Best Hit The Hay Poems
Me and my fellow buckaroos have had a real rough day.
Plumb tuckered out, we still are not ready to hit the hay.
Our bacon, the beans and biscuits have all been gobbled up.
My coffee now is growing cold inside my old tin cup.
Sitting around the fire, it feels good to just lean back.
A harmonica my friend is taking now from his "war sack."
melancholy is his tune. Two cowpokes who have guitars
are joining in with my friend Jake. I look up at the stars.
I want to liven up the scene, so I sing them my new song -
the one I wrote a month ago. The others sing along.
I love this life and being on this current cattle drive.
Not married yet, I'm saving up. At least I can survive!
It's time to get our sleep in. My bedroll's spread out. By and by,
I'll be deaming about my gal Sal beneath this starry sky!
Jan. 27, 2021
Jan. 27, 2021 for Line Gautheir's 'Cowboy Poetry' Poetry Contest
Hi folks. The name's Ike.
'Member me from my other writes?
check 'em out if you'd like.
Me and the Missus, Jane here, jest wanted to say hey.
Jane, she ses I oughta tell you good folks how I pray.
She thought it might be a help to one a ya some day.
Now ya see most everybody prays the way they sees fit.
That's just fine 'ceptin' in the mornin'..well, see.. I fergit.
Way back, a friend name 'a Wally hepped me on that score a bit,
And since then, in the mornin', I aint hardly never fergit.
See at night I got no problem thankin' God with the Missus,
then it's bedtime and we gits in our hugs and kisses.
We tuck in her kitty cats and then we hit the hay.
As I said in the mornin' when I got up I'd fergit ta pray.
So at night when I drop my britches on the floor,
I kick my shoes up under the bed behind 'em,
so when I wakes up in the mornin' after a good snore,
well, I gotsta git down on my knees ta find 'em!
And whil'st I'm on my knees, I 'member somethin', Hoss,
Right 'bout then, I 'member that I ain't the Boss.
So then I ask Him ta help me do what He wants that day,
and 'cause He's Merciful and Good, He helps me that way.
...Z'at what you wanted me to say, my darlin' Missus?
Reckon so ..cause she.. gimme a couple 'a kisses.
Nite nite, darlin'...
and to you folks too!
God bless y'all..
Hank was a hard workin' cowpoke who really earned his meager pay.
He rode his ass Old Red from early dawn 'til at night he hit the hay,
Fixin' fences, ropin' steers and brandin' dogies in the old corral,
But he had an odd addiction that gnawed on his pard's morale!
He was a happy yodler which is alright fer a wrangler I suppose,
But his irritatin' warblin' caused him to nearly come to blows!
At night in the bunkhouse he would even yodel in his sleep,
Addin' to the din of his pals who were known fer snorin' deep!
His yodelin' caused cattle to stampede and hosses to buck and neigh.
Caused chickens to cease layin' aigs and cantankerous mules to bray!
Porkers squealed in their sty and the hounds barked and howled,
His comrades raged and cussed and the cats all hissed and yowled!
Even rattlesnakes were flustered and slithered to hide in dens,
And bands of coyotes skulked to seek cover in the nearby fens.
Frenzied birds vacated their cozy nests and fled to distant climes,
And Cookie got upset since the guys couldn't hear his supper chimes!
The grizzled old ranch boss called Hank aside fer a serious session,
Sayin', "Son, you're creatin' havoc 'round hyar with yer damn obsession!
Take yer ass and yodler to swoon the gals at the Dry Gulch Saloon,
'Cause if'n you keep it up 'round hyar, you'll hit the road and soon!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
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
Hank had rode the range a-punchin' cattle fer nigh on fifty years,
Ridin' through Texas northers and brandin' cantankerous steers.
He'd herded ornery longhorns along the Chisolm Trail to Abilene.
He'd signed on with the Triple D Ranch when he was about seventeen.
Hank had broke many a wild bronc and a heap of times was throwed,
And ridin' the saddle all them years, his legs was grievously bowed!
