It seems that the truth is never quite square
it’s just a bit catywampus you see
All about the way that the cowboys lived
back in them old westerns on our TV
Them outlaws and sheriffs had old six guns
that could shoot forty-nine times on a load
Look real close and see them telephone poles
running alongside an asphalt paved road
Good guys always wore white and bad guys black
with their pearly teeth that sparkled like snow
It just took a minute to saddle up
and get anywhere they wanted to go
They could quick draw and fire their six shooters
And hit a nickel tossed into the air
But they just could never hit the outlaw
till he got to where he’d fall down the stairs
When being chased by a few Indians
they’d throw bullets out the end of their gun
If they did run out of ammunition
that’s when they’d just throw their pistol and run
A hero could get shot right in the chest
but never a drop of red would you see
The next day he’d be out riding his horse
while chasing the outlaws with his posse
At the end of it all the good guy wins
he would get the horse, the dog and the girl
He would live happily ever after
in his black and white TV western world
Cowboy riding herd on the prairie,
A man of tough and rugged degree,
Most private and independent soul,
One of a kind from a unique mold.
Drifting along on his faithful steed,
As cloven hooves drum the barren ground,
Success is never guaranteed,
When beat is heard by foes all around.
The weather weighs heavy on his mind,
Fears the northerly wind’s mournful whine,
And fast rolling of the tumbleweed,
Might spook the edgy herd to stampede.
Days in the saddle takes heavy toll,
Singing ballads to boost his morale,
He’s determined to keep control,
‘Til herd is safe in the old corral.
The houses were gone, no roads made of stone,
just the familiar dry, adobe scene,
Linton shook his head,”I gotta get home,
don’t care if it’s barley past three!”
He reached his cottage, his mind pondering,
found his wife inside putting soup on,
couldn’t help but smile at her swollen belly
pressing forwards against her white apron.
She said,”Dear, what ever brings you home now?
The other men are still out on the range.”
Linton shook his head, and let out a sight,
said,”My love, it’s been a very strange day.”
He told her of stone roads, and massive houses,
of the strange boy, the police, and the whores,
when he mentioned them, she shielding her stomach,
said,”We don’t take about those days any more!”
He said,”Just as well, cause the more I think,
the more I’m worried I might have gone mad.”
She smiled,”I think you’ve had too much sun,
go lie down if you’re feeling that bad.”
Linton did so, then said, as he relaxed,
“The day didn’t leave me completely insane.
My love what do you think, if we have a girl,
of choosing ‘Norma’ to use as her name?”
I left my
heart in
a magical
place. A
place that
holds years
of wonder and
awe. A place that
knows me better
than any other place
I’ve been. This place
has changed me and
molded me into the
person I am now.
The forests, trees, creeks,
and open skies instilled in
me a love for God’s works.
The harshness of the winters has
taught me to be patient and to endure. My small
town is where I learned the small-town work ethic;
you don’t get what you don’t earn and earning what
you want takes a little bit of sweat and tears. Here
I learned that you don’t have to be blood to be
family. Brothers and sisters are made throughout
years of school together. We relied on each other to
be happy. This place will forever hold my heart and
soul. I am a small town girl through and through.
It’s who I will always be. Forever. Thanks IDAHO
for shaping me into something more than I was.
Man neither angel nor beast
Strive for happiness
Become street smart
Became colorful
Television
Offers variety of lifestyles
Delighted to alter
Thankful for almost tragedy
Saved me from the dark
Truth brightens
Eternal Son is Father Christ
Brought light to my dark world
4122013
I lost my appetite for delicacy
My pleasures got me angry
Nothing was even making sense.
Mama got so worried
And I got worrier
The moon sang me loneliness
And I could not catch
The glimpse of the shooting star.
The ranch got bushy
The horses got infested
My poor mare got weaker
From short of tours...
Alone in spring and summer
In my cowboy attire
Heavy sighs ran my veins.
Fever got me on
For she's far away.
Here’s a short story of a cowboy I knew
Whose name was Beg Your Pardon.
He wasn’t a gun slinger in the usual way,
Though his hands were fast
And his foots were faster.
But when Beg started shootin’
There was nuthin’ but disaster.
No worries for Beg, he had none you see,
Since he wasn’t a slinger in the usual way.
But his pappy got ugly
And yelled in his son’s face,
“Until you can shoot
As the son of mine should,
I want you the h*** out of my place.”
Beg had some tricks up his very long sleeves,
Coz he wasn’t a slinger in the usual way.
He’d show his pappy his skill
There’s no doubt about that.
Yet time was a-wasten
So Beg he did hasten,
But first he took off his hat.
He then wound up his body like a Kansas twister
And slung a cow pie in his usual way.
And broke every record
Did our cow pie ringer.
Since there was no one better,
Pappy exclaimed to his son,
“Beg Your Pardon, I beg your pardon
Heck, you’re some kinda’ slinger!”
For Wild Wild West Contest
In the old, wild west
every lonely cowboy
stopped to rest at a crowded inn
surrounded by bare
rocky hills; he blamed it
on the greedy pioneers.
Traveling wasn't easy, not because
of coyotes or deadly
snakes that hid, or slept
in the blue stern grass......
they had to look out
for those Indians.
In the old, wild west
every lonely cowboy
always left his loaded gun
close to his bed
for a quick draw...unless it was
a loud brawl coming from the floor below.
You're like a cowboy,
Dark blue eyes,
Dark black hat whitened with the grains of dust blown 'round.
