Best Fellers Poems
little Rock
Doves at my feet
Imploring eyes watch
as I eat and I will share my
lunch with you not
shoo you away
like others do
for I recognize
your tam'ed nature
Am greatly pained by your
fallen stature Dovecotes kept since
Ancient times Now you're persecuted
for our crimes Considered dirty flying vermin
Might I suggest a different sermon Giving Praise
To Thee Dear Dove our oldest symbol of Peace and Love
in times of war you have served us well For our men you flew
and fell Honored couriers meritorious saving lives on wings glorious
not just for your flight to flourish But by your eggs and meat to
nourish Been kept for sport and even pet Pigeons are Doves we do
forget sporting the same flute like coo and
head bobbing meet-cute "How do you do?"
************************ One and The same as famed in fable ********
Ordained therein by King Eagle
"...your name shall be used, dear Dove
as long as the world shall last, for Love" Of
course of course we are all mortal yet you are
birds above and moral Models of monogamy and
doting parents Bonded family and lucky for us City
dwellers amid the chaos you little fellers happily our
Birds of Peace break bread with us on our streets
In The Name Of Dove!
"I've rode the range now fer nigh on sixty years,
Brandin' dogies and ropin' them wily Hereford steers.
When I come to the end of the trail, I don't want no big scenes.
Boys, jes' wrap me in my hoss's blanket and bury me in my jeans!"
"I don't want you fellers carryin' on and bellerin' when I'm gone.
Jes' say a few kind words, git back in the saddle and carry on!
Think of me now and then when you're chewin' yer bacon and beans.
'Jes promise me you'll wrap me in a blanket and bury me in my jeans!"
"Promise me you'll take good care of my faithful hoss, Old Dan,
And let him tag along on roundups on the range when you can.
I love cowboyin', but boys you know I ain't a man of means.
Jes' wrap this poor old soul in a blanket and bury me in my jeans!"
"Buck, you kin have my scruffy boots and old sweat-stained hat.
Rusty, you take my saddle - Red, you kin have my 44-caliber gat.
Them's my worldly goods 'cept fer these jeans that's worn to smithereens,
But promise me you'll wrap me in a blanket and bury me in them jeans!"
"I'd like to be planted on that knoll yonder 'neath that ponderosa pine.
If you kin scare up a preacher to send me on my way, that'll do jes' fine.
I've been a cowpoke since I was fourteen - I reckon it's in my genes.
Boys, promise me you'll wrap me in a blanket and bury me in my jeans!"
Entry for Line Gauthier's "Cowboy Poem Contest"
Well, I see that Congress is proposin' another trillion dollar spree!
Those inept buffoons must think money grows upon a tree!
The treasury is crankin' out bales of twenty-dollar bills,
Doin' their part to cure (and inflate) the nation's many ills!
Funds were 'loaned' to help carmakers, now they're hollerin' fer more!
A ton of dough was 'loaned' to banks, but ain't nobody keepin' score!
Millions was designated to help home foreclosures to abate.
Where has my money gone? I've seen minimal results to date!
Funds are proposed fer more sand fer the beaches of New Joisey,
And city officials want a water park out west in frigid Boise!
Frenzied lobbyists are scurryin' about fer a portion of the pork,
To build an emergency landin' strip on the Hudson in New York!
Money is probably well-spent fer roads, bridges and agin' sewers,
But spare me the cost of subsidizin' sports arenas and sozzled brewers.
Lack of foresight by the banks and politicians got us in this mess,
Now they cover their boondoggles with my money, nonetheless!
Hordes of politicians gleefully gather at the bottomless trough,
Elbowin' others fer largesse they claim will make us better off.
Is there no end to compensatory spendin' and open-ended lendin'?
Hey! That's my money you fellers are so very inept at spendin'!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
He pulled up to the Triple "T" Ranch in a shiny Cadillac.
In his trailer was an Arabian steed with the finest tack.
He wore Tony Lama alligator boots and Calvin Klein jeans,
And a stylish Stetson hat - he looked like a man of means!