He put his loyal hoss Old Dan out to pasture and decided to retire,
To take quill in hand, reminisce and toss off verse by a glowin' fire.
He wrote about pullin' cattle-guard on dark and stormy nights;
The grandeur of the starry skies and the spectacular Northern Lights;
Splendid risin's of the sun and its magnificent settin's at end of day,
And sleepin' 'neath the mellow moon when it was time to hit the hay.
Hank wrote of the meager pay and many suppers of beans and bacon,
And the same for breakfast with acrid-tastin' java when he'd awaken!
The evenin' campfires with his pards a-singin' 'long with the harmonica,
And, yes, he wrote of a long-lost love, his dance hall queen, Suemonica.
He wrote about long, hot and dusty days in the saddle a-mendin' fences,
Of buffalo, antelope, tumbleweed and the beauty of God's great expanses.
His last poem spoke of the epitaph he wanted etched upon his stone:
"I ain't one to moan, But, Lord I was hopin' this ride You'd postpone!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
Elsie the cow was slower than molasses,
that's why they finally decided to put her out to pasture.
With Stormin' Norman around you'd tremble with fear,
because all around him was lightning and thunder in the atmosphere.
I try not to get into too much of a habit, of trying to figure out
what nuns wear at the abbot.
It doesn't matter to me if I get burned, especially since I'm ashes in an urn.
Debby couldn't figure out why people's smiles would suddenly flounder,
till one day her new nickname was Ms. Debby Downer.
My dog is generally nice; his bark being much worse than his bite.
After cleaning up the elephant poop, I finally admitted that my life was a zoo.
Two's company and three's a crowd, but not after a polygamists vows.
My stomach would almost always get into a knot, till I stopped being a contortionist.
One hand always washes the other, especially if you always bathe with your lover.
I almost always kill two birds with one stone, that is why they don't fly in pairs by my home.
A penny saved is a penny earned, that's why I always have Dollar Tree money to burn.
The early bird always catches the worm, I know because when I do I've seen them squirm.
Money doesn't grow on trees, if it did then there would be no more leaves.
I try not to wear my heart on my sleeve, especially if there's no tissues around and I have to sneeze.
Well I guess its that time once again to hit the hay as I keep reminding the bales not to misbehave.
I try not to cry over spilt almond milk, especially if its an off brand and not the expensive Silk.
I want to remodel my kitchen I think, everything that is but the kitchen sink.
They alway's claim that Elvis has left the building, then why do I always still see impersonators making a living.
I walk around with a big chip on my shoulder, which is great because I sometimes forget to eat now that I'm older.
And finally, I hope one day when I kick the bucket, that it'll travel far enough to go into the Guiness World Book of Records.
It seemed to Hank it was jes' a couple of hours ago since he'd hit the hay.
Now the risin' sun jes' peekin' over the hills heralded another day.
His old hound dog, Spooks, tugged at his blanket a-wantin' to play,
And his faithful hoss, Ol' Dan, greeted him with a raucous neigh.
He pulled on his boots, Stetson hat and bandana, his usual attire,
And stirred last nights camp fire embers to bring alive the fire.
He ate his usual grub of beans, biscuits, coffee and bacon,
And suddenly realized that is was Sunday, if'n he warn't mistaken!
"Wahl" he mused, "I don't reckon the boss'll mind if'n I tarry here a spell.
I'd jes' like to chat with the Lord this mornin' and tell Him all is well."
Hank sat on a log sippin' his joe from a tin cup a-gazin' across the vale,
Thinkin', "I don't need no fancy church to worship. They's confinin' as a jail!"
"Lord, you know I ain't gittin' rich cowboyin' and that's fer damn sure!
Er, 'scuse me Lord fer cussin'. I'm tryin' to make my sinful tongue more pure."
"I don't need no earthly possessions when all about me is Yer great Creation.
These here mountains, rivers and cowboyin' that I love is my compensation."
