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Cowboy Poem
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When hard times come they sit a spell,
Like kin folk come to stay
A-packin' troubles, pets an' kids
That always get ‘n your way.
It's drought an' flood, an' flood an' drought,
There ain't much in-between.
You work like hell to make ’em good,
But still they’re sorta lean.
The ranch went under late last year,
The drought got mighty tough.
The boss held-out a long, long time,
But finally said, "enough!"
So here I am dispatchin’ cops
An’ watchin’ felons sleep,
In Junction, at the county jail,
A job I’ll prob’ly keep.
The wife, she works at Leisure Lodge,
Where older people stay,
A-makin’ beds an’ moppin’ floors
To earn some ‘extra’ pay.
Though “extra pay‘s” the term I used,
It goes to payin’ rent,
An’ after all the bills are paid,
We wonder where it went.
We hocked my saddle, guns an' chaps,
An' then our weddin' rings;
Then when we couldn't pay the loan,
They sold the 'dad-blamed' things.
We felt real bad a day or two
But then we let it go,
Cause it got Christmas for the kids
When money got real slow.
When hard times come they sit a spell,
Don't matter who you are;
They'll cost ya things you've set aside,
An' clean your cookie jar.
You'll loose some sleep an' worry some,
Won't pay to moan an' groan;
But hang on to your happiness,
They'll finally leave ya 'lone.
Copyright © Jim Fish | Year Posted 2005
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Cowboy Poem
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*The feline Texan way*
A clean coat of paint - on my nails
Red shade of lips - on my smile
Solid oak charms - on my wrist
Country music - around my core
Flattering eyes - a rustic shell.
Join me in a "Country Girls Tale"
~~
Every day I draw near the morning dawn,
Abide by the landscape towards the new Texas sun
A track of yellow roses and cactus galore
I brand my name everywhere I travel
Allowing you near the bounds of my Wild West soul
I maintain it above the snake level everywhere I roll
Got my head up like a cowgirl,
Men around my black leather chaps
I tilt my bull hide hat leaving behind a sweet Texas Trail
Driving down a midnight Texan storm
It takes more than raindrops to knock me from my- “2-Steppin’ world.”
A windy ride, bruises under the hide taking it in like- “A Real Cowgirl!”
I got a tight hold on my saddle, holding on to a brighter morrow
Enjoying the voices and the sound
Tex-Mex lingo, round and round
Ropers and Wranglers are how I dress
I'm all covered, except for the top of my chest.
Living’ it up^, down here in the south.
Erin’ the lungs, shooting up the sport
Long necks’ and kissing under a rodeo’ moon.
Honky-Tonk, tattooing the mockingbird.
Down here:
You will see me sitting on the Country ground,
Peacefully staring into the optics of the "Alamo Stars."
Falling with the art found in the flag I hold.
I am The Wild!
I am The West!
“— A little dotty, but civilized!”
Enjoying the morning breeze,
Where the dew sits on the tip of Mother Nature’s tongue.
There and only there you will find me,
Under the brightest Texas Star
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013
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Cowboy Poem
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The day Will Shepard shot my dog
His barn burned to the soil;
The flames licked at the Autumn sky,
The smoke as black as oil.
I dropped the torch onto the earth,
And felt the whole world turn,
I stood and watched Will Shepard’s barn,
I stood and watched it burn.
The day Will Shepard shot my dog
I set his horses free,
They galloped over grass and sand,
They galloped to the sea;
I dropped my whip onto the floor
And thoughts turned to my gun
I stood and watched Will Shepard’s herd,
I stood and watched them run.
The day Will Shepard shot my dog
I put him in the ground,
My bullets found his heart and brain,
He fell without a sound;
And as his lifeblood ebbed away
And light fled from his eyes,
I stood and watched Will Shepard leave,
I stood and watched him die.
And now I sit here in my cell
And through the bars I spy
The carpenter with wood and nails,
Who builds my gallows high;
My vengeance has been satisfied
As far as I can see,
For that old dog Will Shepard shot
Meant all the world to me.
Copyright © Tony Bush | Year Posted 2006
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Cowboy Poem
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The ranch on which I hang my hat, though short on most the frills,
Is thirteen sections, give or take, of rugged trails an’ hills.
