Best Pard Poems
We’ve shared the trail, kicked up some dust,
An’ stood a storm or two.
We’ve rode the plains, the wide frontier,
The easy trails were few.
You’ve listened like some wise old sage
To ever thing I’ve said,
An’ as a friend, supported me,
No matter where it led.
I wished I coulda carried you,
The times you were in pain;
Or rustled up some kinda shed
To turn the blowin’ rain.
I’ve come up shy with some your needs,
You gave me more’n you got,
But in your silence, seemed to know,
I needed you a lot.
Compadre, friend, amigo, pard;
I called you all them things,
But there’s been times, I swear to God,
You musta had some wings,
An’ He sent you to care for me
Like no one had before.
If you’as a man an’ not a horse,
I couldn’t a-loved you more.
We gave this ranch our sweat an’ blood,
It’s yours as much as mine,
An’ raised our young’uns through the years,
An’ Lord they’re doin’ fine.
They’re blazin’ trails an’ raisin’ dust,
They’re off an’ runnin’ free.
We’ve taught ‘em well an’ made ‘em strong;
Compadre, you an’ me.
I always knew the day would come
When we would fine’ly ride,
To join the Maker’s round-up time,
Up on the Great Divide.
I sorta hoped we’d share the trail
But this was not to be,
So, you go on, we’ll ride again;
Compadre, you an’ me.
Categories:
pard, animals, cowboy-western, death, friendship,
Form:
Cowboy Poetry
Farewell old pard, I write this letter to you. Well, I guess I’ll saddle up and ride out with my new pard, he’s only a colt at three.
He’s a real beauty, a real eye pleaser and sure of foot with a cutting pedigree.
I’ll go on out to the rough country where the sky is blue, relive the
old times and try to work the rope a bit, so I won’t be thinking of you.
We were pards for many a year and we both tote the scars to show
and that cold back you had fairly tossed me hard every morning before you’d make up your mind to go.
But we never shared a cross word that ever meant much among friends,
Though, you did take a few hard comments when you got ornery now and then.
We purt- near worked in all kinds of weather, rain, snow and even a blizzard or two.
We shared our misery out on the plains when the cold winds off the mountain blew.
We’ve covered a lot of country, any closer, I don’t guess any pards could be
and though you weren’t much to look at, it never meant much to me.
You loved your job and worked it well with light rains and leg ques.
And there were times when you led the way, and I took my ques from you.
You were not a natural cutter, but you weren’t scared of bulls, cows or steer
and you worked the tight spots eagerly, never showing the jitters of fear.
We were pards, alright, never just a way to get the job done nor pleasure for me,
You loved it too, riding the open range with only the basics that kept us wild and free.
Why did you go and leave me, you just laid down in your stall and I was left alone.
I tell my stories and old pard, I tell yours too, since you’ve checked out and gone.
I look back through the years as I sit here looking over the grass growing high on the range.
How love for a horse can feel so right is hard for this cowboy to explain.
I can’t help but riminess’ and wonder, were there times you just didn’t feel quite well?
You always took to the saddle and in my selfish way, I never cared to ask, and you didn’t tell
We’d ride out and pretty- soon, you seemed glad you came along and there were
times we trailed in late, long after the sun had gone.
But now I look back on the past and sentimental thoughts tears my eyes and burden me.
Good-by old pard from your old friend, you were the best any pard could be.
Categories:
pard, death, emotions, horse,
Form:
Rhyme
They planted Hank 'neath a lonesome pine when he came to the end of the trail.
Angels ushered him to the Great Beyond and through that Mysterious Veil.
Saint Peter greeted him, sayin', "I've been a-hankerin' to meet ya, mate!"
Hank noted a sign readin' 'COWBOY SPOKEN HERE' atop the pearly gate!
"I want ya to meet a posse of pards that've been awaitin' yer arrival Hank;
There's Zeke and Tex, Fred and Jack, Moe and Slade and Jed and Frank."
