Best Cowboy Westernold Poems
Sat on top of High Lonesome Hill
It would scream, cry, lacked grease and oil
The lonely sound as the mountain wind would blow
Pumped ice cold water, thirsty cows would drink their fill
In the summer time, the Sun would boil
Still pumping even in the snow
Built out of oak timber
Many years ago, strong as the day was long
Storms come and go, still standing tall
Never missed a day of work since I can remember
And singing it's mournful song
For a bunch of thirsty cows, it was "Cattle Call"
The road there was an old dry creek bed
In the oak trees, the deer would hide
I would ride there on a buckskin bay
For hours of dreaming and resting my head
All that was yesterday
Windmill spin as you pump the cowboy's gold
With a piece of beef jerky, a no finer meal
If that could only happen again
Like the memory that only a cowboy can hold
That old spinning windmill wheel
It was Heaven without any sin
Form:
In a little West Texas cow town years ago
There was an old doctor by the name of Hill
Little man, mild mannered, cheerful until made mad
He doctored old cowboys and drunks when things got slow
His usual cure was a kick in the butt and a pill
He had some regular people that weren't to bad
Doctor Hill had some that lived far out of town
On ranches and God awful places Doc was carried
There was one family that lived on a ranch way far out
There name was Brown
An old mother and two daughters not married
The old mother complained to hurt everywhere about
She claimed to be bed ridden, could walk as good as you and me
She fell out of bed one night, the sister did not know what to do
So the called Dr. Hill at ten
So late at night the got in his car to go see
He had been there five times before, he knew what to do
Laying there on the floor, she had done it again
Doc told them to get a blanket and a pillow and put them on the floor
He made a pallet for her and ten he said
"Let's roll her over on to the mat
Put the pillow under her head , then headed for the door
His little round face was turning blood red
Then he said, "Now damn it fall off of that"
Form:
He started working leather when he was a lad
Stop by the saddle shop on his way home from school
He knew that was his first love
Old wood burning stove for heat, It was all the old shop had
The old saddle maker on his stool
Seemed like they fit like a glove
There was something about the smell of that place
The rolls of new leather, their special scent
Old saddles brought in for repair, hours of tears and horse sweat
The old saddle maker worked at a slow pace
Owned the shop, paid no rent
Around the old stove, is where the cowboys met
For pocket change, the boy would sweep the floor every night
As he would watch the old saddle maker work the leather
The young boy would saddle soap the old saddle clean
Some nights the old saddle maker would work until after midnight
Always seemed to be angry in hot weather
Saying," Hell no, won't have one of the fancy wind blowing machines"
Knives, razors sharp, leather stamping tools galore
On the floor, scrapes of leather were everywhere
Each were a beauty, the saddle made by the old saddle maker
That was once the kid who once swept the floor
And learned from the old master who used to be there
The making of a old saddle maker
Form:
The Last Wagon
The story tells of wagon wheels,
rollin,' cross the plains.
New land with its promises,
planning their bounty claim.
Every wagon rollin' cross
had to weather the plains.
Injuns' watched with eagle eyes
and counted wagon trains.
Staggered and strayed they would travel,
the land in numbers strong.
But always the last wagon',
carrying it all alone.
Usually slow old horses,
pulled tattered canvas covers
Rattlin' wood, and clankin' chains,
certain not like the others.
The unknown secret of the west
This wagon was filled with only the best.
Last wagon was always an easy mark
But hidden beneath were very brave hearts.
They waited in silence and ready to fend,
off the Injuns' that crept from behind,
To capture the women and children ahead,
and bring them back to their tribe.
But quick within sight the old men would wait,
shoot and attack as Injuns' kept gait
Halted their forces to preserve the rest,
these were the marksmen of the old west.
Protectors of wagons, preserve the course,
this was their job with no recourse.
Men of old age, whose lives had been spent,
rented the time just for a chance.
To see the new west, if they should make it,
or die for the others, safely escorted.
