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Cowboy Political Poems | Cowboy Poems About Political

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

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Details | Rhyme |


I'm very small
I am called Standing Tall
My story to be read as i live through it all.

Our Dakota lands are forest and vast
Where our ancestors have hunted
From long in the past.

Our tribes are, a confederation of seven
With our language of Lakota, Sioux heaven
We stand proud as we remember our past
And look to our gods, to make it all last.

A silhouette on the prairie hill i see
This shape in the distance is new to me
As we sleep in the night, we hear guns and blows
We arise from our camp, to look for the noise
We creep on the prairie to their surprise
Under the moon, where the land would flow
No longer the Buffalo.

We mount our ponies to challenge these men
What gives them this right to kill and maim
Bodies of beasts, furs cut away
Missing heads, a ghastly slay.

On reaching their camp our bows stretched
Arrows screech, hit the wretched
Watch them fall to the prarie floor
Just like the Buffalo did hours before.

Years have passed as we are moved from our lands
These poisonous men, and their poisonous glands
Bringing illness fever and strife
Ending many a Lakota life.

We reach a point in History
Which made the white man sit up and see
Their Golden Child General George Custer
And the Little Big Horn, my what a disaster.

Arapaho, Cheyenne and us Lakota too
Sliced the Blue Jackets, their Scouts too
The US Cavalry would have their glee
At the Battle Of Wounded Knee
Where Siiting Bull would finally rest
Standing Tall's story last's the test
If we Indians had the same resources
Like the silhouette on the hill
These praries we always had. would be ours still.


Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2009

Details | Rhyme |

Oliver O. Howard " The Christian General "

Respect in uniform
A man with respect
Major Oliver O. Howard
One of the US Armies best
A courageous soldier
With an order to follow
Dis-quell the Indian Wars
So there be peace tomorrow
Born in Maine
His dad died when he was nine
But this little boy
Turned out oh so fine
At nineteen, he graduated
A young man, already well rated
1854 Military pass
This bright young man, 4th in his class
Time advances to the Indian Wars
To do his duties, soldier sworn
To quell the fighting, peace be ours
Chief Joseph and the Indian colors
His task achieved, tho Indian losses
Orders he served, from Washington's bosses
Chief Joseph, from his lands he was moved
To Oklahoma, situation defused
1894 the retirement of he
Major General what he rose to be
Universities and College named in his name
This quite amazing soldier of Military Fame

" When i heard about this gentleman, it desired me to write. Unknown to me he has actually   
been in the historical background of one of my poems, and an ancestor of one of our poets "

Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2009

Details | Rhyme |

The flying censor shipment

Unlike the newspeak of today                                                                                           the media rodeo plays the bull                                                                                         clowns chasing a scripted  delay                                                                                       boxed up and ready to go fast food for the loll                                                                   the upper end following the lower end                                                                            Yet political satire's even keel will transcend                                                              while the real bull gores the clowns                                                                                 He can be ornery when being contained                                                                            coming like a federal expess roaring down                                                                        newsmail bringing the letter restrained                                                                             the same package to every town the same                                                                        package of the willing consripts freight                                                                              in the End a older railing bull holds his own wieght

Copyright © John Beam | Year Posted 2014

Details | Sonnet |

Only The Strong Will Survive

God gives not peace, it's only dreamt by man,
in all the world ,brought from catastrophe,
all things are made, since time was first began
by things upheaved so new life comes to be.

The weak must fail, be eaten by the strong,
and losers die the death along the way,
so new life grows, even if it is wrong,
there is no time the poor will have to play.

The lion who will lay down with the lamb,
will have a feast before the day is done,
and all the world will never give a damn,
nor care about the giants and their fun.

        The hunter takes his aim and fells the dove
          the weak in life are only dreaming of.

Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2011

Details | Cowboy |

Last Night I Had an American Dream

Oh, there's lots of talk about the sad end
Of what we call the American dream;
About the fast decline of our morals
And that we're not all we once were or seem.

Yes, the enemy is outside and in
And most are betting that we're about through;
It seems religion just keeps withering
And that patriots are too far and few.

Not long ago leaders were respected--
They told us the truth and they were not stealth;
Now we doubt their word and their intentions
With smiles and slick phrases like “spread the wealth.”

Oh, they slowly take away liberties--
Tell us what to eat and how we should talk;
Call us fuddy-duddies and out of touch--
It's our traditions and culture they mock.

Yet, nothing is sadder than old liberals
When they go and wrap themselves in the flag;
Make those empty red, white and blue gestures
And say hollow things and put on false brag.

We know that they're just all so full of it
And we never believe a single word;
Leaving unintended consequences
While behind our backs they flip us the bird.

And if we should oppose same-sex marriage--
We're old and just behind the times, you know;
Seems our constitution and God's own book
Aren't enough to stop our nation's garbage flow.

So now they say police are the bad guys
And that they're too brutal and leave folks dead;
But if there's a robbery or riot--
You never call a criminal instead.

Yes, they keep saying our economy
Is just dandy and really quite a pip;
As they still lie about unemployment--
It's just mostly lives and burgers we flip.

Oh, there is no real war on our women
But there is a long one on the unborn;
And we're told transgenders now have their rights
While our own rights are met with stone cold scorn.