We call it ‘home’, our little world, our very own frontier,
Amongst the cattle, sheep an' goats; the varmints, hogs an' deer.
Today I watched the breakin' dawn an' whiffed the mornin' air,
A time I often set aside for things like thought an' prayer.
A Mockin'bird an' Mornin' Dove, an' other birds at play,
Were there to sing an' set the mood to start another day.
This mornin' saw the strangest thing, like time itself had merged,
An' all the souls who once were here, appeared an' then converged.
In swirlin' clouds of mist an' fog, right off the bluffs they rolled,
Till all had gathered in the glen, the modern an' the old.
The Indians, conquistadors, an' other ancient men,
The soldiers from this country's wars, an' cowboys from back when…
They all had come from yesterday to help me understand
Our link with those who came before, to heritage an' land.
A crazy notion, so I thought, that they could just appear,
But as the morning went along the reason got real clear.
They rode along with me that day to show me things I’ve missed,
The things I’ve seen a thousand times an’ some I’d just dismissed.
Those wagon roads of long ago, still evident today,
Are carved in rock an' rutted earth, not apt to wash away.
They linked the missions, forts an' towns those many years gone by;
An' left their mark for all to see, as modern times grew nigh.
The artifacts an' weathered ruins attest to yesterdays,
When others came an' lived their lives in very different ways.
We've seen their skill in arrowheads they honed from fired stone,
An' craftsmanship in beads an' tools they fashioned out of bone.
At ever turn and trail we took was something to remind,
The Maker must have had a plan laid out for humankind.
The Earth He made’s been feedin' us a half-a-million years,
An' used it's wonder, force an' change to challenge pioneers.
I do not know if they'll return or if they’ll feel the need,
But I’m prepared to ride the trail, where ever it may lead.
We all are spirits ridin’ time with bodies of the Earth,
Whose time has come to take the reins an’ offer up our worth.
The land has been the legacy we cultivate an’ reap,
The life has been the heritage our father’s fought to keep,
An’ we are bound throughout our time with those who came before,
To put our hearts and souls to it, and make it something more.
Copyright © Jim Fish | Year Posted 2009
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Cowboy Poem
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Oh cripes I’ve gotta tell yer of a horror ride I had,
That beat any bronc or bull I’ve rode, and I must say I’m glad,
I’ll never have to ride like that, again to hold me seat.
Now rodeo is ‘kiddies’ stuff compared to what I beat.
I’d been knockin’ ‘round the circuit an’ was headin’ to the ‘Hill’.
I was lookin’ out for action ‘cause I had some time to kill,
So I called to see a mate o’ mine, an’ he turned on a spree,
But grog, peanuts and pickled onions don’t agree with me.
I s’pose it was ‘round midnight, I stirred in his shearers hut.
I woke up hearing grumblin’ an’ it was comin’ from me gut,
So I thought I better visit the house that’s up the back.
Me head was pretty ‘woosy’ an’ it was a wobbly track.
But I settled down to do the job contented on the throne;
Suddenly the still was broke an’ trees began to moan,
The flamin’ breeze began to roar into a mighty squall,
An’ branches broke, an’ iron crashed against the dunny wall.
The dunny started moving and was leaning to one side,
Just like the chute gate opened and I’m goin’ for a ride,
One second I was bolt upright, and now I’m on me head,
I was clinging on a winner, and then we hit the shed.
The dunny spun a circle and the dunny roll shot free,
An' wrapped itself around me neck an’ damn near strangled me.
Bloody redbacks started flying from their secret hidin’ place,
An' I reckon that a hundred were clingin’ to me face.
Then a resident old taipan who’d been dozing in the rafter
Was flamin’ blamin’ me for this creation of disaster,
It was snapping in the turmoil at me hands and at me feet,
But let me tell you hear and now. I held on to that seat.
For nothing on this flamin’ earth would ever get to throw,
Me from this position, ‘cause I know what’s down below,
So when the twisting dunny bounced off a coupla’ trees,
I had me ankles ‘round me ears and me head between me knees.
