Cowboy Memory Poems | Cowboy Poems About Memory

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

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Details | Concrete |

The Place that Shaped Me

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

Copyright © Samantha Farr | Year Posted 2013

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 |


They lived on the plains
and in the mountains.
There was warriors
and peaceful tribes.
All wore ornate head dresses
for their celebrations.
Dancing around fires
for successful hunts 
and to tell stories.

Some helped pioneers
others hated pioneers.
White men sent them on a trail
full of heartbreak and death on this trail. 
Just government could sell
their land to another soul.

You had greats like sitting bull
and Geronimo who fell.
Sequoiah who taught school.

Copyright © Michael Byte | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |


I was watching the TV the other day
When a certain Rerun began to play.
It brought me back to one of my brain's stifled bans
Because it was about Lucas McCain...the Rifleman.

All of a sudden I was drenched by a flood
of Western Shows that have been long since dead.
I'll just begin with a few you may remember
Like Marshall Dillon - later Gun Smoke as it came on one September.

But I remember The Cisco Kid
and how Poncho always did what he did
we can't forget the masked stranger
who of course turned out to be The Lone Ranger

Then there was Wyatt Earp, Cimmaron Strip, and Rawhide too,
The Guns of Will Sonnet and a Wagon Train rumbling through.
Will anyone ever forget Paladin in Have Gun - Will Travel
or Trackdown or Wanted Dead or Alive with Josh Randall?

Can we ever forget The Big Valley,
or the Ponderosa's size when Bonanza came on the tele.
There were Tales of Texas Rangers and even an F Troop,
Let's not forget Rin Tin Tin and how down on the bad guys he'd swoop.

I still can see Lash Larue and Hopalong Cassidy with his black hat
There were Three Mesquiters to watch when I sometimes sat.
Do you remember Yancy Derringer and his friend Pahoo
or Johnny Yuma, The Rebel who never yelled "Yahoo"!

Maverick, Sugarfoot, and Cheyenne were favorites of mine
There are too many more here for me to rhyme.
Many a big star began on that little screen
If it hadn't been for the Westerns...What would they have been?
It can be fun thinking about some of those shows
Because they are a part of TV nostalgia as everyone knows.
They have come and gone like the heroes they'd portray
I remember the Westerns...and their horse's neigh.  

Copyright © Dan Cwiak | Year Posted 2015

Details | Cowboy |


In a room stark & white 
A nightmare he will ride tonight 
Twisted sheets in a rider's grip 
as he settles in for that fateful trip 
silently he screams & shouts 
This time there'll be no turn out 
The final clash of beast & man 
In the mind's arena plays out again 
Once was a time he was among the best 
Until that Brahma stepped on his chest 
Now he's locked in a ride he can't quit 
as his wife & his family at his bedside sit 
How he longs to be up & out of this bed 
Away from the demons in his head 
But you can't drown a nightmare in morphine 
And every night he rigs up again 

In a room stark & white 
She'll replay the ride tonight 
"Just one more ride & I'm done 
I've got to help raise our son" 
He'd said as he climbed in the chute 
and straddled that Brahma brute 
With a nod & a prayer, he marked out 
His last would be his best, no doubt 
Then, with a sudden twist & a flash of horn 
The cowboy from his seat was torn 
She watched him fall & struggle to rise 
Numb to the crowd's horrified cries 
Now she sits here each night without rest 
Cradling their baby boy close to her chest 
How she longs to have him hold her near 
Later, she reaches for the bottle to chase the fear 
But you can't drown a nightmare in whiskey 
And every night she rigs up again 

Under the arena's bright lights 
He'll dance with a nightmare tonight 
Wearing a greasepaint smile to hide the pain 
He plays out that fateful ride again 
One step out of rhythm & rhyme 
He'd lost the race against Brahma & time 
Word's haunt him still of a Cowboy's last request 
After that Brahma had stomped on his chest "Tell Katie I love her & I'm sorry for this" 
"If I'd listened to her, I'd not be in this mess" 
"You & the boys take care of her & my son" 
"I hear the chopper landing, guess this ride is done" 
How he wishes he could run that race once more 
The memory pushes him hard, it won't be ignored 
But you can't mask a nightmare with greasepaint 
And every night he rigs up again 

A wild Bullrider, loved one or clown 
no matter the poison the memory won't drown 
Nightmares, whiskey, greasepaint or morphine 
Can't kill the demons that ride through your dreams

Copyright © Catherine Devine | Year Posted 2005

Details | Lyric |

Across the country

Living thousand miles away
across the country,
at night, where i lay
wishing you was with me,
the only thing I have to hold
is sweet memories,
of you and I
walking down the back roads
In- the- Country....

oh whoa...

dashing through memories,
on countless, nights....
wishing you we're here with me
oh whoa
watching the farm animals fight
reminded me of you and I
rumbling through the night....

