Best Roan Poems
I weave through the rocks of a rough winding trail
Up through the boulders and sage
Following a ridge to the top of the hill
I'm a young girl, who's coming of age
I am sitting astride a strawberry roan
My Dad rides ahead in the haze
Climbing the crest, they're sure-footed, and know
of a place to take rest, where the horses can graze
The clouds pass over, like ships setting sail
Casting shadows on the valleys below
The sky wears a palette of rose colored, pale
Our pace resumes, quiet and slow
Our voices are silent, all our words have been said
Just a whisper of bird wings, and a wisp of the chill
Our thoughts take our eyes, to a sun, scarlet red
Where it soon disappears, far over the hills
My Dad goes ahead, and has taken the lead
Lost in a mist, my eyes try to see
My mare tries to follow, and everything blurs
We continue our climb, to reach forest timber
Are those voices I hear, or just birds in the air?
Up he goes on the trail, on his faithful old steed, like a dream fading into the clouds..
He is smiling, my Dad,.. on his red sorrel mare,
.......while I stay behind to remember
_________________________________________________
6/19/2009
upon blue grass hills
roan stallion grazed among mares
verdant and serene
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Although not for her contest,
my regards to Tania for her
inspiration. Merci
...Jack went down in a heap,
the shot biting his thigh.
The rider drew near, gun in hand,
said,”You do not need to die.
“Though you’ll not believe it,
I will still to you explain:
You’re brother was a rapist,
and with young girls he did play.
“And when a daughter of a friend
fell to his twisted appetites,
I did what I had to do,
and sent him to that dark night.
“I know you will believe think this,
to you he was family,
but that monster is worth no revenge.
His death, in fact, was a duty.
“But sin belongs to those who sin,
and not to any other.
And I see not the ravenous beast
in the eyes of his young brother.
“And though I’m a forgiving man,
I’ll warn you this one time,
don’t ever come for me again,
‘cause I'm not always so kind.”
He tossed Ed’s pistol aside,
then mounted up on his horse.
He rode off, resigning himself
to a night sleeping outdoors.
It had been such every night,
since his own loss, long ago,
when he’d crossed that bloody line,
when he’d lost his own.
No more smiles, or boyish laughs,
no warm nights by the fire,
his woman gone, and his boy too…
nothing remained by the ire.
Sometimes he did like to think
that he could go on back,
return to what he once was,
give up these duty tracks…
But deep down he’d always know
that inside he had grown cold,
since he’d walked from their gravesides,
against evil now he rode.
Forever on, he rode.
He trotted up to Hamlin’s Bar,
stopping in for a quick drink.
He sat a tall, blue roan Mustang,
with a hide like darkest ink.
He paced into the noisy saloon,
amidst gamblers, drunks, and whores,
walked up to the simple bar,
and ordered whiskey, nothing more.
The burning shot was warming
after a cold night on the tail.
Barkeep tried to sell him another,
but he tried to no avail.
Rider found himself musing about
stopping in a town like this,
leaving behind the endless hunt,
getting out of the prairie winds.
He thought about a warm bed,
about cafes with bacon and coffee,
but as he did the old rage surged
and the thoughts all came to nothing.
In his mind came strangled cries,
the choking smoke and flames,
the dark cackle of evil men,
echoed through his brain…
With that he got on up to leave,
but a figure blocked his way.
A youngish man, vaguely familiar,
though why, he could not say.
The man growled and he said:
“I’ve seen you once before.
I watched you kill my brother Nick,
back east in Pellan’s Forge.”
The rider cocked his head and said:
“You must be young Jack Burnside.
I suppose you want revenge,
so let’s go take this outside.”
Jack nodded and they walked,
the young man’s eyes enraged.
To the street, the men went,
the town watching as they paced.
They stood off, then Jack’s hand
flew down for his gun,
but the Rider was a bolt of light,
and the draw quickly won...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
Enter
in a hue
pulled from a rainbow
the blue roan
in a garland of blue roses
setting a tone
for the sky alone to compete
5/5/2019
A Garland Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Julia Ward
What’s in a Name
The ranch has many horses
And all have earned a name.
Through color, deed and disposition,
Their moniker will proclaim
Their value to the cowboys
That gave each horse his name.
Pete bears the name of a long lost friend
No longer here to ride.
And offers two ears worthy
For a cowboy to confide.
Legs is taller than the rest
And boy can that steed run.
Lean forward in the saddle
And you could have some fun.
Cottonwood is dirty white
Like the fluffy seeds of the tree.
And a May colt, too!
He went to the mud with me!
Sunny is a bright sorrel gelding
Colored like the sun.
His choppy gait makes saddle sores.
Riding him is never fun!
Jim is black as midnight
Like a character of Mark Twain’s.
They sometimes call him something else
But the meaning is still the same.