The fall roundup, Old Brown Ranch in 1976
Sat below Cathedral Peak, Calamity Creek was running slow
A mule deer behind almost every cedar tree
Old Juan was getting ready for his day of tricks
It was early in the morning, he wanted everyone to know
Pots and pans clanging, it was even three
Oak wood camp fire, coffee was about to boil
Good chill in the air, frost everywhere
Juan was making his dough for camp bread
Fed the cowboys like they were royal
Best eating I ever had, I swear
Always wore a long red apron, silver belly hat on his head
His menu was always the same, beans, taters and steak
Didn't speak English or Spanish, he mumbled and grumbled
Always was in a good mood, except when he was mad
Cowboys never complained, even if he made a mistake
Cowboyed all his life, until that old pony stumbled
Then took to cookin, the wreck messed up his leg pretty bad
He was the chef in his outside cowboy eatery, top of the line
If you were expecting fancy, Juan was not formal
In a Dutch Oven, he could make one fine cherry cobbler
Juan did like a bit of that old wine
Guess that was his way of trying to be normal
Juan Ramos, helluva a camp cook, if you could keep him sober
Form:
There is an old ranch outside of El Paso in New Mexico
No windmills, not a drop of water, sits on the Mexican border
No horses or cattle, not a cowboy does it employ
Used to be a working cattle ranch, but that was long ago
Now a lot of outlaw, no law and order
Now it is just the Devil's toy
The old ranch house, the window are painted black
All run down the fences of barb wire
Bones of ghost cattle lay in the sand, from cattle mutilations
Used in ceremonies for the Devil's attack
The witches dance and chant around a bon fire
Human sacrifices are taken as donations
Cowboy hat, boots and spurs, are gone by the way
No round up or rawhide on this outfit
In the tall mesquite dunes, a "sweat lodge" is where they worship
always carry on by night, never during the day
Where "The Head Witch reigns, don't think that she will ever quit
Booby traps galore, so you had better not slip
A multi million dollar cocaine shipping factory
Hidden off in the brush.under lock and key
Shipped by railroad, by air and Interstate Ten
A Helluva a tale and quite a story
Where "muling drugs" got it's name, when brought in by donkey
Don't get caught out there, you might not get back
Now for the scary part, if the other was not bad enough
When you think our Southern border is safe, well think again?
They are protected by the police and the United States Border Patrol
Telling us they are fighting drugs and it is tough
And the war on drug, they are going to win
How can they when the Devil has their soul
Form:
(Based on a true Story)
Foggy Bottom = Washington D. C.
Several years ago out in Wyomig country
The ranchers were having nightmare, coyotes killing their sheep
They did not eradicate them, just get some control
For centuries they have used the steel jawed trap, that was the controversy
They were losing money and not getting any sleep
The Devil's dog was getting their soul
The Defenders of Wild Critters and the government boys were all upset
Thought that the rancher did net know a thing, but they did not know a cow from a bull
Had to call in the high muckity mucks from Foggy Bottom, then it got deep
Crying, "These old dumb cowboys will never be Politically correct
But they did not understand the high price of wool
After hours of useless thought "We can save your sheep"
Had a town meeting to sell the ranchers the plan
"We will put collars with radios, give them birth control
"So we can locate them and preserve this wonderful habitat
"We have spent hours and millions of dollars on this plan"
An old rancher stood up and shook his head under his cowboy hat
"Sir, I don't think you are missing the point here tonight"
"We don't need radios to locate them, they are right here"
"And that birth control you can keep"
"But this is the thing in our plight"
'So listen up real close, I want to make it clear"
"We are not worried about the coyotes screwing our woolies, they are eating our sheep"
Form:
In El Paso town is where "The Head Witch" make her nest
She is smart, clever mean, evil to the heart
her tentacles to grab her prey, reach far and wide
Been at war with this old heifer for 25 years, she claims to be the best
And she can take one for a wild ride
Like a tornado going through a town, tears it all apart
El Paso is the hot spot on the Mexican border drugs
Has been for many years, where the witch will be at
Everything that she does is a evil conspiracy
Works hand in hand with the Mexican Mafia and all of their thugs
When it comes to evil's general, she wears that hat
But like "The Wizard Of Oz", behind the curtain where you cannot see
Several years ago, she had one of her conspiracy after me
Acted like I had gone and peed in her cornflakes
I guess I did a little and crossed her path
I thought that I would send her something to settle her furry
So I decided that was enough,put in the brakes
She has been on cocaine for 40 years, full of mad wrath
So I sent her a Bible, in plain brown wrapping paper
Thought that Bible would take her voodoo away
Now if that did not get the old hussy 's under britches in a wad
Her little group, killed my best friend, my mother and has my daughter
But God will get her one day, so that is okay
Scared her so bad, in open court testified she called the FBI bomb squad
A witch with no voodoo is no good when it comes to Black magic
Made the wart on her old nose glow in the dark
She vowed to get me, in any way
But she would love it better if it was tragic
God is stalking her, reckon he will hit his mark
The moral to this story..She will pay in her Judgment Day
Form:
Wally some call him Zip (fed em black duck) (crow actually) Kakadu song man of Gulf town
Karumba Australia
Stay alive in 55 and 56 said the roadside sign..
