Montana Cowboy Poetry Poems

Sitting outside the firelight
I share this valley with the moon
The stars twinkle overhead
and the bullfrogs begin to croon
My fire sparks its own starlight
drifting up into...

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Well, I’ve lived in this Montana country
guess it's been pert near fourteen years 
I call myself a cowboy though I ain't
punched no cows or branded...

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When your ride’n drag through the swelterin’ heat,
and you've bout had all the dust one-man can eat.
When the sweat’s running down from collar to boot,
just...

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Alone on the prairie, time will gently slip,
‘til minutes and hours start to lose their grip.
Can’t measure the day by a clock’s turning hand,
but by...

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I am not quite a genuine cowboy,
but I know that somewhere deep down inside.
If I had only been born way back when,
I could surely punch...

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An old cowpoke from Cheyenne, Wyoming
Got a hankering and set out a roaming.
He got as far as Montana,
Choked on a banana,
And returned in a box...

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A lady's bed is of feathers
Cowboys sleep on the ground
A rich man sleeps with the ladies
Poor men sleep all around

He rode his horse from Montana
Stopped...

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This is the place the ’punchers come
when it is time to drink their pay,
ride in from the hilly rangelands
to forget cattle for a day.

Norma in...

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thinking it was done in our favor
we quickly found that it had neither
been rehersted or a proper procedure
to evade it's occurrence: had been
sequensed into a...

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I set out from Chicago town
in spring, eighteen seventy-nine,
offered one hundred and a stake
in the new Kennevor gold mine.
Had to provide security
and keep all of...

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Burke Bowden rode slowly through the piney hills
outside the mining town of Tillico.
Hiding himself there in the Montana woods
where decent folks would rarely go.
He had...

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The Camp Cooky’s singin again outa tune,
  about turnin 60 today around noon

"What good is there in it?" I hear him say,
  and...

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I'm on my way to Butte Montana, 
where the mountains reach the sky, 
and the eagles soar way up high, 
folks are friendly and give...

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On a Charlie Russell range under royal Montana skies,
Pale Shoshones and bison bones bring tears to old squaw’s eyes.
A purple wash of prairie sun slides...

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