Even then above the din I could hear the constant hum,
From a hundred thousand blowflies bouncing off me bum.
But let me tell you once again, it’ll be a mighty feat,
For just one of them blowies to get past me on the seat.
An' then just like it started, the wind subsided in the night,
But I’m further up the track in the dunny back upright.
I’m battered, bruised and bitten, still clinging to the seat,
So at the rodeo ‘tomorra’… I’ll still be smelling sweet.
Copyright © Lindsay Laurie | Year Posted 2015
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Cowboy Poem
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A well-appointed cowpoke, of whom there are still a few,
Wanted to be properly clad for his first job interview.
So, to impress his potential and somewhat cynical boss,
He has a silver-studded saddle throwed across his hoss!
He's wearin' a ten-gallon hat, a Stetson if you please,
And a bandana 'round his neck to catch the dusty breeze.
The dude has a roll-yer-own a-danglin' from his lips,
And a shiny pair of forty-fours a-hangin' from his hips!
He's wearin' a hand-tooled leather belt of the finest grade,
And a "cowboy" shirt and a vest cut from top-grade suede!
A woolly pair of chaps covers his bow-legged knees,
And protects his Calvin Kleins that fit so tight they squeeze!
His gleamin' pair of Tony Lama boots with pointy toes,
Completes what he considers proper cowboyin' clothes.
The silver spurs on his boots glint in the noonday sun;
Ah, he's the ideal picture of a range-ridin' son-of-a-gun!
The boss, arms folded, feet spread, sportin' a knowin' grin,
Didn't seem to be impressed, much to the greenhorn's chagrin.
Sizin' him up from head to toe, he said, "You look fit and able",
Handed him a fork and shovel and sent him to the stable!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved
Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2010
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Cowboy Poem
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-The Same Old SongS-
That's all he ever talks about
~SKAT~
Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2015
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Cowboy Poem
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We’ve shared the trail, kicked up some dust,
An’ stood a storm or two.
We’ve rode the plains, the wide frontier,
The easy trails were few.
You’ve listened like some wise old sage
To ever thing I’ve said,
An’ as a friend, supported me,
No matter where it led.
I wished I coulda carried you,
The times you were in pain;
Or rustled up some kinda shed
To turn the blowin’ rain.
I’ve come up shy with some your needs,
You gave me more’n you got,
But in your silence, seemed to know,
I needed you a lot.
Compadre, friend, amigo, pard;
I called you all them things,
But there’s been times, I swear to God,
You musta had some wings,
An’ He sent you to care for me
Like no one had before.
If you’as a man an’ not a horse,
I couldn’t a-loved you more.
We gave this ranch our sweat an’ blood,
It’s yours as much as mine,
An’ raised our young’uns through the years,
An’ Lord they’re doin’ fine.
They’re blazin’ trails an’ raisin’ dust,
They’re off an’ runnin’ free.
We’ve taught ‘em well an’ made ‘em strong;
Compadre, you an’ me.
I always knew the day would come
When we would fine’ly ride,
To join the Maker’s round-up time,
Up on the Great Divide.
I sorta hoped we’d share the trail
But this was not to be,
So, you go on, we’ll ride again;
Compadre, you an’ me.
Copyright © Jim Fish | Year Posted 2005
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Cowboy Poem
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I walked up to the bunkhouse, beneath a cloudless sky,
searching to find the Christmas star, still shining there on high.
The bunkhouse was warm but lonesome with no other cowboys there.
They had all gone home for Christmas. I pretended not to care.
Christmas carols on the radio brought back thoughts of the star
that had shown down on those pastures in that Eastern land so far.
Taking off my vest and Sunday shirt, I threw them on the trunk.
I stripped down to my underwear and crawled into my bunk.
My day had started early. I had worked hard with the crew,
so they could start their Christmas fun, when all the chores were through.
With no wife nor kids to need me, I had told the rest I'd stay
and watch out for the cattle. They could have their Christmas Day.
The warm room made me sleepy and I started into doze.
Right there before my astounded eyes, the Christmas Star arose.
I was a lonely shepherd in that land so far away,
who had been left to guard the sheep until the break of day.
I heard the angels singing and saw the moving star.
