Best Astraddle Poems
Life's valued treasures, I hold most dear,
the ones that dwell deep within my heart.
There's a special memory from younger days
that I will share with you, and fondly impart.
When I think as far back as I can, I remember,
there was only one special thing I ever wanted ~
A big white horse, with flowing mane and tail.
I rode him every night; in dreams, he haunted.
Christmas wishes never came true for me
because you see, my family was rather poor,
but on a December morning, when I was ten
there was a loud knock upon our door.
Dad looked at me and said, "I think it's for you."
He took my hand and gently guided me outside.
Before I saw the surprise, I heard a gentle neigh,
and stood in disbelief, my eyes opened wide.
I remember that I cried, but I couldn't speak.
When Dad lifted me to the leather saddle
I whispered "Thank you," and kissed his cheek.
I was sitting on my dream horse, legs astraddle.
No fancy dolls or dress up things appealed to me.
I had what my heart desired and named him Knight.
I told him all my secrets as we rode hills and fields,
mane and tail flowing, coat shining in the sunlight.
August 5th, 2020
Sponsor: Constance La France
Dusty Old Memories Poetry Contest
Cowboyin' seems so romantical as seen in th' pitcher shows.
Ain't a lick uv truth in that as ever' workin' cowpoke knows.
Movie stars is paid big bucks with a fancy saddle fer thar horse,
An' always ride off into th' sunset with a purty gal, uv course!
Real cowpokes don't wear designer jeans er fancy rhinestone suits.
You can tell a real buckaroo by th' looks uv his scruffy boots!
He's rousted out uv his bunk at th' break uv day;
(Seems it wuz jes' an hour er so ago, since he'd hit th' hay!)
He ain't got no time to strum a git'tar an' croon to a purty gal.
You'll usually find him ropin' an' a-sweatin' in a hot corral.
More'n likely them big stars lunch on caviar at th' country club,
While a cowpuncher eats beans an' bacon fer his daily grub!
In them western movies, handsome dudes ride tall in th' saddle.
A cowpoke has bowlegs frum years ridin' his cayuse astraddle.
Stunt men are handy to take th' falls fer fragile movie stars,
But a cowboy has to rough it an' can prove it by his scars!
When day is done th' movie cowboy goes home to his plush chalet.
A workin' cowboy goes to his humble bunkhouse at th' end uv day.
Cowpokes wonder why they cowboy - it shore ain't fer th' pay,
But they'll keep on a-ropin' and a-ridin' til they're old an' gray!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Hank had cowboyed on the Triple T Ranch fer nigh on fifty years.
He'd rode the range herdin' beef peerin' betwixt his hoss's ears.
Durin' cattle stampedes he'd broke bones and many a time was throwed,
And he'd been astraddle his saddle so long that his legs was stiffly bowed!
He loved the cowpokin' life but he didn't become rich by any means.
He'd even come to savor Cooky's usual grub of bacon, taters and beans.
Durin' brandin' time he roped and branded many a steer's scruffy hide.
He was a master with the brandin' arn and he wielded it with skillful pride!
He liked lollin' 'round the campfire a-jawin' with pards beneath the stars,
Sippin' java that smelled like old socks, smokin' roll-yer-owns and ceegars.
He pulled many a nighttime guard duty in sleet, snow and peltin' rain,
Blowin' on his harmonica to calm skittish herds which was quite a strain!
He'll miss huddlin' 'round the bunkhouse stove as storms blew driftin' snow,
While he and his pals listened to Tex sawin' away with his fiddle and bow.
Hank hung up his scruffy boots, tattered chaps and sweat-stained hat.
He'd already given away his well-worn saddle and his 44 caliber gat.
This was Hank's last roundup herdin' cattle to Abilene up the dusty trail,
Cussin' and sweatin' to get 'em loaded up to ship on the Chicago rail.
He stopped by fer a few snorts with the boys at the Long Branch cabaret,
Then cantered off into the sunset on Old Dan his trusty hoss, callin' it a day!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
He crawled from his bunk stiflin' a hearty yawn.
His work began each day at the very crack of dawn.
He donned his jeans, chaps and old slouch hat,
Pulled on his cowboy boots and strapped on his gat!
He downed a bowl of Cheerios which was his usual fare,
Then mounted Old Dan, his trusty hoss with habitual flair.
He coiled his lasso as he sat there leisurely astraddle.
'Twould be another hot and dusty day in his well-worn saddle!
