the chaparral hills
engulfed in a smokey mist —
fire dyed sunsets
Cookie, fire-up yer chuck wagon 'cause th' round-up is begun!
Us cowpokes is gonna cull th' herd frum dawn to th' settin' sun!
We is gonna supply you wid th' cookin's fer our chuck tonight;
Heaps uv good ol' Rocky Mountain oysters broiled fer our delight!
It'll be a hot an' dusty trail as we drive 'em frum th' chaparral,
An' herd them cantankerous kine fer brandin' in th' ol' corral!
It'll take a heap uv sweat an' a lot uv cussin' to git 'em movin', alright,
But it'll be worth it, 'cause we is feedin' on Rocky Mountain oysters tonight!
Usin' our cuttin' hosses we'll rope an' wrestle th' bulls to th' ground.
There we'll brand an' neuter 'em as they beller an' kick around!
We'll be bruised an' kicked fer little pay but that'll be alright,
'Cause we is gonna enjoy a feast uv Rocky Mountain oysters tonight!
Us cowboys works hard wid little pay rollin' 'round in th' manure,
Convertin' bulls into steers; that's more'n them city fellers could endure!
But that's okay, 'cause at round-up time we gits a special treat;
Tonight we is gonna enjoy a feast uv Rocky Mountain oysters to eat!
Tarnished gray, as the doves you have scattered away
you were yelping as if the moon were your prey
Eclipsed by the sage you then vanished from eyes
disguised by the chaparral, just as clouds hide the sky
With cunning assurance, you were closing the distance
Watching me closely, no resistance between us
~
No one can profess to have full understanding
of the secrets existing, ......or the spirit that binds us.
Yet, we are as one, and as creatures we dwell,
upon sacred land, upon ancient tales
You've followed me closely, with caution, a friend,
I feel a new spirit, that drifts in the wind
__________________________________________
8/14/18
Contest: Wolves and The Moon
Sponsor: Julia Ward
The land sizzles.
Brittle grass
yellows the hills.
Live oak draw sparse circles
of shade.
Spiky shrubs
cling to the parched slopes:
red stemmed manzanita,
spiny scrub oak.
Hot wind rustles the leaves.
The chaparral holds its breath,
waits for the spark,
to burst into blaze.
Later,
in the ash covered ground
under charred trees,
seeds waken and stir.
8/1/2017
beyond and below
beneath the cosmic tide
I awoke today to see
with the sun above
my shadow held tight
for lack of shade
as I crawl beneath
remnant chaparral
with this desert scruff
I scrub my bones
Brisk, northern winds blow across the heavy sand
The desert arena is chilly and bright
The summer animals are hiding
Not a lizard, tortoise or snake in sight
The distant mountain peaks hold ice and winter snow
Chilling the temperature on the desert floor below
Brisk, northern winds blow across the heavy sand
Cleaning the desert air, leaving it vibrant and crisp
Ice particles and frost cling to the dormant chaparral
Sleeping, dormant, waiting for warmer summer days
There was a day on TV
Where westerns were all the rage
You could take your pick
From your TV paper page
Together our masked hero the Lone Ranger
With Tonto kept outlaws in a spin
Have Gun Will Travel was the card
For black dressed professional gunfighter Paladin
Wagon Train kept rolling along
Seth Adams the leader
Flint McCullough chief scout
Old Charlie Wooster was the feeder
Rawhide kept the cattle moving
Gil and Randy kept control
In Dodge City it was Gunsmoke
Marshall Matt Dillon was key role
On the ponderosa it was Bonanza
Where Ben Cartwright was the boss
With his family of three boys
Adam, little Joe and Hoss
Wells Fargo was the stagecoach
Where Jim Hardie was the star
Now these are only some
For they were many more by far
They were the Virginian and the Rifleman
Laramie, Maverick and Cheyenne
The High Chaparral not to mention alias Smith and Jones
These made us all a fan
Cowboys where are you?
Memories of you is our lot
On TV we can’t see
Is this our last shot?
poetgord@2013
Night spills over the day like India ink from a well
bleeding into the deep crevasses of hill and dell
running into clear cold streams once shimmering, bright
painting Prussian blue the trees on the high chaparral.
Night edges the golden hour of Autumn days so bright
merging with the harvest moon, the solstice at midnight
melting in to sleepy hollows, pale and bloodless blue,
cajoling colonies of bats to bank and soar in flight.
Night caresses the winsome lovers silhouette.. adieu
as its hold is weakened toward a shade of baby-blue
A painter's pallet is the night of hues, shades of light
the sovereign signs of fantasy as darkness ensues.
*Interlocking Rubaiyat where the rhyme of lines 1,2&4
of verse one are taken from the end word of line 3
in the verse before, the last verse returns the end rhyme
of line 3 ;)
It Started Out With Roy Rogers
Then Moved On To John Wayne
My Family, Loved To Watch ‘Gun Smoke’,
‘The Rifleman’ and ‘Shane’ …
Mine, Were ‘The Big Valley’
‘Bonanza’ And ‘High Chaparral’
Paladin’s, ‘Have Gun Will Travel’
And ‘Rawhide’ and ‘Wagon Train’ Trails
And ‘The Lone Ranger’, ‘Zorro’, and ‘Johnny Ringo’,
‘Bat Masterson’ ‘Branded’, then, ‘Wild, Wild West’ Came
And Oh, How Could I Forget …
Clint Eastwood’s, ‘The Man With No Name’ …
So, ‘Tombstone’, ‘Silverado’, ‘Unforgiven’, ‘Appaloosa’
‘Quick and The Dead’, ‘Wyatt Earp’ and ‘3:10 to Yuma’
All Join The Ranks of Big-Western, Showdown Scenes
and Even ‘F-Troop’ and ‘Blazing Saddles’, Rode Onto My TV Screen
I’ll go a ridin’ no more through blue stem or chaparral,
Just lead my horse to pastures of green.
I’ll watch those rose ruby suns ease on past the ol’ corral—
Think back on the things I’ve done and seen.
Oh, you can’t go on a ridin’ for all your livelong days—
You’ve got to know when to settle down.
You’ll gently pet your ol’ horse as you put her out to graze
And soon life won’t seem so bad in town.
But when blue bonnets and the high plains send their callin’ card,
Your restless feet start to feel that itch.
Then it don’t matter if you’re stove-up or your butt is lard—
That feelin’ calls to the poor and rich.
Just once more I’ll go a ridin’ in the sorrel and sage—
Testin’ my ol’ horse for all it’s worth.
And I know that time cannot stop me, even at my age,
From ridin’ free of the reins of earth.
Silent sage and chaparral
Gather ‘round the old corral,
Like the cowhands way back then
When the Old West did begin.
Too soon gone are all the days
Of the cowboy and his ways—
He’ll be herdin’ now no more
Like he did in times before.
He’ll soon sell his saddle, too—
Thinkin’ now that he’s all through,
But he lingers ‘round the gate
Still uncertain of his fate.
Though no wages does he draw,
He still works for grub and chaw
And still by the fire at night
He tells stories of his plight.
Too soon gone are all the days
Of the cowboy and his ways—
He’ll be herdin’ now no more
Like he did in times before.
Yet, still he comes ‘round the spread
Like a phantom of the dead—
We let him stay in the bunk
To spin windies and get drunk.
But his days now dwindle fast,
Still sad those times did not last—
But that cowboy never dies
In our songs and words and lies.
Too soon gone are all the days
Of the cowboy and his ways—
He’ll be herdin’ now no more
Like he did in times before.
Silent sage and chaparral
Gather ‘round the old corral,
Like the cowhands way back then
When the Old West did begin.