I marveled at the beauty and glory from afar.
The bright star beckoned to me and angels led the way
to where the future king of all lay in a mound of hay.
I wanted so to follow them but I had pledged my word.
I had to turn a deaf ear to the messages I heard.
I knew my solemn duty lay in guarding helpless sheep.
I prayed the Lord's forgiveness but the vigil I must keep.
The star reflected in the eyes of creatures all around,
waiting for the lonely stray or any sheep they found.
I could not shirk my duty to seek Him out that night,
but I knew I never would forget that glorious, wondrous sight.
I had that dream some years ago, but should that star reappear,
I've hung my rope and saddle up. I can follow with no fear.
Posted: 12/1/14 For "One of your best" contest
Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2014
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Cowboy Poem
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When doves on evenings, calm and still, call out a hollow tone,
They rouse a medley, old as time, so few have ever known.
The whispered lines of its refrains resound of yesterday,
In ancient tales and bygone trails that man cannot portray.
I’ve rode and worked along a trail throughout my many years.
I’ve heard the tales the sages tell of raging Longhorn steers,
Of soldiers marching single file or mounted days on end,
Of Indians, conquistadors and Rangers tracking men.
Mackenzie Trail is not well known for time obscures its fame,
But high regard is placed on it by those who know its name.
Its story’s scribed in black and white, its remnants etched in stone,
Its way was marked by sweat and blood, by grave and bleaching bone.
The broad frontier that it traversed had yet to be surveyed
And danger seemed to lie in wait at every turn and grade.
From Fort Clark Springs to forts on north, it led Mackenzie’s men
To risk their lives out on the trail, then brought them home again.
A mound lies near Mackenzie Lake, where horse thieves met despair,
For Rangers tracked their hurried trail and hung them then and there.
And near a barn not far away, in Live Oaks’ blissful shade,
The remnants of a camp still lie where soldiers often laid.
I’ve rode the trail and damned the rock that cost my horse a shoe.
I’ve crossed its draws that filled with rain and made my lips turn blue.
Its rugged paths have tested me and all who’ve come this way,
Yet, it remains my trail through time, my bond with yesterday.
Mackenzie Trail will long survive, a monument to will,
That I recall when I ride near on evenings, calm and still;
When doves exclaim in harmony, their lonely, hollow tone
And rouse the medley, old as time, so few have ever known.
Copyright © Jim Fish | Year Posted 2009
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Cowboy Poem
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Whether poets, showmen or philosophers,
Or mere cowboys who follow herds—
They all want to leave behind a lasting mark—
More than frail paper etched with words.
But the cold, hard truth still lies in the doing
And all but a blessed few will fail—
But on we go like bison over the cliff—
Hoping our wings sprout and we sail.
And like restless sleepwalkers we do wander
From one thing and then to the next—
Till we find what it is that will then save us
To put life in proper context.
So on we scribble and strive for the right phrase—
Catch meaning and life in birds—
Put emotions and feelings we briefly hold
On this frail paper etched with words.
Copyright © Glen Enloe | Year Posted 2008
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Cowboy Poem
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Come and sit here by the fire
Watch the flickering firelight
Let me touch your lips with mine
Will you keep me warm tonight
I've been here reminiscing
Just feeling kind of sad
Wondering why angels love outlaws
And all the times we had
We've been through Hell together
Feeling the pleasure and the pain
Stood side by side against the world
In the sunshine and the rain
Outlaws live their lives on the edge
Their castles built with sand
Why angels fall in love with them
It's hard to understand
So while we're sitting by this fire
And thinking of all the times you cried
This outlaw loves his angel
I want you forever by my side.
Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2008
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Cowboy Poem
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You think you’re alone out on the range
Sittin’ silent under starry sky,
Just a marvelin’ at the universe
And wonderin’ ‘bout that ol’ question: why?
You shake your head at worlds of worry,
Knowin’ it ain’t often that you’ll find,
All the answers to your queries
Beneath the clear black sky and pine.
You wonder if we rose up from mud
And walked straight and tall upon this earth—
Or was it all created in a moment—
A conception that gave us true birth.
