Best Longhorns Poems
Chicago's been dubbed the windy town,
but Great Falls has that tag nailed down.
If you're facing Montana's fierce wind,
you're moving where you didn't intend.
Prairie grass rolls like ocean waves,
tumbleweed mounds resemble graves.
Aspen leaves' fluttery swirls abound,
scarcely settling their golden mound.
Longhorns stay bunched within a draw,
hoping the wind will soon lose claw.
Snow gusts into drifts high and wide,
pickups and hay-balers shrouded inside.
Who sent this wild, careless wind
the bronco busters cannot unbend?
This, I suppose, could be left unsaid:
Keep those Stetsons jammed on your head!
Categories:
longhorns, wind,
Form:
Rhyme
No one knows where the longhorn goes,
When his breed is scattered and few—
He once was king of the cattle ring,
But his time in this world is through.
We all must go where longhorns go,
When the bone moon falls from the sky—
We will not hide when we ride no more
And the longhorn goes off to die.
Our land must be where longhorns live—
Where we all seek our destiny—
This once was land still full of sand
With longhorns far as you could see.
We all must dream what cowboys dreamt
When they looked out upon the West—
We all should lead the life we need
As we follow the trail that’s best.
We all must go where longhorns grazed
On a ride through the green grass sea—
We all must lead and protect our creed—
But most of all, we should be free.
The path is hard, but we will climb
Up that hill where the longhorn goes—
Though the trail is long, it is not wrong,
When we know what the longhorn knows.
Categories:
longhorns, cowboy-western, introspection, life, mystery,
Form:
Cowboy Poetry
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
Categories:
longhorns, humorous,
Form:
Rhyme
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
Categories:
longhorns,
Form:
Rhyme
The ol' saddle warn't much to look at but it was all Buck could afford.
He paid Billy five bucks fer it when Billy died and loped to his eternal reward!
The saddle fit his hoss Dan like an ol' shoe and sat Buck's buttocks mighty well!
Fer twenty bucks a month and found, Buck cowboy'd fer an outfit called Ruby Bell.
The saddle was scratched and gouged from chasin' steers through salt pine brush,
And stained here 'n' there with terbaccy chaw and splotches of muddy slush!
The other fellers made sport of Bucks well-worn saddle but he cared nary a tittle.
He'd jes' grin his boyish grin and loose a well-aimed stream of terbaccy spittle!
He rode many a mile astraddle fixin' bobbed war fences and corallin' stray cattle,
On night herd duty or on the trail in snow, rain and dust but he allus won the battle!
He rode the ol' saddle herdin' longhorns on the Chisholm Trail up t'ward Abilene,
Abidin' cantankerous trail bosses, rushin' rivers and many a perilous ravine!
He and Dan tried their luck calf ropin' at the annual rodeo down the road a piece,
But a wily calf busted the horn off'n the saddle, bringin' his rodeo career to a cease!
Buck found comfort usin' the saddle as his piller 'round the campfar at night.
He'd cuddle it like a dance hall queen he knowed 'til dawn's blindin' light!
Buck was as bow-legged as a pair of pliers from sittin' saddle fer many a decade.
He and Dan and the saddle had become mighty weary and somewhat frayed!
"Boys" he said, pointin' to a knoll, "When I come to the end of the trail and I'm dead,
Bury me beneath that pine yonder along with my saddle as a piller fer my head!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
Categories:
longhorns,
Form:
Rhyme
I'd been in Heaven quite awhile
Victim of a Spring flood
When Curly showed up at The Gates -
He's always been my bud
I said, ”Curly,why are you here?
You’re way too young to be!”
He said,”I really do not know,
There’s nothin’ wrong with me.”
"Well", says I, "what was you doin'
The last time you can think?"
Curly said," Yep, it's comin' back.
Just quicker than a wink."
“The boss bought some longhorn cows
To breed with his own stock.
We was movin’ them to pasture,
When one decides to balk.”
“He wouldn’t go through that last gate
No matter what I did.
I’d never worked longhorns before,
So off my hoss I slid.”
“That bull looked like he’s smart enough,
Thought that I could lead him.
That didn’t seem to work so well,
Maybe I could feed him.”
“Well, nothin’ worked and time went by,
He even starts to nod.
That was the last straw I could stand,
I used a cattle prod.”
“And that’s the last thing I recall
Of bein’ my old self.
An' here I am amongst the clouds–
Just sittin' on some shelf.”
I said,”Curly, that there's a tale
They'll tell about yor' roots!
Though it’s sooner than you had planned,
You died wearin' yor' boots .”
“Yor' better off up here for shor' –
I’ll take you to meet God.
He’s never seen a cowboy who’d
Hit a longhorn with a prod!”
