Best Ranch Poems
If you'd have lived and worked on Juno Ranch, you’d have come away better for it. It
may not have seemed like it at the time but Pancho (Uncle Frank) would put it to you, an’ it
was for you to decide to do it, what to do with it, or to fight. The motto was, “You either work
or fight, there ain’t no quittin’ on this-here ranch.”
Pancho cultivated a reputation as a living legend in his fifty-some years in the Devil’s
River country of the Texas frontier. He loved his life, family, work and felt plumb lucky to be
livin’ it. He believed there was art in every undertakin’ an’ practiced the highest standards in
dealin’ with any an’ all comers. He savvied horses, cattle an’ the land; and death was just the
gate that opened into higher pastures.
Ride 'em Pancho!
The cowboy wakes before each dawn
With blurry eyes n'a mournful yawn;
Gets breakfast down, just bacon'n eggs,
An' biscuits dunked in coffee dregs.
He feeds the stock some oats an' hay
In growin' light of break o' day.
Then Pancho comes an' rigs a hoss,
An' chews his butt, 'cause he's the boss.
“The sun is up, you little bride!
We're loosin' light! We gotta ride!”
So they ride out to make their rounds
In echoed clops of hoof-beat sounds.
The sun is high 'bout half-passed noon,
An' dinnertime is none too soon.
He eats his beans an' taters fast,
Then rolls a smoke an' rests at last.
He dreams of how he'll spend his pay
When he's in town on Saturday,
An' where he'll go to have some fun
With gals who'll laugh and call him, "Hun..."
He gets his hat an' pulls it down,
Forgets the dream of gals in town,
Cause if he ain't just damn near dead,
The work comes first on Pancho's spread.
DEVIL'S HIDDEN RANCH
Coyote howl, dogs growl
Gunshots, dead cow
Red barn left unlock
Horseshoe upon death's door
Tequila in a cup
Salt of cocaine, shadows of insanity
Guitar string, sad song
Bandit near the door, wife on the floor
Hallucinating---Reality
Yelling out her name, he's gone insane
Loaded gun, life is done
Far and near ending his intoxicating fear
The road under the sun
A coward in his path
Responding to the Devil's wrath
In a Hidden Ranch in Mexico!!!!!!
:) SKAT
Hear the clip-clop of iambic beats
Sounds like Shelley with a side of Keats
Is that the scritchity-scratch of a goose quill flickin’
Or just the tippity-tap of some mouse you clickin’..?
So you a prophet poet, regular Marley meets Dylan
Writin’ about oppression and unjust killin’
Shootin' the Sheriff with a Reggae song
Inspirin' your generation with a sing along
A shot of tequila with a wedge of lime
Saddle up and bide your time
Every line don’t need to rhyme
I can give you a million examples
You don't seem like the lyrical type
Kickin' cold turkey with oranges ripe
That's the fruit that rhymes with nothin’
Fresh squeezed it's good for somethin’
Citric flashback, Tang for the brain
Hyperspace wormholes one cannot explain
Sun dippin' below the rim of a rhymeless plateau
Cow skull and cactus, a timeless tableau
In the twilight gloom, a weather-beaten sign
Free Verse Ranch is the place to dine
Gorge on rhyme-free wordplay victuals
Linguistic linguini and cage-free visuals
Specialty of the house: lemon chicken couplet
With a side of mashed onomatopotatoes--plop!
Gravy sloppin’ down slopes like molten lava
Washed down with mugs of fresh-brewed java
Buzzards circlin' the sky in a lazy ellipse
Moon moseyin' in for a total eclipse
Flee in the dark, take a steed for a ride
Jump the split rail fence to the other side
Leap back in time to a buzzin' hive
Looks like the vortex, circa 1995
Can barely think amid the din
Perfect time for the ‘shrooms to kick in
Tie-dyed girl where I left her spinnin' in place
Band still playin' a trippy Drums n Space
But how strange that I cannot feel my face
How did twenty years vanish without a trace?