Are we all no more than those monkeys
Evolvin’ slowly down life’s long line?
Or is there more to earth and heaven
Touched by something truly sublime?
We keep on punchin’ clocks and cattle
And tryin’ to get through each new morn—
But is there more to life than dyin’
And will we somehow be reborn?
All the cattle know my hard proddin’
As I lead them along time’s sad way—
We live for but a flashin’ moment,
As we watch life go by in one short day.
So make the best of trails you ride, cowboy—
Each tomorrow is both yours and mine—
And gaze long at stars in that vast sky
Placed there by intelligent design.
Copyright © Glen Enloe | Year Posted 2005
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Cowboy Poem
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One day I was passing time
And wrote these words upon the lines,
I know not where they came you see
The Winds of Time were there for me.
If I could open a door to the past
And there before me were the paths
I'm not quite sure which I would choose
But The Winds of Time would see me through.
The vastness there before God's Hand
Then came the heavens, the seas, the land
Eden, Noah and the Christ Child's birth
Is the path that I see first.
I'm not into Knights or dragon days,
Nor Robin Hood and his saving ways,
But give me a Viking as he crosses the seas
And I'll dream of the lands so wild and free.
The music of Irland calls to me,
Where Kathleen's heart has ever been,
And for Danny Boy the fifes do call
I'll shed my tears lest he should fall.
As Immigrants touched upon our shores
The Indians prepared to fight once more,
But fate stepped in and eased the sore
They'd live in peace forever more.
The battles fought upon this land
To protect us from Tierney's hand,
The Civil War for Freedom's right
The Alamo where comrades died.
At Little Big Horn where our soldiers died,
As Indians defend their homes with pride,
The government later took a hand
And put them on Reservation land.
I remember well, when I was quite young
The days of World War II
And how my father's life did change
When the family business he assumed.
Twenty-four seven was unheard of then,
But that was their working day,
They helped keep our nations trucks on the road
Their battlefield was here in the USA.
I'll choose the path with pastures green,
Horses, cattle and the cowboy scene,
This is the land of my mother's birth
The most precious land to me on earth.
I chose this land and took a stand,
Married a cowboy and we ranched the land.
Though now retired and family gone
This land will always be our home.
The Winds of Time, know well my soul
I'll rest at night with days of yore.
And as I wake a prayer I'll say
Please God, may we have Peace today?
Cile Beer
Copyright © Marycile Beer | Year Posted 2005
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Cowboy Poem
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I'll ride with you awhile, my friend
Until the wind turns cold.
I'm not as young as I once was -
Just feelin' kinda old.
I used to ride straight to the storm -
"Weather be damned", I'd say.
I'd yell an' cuss at wind unseen
An' ride 'til end of day.
I'd swagger up to Shorty's bar -
Half froze an' frostbit too.
I'd drink my fill then drink some more,
When other men were through.
I had my pick of fair haired gals,
But never found that one
Who'd make me quit and settle down
An' say, "This cowboy's done".
So I wore out a hoss or two,
An' broke bones here an' there.
Rode from the Red to Rio Grande,
But never stayed nowhere.
For now I'm proud to ride with you
Until the wind turns cold.
An' then you're on your own my friend -
My tales have all been told
April 1, 2016
Contest "Poems That Are Soup Favorites" by Shadow Hamilton
Judged May 2, 2016
Copyright © Larry Bradfield | Year Posted 2016
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Cowboy Poem
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They hung around the beer joint with the finest Western wear
with thumbs tucked in their belt loops and such a studly air.
But those boots weren't made for stirrups and were polished to a sheen,
and on those fancy cowboy hats not a sweat stain could be seen.
You could be sure they hadn't spent much time around a branding pot,
for the only brands they recognized were ones on stuff they bought.
And if they ever passed the time just musing 'bout their spread,
it'd be the one around their middle or the one they put on bread.
Just a bunch of cowboy wannabes in a modern masquerade,
but they drove the biggest pickup trucks that Detroit ever made.
The beds were big and beautiful without a scratch or scuff inside,
'cause the only thing they hauled around was a horse's big backside.
As they stood around outside the joint, in a smart-ass state of mind,
in pulled an ancient pickup with an old horse trailer hitched behind.
