Best Cowboys Poems
THE DALLAS COWBOYS
Can you not hear the rumblings of that distant herd coming,
The loud thundering of destiny’s champions crossing, the NFL
Field of dreams, beware the rampaging lightening team known
As the Dallas Cowboys, for they are the hail storms victorous
Breed, the eye of the hurricane riders, searching for their
Well-deserved trophy of fortunes honor!
Remove your cowboy’s hats of respect unto them, ladies
Curtsy with reverences motion, for these athletes are
Endurance’s best, and they shall overcome against
Any opposing finest challengers, these rangers of the
Old western traditions, that carry this country’s time
Honored name of the cowboy to the ultimate extreme,
Of skill and strength’s dexterity!
Dallas all plain drifters of purity’s valor, head to head
No bull horns about it, these are the champions of the
Gladiatorial games in the world of sportsmanship!
Yielding unto no oppositions combatants, these warriors
Hold their ground with distinctions sheer magnificence!
Let those world famous cheerleaders scream with every
Field goal achieved, for these beauties know that no
Other team in footballs annals will score, to the level
Of these good old boys, named by fame's hall of records,
The famous Dallas Cowboys, heehaw and God bless hum!
Now listen you city slicking team of sports hall of fameing
Seekers, you’d better go back to your home fields of
Advantages, for hear in this lone star state, we take no
Prisoners, and show no mercy to out lander's!
Here in the ALAMO state of freedoms calling,
We remember our heritage standing tall and
Proud against all odds, blazoned in bullets
Historical legends, our grand team barres
The name of fore-barriers proudly, those
Pioneer’s men known, as the all American
Cowboys!
These six-shooters whom rode the die hard tails,
Across a new world creating a country of freedom,
Where only the tumble-weeds rolled, and desert dust,
Coached a man’s thirst almost to madness!
Now in traditions sport of men, a new team of desperado’s,
Threatens this lone star state, but have no fear my fellow
Texans for our Dallas Cowboys will send them packing,
With a good old boy’s field goals smacking, so I’ll cheer
Them on, waving my hat in the evening air, yelling heehaw,
Go get hum boys!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
FOR LINDA THE DESTROYER
ROCK ON SISTER POET
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
Some modern folks, when they hear his name,
will roll their eyes and look ashamed,
thinking the cowboy is uncivilized,
with his hats, and guns, and round-up rides.
That somehow they are beyond the stuff,
to good for the wild, and the rough,
following some unwritten ‘elite’ law,
suppressing the urge to shout ‘yee-haw!’
But I think when it all is said and done,
cowboys are truly made of awesome…
Riding swift across the wide-open plains,
coat flapping behind like your horse’s mane,
maneuvering a large and panicked herd,
turning a stampede with iron nerves,
rough-hewn men cooking by the firelight,
coyote chorus yips through the night,
knowing that for all the wind and grit,
it sure beats sitting in an office.
A battered hat worth more than any pearl,
grabs the attention of the cowgirls,
boots that announce you in any room,
be you a mere hand, or fancy bride-groom.
Leather vests that dress up any shirt,
and somehow can even make fringe"work,
a bandana or a wild rag,
with a thousand uses, not a mere fad.
The tell-tale jangle comes from your spurs,
vast coat made out of buffalo fur.
Square-dance, line-dance, twirl a girl around,
to fiddle and steel guitar’s sound,
campfire songs to entertain the kids,
harmonicas to sing the blues with,
teaching the folks to throw a lasso,
then breaking out tricks with swirling rope.
Living life by a strong honor code,
one that good people would do well to know.
Wyatt Earp and his famous revenge ride,
Masterson cut Dodge City down to size,
Doc Holliday gambling with a death wish,
Billy the Kid, criminal, yet tragic,
Wild Bill holding those aces & eights,
and old Kit Carson, out blazing the way,
Buffalo Bill brought the people a dream,
and who can forget, the legend Bass Reeves?
A six-gun at ready, holster right side,
the lines of a Winchester, ever sublime.
Ranches that sprawl on mountain and prairie,
riding the trails where man can breath free,
rampaging rodeo, those guns are fun,
and damn can those barrel-racers run!
Living out of doors, by both skill and luck,
be it on a horse or a pick-up truck,
It’s clear that when all is said and done,
that cowboys are truly made of awesome.
Those condo cowboys are clingin’ to things that used to be,
Starin’ out those city windows or sittin’ on balconies.
They can still smell the country, the ranch, the horses and the range—
At times they wear cowboy hats, though folks might think them strange.
And like those cowboys long ago, they’re roamin’ in their soul,
From Nevada, Arizona and old Colorado.