"Ain't no bacon er beans here" said they, "On the choicest grub we dine!
If'n ya hanker to wet yer gullet, there's a Feller who'll turn water into wine!
And then appeared his faithful hoss Old Dan a-sportin' golden shoes!
Old Dan neighed as Hank caressed his pal and they had a genial schmooze!
On Old Dan's back embellished with silver and gold was a western saddle.
Right then and there Hank mounted Old Dan and off they did skedaddle!
As the Lord promised in the Good Book, a bunkhouse was part of the deal.
He dwelt in a room fit for a King with TV and DVD, seeming so surreal!
Hank wore a cowboy suit adorned with diamonds, rubies and jade,
Plus pointy-toed Calvin Klein cowboy boots and a vest of finest suede!
Lastly, Saint Peter placed upon his brow a bejeweled ten-gallon crown,
Sayin', "Welcome to the ranch, pard! Ye've rode the range with great renown!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
Categories:
pard, humorous, , western,
Form:
Rhyme
Said Hank to his pard, "I reckon we took a wrong turn back yonder!
How we ended up in this here gawd awful place I'll ferever ponder."
"Ya shoulda listened to me when we come to that Y in the trail,
But, no, you insisted we go left an' here we are!" he went on to rail!
"We ain't got a lick uv water an' I don't see none in them hogbacks.
We ain't met a livin' soul 'cept some prairie dogs an' diamondbacks!"
"Ho! Is them Injuns I hear comin' over that ridge back thar a-hollerin'?
This is jes' another fine skillet uv feesh ya have managed to git us in!"
"Buck up ol' pard" said Tex to his pal. "I'm sure they is friendly types,
Wantin' to parley fer some coffee, sugar an' terbaccy fer thar pipes!"
"But I reckon we shouldn't take chances an' if'n yer willin' ol' pard,
Me an' my hoss is leapin' off'n this cliff tho' the landin' be mighty hard!"
They took the plunge diggin' deep furrows with their noses in the ground!
Accordin' to lore this is how Black Hills gold in the Badlands was found!
Entry fer Isaiah Zerbst's "Cowboys In The Badlands" Contest
Categories:
pard, humorous,
Form:
Couplet
Continued from Part 1
Matt Dillon chases Jack LaLane
Around a roller derby lane
I think I need some more cocaine,
So please don’t ever come back Shane
I try to walk another street
When me and Walter Cronkite meet;
He says he thinks the news is neat
And starts to talk about the sleet
I run away as fast I can
When Brinkley and the other man
Say ‘good night Peter, good night Pan’
While Tinker Bell is on the can
A dog starts crapping up the yard,
He must have eaten too much Pard
But watch out, here comes Pat Boone, bard,
He’s taking steps without regard
I find a jackass facing me
And ride as far as far can be
And find myself beneath the sea,
But now Lloyd Bridges faces me
I think he must be on a hunt
To find a mind that he can stunt;
He says ‘they’re sitting all up front
And you can hear them as they grunt’
Old Ironsides rolls into view
And says he’s looking for a clue;
I close my eyes and say ‘me too’
’cause something seems so much askew
I better buy some brand new specs
’cause Mickey Mouse is rated X
And everybody’s doing sex;
Ben Casey gives the VD checks
Hey, Milton Berle is throwing rocks
And Elvis Presley’s chased by flocks
Of girls in teeny bopper socks;
Please help, I’m sick, I need two docs
A weirdo asks me ‘what’s my line
If Ricky Nelson drinks my wine
And Lucy is my concubine;
Paola’s great if I get mine’
I’m looking for a place to hide
I stick my thumb out for a ride
When Jackie Gleason pulls up beside
‘If two squared’s four, can you divide?’
‘Of course I can, I’ve been to school
And I am not nobody’s fool’
I feel I am a molecule
Just floating through a vestibule
So Jackie says ‘you are a kid
But older than a pyramid,
Too bad you’re not a phallic squid;
I say, ah, can you spare a lid?’