The truck an old green Chevy, year 'bout nineteen sixty-nine,
with two high wooden sideboards stacked with hay bales bound with twine.
Out stepped a skinny hombre, with steel-blue eyes and bandy legs,
but he had a rippling six-pack while all the boozers sported kegs.
His cowboy hat was sweat-stained; high-heeled boots were dusty gray;
he kicked off a chunk of cow pie, then he grabbed a bale of hay.
He was mighty parched and dusty, but he wouldn't quench his thirst
'cause you're not an honest cowboy unless you water horses first.
The pack of fools gave out a hoot, yelled "Hey there, Texas Pete!
Get yourself a man-sized truck and take that geezer off the street!"
As he finished with the horses, up walked two ladies smokin' hot.
The cowboy promptly doffed his hat, while the posers there did not.
The cowboy got a long admiring look and the rounders just a sneer,
as the sham was so apparent when a real cowboy was near
They flashed the dusty cowboy a big ol' smile 'bout ten miles wide...
Said "Honey, would a gent like you care to escort us gals inside?"
He winked, then gave the trucks a look and spat a stream of juice.
Said, "Boys, y'all's might be bigger, but mine gets a sight more use."
Copyright © Roy Jerden | Year Posted 2013
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Cowboy Poem
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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
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Cowboy Poem
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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.
10.03.2014
For Isaiah Zerbst Contest:
Cowboys in the Badlands 2nd
Copyright © Brenda Meier-Hans | Year Posted 2014
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Cowboy Poem
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I squint my eyes from the glaring sun
As I drive cattle across the open range.
I am the youngest hand, so I ride drag
Covered by the dust stirred into the wind.
This is the life I have chosen
To hear the steady creaking of my saddle
The songs of the cowboys as they lead the herd
The lowing cattle as they smell water.
This is the life I live
To see the endless stretches of prairie
The hens and rabbits scuttling away
The ponderous beasts flowing in a living stream.
This is the life I love
Watching the horses graze peacefully at night
The cattle milling about during my night ride
My horse's gentle breathing as I circle them.
May this be my lot while here I remain
May I drink from the freely flowing streams
And breathe the pairie air until I die.
Whether life be short or long
May I ever onward toil, and be content
With the satisfaction of honest work
With the steady pounding of hooves
Biscuits and chili by a wavering fire
And sleeping under the sky on the open range.
Copyright © Isaiah Zerbst | Year Posted 2013
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Cowboy Poem
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Wind drinkers flow with strength and grace.
Thunder pounds from their hooves.
Run wild Mustang, Run.
As one they "run" across parched earth,
born free and "wild" from the time of birth.
Their manes flow "as" water, in the wind.
Hooves dig in, "the" desert floor, they rend.
Full moon at "midnight" leads their way,
while in the night "sky" their ancestors play.
Paula Swanson
For the contest: Middle Of The Road
Sponsored by H Garvey Daniel Esquire
Placement: 1st
Copyright © Paula Swanson | Year Posted 2012
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Cowboy Poem
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You say you like to ride in my pick-up truck,
to sing karaoke, and drink some beers,
but how can you say country music sucks,
when your rappin' nearly burns my ears,
Well, you can think and say, but by the way,
I'm also gonna speak my mind,
'cause country music is what I'll sing 'n' play,
if you don't like it, kiss my behind,
And you don't have to stand in line,
to kiss where the sun don't shine,
good country music, to me, sounds fine,
but your yappin' rappin' just ain't my kind,
Yea, I'm a country boy, deep to the core,
if you can't tell by now, you're blind,
and like I've said many times before
that crap in rappin' just ain't my kind,
I know you don't like my snake skin boots,
though my cowboy hat you say is fine,
but cowboy boots are part of my country roots,
since way back, a long long time,
Yea, you don't have to stand in line,
to kiss where the sun don't shine,
good country music, to me, sounds fine,
but your yappin' rappin' just ain't my kind,
Yea, you don't have to stand in line,
to kiss where the sun won't shine,
and if my boots don't turn you on,
then I reckon you'd best get gone,
So hello, good-bye, so long,
But, before you go, If you don't mind,
leave a kiss where the sun don't shine,
since country music doesn't turn you on,
and my snake skin boots don't turn you on,
Yea, I reckon, you'd best get gone.