August 31, 2016
For COntest "Conversation"
Categories:
longhorns,
Form:
Cowboy Poetry
From the Black Hills to the prairies,
he sighed as his eyes turned hard & dark
That was the path of the Buffalo,
His finger traced a wide & sweeping arc
You could tell he longed to be out there
Just his dreams & the wide open plains,
Crying out in triumph, as a buffalo he slew
Now, the prairie is filled with big rigs & amtrak trains
Still he dances & honors the old ways
and waits for the prophecy to come true
From Texas in to Saskatchewan,
he sighed as his eyes turned hard & dark
Along the Western Trail they pushed the longhorns
His finger traced a wide & sweeping arc
You could tell he longed to be out there
Just his dreams & a dusty cattle trail
Now, the cattle trails are covered in asphalt
And Big rigs haul everything from cattle to the U.S. mail
Still he rides & honors a time long past
Marveling at the blending of trails, old & new
From Hoover Dam out across the desert,
he sighed as his eyes turned hard & dark
That's the route the big rigs run,
His finger traced a wide & sweeping arc
You could tell he longed to be out thereJust his dreams & a wide open highway,
In a decked out Peterbilt, shiny & brand new
a different road, another adventure as night blends to day
Hauling cattle, freight or cars, didn't matter
each sunrise brings a different picture window view
© January 2004
Categories:
longhorns, cowboy-western, introspection, life, nostalgia,
Form:
Cowboy Poetry
The rangy longhorns were rounded up and tended to.
Over the Colorado plains a fearsome blizzard blew!
'Twas Christmas Day! The cowpokes paid no mind to the storm,
As they huddled 'round the potbellied stove all snug and warm!
While 'Cooky' stuffed the turkey for their Christmas fare,
Frivolity, fun and comradeship filled the air!
The old bunkhouse was decorated as best they could.
In a corner a tree formed from tumbleweeds stood.
They recalled Christmases past when they were boys,
Sharin' happy family lore and distant Yuletide joys.
One read from Luke the story of Jesus and the manger.
He is their faithful sidekick - to them He is no stranger!
They sang carols accompanied by a harmonica and guitar,
And sipped spicy cider and coffee as black as tar!
With cups of wassail they proposed raucous toasts,
And regaled each other with timely and witty ripostes!
'Cooky' yelled, "Come 'n git it, all's ready 'round the board!"
They doffed their hats for the blessin' and thanked the Lord.
Though the hoi polloi celebrated at the Ritz with gala parties,
That would never do for these range ridin' hearties!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Categories:
longhorns, cowboy-western, holidaychristmas, christmas,
Form:
Rhyme
Calamities…
assaulted by the Memorial Day tsunami
drowned victims & floating cars--
appendix detonates during the Season of Hell
haplessly hospitalized in the UT-Austin medical zoo
Delusion of progress…
recovering in the mobile home
plodding through texts of
postmodern pointlessness--
overcome with visions of nuclear annihilation
Life is a plunge…
sensory overload & self-deconstruction--
reading "One Hundred Years of Solitude"
pondering Camus’ only philosophical question
does Jung have the answer?
Re-entry into the (ir)real world…
Labor Day blues & academic angst
surrounded by yi(u)ppies--
mesmerized by Eastern philosophy
crushed by existential dread
The Being & Nothingness of Texas...
The Longhorns won/lost The Game
primal braying & primitive reveling
avoiding the orange phallic madness
evading beer bottles hurled by frat boys
Monstrous cockroaches inherit the Earth…
discombobulated by the sadistic heat
I ram my fist into a case of Lone Star
“The horror, the horror” as Kurtz opined
can I still resurrect myself?
Five packed together in one car…
a circuitous journey to South Padre Island
silent white sand & red star suspended over the Gulf
hypnotic waves & harsh words in the condo
the Odyssey is (in)complete(d)
Categories:
longhorns, anger, angst, anxiety, crazy,
Form:
Free verse
Two weeks we'd been droving; and the end was now in sight
In the distance was Dodge City, we'd be there before night
I was on the trail with other cowboys from the Double Circle Ranch
And we were looking forward to the saloon, the notorious Long Branch.
We reached the railhead with the longhorns , just before sundown
Me and the other cowboys were itching, ready to hit town
The buyers were there waiting, hands were shook the deal done.
We were aware there would be lowlifes, so we all packed a gun.
First a shave then a hot bath to wash off the layers of dust
Then buy some new clothes and long johns, the latter a must
We then headed for the saloon and were ready for some rye
After two weeks on the trail our throats were kinda dry.
We walked through the bat wing doors, there were the usual stares
The good time girls were beckoning us, to follow them upstairs
We all asked for some whisky and some ordered hot foods
Then the young bucks went upstairs; to satisfy their lustful moods.
Old Jethro our foreman, the next day rode into town
And spent the best part of two hours tracking us all down
Bleary eyed and throbbing heads, no spoken words were said
And thoughts of that long ride home filled us with dread.
At the stables in a side street our horses were stood ready
We paid the stable boy and mounted, we all felt quite unsteady
We'd ride for nigh on two weeks crossing the great Texas plain
Get home round up more Longhorns and do it all again.
Written 20th January 2021 .
Categories:
longhorns, america, horse,
Form:
Narrative
"Son", says I, "now that you are grown,
Take some advice from this old man.
A cowboy's life , as it's well known,
Is Hell on earth in blowin' sand."
"Survival seems high on the list
Of the things we try most to do
An' happiness is often missed
So I'll pass these thoughts on to you.