They’ve seen and done so many things that most can only dream,
Yet still they have the urge to cross one more mountain stream.
But now they’re just old cowboys, that’s all that they want to be,
They seek no big fortune, high status or fine pedigree.
They see the world too clearly, seldom hold or mince their speech,
They live the cowboy code and keep life’s truth within their reach.
Those condo cowboys are special, each one from a unique mold,
They just keep on ridin’ life’s long trail and never do grow old.
Life’s never easy when you are riding the range
You grow use to hard times waiting for things to change
Sit around a campfire singing an old western song
Cowboys don’t cry, they just keep moving along
Long hours and hard work are just part of their routine
Callused hands and dust are part of the American scene
He’ll take a stand against things that he knows are wrong
Cowboys don’t cry, they just keep singing their song
Cowboys won’t tell you when they are feeling bad
They never complain when things make them sad
You’ll never see teardrops, holding onto their pride
Cowboys don’t cry, they keep their feelings inside
When their journey is over and their life is at end
St. Peter will greet them and say welcome home my friend
They’ll smile weakly knowing they’ll no longer roam
Cowboys don’t cry, they know that they’re going home.
Inspired by another poem by another poet---------just for fun
Oh, I didn't know that cowboys
weren't respected and revered
John Wayne, when he passed away
Brought me close to tears
But now I know that people
Think we're all just trailer trash
So I've taken of my boots
And tossing out my hats
There's no more eating beans
upon these dirty plates
And movin' from this trailer park
Oh brother I can wait
But, putting cars on blocks
Oil changes in the yard
Stopping those activities
I swear it will be hard
Beer cans won't get piled high
In a pyramid, way out back
My pit bulls won't be barkin'
Always ready to attack
Soon I'll trade-in my pick-up
For a brand new SUV
And I'll become more citified
For the whole dang world to see
I won't mistreat my woman
And call her an old cow
And I won't let my kid's
Ride a bull, or catch a sow
Oh, I didn't know that cowboys
Were just lazy and no good
So we're moving from the country
Right to your neighborhood
C casually stands next to his saddled horse
O openly he weeps (so) full of his remorse
W what is left of pale pink running rose that grew
B blood floods from thorn pricks he's getting his due
O oh! tangled web with his love he did weave
Y yesterday she discovered all his cowboy lies believed
A COWBOYS TEARS.
A cowboys hat is worn with pride his buckle with pride.
Took a big wall of blood sweat an pain to get this far
Pain from a broken ride long forgotten but fresh in his mind
And the tears he cries for the one he left behind
The lonely road he travels alone chasing the dream and competing to be rodeos number one.
Rodeos of glory an hardship were tuff is the only way
Friends an fans respecting god an asking for safety
When he prays for the ride he makes tonight it could
Make or break him it's all on the line dreams as a child
Of being a cowboy all rest on his shoulders .
His spirt thrives for the rush of the ride never willing to stop
Wanting to go to the finals an see his name on top hang on
Tight an make the ride cowboy up just like your hero lane frost.
Sincerely Tim kegley
She had golden hair and a pickup truck
The girl was pullin' a U-Haul trailer
She came home to stay and to change her luck
Just to get shed of a blue eyed sailor
The girl was pullin' a U-Haul trailer
Promises were packed with purpose in mind
Just to get shed of a blue eyed sailor
Who lied and wasn't the marryin' kind
Promises were packed with purpose in mind
Cowboys she knew would replace that young salt
Who lied and wasn't the marryin' kind
Men who rode horses possessed no such fault
Cowboys she knew would replace that young salt
Then she would be free of men who might row
Men who rode horses possessed no such fault
She could just smile again and dance real slow
The girl was pullin' a U-Haul trailer
She came home to stay and to change her luck
Just to get shed of a blue eyed sailor
She had golden hair and a pickup truck
5/20/2017
For contest Favorite Pantoum for Lara Loo
Where are all the cowboys?
Where have they all gone?
Maybe they're in Texas, but they sure ain't here - yeehaw!
The type who says, howdy, ma'am.
Then they tip their hat.
Maybe they're in Arizona, I wouldn't have knowledge of that.
I saw one in a magazine just the other day.
It's beneficial he couldn't observe me, and I'll leave it there, okay?
Where are all the cowboys?
Tell me, where could they all be?
Maybe they're in Colorado, but they ain't in Tennessee.
The one's who say, you sure are pretty.
Do ya mind if I sit down?
A man gets mighty thirsty, and I'm currently in this town.
I'm not sure what else to say.
That's just how I feel.
If God don't send a cowboy soon, I might find one I can steal!
