From the old rockin’ chair
came the sound of his snores
that rattled the windows
and vibrated the doors
She looked o’er her glasses
but kept counting her stitch
as she watched his feet jerk
and his hands start to twitch
She knew he was dreaming
‘bout them places he’d been
Was out riding the grass
cross the highline again
She’d heard all his stories
knows most of them are true
Been little on the range
that her cowboy didn’t do
He had grown a fine herd
carved a ranch out of rock
Raised a passel of kids
that now care for the stock
Fought many harsh winters
to keep his dream alive
Spent countless holidays
out on some cattle drive
Had fought wolves, drought, and fire
blizzards and flooding rain
Busted broncs and some bones
not once did he complain
Always managed to find
a bit extra to give
He had paid well his dues
for this good life they live
Always held his head high
through those sorrows and pain
Said if he had a do-over
he’d do it that way again
Categories:
broncs, poetry,
Form: Rhyme
In a hallowed grandstand,
I do quietly sit,
high above the noise
and ruckus of the pit.
Staring out upon
a curving, long race-track,
as thoroughbreds set off
running races back-to-back.
Around me are sitting
a mannered, genteel crowd,
dressed up to the nines,
only deigning to be loud
when jockeys round the curve,
pulling hard for home,
and the losing bets first scream,
then so loudly moan.
I don't think they really care
all that much for the horse,
it's the gambling that brought them,
and brings them back for more.
It kind of reminds me
of NASCAR when I think
of all those horses turning left,
it's kinda the same thing!
But I don't dare mention that,
if I did these people all
would rush me with intentions bad,
claiming they're shocked and appalled,
I guess it's really not my crowd,
and next Saturday I shall go
down the road for a real good time
at the weekly, circuit rodeo.
Ride 'dem broncs! Y'aahhh!
Categories:
broncs, culture, games, horse, humor,
Form: Light Verse
If sixty years before in my place of birth
had I been living in that Texas town Fort Worth.
With long horn steers moving to and fro
what would I have done, where would I go?
Herding cattle or breaking broncs
or gambling cards in honky-tonks.
Getting drunk and in gunfights
loving dance hall girls in tights.
I could been one of the town's shop resident.
A blacksmith's son or the only bank's president.
I could have been the town law, killing when called upon.
Or an undertaker burying those dead at dawn.
A wanted outlaw quick on the draw
disappointment to my ma and pa.
A shouting preacher Sunday mornings
with hell fire damnation warnings.
I could have been any these people of Texas history
sixty years before my birth, in eighteen hundred eighty three.
Categories:
broncs, adventure, age, allusion, america,
Form: Rhyme
Mama took me to the rodeo when I was just three
And those long tall saddles made a fool of me
She had dreams in her pocket of what I could be
Now I'm ropin' steers in front of my t.v.
Oh but you know my mama had dreams
Sadly they never came true it seems
But she always thought to her dying day
That I'd be a rodeo star some way
She had a way with those cowboys,Mama did
Tried to talk them into lettin' me ride ,while I hid
'Neath a bale of hay by the Coca Cola stand
Till Mama would drag me back by the hand
Daddy left before I was born,Mama said
And that's when she got it into her head
That her boy would grow up strong and proud
Buckin' broncs for a cheering crowd
Yes Mama sure had dreams
That never came true it seems
But she always thought to her dying day
That I'd be a rodeo star some way
Categories:
broncs, adventure, childhoodme, star, me,
Form: Rhyme
Griping and growling, the camp cook is up
I know that he was born with an attitude
No way one can slumber around here
Smelling the coffee boiling, I need a cup
Wide open spaces, kitchen is kind of crude
Three more hours before the Sun will appear
Roll a smoke and roll you bed
No longer time to snore
Shake the scorpions out of your boots
No counting the cob webs in your head
Do worry about closing the door
Tumbleweeds have shallow roots
Crazy cattle, wild broncs for the day
You just know they have been eating loco weed
A run for your money, make you grab the saddle horn
That is how you earn your pay
And the nature of the breed
In a pasture full of mesquite thorn
Supper will be around midnight
Hot cup of coffee and a cold biscuit
Come payday, maybe some bacon
Around a campfire light
Then you know that it is time to quit
For a cowboy, just another day in the making
Categories:
broncs, cowboy-westerntime,
Form: I do not know?