Some girls are wearing panty hose
They shave their hair which overgrows
And spray away their bod’s B.O.s;
I want to fade inside my clothes
Continued in Part 3
Categories:
pard, parody, night, me, night,
Form:
Rhyme
He was my friend and he lay dying
All alone, just me and him
But I knew no one could help him now
Because life's thread was getting thin
I'd built a campfire out of deadwood
Wrapped him in his soogan tight
Watched the campfire challenge darkness
As the sunset welcomed night
I put the coffee on from habit
Though I knew he couldn't drink
I hoped the smell would comfort him
Maybe give me time to think
The trip was one of many made
For twenty years and more
Just two old friends that fished high lakes
And watched the eagles soar
I'll never know what spooked his horse
He was mountain bred and born
But something made him rear and fall
Pinned my pard beneath the horn
His lungs were crushed past talking
But his eyes were still alert
As I eased his saddle 'neath his head
He tried to hide his hurt
I masked the tears that stormed my eyes
There was no time to cry
Somehow I had to find the strength
To watch my best friend die
I told him I was helpless
I had done all I could do
But I would stay with him until the end
Then the hidden tears came through
His hand moved slowly over mine
Then he raised one finger high
His gaze seemed fixed beyond the stars
As he pointed to the sky
His lips were slowly moving
And though they uttered not a word
I sensed that he was talking
To some presence I'd not heard
"Is it God that you are talking to,"
I asked, to try to understand
His head moved slightly sideways
As did the pressure from his hand
I looked upward where he pointed
But at first saw not a thing
Then I seemed to sense and feel the beat
Of something nearing on the wing
As the full moon cleared the rugged peaks
A lone owl gave its mournful call
Dark shadows stirred of things unknown
And I watched in silent awe
I recalled a phrase from long ago
Or was it whispered from the skies
"To behold an Angel on the wing
You must use your heart for eyes"
There was magic in that moonlit glade
I lost my fear of my friend's death
A look of peace replaced the pain
As he drew his final breaths
"Is it Angels," I asked quietly
A final nod, then all alone
I watched Angels in the moonlight
As they flew my old friend home
Categories:
pard, angel,
Form:
Pocomoto was a cowboy who inspired dreams galore
With adventures and heroics that lit up my days of yore.
He survived the cruel killing of a ravaged wagon train
Was adopted by ‘old-timers’; lived in camps across the plain.
He rode fast across the prairie pushing forward on his steed;
Bronco Buster, Buff’lo Hunter, helped the Rangers when in need.
Pocomoto the Li’l Fella went in search of desert gold
Single-handed fought the bandits, constant evil, heat and cold.
Independence, resolution were the traits that showed his best,
Self-reliant, conquered hardships in the wild and famous West.
There are plenty years behind me but I often tend to find
Pocomoto’s recollection in the corners of my mind.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
6th May 2014
Contest: Howdy Pard
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
Placing: 2nd
Categories:
pard,
Form:
Rhyme
Hey, you all new cowboy brides
Listen, what my cowboy is…..
There are no Pizza Huts nearby
So got to cook in great quantities.
As there are no perfect cowboy jobs
Don’t be surprised if to live in a new ranch
Maybe your third house in one year.
When he returns home listen to his tales
Of every drive, every bronco ride
And every spree he has undergone.
If you are tired of this moving life
Buy heavy and costly furniture and
A piano or a cabinet and of course
Have a couple of kids to weigh him down.
Take care that his horse never stumbles
Spurs never rust, guts never grumble
Boots never pinch and stays out of jail!
Prefer the company of cowboys
Because they have not been educated
Sufficiently to reason incorrectly.
+++++++
April 20, 2014
Form Free Verse
Dr.Ram Mehta
Fifth Place win
Contest:Howdy Pard by Shadow Hamilton
Categories:
pard, funny,
Form:
Free verse
I reckon to us city dudes an' ordinary blokes it seems somewhat strange,
But a cowpoke an' his horse become pards when ridin' the lonely range!
