Cowboy |

Hellroaring Hank

Prospector Hank rode down the canyon cold
Ten years on the trail, out looking for gold,
Hank found a camp, not long abandoned then
In the dust lay tracks, of cows and of men.
Why cows would be here, it did not seem right
He figured somehow he was facing a fight.

So  Hank drew his rifle and he rode slow,
Watching the ground for the tracks of his foe.
By an old pine he saw something he knew,
Lost in the duff lay a woman’s small shoe.
It wasn’t  the shoe of a common, fallen whore
It belonged to young Jan, of the general store.

Around a corner he saw six young bandits,
And a half-naked Jan, coated in dirt and grit.
Hank gave a cry, and charged out from the scrub
The bandits they froze,  expecting no one.
Hanks drew bead and let loose with his rifle
His first shot hit home, he was not one to trifle.

He rode through to Jan, smashing a straight course
Her seized her am and flung her up to the horse
Hank drove on by, his mare steel and knotted oak
The bandits they chased, would not let Jan go.
But the weight of  two, it slowed Hank to a trot,
By a boulder he stopped, this would be his spot.

He slapped the old horse, it flew away with Jan.
He took aim once more, and drilled the head-man
Bandits dismounted, too big on horseback
They settled low, and planned the next attack.
Hank held his ground and waited for the rush,
To throw them off, he put his hat on a bush.

A shot hit the hat, and Hank answered back
Sharp-shooting a fool, stopped dead in his tracks.
The other three rushed, their pistols did blast,
Hank wondered how long his stronghold would last.
The first reached the boulder, gun in his hand
But Hank fired first, and left him in the sand.

The last two they closed, each from one side
Hank flinched as a slug bite deep in his thigh.
He fell to the earth, thinking he was done for
Then rose with a surge, and a bellowing roar!
What happened right them, he never did tell;
All we know is he sent those bastards to Hell.

Jan, in the village, related the tale
And spoke of poor Hank in a piteous wail.
The townsfolk sighed, and bowed their heads low,
Six-against-one, they knew how that goes.
But as they set about mourning the dead,
Hellroaring Hank limped in on one leg.

That’s how you great grandpa earned his great name,
And won the heart of a girl half his age.
Down in the some canyon, some people tout
You can still hear the echoes of his great shout,
And for three generations the story’s been told
Of how Hellroaring Hank finally found his gold.

Copyright © David Welch | Year Posted 2017

Details | Cowboy |

The Devil Came To Aspen, Part I

In eighteen hundred ninety-three,
back in those silver-mining days,
a figure walked into Aspen town,
and it was the devil they say,
come looking for new souls to take.

He didn’t look like you would think,
the first time he appeared.
He was dressed like any old cow-poke,
and spend hours in saloons drinking beer,
a rough figure, but not much to fear.

They say he spoke with some miners,
and stirred up their jealousy.
Got them so mad they burned the house
of their foreman Bud McKenzie.
That night all heard poor Bud scream.

Most folk would’ve written if off
as drunken fools losing their heads.
But in the firelight dozens saw
the devil’s face shift, and grow red,
his sick laugh filling folk with dread.

He vanished that night, and for two days
things seemed to return to form.
But then he appeared as a three-year old
in young Maggie Delgado’s arms,
and she did not seem too alarmed.

She didn’t know her baby lay dead
her body left in the woods for the crows.
The devil took her form and that morning
went everywhere Maggie would go,
‘till ‘she’ jumped down and ran in the road.

Maggie cried out and ran for ‘her,’
when a horse came riding, lickety-split
It slammed into Maggie, trampled her down,
heavy hooves ending her in a lick.
The rider looked down, and was sick.

And then in the street many did see,
Maggie’s daughter grown rather tall.
Transforming into the unknown cowboy
who had lead the foreman to his fall.
He laughed again, having a ball.

Folks started to panic, leaving town,
a few stayed and found the sherriff.
Abner Gidden was his full name
a middle-aged man of quick wits,
would not sit still and put up with this.

He went to a priest of Catholic faith,
who instructed him to God to pray.
He spent a whole day seeking advise,
while many in town fled away,
to be free of the devil’s sick games.

When Abner emerged, he headed up
the slopes of Ajax with his gun.
Spent the day searching abandoned shafts
looking for perdition’s dark son.
Then at nightfall, he found the right one...


Copyright © David Welch | Year Posted 2017

Details | Cowboy |

When Good Folks Get Mad, Part I

Madeline Cole worked over the basin,
Washing clothes for her, and her man,
In the wilds of Kansas, 1878,
Where grass, between horizons, did span.

A pretty young woman, a brand new wife
She’d yet to fall heavy with child,
But she hoped and she prayed, whenever she could
That her dreams would wait only a short while.

When on the ridge three forms appeared,
Mounted proud, riding tall on horseback.
Madeline had seen them before this day,
The whole county had felt their attacks.