Watching NFL on Sunday
Flying the Rebel flag every day
Playing poker every night
Wow, Life is great
Yelling "Git-R-Done"
Mud-slinging in our big trucks
Listening to the crowd
Watching the broncs buck all night
What a wonderful day, hey.
Whether I am hunting or fishing,
I know I am having a great day
Listening to Southern Rock
Rocking out loud to "Kid Rock"
That is my idea of a great day
Categories:
broncs, life, love, teen,
Form: Free verse
Rodeo Roy was a buckaroo boy,
A buckaroo boy was he—
Bulls and horses determined his courses—
They say he was only three!
Rodeo Roy never found his true joy,
Until he was all of ten—
He learned to chaw just like his dear ol’ paw,
Till he gulped and lost his grin!
He shot the bull until he was plum full
And had to prove he’s a man—
He rode longhorns till he bucked in the thorns,
But he showed he had the sand!
He wrestled steers till they came out his ears
And threw a good houlihan—
He rode bad broncs and took him some hard knocks—
But his life was never bland.
Rodeo Roy had to seek new employ—
It seemed he had done it all—
Sioux City Sal then soon became his gal
And that’s how ol’ Roy did fall!
Sioux did allow Roy into her corral,
But he’s the one that got caught.
Rodeo Roy has a buckaroo boy—
He’s changin’ diapers like he ought!
Categories:
broncs, cowboy-western, family, funny, life,
Form: Cowboy Poetry
You know you been too long at life’s ol’ rodeo,
When them jeans get too tight and that ol’ paunch does grow—
And then your teeth fall out instead of bein’ knocked
And you pay entry fees with prize buckles you hocked.
That’s when they call you Curly ‘cause you ain’t got hair,
Except in your ears and nose where they’s lot to spare!
Then sittin’ on wood fences is what you avoids,
‘Cause like as not they’ll flare up your ol’ hemorrhoids!
Buckin’ bulls and broncs is something way in your past,
Rockin’ chairs and Lazy Boys now make your life last.
So now instead of hard tack, you’d rather just pass—
Eatin’ hot, spicy grub just seems to give you gas.
You done been far too long at life’s ol’ rodeo,
You’d rather watch TV than help a horse to foal—
You ain’t cowboy if you quit chewin’ your toback—
Might as well hock your saddle and all your dern tack.
So if you sit on porches waitin’ for your God—
Better get off your duff before you get the nod!
‘Cause that boss in the sky don’t want no so-and-so,
What ain’t least down there watchin’ life’s ol’ rodeo!
Categories:
broncs, funny, life, nostalgia, time,
Form: Cowboy Poetry
Riding the quarter slot pony
at Woolworth’s five & dime
Would send this half pint cowgirl
back to another time
I was Calamity Jane riding hell bent
to bring the US mail,
Annie Oakley, with dead eye aim,
shooting lint specks off a nail,
In my games of Cowboy & Indian
everyone would win
The Lone Ranger & Tonto
were my two bestest friends
Out in the back yard,
on my old swing set
I created memories
that I will never forget
I would swing & sing for hours
loud enough for the world to hear
I rode the meanest broncs
never showed a bit of fear
I dreamed of Being like Tad or Fox
Weren’t nobody putting me in a china box
while momma dreamed of frills & lace
In my dreams, I always rode ahead of the race
I always wore a white hat
& never lost a fight
Evil wore a black hat
& a heart as black as night
I find myself wishing
more often here of late
That I could return again
to that childhood age of eight
When everything made more sense
& innocence wasn’t lost
I wonder, if I turned back time,
what would be the cost?
© April 2005
Categories:
broncs, childhood, cowboy-western, imagination, life,
Form: Cowboy Poetry