Pausin' fer a roll-yer-own under a ponderosa after a hot ride on the grange,
He might alight from the saddle, lean agin his hoss an' hold this exchange:
"Dan, ol' pard, me an' you has spent years ridin' them bobbed war fences.
I sure do like yer company, ol' pal, 'cause you ain't got no pretenses!
You ain't like them wimmen folk I knows - they is jes' a common scold!
You don't give me any sass an' you kindly do what yer told!"
"I reckon as long as I kin tolerate Cooky's grub an' you git yer oats to eat,
We kin abide the cantankerous boss, rattlesnakes an' the prickly heat.
We've rode togither in mud, dust, sleet an' rain an' the blowin' snow,
An' ye've been a good an' faithful cuss, I jes wanted ye to know!"
"I 'preciate yer toleratin' my git-tar strummin durin' night cattle guard,
When me an' you soothe them dogies when it's a-thunderin' real hard!
I don't know 'bout you, ol' Dan, but I have lotsa time to ponder,
Jes' a-gazin' at the wonder of them mountain ranges over yonder!"
"I ain't never gonna git rich cowboyin', an' ain't that the truth!
But, ol' pard, that's all I ever hankered to do ever since my youth!
Well, if'n yer ready to hit the trail agin I'll saddle up ol' friend.
We has got a heap of work to do before this day comes to an end!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Categories:
pard, cowboy-western, me, me,
Form:
Rhyme
Beneath dotted stars with soft campfire
as ally, lone cowboy’s pondering meanders
through the sand dunes and night-saloons
thumb marked by his blazed rides for
pistol quests and fist thugs, as rowdy duels
and women’s sighs so adored climb
unto a red of greeting sunset.
Recalling those dusty trails--pungent and bold--
he descends like a magic bat from nowhere
riddling his foes way down the desert floor.
Many at times, the sawdust boots
reeked from the heat of bandits’ glare
as if to pierce his chest one hell of a shot
with tassels flowing high unto smoky air.
Edifying as he seems, beneath dotted stars,
a lone cowboy is simply this: a tender wind
mild as his strumming guitar
calling for prairies’ honeyed life while a tough
leather vest hides his simple, warm nobleness.
Howdy Pard Contest of Shadow Hamilton
5/5/2014
Categories:
pard, devotion,
Form:
Light Verse
When that alarm clock goes off 'fore dawn's crack
And you pull your achin' bones from the sack--
Then you start havin' you some real doubt,
If this way of livin's what life's about.
So you eat cold bread and drink lukewarm joe--
Look out the window at three feet of snow.
Then the wife says to tend to the new calf,
As you pull on holey boots and just laugh.
Horses need tendin'; cows don't milk themself--
I need a good clone or some magic elf.
The wife says somethin's suckin' eggs agin
And there's a skunk what means to be our friend.
Then next day comes too soon and it's the same--
Your bare feet hits cold floor and leaves you lame!
There's bills to pay and more chores yet to do;
It just seems like the work is never through.
Though this race ain't for rats, it does seem hard;
But workin' the city ain't for me, pard.
And though the wages is near starvation--
Ain't no better job in all the nation!
So if you can stand all my complainin';
You've got to figure I is explainin'
'Bout how I really love this long hard lot,
'Cause I 'preciate all the good we got.
So if crankiness you sometimes do find,
Just smile and then pay me no never mind.
For you see this ain't really no rat race--
It's just how God keeps cowboys in their place.
Categories:
pard,
Form:
Cowboy Poetry
(continued)
It had been over ten years since Dad passed away—
Stood lookin’ at the stranger, didn’t know what to say.
Dad never told us much ‘bout his life out on the range,
But he did mention his best pard, a man called Bob Strange.