His first chore was to patrol the miles of barbed wire fences,
Over the rolling plains of his spread's vast expanses.
There were dogies to herd to the corral, there to do battle,
Ropin' and brandin' dozens of cantankerous and wily cattle!
Pausin' at noon 'neath a ponderosa for much-needed relief,
The cook fed him beans, biscuits and roasted beef.
Then back in the saddle as Old Dan he gently spurred,
To continue roundin' up more of the frenzied herd!
It had been a tirin' day ridin' over rollin' hill and dale.
Now he and Old Dan headed home along the moonlit trail.
The five-year-old cowpoke awoke from his dream-filled nap.
Such a gruelin' trail it had been for that hardy little chap!
(c) All Rights Reserved (17 April 2014)
The ol' saddle warn't much to look at but it was all Buck could afford.
He paid Billy five bucks fer it when Billy died and loped to his eternal reward!
The saddle fit his hoss Dan like an ol' shoe and sat Buck's buttocks mighty well!
Fer twenty bucks a month and found, Buck cowboy'd fer an outfit called Ruby Bell.
The saddle was scratched and gouged from chasin' steers through salt pine brush,
And stained here 'n' there with terbaccy chaw and splotches of muddy slush!
The other fellers made sport of Bucks well-worn saddle but he cared nary a tittle.
He'd jes' grin his boyish grin and loose a well-aimed stream of terbaccy spittle!
He rode many a mile astraddle fixin' bobbed war fences and corallin' stray cattle,
On night herd duty or on the trail in snow, rain and dust but he allus won the battle!
He rode the ol' saddle herdin' longhorns on the Chisholm Trail up t'ward Abilene,
Abidin' cantankerous trail bosses, rushin' rivers and many a perilous ravine!
He and Dan tried their luck calf ropin' at the annual rodeo down the road a piece,
But a wily calf busted the horn off'n the saddle, bringin' his rodeo career to a cease!
Buck found comfort usin' the saddle as his piller 'round the campfar at night.
He'd cuddle it like a dance hall queen he knowed 'til dawn's blindin' light!
Buck was as bow-legged as a pair of pliers from sittin' saddle fer many a decade.
He and Dan and the saddle had become mighty weary and somewhat frayed!
"Boys" he said, pointin' to a knoll, "When I come to the end of the trail and I'm dead,
Bury me beneath that pine yonder along with my saddle as a piller fer my head!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
Cowpoke Hank hired on fer a dollar a day and found.
He wuz knowed as the best bronc-buster around!
They wuz allus a roll-yer-own a-danglin' frum his lips,
And he wore a pair of 44 shootin' arns on his hips.
He wuz lean and lank and had spent nigh thirty years in the saddle.
He wuz bow-legged as a pliers havin' spent all that time astraddle!
Wearin' an old slouch hat, bandana and scruffy pointy-toed boots,
He'd throwed a ton uv steers ridin' outta county rodeo chutes!
"Thar stands the orn'riest critter alive!", the boss implied.
"They ain't no mustang 'round I cain't tame!", Hank replied.
Other cowpunchers ambled to the corral to enjoy the show,
And with knowin' grins watched as Hank earned his dough!
The bronc jes stood thar snortin' with fire in his eyes!
Hank could see trouble brewin'! Boys, wuz he in fer a su'prise!
Sech hossflesh he'd never rode! He'd never seen sech gyrations!
His old bones had never experienced sech joltin' sensations!
He wuz throwed, stomped and wedged agin' the fence.
With his pals cheerin' him on, things wuz a-gittin' tense!
He finally allowed, "Boys, I give up! He's done beat me good!
I reckon I'd better find myself another livelihood!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
A Welsh Girl who loved Rock 'N Roll
Had little or no self-control
She flew off to France
Where she split her pants
Astraddle Le Grand Merhin Dol
Slim was pigeon-toed and bow-legged from allus bein' astraddle,
Of his faithful hoss Old Dan and his well-worn creakin' saddle!
He'd spent 30 years gazin' twixt Old Dan's ears ridin' the spread.
Now both is retired and he took up writin' cowboy poetry instead!
On the porch of the bunkhouse he propped his boots upon the railin',
To muse upon many things he'd write about in this new unveilin'.
He wrote about Cooky's chuck of the usual taters, bacon 'n' beans,
And dressin' up Saturday nights to do-si-do with dance-hall queens!
Brandin' time in the old corral and fixin' fences he put to verse.
Ridin' herd on stormy nights when he thought it couldn't git any worse!