The Anderlin brother, that was their name,
The scourge of this part of the west,
Rustlers, thieves, killers, and back-shooters,
No lawman rode that they could not bet.

They approached the house, leers on their faces,
The oldest a brigand names Joe.
Madeline grabbed her and rifle and went out the door,
No further would she let the filth go.

Joe he just smiled, and shook his head
Saying ‘Darling, now you listen here!
I mean to have you, one way or the other,
Play nice and there’s no need to fear.’

‘But girl if you push me, I’ll tell your plain
I’ll put six bullets into that chest.
I think you’ll agree, it would be a sin
To put six bloody holes in those breasts.’

But Madeline stood and refused to budge,
Joe’s weathered face grew more ugly and cruel.
He said,’You can’t kill us all, not today.
Be smart here, don’t be a damned fool.’

‘You’ll like what we give you, I guarantee
You’ll be moaning when you are under
The body of a real man, not some green husband
Who likes to play at being a puncher...’

Copyright © David Welch | Year Posted 2017

Details | Cowboy |

When Good Folks Get Mad, Part II

...But Madeline just too aim, lined up her shot.
‘I don’t need to kill all, just you Joe,’
She said as she aimed straight for his heart,
‘We both know how this will unfold.’

‘Charlie there doesn’t breath without say-so,
And Walter can’t hit a barn with his gun.
It’s only you, Joe. You are the whole gang,
And with one shot it all is undone.’

Ol d Joe did seethed, and go for his pistol,
Madeline squeezed, and the rifle did bark.
Joe pitched backwards quickly, dead on his feet
His rotten soul lost to the great dark.

Madeline she shifted, and shot Walter
The stunned fool fell from his horse.
And Charlie he turned, and galloped away,
So she winged him, as matter of course.

Charlie, he fell, and let out a moan
His left arm broken, bloody and raw
Madeline stalked closer, stood over him
And placed the barrel up against his jaw.

‘You think that I’m weak, to live here in peace
Since I do not go plunder and steal,
But my husband fought rebels, and I shot you
So listen up closely, cause this is the deal!’

‘I won’t kill you now, even though I ought
To leave you here, broken and red
And if your return, I won’t kill you then
I’ll just shoot off your other, little, head.’

‘So get up and walk, but don’t you dare talk!
Go on now and make your escape.
And tell all those thugs that you call friends,
Madeline Cole in no one’s to rape!’

So she took the horses, and Charlie ran off,
Anything more from him would be futile.
And Charlie he learned, the old proverb was true:
When the good folk get mad, they get brutal.

Copyright © David Welch | Year Posted 2017

Details | Cowboy |

The Devil Came To Aspen, Part II

...The devil didn’t hide, he strutted right out,
a smile painted on his red face.
“Why my dear sheriff, how in the world
Did you ever find my new place?”
Abner stared on, seething with hate.

“An old friend told me to find you here,”
He explained, glancing up to the sky.
“You know why I’m here, you son-of-a-bitch.
You made those poor people die.
And now has come your time!”

The devil he laughed, and shook his head.
“You think that Colt will take me down?
I’m a damned archangel, and well beyond
The people of this backwater town.
Now behave, and toss that on the ground.”

Abner lifted his arm, taking careful aim
at the devil’s broad, muscled, red chest.
The devil just sighed, and started forwards
“You should not put me to the test,”
The devil did smugly confess.

Abner squeezed back on the trigger,
And a shot rang out in the night.
The devil lurched backwards, screaming loud,
his hellish face a mask of fright.
He looked down, shocked at the sight.

A hole their awaited, the flesh dissolving
around where the bullet had hit.
He gasped and looked up at Abner,
saying,”No! No, I don’t believe it!”
Abner just smiled, then on him spit.

“Pride, its goes before a fall,
that you of all folks should know!
I talked to your Pa, and He answered true,
and showed me the best way to go
about laying your carcass low.”

“See into each bullet I carved a cross,
and in holy water I dipped the tips
Then old Priest Frazier blessed each one
Blessed my gun, and then gave lip
to the Big Guy to watch over my trip.”

The devil shrank back, eyes afire,
struggling to say on his feet.
Abner he fired five more times,
what the devil sowed he then reaped,
and fell to the ground in defeat.

His body dissolved into the snow,
His soul went screaming back to Hell.
Abner breathed a sigh, holstered the gun,
and stood their quiet for a spell.
They he walked out, heading down the hill.

Now some folks say the crash of ninety-three
was what drove folks from Aspen’s mines,
And ushered in the beginning
of the town’s long and sleepy times.
But the real story you will find

Is that the dark one roamed and destroyed
until an old cowboy took him apart,
And for decades to come he raged in Hell
about Abner Gidden, that damned upstart
who dared shoot the devil in the heart!

Copyright © David Welch | Year Posted 2017