Tumbleweed twirlin' down the rutted street
Empty rocking chair swayin' skee-reet skee-reet
'Taters still steamin' like a mini-volcano
Room reeks of whiskey stronger than Drano
Spilled orange juice tricklin' a fly-food slurry
Someone cleared outta Free Verse Ranch in a helluva hurry
The clip-clop of iambic beats, Sheriff on my tail
He wouldn't shoot an unrhymed man, would he?
nitrogen rich dung
loose green cow patties flung….
sprouts tender and young
OK, maybe he is right. Maybe a cowboy he's not. He is a mechanic, a
pediatrician, an obstetrician, a veterinary, a plumber (wells), a house keeper
(stalls), a blacksmith, a dietician, a truck driver, a farmer (crops), a carpenter
(corrals and maternity wards), a construction worker, a landscaper (fencing), a
teacher, a road grader (keeps roads oven year round), a hunter (hunts stray
critters), a trapper (beavers to keep our water ways open and skunks to keep our
sinuses working), a cowboy (cattle work), a welder, a rancher, a ranch hand, a
cowhand and a_______ I give, I give. He is a Jack of all Trades, but since his
name is Billy I can’t go around calling him Jack, so he will always be my cowboy
to me. P. S. he is definitely not a modern cowboy. No three wheelers, no
pickups, no motorcycles. He did his cattle work by horseback.
Driving a country road quite casually,
A veterinarian never expected to see
A chicken ranch, lush and serene;
But instead of two legs,
All the chickens had three.
When he saw the gate,
He had no will of his own;
After all, in the realm of science,
Chickens with three legs
Were completely unknown.
He drove up to the farm house,
Where he saw a man, his wife and son.
When he inquired about the chickens,
The man said, “Yeah, here’s the story.”
Our vet thought, “This ought to be fun.”
“What we love most is drumsticks….legs.
Yes, we love Ma’s prize winnin’ fried chicken.
If Ma fried one hen, we’d fight over two.
If she fried two hens, we’d fight over the extra.
Her chicken is worth it… truly “finger lickin.”
Caused too many spats in our home;
So I inbred, out bred, over bred these birds
Until I came up with three-legged chickens.”
“Why that’s amazing!,” said the vet.
“Had I not seen it, I would think it absurd.”
Hoping to be invited to a chicken dinner,
The vet asked, “How do they taste?”
“That’s the shame of it” said the farmer.
Now, we can’t catch not a single one.
All that breedin’ has gone to waste.
She arrived from the big city
wearing a red ten-gallon hat,
and a denim stone-washed outfit
which topped off her shiny new
cowboy boots that were designed
by Tucson Sue.
This dude ranch cowgirl had a secret,
she never rode a horse in her life,
she knew it was time to learn the ropes,
all her life she lived in the city,
the closest she got to a horse was on T.V.,
it was a shame and a pity.
Early next morning she arose,
washed her face, brushed her teeth
and combed her curly hair,
carefully placing her tall hat on her head,
she sauntered into the dining hall.
looked around and decided to sit next to Fred.
He was a cowpoke who roamed from town to town,
grabbing jobs wherever he could working with horses,
the young lady and Fred made small talk,
she confessed she never rode a horse before,
and didn't know the front end from the rear,
he knew she was a city slicker and had to learn more.
Fred took a liking to her right away,
he told her that he had a perfect horse for her,
her name was Ginger, a stawberry roan,
the only problem was that she had a three-legged gait,
would she mind learning on Ginger for her first time,
she noticed that the cowpoke was handsome was this fate?
She told him that her name was Cindy Lee,
he liked the sound of her name and thought she was pretty,
off on the trail they rode together,
Ginger with her uneven trot headed straight into a tree branch,
Knocking off the young lady from her saddle,
She tumbled and fell and wished she was back at the ranch.
Cindy Lee and Fred fell in love while she was on vacation,
he taught her to ride and learn about horses,
she was determined to hang on and not let go,
Ginger was replaced by a quarter horse who knew leg commands,
a palomino with lots of pride who on occasion would throw its rider
against a fence and snort without demands.
Fred and Cindy Lee decided to get hitched,
a September wedding was planned with everyone invited,
all the dude ranch staff and the entire small town,
both rode their horses on their wedding day very much in love,
she wore an old-fashioned lace dress with her boots,
off they rode into the sunset together peaceful as a dove.
Upon the flushing milieu of twilight,
Vague shadows of the ranch hands brook.
A proud slow march on hackneyed legs,
In the slow emergence of autumn’s dusk.
Today’s sullied labor grimes the worn denim chaps,
In the dawn to dusk harvest of the seasons haying.
An aching exhaustion on sweat muddied faces,
The price and the pride of the old rancher’s toils.
Barns piled high from the summers green fields,
The homestead prepares for the silver of winter.
Lost in the muted glow of sunset’s backdrop,
The prairie echoes thanks with a soft cowboy song.