Living thousand miles away
across the country,
at night, where i lay
wishing you was with me,
the only thing I have to hold
is sweet memories,
of you and I
walking down the back roads
In- the- Country....

oh whoa...

Copyright © Michelle Edwards | Year Posted 2015

Details | Quatrain |

My Fondest Memory

I am known as a quarter horse my friend
I'm twelve years old and I stand sixteen hands
I have memories of life without end
Roaming this wild land of mesquite and sand

Sometimes when I graze my heart gets a lift -
My fondest memory's always there
It was my first Christmas and I was the gift
To a young cowboy with curly red hair

Humans can't know the emotions that shift
From fear to relief and to joy then love
When it's your first Christmas and you are the gift
To a young boy sent from heaven above

When he first saw me his eyes opened wide
Tears ran down his cheeks when I nudged his arm
And he hugged my neck and patted my side
And knew without fear I'd do him no harm

We grew together that young boy and me
I made a ropin' horse smoother than grease
And he a star roping champion to be
It was all fun and a joy without cease.

Then he got married, had boys of his own
And I stayed here to watch time and sands drift
I grow older but I don't feel alone
I'll never forget when I was the gift


Copyright © Larry Bradfield | Year Posted 2016

Details | Cowboy |

The Memory of Glenore, Part I

When the Anders Gang came to Pitkin’s place,
Bent on murder, theft, and rape,
Amongst them rode a wanted man,
Known to the world as Chicago Sam.

He rode behind, guarding the rear
While the other dozen visited fear
Upon a family, old and young,
Doing everything to them under the sun.

For two hours until the neighbors came,
A horror on those folks was rained.
Until finally Anders heard the hooves
Of angry men racing to where they stood.

Anders gave a call, and they mounted all
And road away away towards mountains tall.
Though Sam hesitated and looked down
To a teenage girl laying on the ground.

Still alive somehow, though barely so
Her tattered clothes heaped in nearby shadow.
Her face was swollen, but Sam, he swore
That he looked into the face of sweet Glenore.

He shook his head and galloped away,
What he imagined there could never be.
Glenore was dead, and twice the age
Of the girl that he left there in pain.

But in the days to come, it nagged at him,
His last true memory free of sin.
The sight of his lost love lingered long,
And the memory of her voice, lifted in song.

It wasn’t his fault, what she did choose.
By her own had did her life she loose!
She should’ve seen then what he was,
A gambling life who lived life rough!

The mistakes had been hers to make,
To think his sins could be loved away.
If she’d only gotten that through her head,
She’d still be here, she’d be not dead.

He told himself this, over and over,
But kept seeing her image more.
He saw the sadness mar her sweet face
When with another he had laid.

He saw her body, so small and cold,
And reheard the words the marshal told,
The psalms of reverends at the end,
With all this weight did Sam content.

One night while he stood on watch,
He looked back on the sleeping flock
Of murderers, thieves, and rustler scum,
And though back upon all he’d done...


Copyright © David Welch | Year Posted 2017

Details | Cowboy |

The Memory of Glenore, Part II

...The next day’s sun a posse brought.
By noon all the Anders Gang was shot,
Except for one, no longer there,
The path to their place, Sam had lain bare.

In exchange for this they let him go,
And give him on thousand in gold.
But he did not rush to spend the haul,
In fact he didn’t spend it, not at all.

Instead he rode to the home of Bud Fielding,
Where the poor Pitkin’s girl was recovering.
Fielding walked out, with his rifle drawn
“Ride on filth!”the good man warned.

But Sam he just held up his hands,
Saying,”I come here to kill no man.
I came here to, in some small way,
Make up for what happened that day.”

The girl limped out, her eyes afire
Chicago Sam then felt old, and tired.
He took his gold-pouch off his belt,
And at the feet of the girl it fell.

He said,”You remind me of a girl, back when
I was something of a better man.
That money won’t fix a shattered heart,
But at least you can make a new start.

“I do not expect you to forgive,
The things me and my comrades did.
But I’m here today to even the score,
For you and the memory of Glenore.”

The girl looked on through swollen eyes,
His purpose still, she did not realize.
He sighed and said to her,”I’m sorry.
That I ever caused you pain or worry.”

Those were the last words that he said,
Then he placed his pistol by his head.
Twas the only way to make good, he figured,
So he took a breath, then squeezed the trigger.

Copyright © David Welch | Year Posted 2017