So hello, Good-bye, So Long.
Copyright © Lawrence Ingle | Year Posted 2009
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Cowboy Poem
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As the pastel moon rises across the midnight blue
a lone wolf’s dark silhouette appears into view
his boast is known from Cowboy to prairie dog
fore this is the night chill that turns to morning fog
the early dawn is thawed by a piping hot cup o’ Joe
No time to waste, just a few days brings first snow
Such is the Cowboy’s life on the cattle drive
Copyright © Warner Baxter | Year Posted 2014
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Cowboy Poem
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This long awaited date -
a hoedown it’s to be
shy smiles as we head in
we touch hands nervously
We allemande left and do-si-do
Then both head ladies chain
and breathlessly we meet
in each other’s arms again
We swirl in sawdust on the floor
to the tune sweet Bye and Bye
Evocative is the patter
as the gold moon rises high
An anticipated moment
as the fiddle fades away
Your denim and my lace
soon lie buried in the hay
Sweet echoes of the evening
fill passion in the soul
Upon the amber straw
we both have lost control
written October 27, 2014 by Rick Parise and Andrea Dietrich
For Shadow Hamilton's Cowboy Hoe Down Contest
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2014
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Cowboy Poem
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Rather lost, they stare over the divide,
how best to circumnavigate this obstacle?
They can see a path gently sloping down
but it is far off to the north two days ride.
West is back from whence they had come,
east is an impassable cliff of sheer rocks.
They can not see far to the south but maybe,
they talk it over and head into the unknown.
Tumble weed rolling by pushed by the wind
as playfully it blows them into their path.
Miniscule trees dot the flat plateau
and small shrubs popping up here and there.
In a hurry they head on swiftly southwards
and soon start to descend to the valley below.
Billy is pale with anxiety as they push on
his wife Betty is due to give birth.
Sammy casts worried looks at his friend knowing
there is little he can say that will help.
At last they reach the valley and gallop on
Just another five miles will they make it in time?
Their horses now struggling, sweat pouring off them.
Billy's homestead comes into view cattle scattering
as they gallop through the herd and into the yard.
Sammy hangs back as Billy dashes in to Betty.
In full labour she screams "Where have you been?"
"The preacher is here to wed us. Did you get the ring?"
"I have it here" said Billy and without delay they were married.
And within minutes the twins arrived a boy and girl both bawling.
"Geezers you cut that close Billy" said Sammy
as they slumped on the front porch drinking beer.
"We made it in the nick of time" replied Billy
flushed with the joy and fulfilment of life.
written 17/09/2014
contest: Cowboys in the Badlands
sponsor Isaiah
Copyright © Shadow Hamilton | Year Posted 2014
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I took my periodic stroll through the local antique store today.
There were the usual horse collars, clocks and various sundries on display.
Havin' no need fer horse collars and sech, I quickly passed them by,
But a paintin' of an abandoned stagecoach really caught my eye!
The artist depicted it in a field overgrown with tumbleweeds and brambles.
It looked so very forlorn, its former glory now in a total shambles!
I contemplated this poignant scene and mused upon its past,
And how it may have helped conquer the western frontier so very vast!
I could picture the cranky driver a-cussin' and crackin' his leather whip,
Stingin' the ears of his cantankerous mules urgin' them on to a faster clip!
As they raced across arid deserts and rounded treacherous mountain curves,
How the passengers must've been jostled, gittin' on each others nerves!
I visualized the characters that old stage must've transported to the west!
There were gamblers seekin' suckers, concealin' ample aces in their vest!
Platoons of preachers clutchin' their Bibles were numbered 'mongst the hosts,
And young and innocent teachers were headin' west to teach at army posts!
Soiled doves, plyin' their trade, were headed fer sawdust saloons.
I wondered if the old stage had ever been sacked by outlaws and their goons.
I reckon the old derelict had earned its repose - its axles no longer squeal.
If only that old stage could speak! My oh my! The secrets it might reveal!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2013
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