As the Ford Mercury whizzed by on local Brisbane time...
A flat head 8 jumped into a muffled roar...
And Bronco Don gave it its head full bloody bore..
Bill Brummell was a waiting Aunty Nell was coming by..
And of course she'd bring the Johnson's little grubs like Mark and I...
So we lurched and wobbled cross country to the coast...
And aunty Grace was awaiting for sure shed cooked a roast..
So I followed cousin Wally about the Cleveland farm..
And watched him eat a melon from the inside without harm
Cut a hole put his head in, call him melon head?..
Just like a giant white ant this I say god strike me dead?..
Down in the valley my love is so low...
Sang old Slim Whitman on the valve radio..
old Don bought an inter truck a droving we would go..
to the Moonie floods back more than 50 years or so...
then Zip some call him Walter, he got a grand idea...
went to shoot some wild duck with a threeoh and some beer.... .303cal
so he lined up a wood duck but a crow got in the way..
so he reefed and pulled the trigger, just tough duck is all he'd say...
yes these ducks had big black feathers when talking they said ark...
(not like them squeaky yank crows)
Wally plucked and filled the stew pot says its duck or just a lark..
Drunken ring barkers were hungry scoffed the lot in one quick feed...
And they were farting feathers till the crowing parts were freed...
Don Johnson...
OUR MATE WALLY...
Oh they call him Wally Brummell and some just say old Zip..
He wrote and sang about Kakadu on the radio a bit...
Hes seen the passing of the horses and the drovers all gone too...
The rain don't come cos the trees are gone from Brisbane to Barcoo....bad hey...
Old trees that had a life force, as strong as me or you...
Killed by the ring barkers axe and bulldozed burnt so blue..
But if the desert reclaims its own, if the hungry farmer knew ?...
Would he let a sapling live its life, from Brisbane to Barcoo?...nope...
Don Johnson..
http://www.scullywag.com/kokoda1942st...
It was just a "Front", that most were supposed to see
Not a stud on the place, just "mystery donkeys"
Some days they were there, then just up and disappear
Maybe this is the reason this happened to me?
But it all had to do with the "magic donkeys"
For a long time it was a secret, then it got real clear
For several days the burros would have nothing to eat
Then Sawford had pack saddles, they all got one
About sundown the donkeys were driven to the border
To a group of Mexican drug smugglers they were to meet
Pack saddles loaded with silver ingots and pot for the next sun
It was a shipment made to order
At the barn, Sawford had the troughs loaded with waiting hay
At the border the drug smugglers would turn the burros loose
Like "homing pigeons" the donkeys came at a lope
Told the law, "Well them old donkeys have gone astray"
It worked until they got his neck in a noose
And Sawford fan out of rope
The silver was melted down, Sawford had a coin stamping machine
Making silver dollars as fast as he could
And the law never figured how the burros got there
Sawford swore up and down, "Dangest thing that I have ever seen"
"Why those bugger must have winged it here on a prayer"
He went to the pen and it did him no good
All ranches have a tale to tell, so does the old 5Y
But this one never will die, and it lives to this day
And that is a shame
But this is why?
The 5Y turned out this way
And where the term, "muling drugs' got it's name
Form:
They often say that wood is green
When it’s new and in its youth;
And when mature it is soft brown
And that is but the truth.
But when it’s old and dry and hard,
Is when it turns to gray;
And then it seems of not much use
Till it is hauled away.
And so it is with old horses
And old cowboys so they say;
They run their course and seize the time
Till both then turn to gray.
But, in the course of man’s events—
Of old roans and dappled bay;
They do the things that we expect
Till all the world goes gray.
And so it is with old folks now,
Once young and in the pink;
Or in their prime, all strong and tall—
Thought they’d never die, I think.
But now we’re old, all bent and frail—
We’ve seen a better day;
And like that wood, we disappear,
As we all fade to gray.