S.A. is a red roan stud
With initials for a name.
To write it out would just be wrong.
You can guess his name.
Amanda Thing
1829 - 1918
BF and me
We rode into this muddy enclave,
This Quaker paradise high on an ever-descending hill
In March of ‘87
With Sunshine, our roan mare,
And a wagon full of old belongings and new hopes.
I recall the mustard fields blooming that spring
Like a million fires in the firmament,
And these fiery fields were intensely difficult to plow.
And the land had to be carved up like slaughtered meat
To pave the way for the railroad
And the first automobiles from Detroit.
First time I saw one,
I almost fainted.
BF and me
We spent many an afternoon in our feathered buggy instead
With Sunshine, our roan mare,
Riding the newly paved roads,
From Rideout’s Driveway to County Road.
And we saw,
From the top of Friends Street
The distant Catalina Island,
Shrouded in the hazy Pacific,
Like a sleeping giant under a brown blanket,
And we gasped at the mystical beauty of it
From our hilltop perch.
When BF died of a stroke in ’07,
I buried him in Clark Cemetery
And I thought I would never survive the grief.
But God sustained me as always
And I lived eleven more years by myself,
Among the roses and tulips
Of my Whittier Avenue cottage.
At 89 I died an old and tired lady,
More than ready to meet my sweet Savior.
My funeral was grand indeed!
They put baby roses on my casket,
And said the Lord’s Prayer.
Then they put me next to BF.
I’ve ridden many a trail in my life & regrets I have few
For I lived the life I chose & to the Cowboy way stayed true
I will not ask for a mansion when I stand before God’s throne
I’ll be happy with a bedroll, a good herd & a sturdy roan
A cowboy’s dream is what I lived for so many happy years
I had my spread & family, made a good living from the calves & steers
So do not cry when you think of me, for I would rather see you smile
Rest easy in the knowing that because of you, my life was not a trial
Do not stand around & speak in hushed & hallowed tones
For there is nothing in this casket, except for husk & bones
My Spirit saddled up & hit the trail, heeding the Master’s call
And though I ride for him now, I’ll miss you one & all
In the creak of saddle leather & the jinglebobs you hear
I hope you think of me & know that I am ever near
I ride a range that knows no end, no stampede or rain
And I’ll keep one saddled for you until we meet again
Oh, your saddle needs a soapin'
And your spurs are flecked with rust--
And there ain't much need for hopin'
'Cause your boots are touched with dust.
The days last a little longer--
There ain't nothin' much to do--
But memories grow stronger
'Cause your ridin' days are through.
You sing in that roan rockin' chair
And you ain't got no regret--
Days go by as you sit and stare
But some things you don't forget.
The West is still within your mind
And you smell the sea and sage--
You never knew the modern grind--
You're young at heart and never age.
Oh, your cowpoke hat's a hangin'
And your fringe of hair is gray--
There's no dinner bells a clangin'
At the end of lonesome day.
Yes, these days aren't meant for moapin'--
In the good Lord you will trust--
For no more you'll go a ropin'--
Now you're ridin' with the dust.
final dismount, final ride
pasture waits for dappled roan
girth mark of the lonely byways
lather from the battles flown
dew eyed weary, spinal backed
stumble step'd and nostril blown...
stirrup brass with bugle hung
faded strap and leather worn
bridle twisted, crackled spur
broken packboard, blanket torn
carbine scabbard, saddle sore
salt and stain wrung round the horn...
cosmoline and splintered stock
powder burned and pointed lead
flashpan crusted, blackened sight
ramrod tamped and barrel fed
faceless names etched in the action
thunder echoed, eardrums bled...
now the rider, less the man
mustered out a thousand suns
restless eye and palsied hand
scattered mind behind the gun
drumbeat sigh and breaking heart
no true glory grasped and won...
in the world
of the world
in joy's cascade as much as grief
season turns
while seasons end
wind blows down the autumn leaf.
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.