He wrote about cattle drives and the hell cowboys raised in Abilene,
Drinkin', fightin' and gamblin' 'til marshals drove them from the scene!
He expressed his views on wimmen-folk and why he chose to stay free!
He wrote of lakes, streams and valleys and distant mountains' majesty!
Of how fellers lolled about the camp fire enjoyin' a terbaccy chaw,
And how cowpoke Pete could fashion a roll-yer-own with his 3-fingered claw!
He wrote that he warn't a pious man to be corralled by a congregation.
He preferred to git his spiritual grub from the magnificence of God's Creation!
Fer his final verse he wrote, "I reckon cowboyin' was allus in my genes.
When I come to the end of the trail boys, jes' bury me in my jeans!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
Hank rested his boots on the railin' of the bunkhouse when day was done.
The pointy-toes of his scruffy boots framed the slowly settin' sun.
He leaned back in his rockin' chair, his hands embracin' the back of his nape,
Contemplatin' his tattered boots, (tho' they was still in purty good shape!)
He paid ten bucks fer 'em at a Sears Roebuck store twelve years er so ago.
Hank wanted Tony Romo boots but cowpokes don't make that kinda dough.
He was mighty proud of them boots, just 'bout the purtiest he'd ever seen!
He broke 'em in astraddle his faithful mule, Old Dan, on the trail to Abilene.
Back on the ranch he wore 'em fixin' fences and brandin' wily steers.
Hank rodeoed, throwed from buckin' hosses to his pards roarin' jeers!
The boots made good pillers when sleepin' 'neath the starry skies.
He'd shake 'em good to dispose of scorpions when at dawn he'd rise!
He fixed a pair of silver spurs to the boots, of them he was mighty pleased.
Hank spent hours polishin', buffin' and keepin' them babies greased!
When paid his meager pay he'd scrape manure off'n them to seek romance.
Hoppin' in his Ford 150, headin' fer Clyde's Saloon fer Saturday night's dance!
Time moved on inexorably and the boots became marred and battered.
Them old boots, Old Dan and cowboyin', to Hank was all that mattered.
He told his pards, "Boys, I ain't askin' much, but ya'll promise without fail,
That you'll bury me with them boots on when I come to the end of the trail".
Of all the horses I have known,
And I have known a few,
It's of Rebel, my daughter's first loved horse
That I'll be telling you.
Her girl friends on the nearby farms
Had horses theirs to ride.
That she could not have a horse too,
She just could not abide.
We lived in a little pioneer town.
Our home had a tiny yard.
To fulfill my small girl's wishes
Would truly be too hard.
One day I found her crying and
It broke my mother heart.
I told her we'd look for a horse.
At least we'd make a start.
Well, that was all I need to say.
There was no reneging now.
We'd have to ask her daddy
And I didn't quite know how.
Her fresh tears won him over
And he told her he would try
To find the perfect horse for her
if she would no more cry.
We had an old unused garage.
If was mostly filled with trash.
She and her dad hauled to the dump,
What they couldn't sell for cash.
In June she went into the fields
Picking strawberries to help pay
For the horse for which she'd been looking
And would be finding any day.
At last there was one advertised
At we thought, a decent price.
She called her horse savvy uncle
To ask for his advice.
My brother checked the horse for her
And said that it was sound.
Exactly waht she wanted to hear,
She plunked her money down.
She cared for her horse the best she knew
And before long had proven she
Knew more about a horses's care
Than either her dad or me.
Rebel was quite a tall horse.
She had to climb to get astraddle
And sit up on his bare back.
We could not afford a saddle.
Rebel was the perfect horse
For a loving ten year old.
He was docile, slow and gentle.
Only when loose did he get bold.
There were times when he would get away,
From where ever he'd been tied.
He'd whip around and run again,
Just when we reached his side.
She and her friends had lots of fun
In those happy carefree days.
Swimming across the Swinomish Slough
Is a memory that stays
Our daughter got her money's worth
From that big sturdy horse,
Until his age began to show
And Nature took it's course.
Our town has become more lucrative
It's residents a richer crowd.
A horse stabled in garage these days
Would never be allowed.
My daughter raises horses now,
With the purest of blood line
But our Rebel of unknown heritage
At her age of ten was fine.
For Horse contest took 7th place
We stopped fer a bite at the Gooseberry Patch, I reckon it wuz a week er so ago.
I wuz slurpin' my usual bowl uv chili - Boys! That stuff'll set yer ears aglow!