He strode to the corral where grizzled cowpokes lazed.
They chortled at the greenhorn, each of them amazed!
"Where's the boss?" he asked, "I'm seeking a position!"
"Over yonder" said they. (The boss eyed him with great suspicion!)
The boss sauntered over to see what the hullabaloo was all about.
"I'll handle this! You fellers git back to work!" he said with a shout!
He sized up the lad saying, "Son, I ain't impressed with them fancy labels!
But you're hired! Here's a shovel! Ya kin start by muckin' out them stables!"
Entry for Carolyn Devonshire's "Green Humor Rhymes" Contest
I glanced out my window watchin' kids plod along to school today.
I recalled my school days and how things have changed along the way
I watched the little fellers hunched over with their over-loaded packs.
'Tis a wonder the little dudes don't develop a twitch in their sacroiliacs!
I wore overalls and shoes that I was told by Mom I'd better not scuff!
Nowadays, kids are sportin' Rebok shoes and all kinds of fancy stuff!
If they don't have the latest and greatest, they're bound to pitch a snit!
Appearances mean everything even to kindergartners, on the face of it!
To begin school in days of yore, I was required to supply a pot of glue,
Couple of No. 2 pencils with erasers, ruler, ink and a ruled pad or two.
Wrapped in a newspaper for lunch, a baloney sandwich and apple for a snack.
When my grandkids showed me their list of supplies, I nearly had a cardiac!
Included were - a backpack, Rigatoni noodles, crayons and composition books,
A cell phone, calculator, protractor and for reading, one of those fancy Nooks,
Facial tissues, scissors, a ruler, colored pencils, pencil sharpener and erasers,
Elmers glue, Ziploc bags, a ream of paper and plastic dividers to use as spacers!
One change of clothes in case of accident to include underwear, pants and socks,
Disinfectin' wipes, three-ring binders and a padlock for individual locker locks!
I am caused to pause and ponder how we "oldies" got a solid education,
Sans all the geegaws and fancy frills that are now required for graduation!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Arggh me hearties! We're takin' a long-awaited vacation!
Th' enchantin' isles uv th' Caribbean is ar final destination!
Hoist th' Jolly Roger an' them billowin' sails an' let's git 'er underway!
Th' Spanish Main is ripe fer pillagin' so let's git thar without delay!
Ye signed on fer this here little cruise knowin' I runs a very tight ship.
Ye do yer jobs, don't complain an' don't ye dare give me any lip!
Ye'll git three squars a day an' yer daily tot uv rum as well.
An' I 'spect ye ta stick wit' me tho' we may ketch almighty hell!
Now if'n we happen ta meet a sloop er two upon th' boundin' main,
Ah'll 'spect ye ta wield yer swords an' cause th' scoundrels pain!
Jes' keep in mind that ye'll share in th' booty that we acquire,
An' I promise ye a proper burial at sea if'n ye should expire!
Arggh me maties! Ah'm anxious ta run me fingers thro' them pieces uv eight!
An' git me paws on them thar island beauties! Aye! I kin hardly wait!
Ye! Up thar in th' crow's nest! Keep a sharp lookout fer any ships at sea!
An' ye fellers on th' deck aim them cannons true when ye hear "far!" frum me!
Ah don't reckon that we'll be received as welcome guests in any port,
An' them wily natives will 'ave thar guns aimed at us frum ever' fort!
But if'n ye keep yer swords honed an' yer blunder busses' powder dry,
We'll carry off thar wimmin an' swag as we wave ta them goodbye!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 9 in Paula Swanson's "A Tale o' Pillagin'" Contest - July 2010
"Rise an' shine you lazy cowpokes! Time to saddle up yer hoss!
Time to move them moo-cows to summer range!" yelled th' trail boss!
"You've lolled around here all winter, now it's time to earn yer pay!
Jump in yer jeans, pull on them boots an' let's git 'er underway!"