"First of all you must learn to dance.
Women will be part of your life.
The old two-step leads to romance -
An' you must take yourself a wife.
"Secondly is about your herd.
Keep longhorns down here on the plain.
In the mountains bears are absurd -
They eat cows again and again.
"There's a lot in a cowboy's world
There'll be laughter and tears to spare
Don't forget to dance with that girl
And stay clear away from that bear"
May 26, 2016
For the contest The Five Word Challenge, for Timothy Hicks
Five Words:
Cowboy's
Survival
Dance
Bears
Longhorns
Categories:
longhorns,
Form:
Quatrain
He came knock knockin' on heaven's door,
Hat in his hand and boots on the floor.
St. Pete said,"Son, what you doin' here?
You ain't scheduled for many a year."
The cowboy said,"Well, I thought that, too -
But longhorns don't think like me and you."
He told a tale of untimely death -
He had cussed longhorns with his last breath.
He told of a bull that he had roped
That just hadn't stopped as he had hoped.
He had just whirled and charged at his horse,
"Wellsir, I went to runnin', of course.
But he was somewhat faster than me.
He knocked me down with those horns, you see,
Then jumped on me until he got tired -
And somewhere in there I just expired."
St. Pete said,"Son, I do feel for you -
But longhorn cows are God's creatures, too."
Then the cowboy just sat down a spell -
Said," Forget I knocked, I'm headin' for Hell."
8/17/17
Categories:
longhorns,
Form:
Cowboy Poetry
Oh, the cattle herd’s down
But not the price in the store,
You can’t make a livin’—
I ain’t ranchin’ no more.
I ‘member my granddad
In those ranch days of yore,
How he just seemed to scrape by—
I ain’t ranchin’ no more.
But he told them stories
Of longhorns shore to shore,
Glory days of trail drives
We don’t have anymore.
Dad took over the ranch
When death came to gramp’s door,
We all knew nothin’ else then
Like those that came before.
Yes, nothin’ is easy
And when it rains, it does pour—
Now I’m runnin’ the ranch
And just feelin’ heartsore.
So we’re sellin’ the herd—
It’s all too much of a chore—
Can’t make no good livin’—
I ain’t ranchin’ no more.
I ain’t movin’ to town
For cash sweepin’ a floor—
I’m still cowboy at heart—
Jest ain’t ranchin’ no more.
Categories:
longhorns, cowboy-western
Form:
Cowboy Poetry
Clayton King was a cattle baron
With ranges like far flowin’ seas,
And thousands of Texas longhorns
Roilin’ around like swarms of bees.
He built a huge cedar ranch house
With everything he needed there,
And oversaw his vast empire
Right from his mighty longhorn chair.
He had huge sets of longhorns,
Some more that eight feet of course,
On walls and over fireplaces
And he even stuffed his first horse.
He was the greatest of the great,
His fame was everywhere—
It seemed he ruled the entire world
Right from that mighty longhorn chair.
Still the money stampeded in
And that King Ranch just beat all—
They said it was the world’s biggest
As it quickly did grow and sprawl.
Some say he just wasted money
On things that mattered so little—
That he always had the finest
But like Nero he just fiddled.
“I am the noble Clayton King
And my wealth is everywhere!”
So read the engraved inscription
On his still mighty longhorn chair.
In those long years the dollars flowed
And it seemed like it would not end—
Till a first then second wife left
Without leavin’ an heir or friend.
Then the cattle business changed
And money dried up like the creeks,
This went on for years and years,
Not just a few months or weeks.
The vast King Ranch then did dwindle
Till the day ol’ Clayton King died—
What was left went up for auction—
It seemed no one now cared or cried.
They tore down the house and buildings
And built a shopping center there—
And after that final auction,
I own that mighty longhorn chair.
Categories:
longhorns, cowboy-western, death, life, loss,
Form:
Cowboy Poetry
Try and Stop Em
Harold Roy Miller
The longhorns were getting hard to hold
as the thunderstorm came in fast and cold.
The dark black clouds were starting to hover
as the fretful steers made a sweep for cover.
The herd had started to drift asunder,
courtesy of the loud, clapping thunder.
The wailing wind sent up a deafening cry
as lightning streaked across the darkening sky.
The daring cowhand out riding lead
was trying to prevent a potential stampede.
The clashing horns validated his fears
as he tried to mill the leader steers.
Each pointer worked to keep the herd on course
with the expert help of his trusty horse.
And the panicked drovers who were riding swing
sent gunshots skyward with a ping.
But the struggling crew worked in vain
as the beeves took flight across the plain.
The lightning cracked, the thunder boomed;
any fallen horse or rider was doomed.
The buckaroos rode at breakneck speed
to escape the explosive, bawling stampede.
To the four winds the herd was scattered.
But life preservation was all that mattered.
It was a vivid, graphic scene
as I stared at the television screen.
Not wanting to see how many ended up dead,
I turned off the TV and went to bed.
Categories:
longhorns, animals, cowboy-western, history, nostalgia,
Form:
Cowboy Poetry