Imagine hills where
landscapes slide into
heavens
Dews and hues
romancing its ranches
A decor of devil's bow in
soft tone
A cascade of bays
blending
A steaming geothermal
spa amid black lava fields
Thawing snow tumbling
Glitzy huts emerging from
riviera
Echoes of villagers
sparkling the harmony of
the wind
Howdy tourists emerging
from the blues
Obudu cattle ranch a
milieu of fantasy
awoh awoh
Form:
There is an old ranch outside of El Paso in New Mexico
No windmills, not a drop of water, sits on the Mexican border
No horses or cattle, not a cowboy does it employ
Used to be a working cattle ranch, but that was long ago
Now a lot of outlaw, no law and order
Now it is just the Devil's toy
The old ranch house, the window are painted black
All run down the fences of barb wire
Bones of ghost cattle lay in the sand, from cattle mutilations
Used in ceremonies for the Devil's attack
The witches dance and chant around a bon fire
Human sacrifices are taken as donations
Cowboy hat, boots and spurs, are gone by the way
No round up or rawhide on this outfit
In the tall mesquite dunes, a "sweat lodge" is where they worship
always carry on by night, never during the day
Where "The Head Witch reigns, don't think that she will ever quit
Booby traps galore, so you had better not slip
A multi million dollar cocaine shipping factory
Hidden off in the brush.under lock and key
Shipped by railroad, by air and Interstate Ten
A Helluva a tale and quite a story
Where "muling drugs" got it's name, when brought in by donkey
Don't get caught out there, you might not get back
Now for the scary part, if the other was not bad enough
When you think our Southern border is safe, well think again?
They are protected by the police and the United States Border Patrol
Telling us they are fighting drugs and it is tough
And the war on drug, they are going to win
How can they when the Devil has their soul
Form:
I have a name for my husband. One that can be repeated. I call him cowboy. But
he tells me I am wrong. He never redeoed, nor a Saturday night cowboy was he.
And he was way to young for the cattle drives of history. Born on his father’s
homestead in Nebraska sandhill land. He started working full time on a ranch as
a lad of fourteen. All of the work they did back then was done with horses and
teams. True cars were around in ‘45, but tractors were hard to be found. So for 8
years he proudly worked on the famous 101 Nebraska ranch. In l9 hundred and
57 I started teaching up there. When my teaching job was done the cowboy and
the teacher became as one. I moved up the beautiful valley to the ranch where he
did work and don’t laugh I then became the cook. And while we worked we kept
our eyes and ears open for a ranch of our own. At last we were blessed with the
ranch of our dreams on the Rosebud Reservation in South Dakota Land.
The barnyard was a twitter.
“She is walking pigeon-toed!”
“You should see it.”
“She thinks she is all that!”
I am dragged out to see.
After listening to them cackle like only hens can do.
There are sixty-six hundred chickens out here
Clucking around.
They are all walking around pigeon-toed.
Haughty with their snobby beaks in the air.
I catch the rooster’s eye.
“They all have fat butts too!” I say.
Expecting him to beak-laugh with me.
He gives them my message in beak-talk.
They surround me quickly
Pecking me to death
As per
instructions
and as per
chickens’ way
I decide never to
do that again.
As I fall into their
smelly chicken scratches.
At the base of the Armor Mountains
there's a place I love-
There-all that is
passes through my heart-
what I've been-what I am
and what sustains me-
There the land caress me
with its thousand kiss's-
There the rains sculpted the river-
usable earth rose from the abyss and
was transformed to fields and forests-
River run ranch spread like a buffalo
skin at the base the mountains-
I can stretch my eyes
and hands to the air to hear
brooks-river and winds-
Mares tied to the wheels of birth-
geldings grazing on green pastures-
a wood pecker hammering-
dogs running and playing-
There-under the blanket of darkness
an old poet sleeps and dreams
among leaves of night-California Blue
Now back to the question of being a cowboy. I think I’ll try another way. I’ll
compare the job I do to his. Doesn’t that sound like a laugh? I cook for the family,
hired hands, branding and shipping and various cattle work too. Billy kept the
cattle and horses fed, wells working, ice chopped and tanks full the year round.
I’d doctor when accidents or illnesses occur. Billy was an obstetrician, and
pediatrician too. Delivering or doctoring he’d see them through. A veterinary for
cattle and horses in all but emergency cases. I keep our house and bunkhouse
clean. Billy keeps pens in the barn and sheds clean and full of dry bedding. He
keeps the horse stalls mucked out and clean. And of course there is always the
shop. Now lets see I do minor repairs around the house and yard. Billy’s job
includes, keeping tractors, haying equipment and feeding equipment in perfect
working condition. And the windmills going ’round all year long. I go for groceries
and supplies I need for meals and laundry too. Billy plants and harvests the
groceries. For example prairie hay, alfalfa hay, oats and cane and feeds
nutritional supplies like cake, salt and minerals. Where do I go from here? I
know! I do the washing! Drat, he is always washing something when he does the
mechanic work.
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.