*Inspired by listening to my Urban Cowboy soundtrack
When cowboys sprawl 'round the camp fire after the days work is done,
They strum guitars and tootle harmonicas and sing to have fun.
Real cowboys don't sing Honky-Tonk or She Done Me Wrong stuff.
They leave that to rhinestone cowboys, considerin' it to be so much fluff!
Real wranglers sing about ropin' dogies and fixin' barbed wire fences,
Roundups, brandin' time and the magnificence of God's grand expanses.
They sing of home on the range, rodeos and dinin' on bacon and beans,
Cattle stampedes on stormy nights, the old corral and dance hall queens.
They harmonize about ghost riders in the sky who've met their fates,
Tumblin' tumbleweeds, cool water, tin cups and eatin' from tin plates.
They sing about bein' back in the saddle again and the streets of Laredo,
And belt out songs about horses named Old Paint, Ol' Dan and Tornado.
They yodel the cattle call and sing about when the bloom's on the sages,
And croon about their yellow rose of Texas and their pitiful wages.
Real buckaroos sing about Christmas in the bunk house and rye whiskey,
Cattle drives on the Lone Star and Abilene trails and a life so very risky.
They sing of the grumpy foreman and when the works all done this fall,
And tweedle about ragtime cowboy Joe and many a barroom brawl.
Real cowboys sing about ridin' the range, the chaparral and dusty trail,
And leave Hank Snow to warble about lost love, honky-tonks and landin' in jail!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
He knelt and prayed
He asked for a mate to help him throughout life
He asked for a friend
He beseeched for a love that would never end
What he received was more than what he had hoped for
She is stubborn beautiful kind and gentle and her fire caught his desire
She is all that he requested and more
His life will never be the same
Especially once he changes her name
She love him for him and nothing more
He is her friend and confidante and her mate
He is her everything
So the Cowboy and his Angel have each other
Fate was kind no more feather or fur
For now and throughout time
Hey, buddy, Bob! Now the time is different
It is not what it used to be.
The days of the drives and roundups
The campfire, the smell of beans burning.
Pointing gun at someone to get
Some biscuits, tobacco or fruits
Those little comforts to grab.
Look there, over and down the hills
There are habitats and villages
There are signals and sign boards
Neon signs blazing, the place
Where our campfires glowed.
Yes, John! I can relate to what you say
What we used to see was
the land wild and free for our cattle
in the wide and grassy valleys
where the cattle used to roam.
Now there are irrigation ditches
and there are farms and barns and homes
With cars and bikes roaring.
No original land made by god
but the land plowed up.
Alas, those days are no more.
+++
September 21, 2014
Form: Free Verse
He pulls his hat down low against the chill of the storm,
The numb fingers that hold the reins forgot what it was like to be warm;
On a grassy knoll silhouetted against the rising sun,
Astride his pinto pony sits a Native American son;
The blowing snow and freezing rain steal his breath away,
But he knows that being a cowboy, it’s worth the price that you pay;
A majestic, bronzed brave, feathers wafting in the breeze,
With arms uplifted in obeisance, the Great Spirit to appease!
A worn out calf is stretched across his lap on either side,
Her head resting on his thigh just going along for the ride;
He offers thanks to Him for the grandeur of creation,
And for the sun and moon from which he gathers inspiration;
Her momma just like him had been caught out in the gale,
It’s just another story to add to the cowboy’s tale;
He asks the Great Spirit to bless his arrow and bow,
That with true aim he can fell life-sustaining buffalo;
His face is hard and beaten from too many days in the sun,
From early mornings and late nights workin’ til a job is done;
A tear rolls down his cheek thinking of his ravaged, sacred land,
The broken treaties and those who dealt with deceitful hand;
But being a working cowboy surely has its rewards,
Riding forgotten country that has never been explored.
With a sad heart he lowers his arms and slowly turns away,
Determined that from the paths of his fathers he will not stray.
By Tirzah Conway and Bob Hinshaw
The cowboy portion was written by Tirzah Conway and the Indian portion was written by Bob Hinshaw
Although there be some debatin’
‘Bout if ol’ cowboys wear socks—
I can tell you fer a dern fact,
That true cowboys don’t wear Crocs.
They just don’t fit a stirrup right,
And bright colors scare the stock—
I’ll sure nuff shoot the first cowboy
I see wearin’ a new Croc!
Oh, we talk of Old West legends
Like our Jesses’ and Hickoks—
But I hope I never do see
Cowboys herdin’ in their Crocs!
And when that great cattle Master
Lays me low beneath the rocks—
Just make sure I’m wearin’ my boots
And not a pair of them Crocs!