Best Cowboy Poems | Poetry

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New Cowboy Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Cowboy poems are below this new poems list.

The Price of a Normal Life, Part IV by Welch, David
The Price of a Normal Life, Part III by Welch, David
The Price of a Normal Life, Part II by Welch, David
The Price of a Normal Life, Part I by Welch, David
Maxon Hadcock's Long Ride, Part II by Welch, David
Maxon Hadcock's Long Ride, Part I by Welch, David
DONALD TRUMP MUST BE PERMANENTLY BARRED AND FURLOUGHED TODAY by harris, matthew
Farmer Cowboy by Lee Sr., James Edward
I'll Settle Down Some Day, Part II by Welch, David
I'll Settle Down Some Day, Part I by Welch, David

View all new Cowboy Poems

The Best Cowboy Poems

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Hard Times

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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Will Shepard

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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Heritage

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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A Well-appointed Cowpoke

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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Compadre

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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A Lonely Christmas

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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Mackenzie Trail

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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Frail Paper Etched With Words

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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Angels and Outlaws

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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Intelligent Design

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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This Cowboy's Done

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




Before joining PS I wrote Cowboy Poetry exclusively. Poetry Soup has effectively thrown out the challenge to write in different forms and I have enjoyed it immensely.


Copyright © Larry Bradfield | Year Posted 2016


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The Last Ride

One tough ol’ cowboy; a strong, upright man,
He rode many years for the Lazy "H" brand.
One ev’nin, quite late, as he rode out from town
Some bandits, they jumped him; threw him straight to the ground
“Your Treasure!”, they cursed, “Or you’ll surely be dead!”
And when he refused, they were quick with the lead.
A slug in his hip, near the heart, through a lung
Then they left him for dead, but he weren’t yet undone.

Climbing back on his horse, he vowed one last fight,
And touching a spur, he rode into the night.
Back at the ranch were the loved ones he’d guarded
But he knew deep inside that soon they’d be parted.
He was one tough ol’ cowboy; yes, tougher than hide,
But concerning his family, he was all soft inside.
The pain ... almost blinding, his breath nearly gone
But with unfinished business, he had to press on!

His kin sensed his struggle, but there was nothing to do
‘Til that cowboy rode in and looked over his crew.
Anxious, they watched as he surveyed his place
Then he smiled his approval; Pride in his face.
For the barn door was shut, the fences all mended
The mangers were full; just like he’d intended.
There just weren’t much more for his rough hands to do
So he turned in the saddle and bid them adieu.

Neither trying to stop him nor wantin’ him gone
They silently watched as he rode toward the dawn.
His breath now came easy, the pain gone away
Ridin’ high in tall grass on a bright summer day.
When he’d rubbed down his mount and made sure he was fed,
He heard, “Well done cowboy!” And turning his head
There stood his Savior with arms open wide.
“You made them all proud when you made that last ride!”


Copyright © Dean Wood | Year Posted 2017


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All Hat and No Cattle

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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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


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The Cowboy Life I Love

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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The Cowboy's Life

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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Mustang

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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Stagecoach

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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Cowboys in the Badlands

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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Beg Your Pardon

Here’s a short story of a cowboy I knew
Whose name was Beg Your Pardon.
He wasn’t a gun slinger in the usual way,
Though his hands were fast
And his foots were faster.
But when Beg started shootin’
There was nuthin’ but disaster.

No worries for Beg, he had none you see,
Since he wasn’t a slinger in the usual way.
But his pappy got ugly
And yelled in his son’s face,
 “Until you can shoot
As the son of mine should,
I want you the h*** out of my place.”

Beg had some tricks up his very long sleeves,
Coz he wasn’t a slinger in the usual way.
He’d show his pappy his skill
There’s no doubt about that.
Yet time was a-wasten
So Beg he did hasten,
But first he took off his hat.

He then wound up his body like a Kansas twister
And slung a cow pie in his usual way.
And broke every record
Did our cow pie ringer.
Since there was no one better,
Pappy exclaimed to his son,
“Beg Your Pardon, I beg your pardon
Heck, you’re some kinda’ slinger!”
 