All winter long they'd grown fat in th' bunkhouse eatin' Cooky's fare,
But knowin' that on that long, dusty trail, grub could be mighty spare!
How they'd long fer good ol' gut-fillin' grub as they wuz mendin' fences,
An' roundin' up them wily dogies roamin' over God's vast expanses!
Come supper time th' cowpunchers would lounge about a blazin' far,
Smokin' roll-yer-owns, chewin' th' fat an' nursin' cuts frum bobbed war!
Thankin' th' Lord fer their grub, Cooky yelled, "Come an' git 'er fellers!
Ain't much, but me an' my ol' Dutch oven done purty good!" he bellers!
Th' menu never varied but they knew better'n to complain about his cuisine,
Er Cooky could be as grumpy as a rattlesnake er a disgruntled wolverine!
Ever' supper consisted uv th' same ol' thing - a classic case uv deja vu:
Beans, spuds, bacon, sour dough biscuits an' a dollop uv mystery stew!
Frum across th' valley a harmonica's melancholy tune wuz heard,
As th' night guard kept a wary vigil an' soothed th' restless herd.
Th' cowpokes dreamt uv a hearty breakfast but they already knew,
It'd be beans, spuds, bacon, sour dough biscuits an' a dollop uv mystery stew!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Out in small town Texas, a handshake is a deal.
Folks go to church on Sunday, say grace at every meal.
Men open doors for ladies, kids say sir and ma'am.
Boys can't wait to join the Corps, and serve their Uncle Sam.
But if you were to go there, come autumn Friday nights
the place might be deserted, when the whole darn town unites,
upon a spread of hallowed ground, a grassy green expanse,
to celebrate their civic pride and watch the six man dance.
Now this dance is not for sissies, and I think you would agree
if you knew a bit about a man by the name of Jack Pardee.
Yep, they call it six man football, and they don’t get much acclaim.
They don't play for scholarships, but for the glory of the game.
Three up front and three in back, any lad can be the man
to pass or catch or run the ball, and kick it if he can.
A first down costs you fifteen yards; a field goal gets you four.
You’ll hardly wait two minutes there before another score.
Because for those without some speed, this game is not contrived,
and if one team can't keep it up, they might get forty-fived.
That's what they call the mercy rule, 'cause scoring is so fast.
No point in running up the tab when one team is outclassed.
So if you want a taste of life the way it used to be,
where folks can trust each other and kids can still run free,
and there’s a game where little fellers surely stand a chance,
drive out to small town Texas, and watch the six man dance.
© December 9, 2012
God took six days to create this earth.
After some rest, He plotted a cowgirl's birth.
"Folks have got off track since time begin."
"My Cowgirl will be perfect," He thought with a grin.
"Problems are Global since it started in motion."
I’ll fix this mess with My Cowgirl notion."
As He pondered His stars an' His moonlit skies.
He captured that beauty to put in her eyes.
"My Sun's warmth will be bred into her heart."
"No stature of creature will be bred as smart."
He looked upon the Rockies an' the beauty there in.
He thought, "That's the beauty I'll put in her grin."
He thought of His fire an' how hot it does burn.
"That's the intensity of My Cowgirl's concern."
"My oceans are strong an' mighty like Me."
"Just how I want My Cowgirl to be."
He thought how His trees do flex in His wind.
"My Cowgirl will flex, like these she will bend."
"My prairies have stretched both vast an' wide".
"That's the same Love she'll carry inside."
"The measure an' vastness of the depths of My oceans."
"The same measure is set for My Cowgirl's emotions."
He pondered the gentleness of His spring day rain.
"That's the gentle ease I want in her brain."
"My birds toil tirelessly for endless hours."
"Man can't count the bounty of My flowers."
"My Cowgirl will match the energy of My birds."
"Like My flowers her beauty can't be captured with words."
He reflects back on life an' how it begins.
The future of it all an' how it all ends.
That's the way it is an' the way it should be.
"She's dog-gone near perfect, for My whole world to see."