Our borders have become a suggestion
And illegals glut our land and just laugh;
We're told there's no such thing as terrorists
And we can't separate wheat from the chaff.

Oh, say we can see by dawn's early light
That we have fell down and long lost our way;
Heroes are now villains and wrong is right--
But cowboys aren't gone and will have their day.

Last night I had an American dream
About our hopes and not just our demise--
Yes... our America will never die
As long as freedom shines in one child's eyes.

Copyright © Glen Enloe | Year Posted 2015

Details | Cowboy |

Too Far From the Trail

Has America’s spirit strayed off the trail?
Have we found what’s in every canyon
Or have we failed?

Will we let the bad guys win and try no more?
See Lady Liberty as something
To just deplore?

Have we seen the elephant grow soft and weak
As the donkey only sits and brays,
But does not speak

Or see the wild anger in our horse’s eyes
As they promise us those gold cities
And tell more lies.

America has strayed too far off the trail—
We wait a great judgment from the West
Cloaked in black veil.

Copyright © Glen Enloe | Year Posted 2009

Details | Quatrain |

Progression, Suppression

Once upon along ago
Pioneers sailed over ocean flows
To start anew in a different world
Where centuries later new flags unfurled

The above appears reasonable to me
But it's the happenings to the Apache and Cree
The Westward Movement was inevitable
Murderous chaos as the indigenous fell

It's so easy to sit now and look back at the past
Where our ancestors prospered, whilst theirs didn't last
Do we look on in pride at our family tree
Never caring to the think about the Cree, Apache

Borders will fall as others will be encroached
Lands will be taken or politically poached
The Westward Movement are white mans words
But for gunfire and greed, they may never have been heard

Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2010

Details | Free verse |

Ten Years Later

Once I wore cowboy boots on an oil rig And before that I was a Deputy, also known as a ‘Pig’ Prior to that time I was a normal guy, living life on the wild side But before I did that, I signed a line; a line to instead of your life, give mine. I was proud to put on a uniform that in turn was an automatic target But attacks on New York, D.C. and Pennsylvania, were the events that would start it Never again would my life be the same, no more thinking freedom was a game Alas, yet again in 2011, we shall continue to send those terrorists, to their ‘terrorist heaven’

Copyright © Andrew Johnson | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse |

The Tide

We pulled it off
Dusted cleats, victory flag
Brandished on history's ceiling

Raising the tide of moral triumph
Gathered from warming hours of dawn
Hope for health and success

New homes and affluent spirit
Finding our way
Among thorns and battalions

Lions prevail with timeless ascent
New comers to corridors and luminous halls
Ready to grab rightful piece of the action

Copyright © Justin Debrosse | Year Posted 2012

Details | Cowboy |

Stalker of the Chaparal

			Stalker of the Chaparral

O you wild horned beast
You stalker of the Chaparral
Your meat is wanted for the East
So, heed to the cowboy’s call.

They say a country is built
Upon the steel lines of the railroad,
And big men of finance
Or the land where cotton grow’d

It is understandable why they think
Not of the Stalker of the Chaparral
With his lances of Ivory and
Heeds not to the wild cowboy’s call

For those who writ history and
Will sit upon their cushioned chairs
And will scoff at you with scorn 
For your greatness they do not care

For they hate those wild and wooly 
Hunters of the Stalkers of the Chaparral
With his lances of Ivory and
Heeds not to the wild cowboy’s call

In later years of this land
They will try to lessen
You r importance and necessity
In this country of men

They will turn their backs on you 
Expecting you to be there for them
As they take Freedom away
But their corruption and lust will consume them

For brick and mortar will crumble 
As evil consumes it’s self in hate
Bringing down their house of cards 
This will be their fate

So, you and I old friend
O’ Stalker of the Chaparral 
With your lances of ivory
 And, please hear my cowboy call.

Let those who don’t understand
Your freedom, Independence and spirit
Lust for control and hollow power
For this is what lies within their spirit.

So, stay free and wild my friend
O’ Lone Stalker of the Chaparral
With your lances of Ivory
And Heed not my wild cowboy call.	

Copyright © Kevin Harmon | Year Posted 2010

Details | Cowboy |

It Used To Be An Open Range

In these dark days of war and death, in these days of turmoil and change—
In these days of political correctness, it sure does seem strange,
How once we did what we wanted – it used to be an open range.

I know now how it must have felt when they strung the range with barbed wire—
An era ended on those plains; the land and men put up for hire—
A way of life and freedom gone – a hard rain that put out the fire.

And nowadays in word and rhyme, it seems poets are all fenced in—
To write of history and yesterday, just seem to be a sin—
They only want these modern ranching times and not those way back when.

We know the world has changed a lot and all our freedoms have a cost—
It seems liberties’ now another word that comes each year with frost,
As mournfully we gaze on sunsets and dream back on all we’ve lost.

So hoist another cup of Joe and raise your drink for one last toast—
Like phantom bison and wild horses, our free ways give up the ghost
And sadly we lean back in saddles and lose the thing we love most. 

In these dark days of war and death, in these days of turmoil and change—
In these days of political correctness, it sure does seem strange,
How once we did what we wanted – it used to be an open range.

Copyright © Glen Enloe | Year Posted 2006