For Wild Wild West Contest


Copyright © David Fisher | Year Posted 2013


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A Cowboy Is

heartbeat of the American dream early settlers escaped tyranny rode West, used squatters’ rights claimed land and turned to ranching nights ‘neath stars and grub by campfires from nearby hills wolves howling driving cattle across wide prairies boomtowns erected when gold was found ghost towns remain as a symbol of lost wealth cowboys saw the growth of a nation encountered tribes that rebelled met others that passed peace pipes Tombstone today haunted by sounds barroom brawls and sultry saloon singers not an easy life; the strongest survived few emulated Clint Eastwood or John Wayne just men who still enjoy freedom to roam the range but freedom always comes at a price few riders had family ties ladies of the night were their comfort only a handful became rich ranchers still they ride still they ride


Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2011


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God Knows I'm a Country Girl

God knows I'm a country girl,
and wouldn't trade it for nothin' in this world.
Long brown hair and big brown eyes,
I'll take you on an exciting ride,
to the big beautiful countryside.
Get ready to hang on tight.
Gonna give you the ride of your life.
Hair whippin' wild in the wind,
hangin' out with my country friends.
This is where the fun begins.
Raised up on fried chicken and red beans,
sporting my tight fittin' jeans.

God knows I'm a country girl,
and wouldn't trade it for nothin' in this world.
We can sit on the front porch swing,
maybe sing or even daydream.
Gonna have a mighty fine time, 
sippin' on that strawberry wine.
Gonna live a mighty long time,
on this beautiful countryside.
Boy, I hope you enjoy the ride with me,
maybe we'll go fishing or even swimming,
watch the crane spread it's wings.
Ducks gathering on the big wide open pond,
lovebirds making a bond.

Yes, God knows I'm a country girl.
There is one last thing I have to say.
Barefoot and fancy free,
plain as the big outdoors I will be.
Why don't you take a ride with me?
Let me show you the big fine country.


Copyright © shannon farlouis | Year Posted 2010


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Epitaph to a Happy Mosquito

T'was a warm summer's day, when I took to the trail,
to cruise that old black spruce, way down in the swale.

A gallon of bug dope was strapped on my hip,
which I figured would last me for most of the trip.

Down through the sphagnum I plowed like a moose,
a huffin' and puffin' and spittin' my snoose.

Then off in the distance, I heard a faint roar,
like B-29's coming home from the war.

The sky clouded over, so you barely could see,
"They're mosquitoes! "I cried, and they're coming for me.

They flew by me once and past me again,
a-flexing their stingers, before they moved in.

I grabbed for my bug dope and spread it on thick,
just hopin' and prayin', it would do the trick.

They came at me fiercely and punctured my hide,
But before they could drink much, they dropped off and died.

I thought to myself, "What type of bug dope is this?"
The mosquitoes all had smiles on, as they lay there in bliss.

After checking the label, I saw my mistake,
t'was the 100 proof whiskey, that Uncle Jake makes.


Copyright © Richard Manly | Year Posted 2006


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One of Texas's Best

“Back in my day” his stories all would start
I’d  lean in close to listen though I knew ‘em all by heart
He was a living legend, one of Texas’ best
Not just another lawman with a tin star on his chest

He fought along “RIP” Ford & John Coffee Hayes
When Texas was wooly & wild, back in the good old days
“One Riot, One Ranger” I’ve heard it said many times before
from fighting off Commanches to turning the tide of a range war

A Ranger never faltered, never imagined he could lose a fight
He’d  go hell bent for leather just to turn a wrong to right.
From Nueces to Salado Creek he patrolled the border land
Dealing out swift justice with a smoking Colt sitting easy in hand

Hardin, Iron Jacket & Sam Bass thought they could get away
The Rangers ran them down to ground, the stories still are told today
Great Granddad was a hero, one of Texas’s best
Not just another lawman with a tin star on his chest

He passed on the legacy & the stories I’ll now tell
as I hear his voice echo when I start off,  “ I remember well”
So tip your hat & raise your glass to the Rangers out there on patrol
and to all the Shadow Rangers, Rest in Peace, God rest your soul


Copyright © Catherine Devine | Year Posted 2005


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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