By Jim "Ish' Fellers
Copyright ©: March 24, 2004 ~ Wednesday
It’s a’ hundred an’ ten,
'Neath the shade of my chin,
An’ the prairie’s cracked like old leather.
Looks like my skin,
Where a boys face once had been,
The years; how they do gather?
Time’s been cruel to the Staked Plains,
Once gorged by ancient rains,
Now seized in her dusty wrath.
Barren amber grass now remains,
Scorched breath tries removin' her stains,
Beseechin’ her forbidden bath.
Pony or calf my only shade,
‘Cept what little Resistol made,
Bestowed Blessin’s upon an’ open range.
A Prairie Moon brings little aide,
North Star brought a wind laid,
Thanks Lord, it’s a welcomed pleasant change.
By: Jim “Ish” Fellers
Copyright ©; June 1, 2008 ~ Sunday
Ah war out a walkin
Ut war a Sunday morn
Mah chores war all did
Warn't no need fer me et home
Ah walks along tha river
What does goes by er place
Hearin tha crickets singin
Un watchin dragonflies un tha chase
Tha rivers a little lively
Fer tha rain done brung er up
Un stead uve a little girgle
Ut souns more like "sup"
Ah war almost ta mah favor ite log
Wen ah does sees a dog
He jist stans un looks et me
N ah's goes walkin up
Then ah' see's uh movement
Un ut war a horse
He sniffs tha air un stares et me
Un never makes a noise
Over thar un mah log
Un much ta mah surprise
War un ol' man sittin
Un never even blinks un eye
Ah jist kinda moz ies over
Un sits down un tha end
Tryin hard not ta bothers um
Cause he war a snorin
Then thar war a little sound
Frum a rock across tha way
We's both looks ovar thar
Ta see's what tha frog has ta say
As he war a sayin his piece
The dog cumed right up
He war gonna catch tha guy
But he has ta swims tha river first
Than tha horse done gived a whinney
Un walks up ta tha man
Nuzzlin tha fellers cheek
An pawin tha white san'
Ah sez "I's sorry
If'n I's buttin un"
Tha ol' man done shakes his head
Tilts his hat un sez "No mam"
"We's jist un a journey
Un sides ta takes a break
Ut war kinda perty here
So we's jist sits here un tha shade"
"Horse youse jist stops ut
Her ain't did nothin wrong
Her jist likes ta listen ta
Tha little feller's song"
"Dog youse cumes back here
Youse don't likes ta swim
If'n youse two don't calms down
We'll be's un er way again
"Well ah's sorry mam
Ut's still perty early un tha morn
But ah guesses Wild Lighten un Duke
Er ready ta goes un with er journey bourne"
Cile Beer
Thanks Bob Hinshaw for the idea
The doors opened wide,
A Cowboy tired an’ worn.
Tears in his hide,
Even his chaps were torn.
Walkin’ towards’im, the old Padre heard,
He’as mumblin’ a story wild.
Sixty moons back he’d lost the herd,
How he liked ‘ole Curly cooked mild.
Twelve moons back God gave’em gold,
Some nuggets, a little dust.
Faintly the Cowboy told,
“Only Him can a feller trust.”
He reached threw his chaps,
Slowly their hands embrace.
Exhausted he nearly collapse,
Hearin’ the dust leave it’s trace.
All to Him I’d give,
The first house of His I see.
Reacon He let me live,
A Padres’ Cross set’em free
He opened up his hand.
As the Cowboy staggered away.
Rocks an’ siftin’ sand,
Helped the Cowboy pray.
By: JW “Ish” Fellers ~ TexasCowboyIsh
September 21, 2009 ~ Monday
A cowpokes life is a rough one and when he draws his monthly pay,
He mounts his hoss and gallops to town to visit the local cabaret.
He scrubs the manure from his boots and dons a decent pair of jeans,
Hopin' to find some tolerable grub instead of bacon, biscuits and beans!
He spends his days herdin' ornery longhorns and fixin' barbed wire fences,
Ridin' in nasty weather and eatin' dust 'til he nearly loses his senses!