I was heading to the bunkhouse, after a wild night on the town
dancing & romancing & one too many round
Back in my wild & woolly days, one more rowdy Saturday night
full of cheap beer & whiskey & the necessary fight
I set Ol' Gus on auto pilot, he knew the way back to the spread
And I set to fighting with those rotgut demons dancing in my head
We were getting pretty close to home, so I eased up on the bit
when all of a sudden that dang horse he up & quit
His ears were all pricked forward, listening quite intense
I caught a drift of what might pass for music, somewhere beyond the fence
It took a lot of persuading, cussing & cajoling
but I got ol' Gus headed for all the caterwauling
the sound got more peculiar as we crested the hill
the memory of what I saw that moonlit night stays with me still
for I had stumbled on a peculiar party, hosted by a peg leg dog
and there was a one eyed pole cat doing comedic monologue
A Blueberry Roan soon took the stage, singing Motley Crue
I swear I saw a big ol' ornery hog with a "born to squeal" tattoo
There were bulls & Heifers dancing, I couldn't believe my eyes
why those bovine wore spikes and body piercings, in places utterly unwise
There where horses with mohawk hairdos head banging to the song
I swear to you, Ol' Gus, he began to sway & sing along
Now I know what you're thinking & I most heartily agree
it was the moon & wind playing tricks, along with rotgut whiskey
You city folks can keep your pink elephants parading in tutus
for this cowboy was shown the light by a Roan in blue suede shoes
I gave up hell raising & carousing, said so long to the honky-tonk life
Happy now to stick to ranching & dancing under the moon with my wife
But every now & again, when the wind blows & the moon is shining bright
I swear I can hear the livestock laughing & head banging through the night
A: I’ll call him AARUSH, ray of sun;
B: And she’ll be BEA, a happy one;
C: COLCHAS is bronze from head to toes;
D: His oaktree brother, DARA, grows;
E: Alive is EFA, she’s a one;
F: And FFION is our foxglove son;
G: There’s GUY, our clever boy the guide;
H: HAKIM, he’s wise - can’t be denied;
I: She works, Our IDA, round the clock;
J: JOANNA says her God, he rocks;
K: Alert, our KACIE tops her class;
L: LATISHA, such a happy lass;
M: As MARCO thinks he’s Mars the god;
N: New baby brother NEO nods;
O: He’s OLAF, proud of kith and kin;
P: And PAULA, she is small and thin;
Q: My QUEENIE she’s a queen - beware;
R: He’s ROAN with the reddest hair;
S: While SADIE, she’s a princess; wild
T: TALULAH, she’s an awful child;
U: As URI is a boy of light;
V: VERONICA, her picture’s right;
W: And WENDY, she’s a friendly soul;
X: But XANDER, he’s a fighter though;
Y: YVETTE, she’s like a yew so tall;
Z: And ZAK, the purest boy of all;
And now I’ve named the little dears;
I must get started – volunteers?
I’m 43, single again and live in England. I don’t have any children (as far as I know, LOL).
For Cyndi’s Z is for Zaria contest
Love has become a splendid thing, I love you
Interchanging your soul, our souls in the fog
Of morning drizzling like joy upon the grass.
I will awake this morning, I know I shall
When I am awaken I will sing with you
I am singing for you, I know that I am
All the poems that like fresh mountain springs
Come into my heart trickling soft and slow
And pure, and clean, but above all fresh
Very fresh the scent of your nakedness, your smile
As your eyes open into my eyes looking at you
Telling you in every language and tone I love you
You will remember our lives forever wrapped
In the heart of a morning, and you will sing too
Rinsing, washing, cleansing, until our days are pure
Of yesterday's hard memories, of dark longings
And conditions that predisposed our former misery.
Roan is the color of the horse in my heart
Galloping madly to meet your gallop in the pass.
I love you, I love you, I love you, again and again
The heart will say because it cannot speak eternity.
Man speak of love then with so much vanity
Knowing that evening comes leaving a mound in the yard
The place where every grass is scraped away like a bruised knee
O darling the dream is tomorrow, memory is tomorrow
But love, our love, is for always, for all mornings
Filled with singing:
Listen to birds breaking out in chorus
Listen to bees in perfect rhythm keeping beat
With the harmony of trees, and the alto of tides
Listen, listen I say to the rivers rushing
Up the scale. Morning is like a tree laden with love
I sing it to you forever, forever, forever, I love you.
I did not drive the roan that day,
Just saddled up my old dark bay,
To check out fences far afield
And breathe in life with all its yield.
Near border’s end I came upon
A fresh, dead cow down by the pond.
I wondered why it had died here
With water and spring grass so near.
I spurred my horse and reined away
But something said that I should stay—
I creaked down from my saddle’s reach
And saw the cow had died in breech.
I knew they should be buried soon,
By light of day or dark of moon.
I left them there, that calf and cow
And rode back home in thought somehow.
I had forgot that scene of death
Till summer quickly took my breath
And once again I passed that shell
Of twisted skin and faded smell.
The worms had done their work it seems
On frenzied flesh and faltered dreams.
Yet, still I stared like at a grave—
Thought how we took but seldom gave.
Then autumn came and tinted trees
With colors each low creature sees.
So on my horse I sought them out,
To answer what this life’s about.
A mute Madonna—sticks of bone,
Still nestled there so all alone.
We live and die, the season’s dawn,
We’re all breech born before we’re gone.
In winter’s wind the world turns cold
As cow and calf and man grow old.
Yet, now there’s no sinew or hide
To hint of life or what’s inside.
Death’s passion passed and so did I
To pay respects and say goodbye.
For man and beast all die as kin—
I will not ride this trail again.