He plays not for the buffalo, nor tepee’s on the plains
No wistful, haunting melody, will his stolen past regain
In hallowed place, this holy glade, he whistles for the wind
To plays for lands with life renewed, and awful deeds rescind.
No more will the Ghost dance sound, among the gathered clans
No more will the young bucks roam, in raucous hunting bands,
His way of life, with every breath, is lost upon the wind,
His tribe, his life his people, more sinned against than sinned.
He plays for peace, he plays for hope, forgotten days now gone,
With saddened heart he plays for all, and everything he owned.
And yet in that forgotten glade, the keening air remains,
Recorded by the winds of change, and carried to the plains.
A COWBOY IS
Who is a cowboy, what can be stated?
Shane, the ideal hero, brave but understated.
Eastwood, tough, fair, evens up the score.
Wayne, big shoulders, represents goodness, law.
These are fictitious figments of movie dreams
Their actual life was not what it seems
Real cowboys were lonely and died young
With broken leg or shot in the lung,
Injuries untreated, isolation, meals uneaten,
Loneliness, poverty, danger, savagely beaten.
Best friend his horse; best tool - his gun -
Was rarely used, and never for fun.
Never a deadly shot, never hit an ace-card.
His life was often ended by wolves - hard.
Illusory movies like Magnificent Seven
Tell a fairy tale story of hard-working men
With an unhealthy and short life, ending when
Dead - more like The Dirty Dozen.
Command this commandment,
living in the light,
waking in the dark,
they toil,
every day golden suns come up night and day,
swaying in labor fields making human mind capital,
shadows of lights are yet still dark,
yet it doesn't quench the thirst,
1st of life is beyond living,
walking in death while waking,
a life that is living in light as dark,
without a sight for acknowledgeable real color differentials,
a walking waking dream,
a lost memory,
driving time backwards to eternity,
commanding in chiefs of all resurrections.
Mind all that your pa says
And don’t give him no reputes,
Sit quiet on the wood rail
Down by the corrals and chutes.
Don’t dally your digits
Or dive head long from a horse,
Listen to all your elders
And run your life to full course.
Appreciate grease wood
Ride your life free in wild sage—
Know you’ll not always be young,
And act older that our age.
Brush off your jeans real good
Whenever you do get throwed,
Don’t brag ‘bout a right answer,
That’s where real respect is sowed.
Be part of a question
But never the main worry,
Take care in what you’re ropin’—
When you catch it, don’t hurry.
Be kind to all critters,
Give them respect they deserve—
Treat folks like you’d want to be
Treated – don’t you ever swerve.
Pass on all that you know
To those that now come after—
Your legacy’s in their minds
With your wise words and laughter.
And in your final years
Enjoy the rest that you’ve earned—
Think back on those before you,
Try to rebuilt bridges burned.
Teach your kids the same thing
As they coach their own recruits—
Pass on the lessons learned
Down by the corrals and chutes.
(for Badger Clark)
Oh, when mornin’ wind blows away your memory
And all the bad things in your life go to hidin’—
When you grip tight the reins upon that short grass sea,
Then you hold on for your life and go a ridin’.
A ridin’, ridin’, away from all of the earth,
Away from the low hum of the city and lights—
A ridin’ now free as that first day of birth—
A ridin’ so furious toward that last dark night.
Yes, the wind in your hair and a spirit now free
Call deep down to your soul as you pull your mount still—
You run without runnin’ – fly past river and tree—
As one now with your horse till you reach that last hill.
A ridin’, a ridin’, we all ride toward the crest—
A ridin’, a ridin’, till we pull up and rest.