Riding your horse from place to place,
You're laughed at because you respect women,
You're laughed at because you sober,
And you're laughed at because you passed up all those buckle bunnies
And saved yourself for that one special honey.
The one you call Baby, Darlin, and Pretty Lady.
You're not like the rest,
You work for your money.
You don't spend it on beer and cigarettes,
You spend in on your one sweet honey,
The one you call Baby, Darlin, and Pretty Lady.
When your wife had that baby girl,
You couldn't think of anything else,
But spending that money,
A new carriage, blanket, and pillow.
You couldn't wait to hear that giggle,
That little giggle of the one,
The one you call Baby, Darlin, and Pretty Lady.
You couldn't wait to see that smile,
A smile so big you didn't even know if her eyes were open.
You couldn't wait to see her expression,
Her expression from getting a new carriage, blanket, and pillow.
The ones you bought with your own money
That you didn't spend on beer and cigarettes,
You spent it on you honey,
The one you call Baby, Darlin, and Pretty Lady.
otra vez,otra vez`
I do, say and say again
I am the rock star of the ring
I risk my life again and again for fame,
Some might think of my passion
As just being poetic and practical
Or simply culture or unethical
However, nevertheless not when my life is on the line
Stronger than a herd of Buffaloes
Faster than the
Speed of a race horse,
He is now broken free of his corral
A streak of fury, rushes me
Despite my fear of dying,
My main focus is to
Take the bull down by its horn
>>
I looked deep into his eyes,
I saw mingling of rage
I carefully swung the cape,
A taunt of furling red
Aiming for its horns
The crowd roars, while
The old ladies sob for the bull
The men cheers for
Salvatore the Matador
Nothing more stimulating than the ladies
with the beautiful smiles
The bull is going to die
Out here in "Colo-rah-dee"
It's dry as dry can be
Dustbowls do get rowdy
As far as you can see
Ranchers cook upon the fire
Some coffee and some beans,
There something to admire
Have been many movie themes
Buffalo Bill did travel here
Many years ago
Drive up to see, have no fear
There's lots they have to show
Travel up to the plains
Where buffalo and antelope roam
You will never be the same
It may become your home
For out here we live simply
Our clothes and boots are worn
Our middles may be dimply
Our shirts they may be torn
Mountains may surround us
And blaze in summers sun
Gold has caused many to fuss
That's how the west was won.
So come on out to see
The country at its best
I chose to live here for me
Because I love the West.
Spurs and Chaps and the Rodeo,
The Smell of Leather and Hay,
Lend a Romantic Excitement
To Being a Cowboy Today.
The Last of a Dying Breed,
These Cowboys Lead a Great Life.
They Travel All over the Country,
But the Majority Have No Wife.
There Isn't Much Room for Commitment,
Except to the Rodeo.
There's Something Way down Deep Inside,
Known as a Cowboy's Soul.
No One Else Can Understand
The Feeling He Has Inside,
And the Unique Excitement,
That Comes Before Each Ride.
Yes, He's a Rodeo Cowboy
His Life Is Lonely at Best,
But it Is in His Blood,
'Till the Day He's Laid to Rest.
Connie Moore
Saying your a rodeo rider
Makes it sound so much fun
But living hand to mouth
I assure you isnt fun at all
Make sure your timid horse
Is well fed and warm
Your second in this pecking order
Keeping well is your aim
Driving from one venue
To another i assure you isnt good
But the visions that you see at night
Makes the journey understood
The rising and the setting sum
Is a feast for the eyes
A mental picture that you carry
When your mouth is dusty and dry
When saddling up that muscular horse
To ride into the arena
An adrenaline rush is prevalent
To ride those 8 seconds clean
The satisfaction of big money
When winners are announced
Makes all worthwhile for you
To saddle up for another event
So I tap my hat
Pack up my gear
Pick up a six pack
A few hours to sleep.
Before the next journey
So watch out
A Rodeoman is coming to town.
WINCHESTER MODEL 73 - The Gun that Won the West
Deputy why don't you leave that cowboy alone?
He ain't doin nothin, he's a long way from home.
Can't you see that Winchester by his saddle horn?
If you know what's good for you, you'll leave him alone.
Deputy why don't you let that cowboy ride on?
Do you think he carved them notches out just for fun?
Can't you see that Winchester by his saddle horn?
If you know what's good for you, you'll leave him alone.
You think that Winchester looks good to you.
But one more notch is all you'll be I'm warnin you.
Deputy why don't you let that cowboy ride on.
He won't even slow down unless you draw your gun.
Don't you know that Winchester's not there just for fun?
If you know what's good for you, you'll leave him alone.
© ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
Who am I?
Am I defined by what is near in sight?
Am I defined by what I have done,
Or am I defined by what I could become?
Perhaps I'm of no use.
To him, or her, or I, nor you.
Or perhaps I'm too misunderstood to be defined,
And it is something like understanding that comes in time.
And if to the world I'm never shown,
Yet in my own light I've grown and grown,
And so I can know no happiness but my own--
The reason for my smile, to you, will forever be unknown.
I do not pray for the world to know my name.
For it and verse; the letters are the same.
And if a man should find his sorrow in what he reads,
I pray his pain my words to keep.
Should his eyes rain on my page,
Better tears than storms of rage.
And if a man should find his sorrow in what he reads.
I pray his pain my words to keep.
And if to the world you're never shown,
Yet in your own light you've grown and grown,
And so you know no happiness but your own.
Let the reason for your smile, to you, only be known.
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