Fer all of this he expects some decent grub at the end of ever' day,
But Cooky dispenses bacon, biscuits and beans the same as yesterday!
Chuck is served up on battered tin plates and tin cups fer slurpin' joe,
And if'n you don't like it, Cooky is mighty quick to tell ya where to go!
The fellers complain to the trail boss but it don't do a damn bit of good.
He tells 'em, "If'n you don't like it here, find yerself another livelihood!"
At the cabaret he's confounded by the chinaware and fancy silverware,
And instead of sittin' on the ground to eat, he sits on a rickety chair!
He consumes a colossal steak with sweet peas and smashed pertaters,
A couple of beers and a salad of onions, lettuce and fresh termaters.
He and his old cayuse slowly meander back to the ranch to hit the hay,
But he'll return to the cabaret next month when he collects his meager pay.
He savored his scrumptious meal of countless calories and proteins,
'Cause he knows that tomorrow he'll be eatin' bacon, biscuits and beans!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
"Hyar she comes! The weekly stagecoach is a-comin' to old Santa Fe!"
The driver cracked his whip and blowed his klaxon to herald the way!
The weekly arrival of the stagecoach was cause fer raucous celebration!
The town's ne'er-do-wells found another excuse fer excess inebriation!
The excited citizens one and all awaited its arrival with bated breath,
To see and greet the motley rogues brought to town by the driver, Seth!
Seth descended from his perch midst snarlin' curs and guttersnipes,
Gun-totin' hangers-on, genteel ladies, the sheriff and other sundry types.
Grizzled Seth cut loose a stream of cussin' and in a furious rage,
Yelled, "You'uns clear the way and let them people git off'n the stage!"
His bedraggled passengers set foot on the dusty streets of old Santa Fe,
Happy to be relieved of the stagecoach's nauseous lurch and sway!
The Baptist Ladies Guild gasped when down stepped a lady of the night,
But she was greeted by the fellers of Buster's Saloon with a cry of delight!
Next was a feller all dressed in black scannin' the crowd with a gloomy glower.
He was a preacher-man causin' fellers from Buster's Saloon to cringe and cower!
A steely-eyed dude with 44s on his hips viewed the mob with condescension,
But his shifty manner put the sheriff on alert and merited his attention!
Down stepped a foppish dandy wearin' diamonds and dressed in fine attire.
He was a gamblin' man aimin' to see how much town capital he might acquire!
Seth hollered, "All aboard! I gotta git to Albuquerq' by six tonight!"
He whipped his steeds to a gallop and soon old Santa Fe was outta sight!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
Alas, never seen along highways and byways anymore,
Was some very classic poetry that has become American lore!
'Tis sad that these masterpieces have vanished from the scene.
So I want to add some Burma Shave verse from my old bean!
"Plain old soap won't do the job
What you need is a generous gob
Of good ol' foamy Burma Shave
If it's your mug you want to save!"
"If you want to impress your sweetie pie
You should have on hand a good supply
Of smooth and creamy Burma Shave
And let me tell you fellers it's all the rave!"
"If she told you to drop dead last night
And you were no longer her shining knight
Perhaps it's a smoother mug she craves
We'd recommend you try Burma Shaves!"
"She thought his stubble a disgrace
Each time it scratched her pretty face
Sorry to hear about that Dave
Shoulda used Burma Shave!"
"When rising each morn to mow your stubble
You could save yourself a heap of trouble
Before you shave give your face a healthy lave
Then slather your mug with Burma shave!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
NOTE: For the younger set and those not familiar with this bit of Americana, during the 1930s, 40s and 50s, Burma Shave signs were posted along many highways across the U.S. It was a very clever way of advertising the shaving cream. A different line of the ditty was posted on a red board about every 150 feet and they were fun to read as you sped by. The verses above I dreamed up but if you really want to see some of the old signs and the witty verse thereon, type in your search "Burma Shave Signs".