"I'm a-thankin' Ye fer them eagles soarin' on the wind and fer Yer eternal love,
And fer the pristine Colorady sky, the moon and stars shinin' from high above."
"And finally Lord, when this old cowpoke comes to the end of the trail,
I'd be obliged if'n I could dwell in Yer Corral when I cross that mysterious veil."
"Thank Ye Lord fer lendin' me Yer ears and I promise to keep my cussin' at bay."
"Wahl boys, we'd better skedaddle and git to herdin' them steers to earn our pay."
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
DARLING BIRDS OF MAY
Chirrrrup chirrrrup darling birds of May
Peep, cheep, peepy cheep please hit the hay
We are summer birds
Say no empty words
Rising sun is bathing us with ray
mcdonalds wife use to say
too much work for me today
an illness i'll fake
and after a break
maybe i will hit the hay.
Just who can bear an empty heart devoid of any hope.
Of finding love to help you live and essentiallly just cope.
It has been said, we go to bed, per chance a dream or two.
For promises of love are there awaiting me and you.
But if you wake up all alone to face another day.
Don't forget that prayer you said before you hit the hay.
Written April 12th, 2012
For Russel Sivveys Contest 6 lines of love or romance.
By Robert Johnson
Here's to you, Dandy Don, ol' mate!
We in Soup jes' think you're great!
Ye who dwell in the land of the dingo,
'ave learned us to speak native Aussie lingo!
Our kindest regards to yer dog Bungeye Jack.
'e does a kindness in warmin' yer back!
Don't tipple too much good ol' Foster Brew,
For like a boomerang, 'twill come back to nettle you!
Keep on crankin' out them ballads fer our delight,'
And ol' Bob Hopeless'll see what he can write.
It's gittin' late so I'm gonna knock off and hit the hay.
Take care of yerself and Bungeye Jack and fer now, G'Day!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
I strive to write one poem a day
To keep my wheels turning and gay
Out if time
Must find rhyme
Before I have to hit the hay
The band's trumpeting out the Bose
A dozen red roses for thirteen chicas
In that old cantina
Looks like one's left cold
But it's colder still out that
Crooked oval door
As Jorge keeps 'em entertained
With his liquid tambourine
Hey Mr. Cobbler shaker
Play a tune for me
Keep those ice cubes clinging clanging
Cooling that Agave Blue for me
He played that song 'til the early morn
The man of her dreams hails a cab
She smiles all the way back home
What a night it was
All the things they'd done
The excitement wakes her
As she rolls over to kiss her lover
And finds he never hit the hay
Hey Mr. Cobbler shaker
Play a tune for me
Keep those ice cubes clinging clanging
Cooling that Agave Blue for me
Did he always have to leave
Her this way
Alone and confused
Where did they depart
She'd go back yet another time
To try and find the man
Who has her heart
Hey Mr. Cobbler shaker
Play a tune for me
Keep those ice cubes clinging clanging
Cooling that Agave Blue for me
Through day and night
She cooks and cleans
Kissing boo-boos
And creating dreams.
She loves you more
And more each day
Even when
You hit the hay.
Through good and bad
She stays tough
Even when
We look real rough.
Speedily she drives
From place to place
Hoping it won’t be
A wild chase.
She's always there
Through thick and thin
She loves us so
Even when we sin.
Making dinner
Is her cup of tea
She cooks like a superstar
And especially loves me.
She braids my hair,
Cleans my underwear.
She also drives me everywhere!
She Loves me to the moon and back,
Farther then you can see
But the best part about my mom
Is that she loves you and me.
Around the table they sit,
cards in hand and talking sh-t.
Sometimes win, and sometimes lose
being together is what we chose.
BS is our pastime,
we love to shoot the bull.
The memories of the old times,
the dreams we have of new.
But soon we all are parted,
time to hit the hay.
We've got to face reality,
and go our separate ways.
We'll get together soon again,
and we'll party all night long.
Playing cards annd bullsh-t
are our favorite songs.