My spouse wuz toyin with her salad anticipatin' a slab uv gooseberry pie,
When I noticed a feller settin' next to us a-wearin' a Stetson hat and bolo tie.
He wuz nursin' a Coors Beer - better known in these parts as Colorady Kool Aid.
He wuz wearin' jeans and cowboy boots - it 'peared that his shirt wuz tailor made.
I ain't the most observant feller but I could tell he'd spent years in the saddle.
As he ambled to our table, his bowlegs confirmed that he'd spent years astraddle!
He nodded and said, "Howdy!", and we chatted about the weather and this and that.
He wuz a little hard uv hearin' so we invited him to our table to continue our chat.
I reckoned he wuz about 65 er so and could be taken fer the Marlboro Man.
He wuz a little over six foot tall and frum his ranchin' days sported a handsome tan!
He talked about ownin' a ranch jes' east uv Colorady Springs and the cowpokes life.
Sayin' that cowboyin' ain't all that glamorous and the challenges that are so rife.
He'd done some rodeoin' up in Wyomin' ridin' wild broncs and a-ropin' steers,
And wuz a prominent rodeo jedge travelin' about the west in his younger years.
When I told him I dabbled in western poetry his eyes lit up like the mornin' sun!
He's a writer uv western lore and is retired, now that his cowboyin' days is done.
We were privileged indeed to meet him, perhaps the last uv that stalwart breed.
We made a new friend that day, a real Colorady cowboy by the name of Chuck Reid!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
The sonorous voice of God woke Jonah from his siesta one fine day,
Saying, "Arise! Get ye to Nineveh and I'll brook no delay!
I've volunteered you to go there and preach in that wicked town,
The people are very unruly - they need a good dressing down!"
"No way!", said Jonah, astraddle his ass to Joppa, fleeing from the Lord!
"If I can find a ship sailing for Tarshish, I'll try to get aboard!"
He paid his fare, went below and promptly went to sleep,
Just as the Lord caused a great tempest to come upon the deep!
The ship was in great peril - the captain shook Jonah awake.
"Hey, dude, call upon your God - see if He will calm this lake!"
Lots were cast to sort out their plight - Jonah drew the short straw.
The crew heaved him overboard and he landed in a whale's maw!
For three days and three nights he cruised about in this condition,
Praying, "Lord, I'll do anything! Deliver me from this perdition!"
The Lord heard him and brought his misery to a pleasant end,
Commanding the whale to regurgitate and deposit him on dry land!
Now this "whale" of an experience converted old Jonah,
And he vowed to the Lord he'd assume a new persona.
He scampered to Nineveh to offer a choice vis-a-vis heaven or hell!
The Lord blessed him, saying, "My boy, you did extremely well!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Have you heard about cowpoke Clapsaddle?
,
He rode fer years on his horse astraddle.
His legs was badly bowed,
And he walked pigeon-toed.
Oddly he named his hoss Fiddle Faddle.
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
While riding my bike down a lane
I felt an incredible pain
I was astraddle
Without my saddle
That's something I won't do again!
Now its purty well knowed that cowpokes prefer to ride a horse,
An' movin' pitchers show 'em astride prancin' horses of course.
But Hank, a cow-puncher fer many years ain't like th' usual pack;
He prefers to mount a cantankerous mule that he calls Jack!
Ol' Jack sets th' rules in most matters, keepin' Hank on his toes.
Its joked 'mongst his pards that he's bein' led around by his nose!
Jack has a mean kick leavin' hoof marks imprinted on Hank's chest!
Hank's a stubborn one but in stubbornness, he comes in second best!
Jack'll sit on his haunches when Hank tries to tighten th' cinch.
Hank'll yell an' cuss tryin' to saddle him but Jack won't give a inch!
In his own sweet time Jack'll rise on all fours allowin' Hank astraddle.
What a sight they is gallopn' along, Hank tryin' to remain in th' saddle!
When Hank tries to lasso dogies, th' rope gits tangled in Jack's feet.
(Th' trail boss gits irate with Hank usin' language I dare not repeat!)
Both Hank and Jack is useless in th' corral on annual brandin' day;
Says th' boss, "Both you an' yer mule git lost an' stay outta th' way!"
I reckon cowboys who use mules fer ridin' th' trail is mighty few,
But them that does says tho' they is 'mulish', they is steadfast an' true.
When he gits ornery, Hank'll whisper sweet nothin's in Jack's ears,
Like bein' put out to stud for the enjoyment of his retirement years!