Poetry Forum Areas

Introduce Yourself

New to PoetrySoup? Introduce yourself here. Tell us something about yourself.

Looking for a Poem

Can't find a poem you've read before? Looking for a poem for a special person or an occasion? Ask other member for help.

Writing Poetry

Ways to improve your poetry. Post your techniques, tips, and creative ideas how to write better.

High Critique

For poets who want unrestricted constructive criticism. This is NOT a vanity workshop. If you do not want your poem seriously critiqued, do not post here. Constructive criticism only. PLEASE Only Post One Poem a Day!!!

How do I...?

Ask PoetrySoup Members how to do something or find something on PoetrySoup.


You have an ad blocker! We understand, but...

PoetrySoup is a small privately owned website. Our means of support comes from advertising revenue. We want to keep PoetrySoup alive, make it better, and keep it free. Please support us by disabling your ad blocker on PoetrySoup. See how to enable ads while keeping your ad blocker active. Also, did you know you can become a PoetrySoup Lifetime Premium Member and block ads forever...while getting many more great features. Take a look! Thank you!

Cowboy Suicide Poems | Cowboy Poems About Suicide

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

If you don't find the poem you want here, try our incredible, super duper, all-knowing, advanced poem search engine.

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...

CONCLUDES IN PART II.

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