We thanked Bob and asked him to join our Christmas feast,
He said no need for thanks, that this was just the least
He could do to help out the boy of his ol’ pal
And that he had to get back to the North Corral.
I was awful glad to see my Dad’s saddle back,
When a few weeks later I came across ol’ Zack.
Out of the blue I asked if he heard of Bob Strange—
He nodded and said yes, then his smile began to change.
He wondered why I asked ‘bout someone I never met—
I told him ‘bout Dad’s saddle and he began to fret.
“Ya understand,” Zack said, “Bob’s been dead twenty year.”
That’s when I turned grim and my smile did disappear.
“But I just talked to him,” I said, “back on Christmas day!”
“You’re wrong,” Zack said, “but I ‘member what he used to say:
Don’t ever sell your saddle, don’t quit balin’ hay—
When ya give your word, keep it—it’s a real man’s way!”
Categories:
pard, cowboy-western, death, father, christmas,
Form:
Cowboy Poetry
I looked out across this vast prairie,
an' I saw her as the cattle were bawlin'.
Bright an' nimble as a fairy,
at twilight as the stars were fallin'.
An image forms my sweet Sherry,
in knots my gut kept gallin'.
I called to her in haste so weary,
an' reached as I kept callin'.
I fear my search so leery,
trapped under a veil of pallin'.
Lightin' flashes so bright, so aerie,
thunder encourages the wind to yawlin'.
With noses raised high they serry,
bawl changes to that of squallin'.
Startled an' swiftly themselves they carry,
Sprung from the cantle where I was lollin'.
Vision blurred my sight so bleary,
my emotions inside kept brawlin'.
Eyes glassy now an' glary,
heart beats stutter now an' stallin'.
My mind shifts to thoughts so merry,
myself I shant keep maulin'.
Memories forever will tarry,
roweled flanks as I kept haulin'.
My pony stumbles it's so scary,
dust flies as I am sprawlin'.
Us both they'll have to bury,
say words that are sad an' drawlin'
My life God will review an' query,
gathered as a fisherman trawlin'.
Assigned to the Heavenly Prairie,
I ride drag as the cattle are bawlin'.
My Pard is an Angelic Fairy,
His name I keep Praisin' an' callin'.
For now my Pard is the Son of Mary,
to Him I am eternally thrallin'.
By Jim "Ish" Fellers
Copyright ©: February 05, 2004 ~ Thursday
Categories:
pard, cowboy-western
Form:
Cowboy Poetry
I was born on the plains in nineteen ten.
Farming was good and we worked oh so hard.
Daddy took me out on the porch and then
He'd say,"This will be your farm, little pard."
He taught me the crops - oats and wheat and corn -
How to drive the old tractor straight and true.
I belonged to this land where I was born,
And my daddy said,"This belongs to you."
When I was a young man rain ceased to fall.
Try as we might the sun shone without end,
And dust rose high to cast a deathly pall -
"My son, your farm is blowing in the wind".
And so the "dust bowl" touched us all it seems.
Blowing in the wind were my hopes and dreams.
8/19/17
For contest Blowing in the Wind for Nicola Byrne
Categories:
pard, fate,
Form:
Sonnet
When long johns get religion
And you’re fallin’ out the door—
And bowels just move a smidgeon
When they need to move much more—
Then ol’ north winds come knockin’
And it’s then that you sure know—
If relief don’t come callin’
That you’ll sure enough dern blow!
Then your stomach do start rumblin’
Like it’s in some argument—
And you know the storm’s comin’
And it won’t be heaven sent!
That’s when you cinch your sphincter
To repress that symphony—
To kill or mute the coarseness
While in polite company.
But when that time is over
And ol’ nature runs its course—
You’d better blame your best pard
Or meekly point at your horse!
Yes, long johns hide revival
When your bowels can take no more—
But if you feel it comin’
Just undo that ol’ trapdoor!
Categories:
pard, confusion, cowboy-western, funny,
Form:
Cowboy Poetry