Form:
An old cowboy went in for his annual medical examination
He was polite, plain spoken, sometimes he would growl
Did not like doctor, hospitals, pretty nurses were alright
He tried to be nice, was not looking for a confrontation
All the doctors that knew him, expected something foul
Most of the time they were right
The doctor he had that day, was just the opposite
Did not have time for nonsense and someone with an attitude
Salty, with answers in sort of the same way
"Doc, I came in here today to see if I am going to kick the bucket"
The doctor grizzled, "Do you always have to be so crude"
"Well now, it all depends on what you have to say"
"No need in checking my vitals, I am still breathing"
"Just sit down and shut up"
"My old ticker is ticking, can't afford any cholesterol"
"Well according to these chart, don't stop praying"
"Done run out of Poly Grip, my old teeth are in a cup"
"Now please , look at the eye chart on the wall"
The old cowboy covered one eye, "Well By God, I can still see the Big E"
"Well that is good, utterly amazing"
"Kind of worried about my blood pressure, might be up a point or two"
"You making all those funny faces, what do you see"
"Getting kind of quiet, what are you calculating"
"Are you fixing to tell me I am about through"
Then the doctor said, "Well I have got good news and bad news"
"The bad news is not all that bad, the good news is not all that great""
"But just wanted to make it all clear"
"Some you win and some you lose"
"But, I don't think that you will have to sit around and wait"
"If you are still alive, come back and see me next year"
Form:
A properly equipped cowpoke is bound to impress the boss.
He'll need a mount of course and a silver-studded saddle fer his hoss.
He'll need some chaps to protect his jeans frum them pesky burrs,
And his outfit wouldn't be complete without a fancy pair of spurs!
A wide-brimmed Stetson is needed fer shelter frum the searin' sun.
It's also dandy fer feedin' oats to his hoss when their work is done.
He'll need a pair of Tony Lama boots with high heels and pointy toes,
And a bandana to keep the dust and bugs from a-pluggin' up his nose!
When on night patrol and the restless herd is spooked by lightnin' bright,
A harmonica is a handy gadget to soothe the herd frum takin' flight.
A coiled riata he'll need to corral them stampedin' wild cows.
He'll wear a pair of 44s to shoot rattlesnakes (if'n the boss allows)!
He'll need a couple of blankets fer sleepin' 'neath the canopy of stars,
And bags of Bull Durham fer roll-yer-owns and maybe a few cigars.
He'll need a heap of patience when gallopin' through the chaparral,
Roundin' up them frenzied dogies fer brandin' in the old corral!
He'll be a-chasin' cattle and a-fixin' fences thro' rain, sleet and snow.
He wonders sometimes why he cowboys - it sure ain't fer the dough!
He'll need lots of fortitude to abide "Cooky's" taters, bacon and beans,
But he'll keep at it 'til he's old and gray, 'cause cowboyin' is in his genes!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Placed No. 10 in Giddy up! Little Dogies! Contest May 2010
"ALL RISE! THIS HONORABLE COURT IS NOW OPEN AND IN SESSION!"
Th' court room wuz his domain, bailiffin' wuz his profession!
No one dared hornswoggle him in that hallowed room.
Should any nonsense occur, he'd surely lower th' boom!
Usin' th' butts uv his forty-fours, he'd gavel th' court to order.
An' he pounded agin an' agin to quell any cheeky disorder!
The wisened old judge tolerated th' bailiff with some bemusement.
His antics provided folks with local lore an' amusement!
He'd served th' venerable judge fer years on th' western frontier.
His steely-eyed glare filled grovelin' scalawags with fear!
Hoss thieves, cattle rustlers an' drunks he'd seen galore,
An' desperadoes, train an' bank robbers by th' score!
Warn't no guns er bowie knives 'lowed thro' th' front door,
An ya better aim fer th' spittoon an' not mess up his floor!
B'fore enterin' his sacred realm ya'd better wipe off yer boots.
He didn't take no guff frum any of them hell-raisin' galoots!
Adjournment wuz gaveled fer th' old feller an' is talked uv today.
He met th' Big Judge In The Sky, on th' cold floor where he lay.
Seems he vigorously gaveled his rods, a stray slug hit his head!
Th' judge couldn't cope with that an' he too keeled over dead!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Oh, our days have rode by fast
And life withers from the rose;
No thing will last forever—
A man’s youth will never last.
But it’s all planned, I suppose,
Yet we take it mighty hard;
It’s just in His perfect plan—
A truth that each old man knows.
So we seek out each old pard,
Knowing that life will soon fade,
As we ride above each cliff,
Finding growing old still hard.
Yes, cowboys cling to the shade
As they wait that final card;
Hold to memories that fade—
But Lord, it’s hard, it’s so hard.