The cowgirls on the ranch all jumped for joy
when they found out that their boss would employ
a handsome buckaroo
and they dreamed they'd make do
like the song "Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy"!
Some cowboys remove leather chaps
When cowgirls sit down on their laps
Soon these gals can decide
If he's 'up' for a ride
No 'bucking' now, later perhaps!
I'm bewildered by what I see yonder,
Now hold yer horses, let's cease to wander.
We're fixin to meet yer coffee boiler.
He's the new one who's not a straight shooter. Whoah!
I reckon he's got an excuse for it.
And he will tell me why he didn't quit.
I'm stumped why he bamboozled you last night.
I thought I'd be cashed in for that big fight.
But I thought we should cowboy up!
You know I'm gonna call that wrangler's bluff.
We'll not run from trouble and skedaddle.
A strong man must sit firm on his saddle.
Grab a bandana, and fetch a canteen.
Nobody's guessed where this trail's gonna lead.
I once road down a lonely darkened road.
The burdens that I carried formed a load.
But I stood determined to cowboy up.
To set my trail straight and clean myself up!
That waddler will learn to ride for the brand.
By my wise warnin' and wisdom's command!
Those punchers all hat, surely no cattle,
Soon learn wild broncos make 'em chew gravel.
Cowgirls too!
These days, cowboys must learn to communicate!
And get the best result negotiatin'
Big change is ridin' hard across the range! Whoah!
They promised that the debt would fade away
So students took the path they thought was right,
To study and find our scholastic way,
To keep our country's future burning bright.
Americans with good minds, sharp and free,
Where cowboys read of heroes in their books,
Cowgirls build homes for all to see,
Beyond the vanity of shallow looks.
But college dreams have turned to heavy lead,
All races and ethnicities in deep.
The interest grows while workers lose their bread.
The promises the lenders didn't keep.
From Texas plains to Floridian sun,
The SAVE plan starts the freedom we should've won.
Sing, Pink Faeries; sing to the Yellows!
Faery voices rise like bellows.
Dancing 'round their ring, white magic flows,
Shining with the colors of Faery growth!
Cowgirls grin, and horses smile.
They've been in books on shelves for awhile,
One cowgirl with a Western Sunrise in hand,
As cactuses bloom across the land.
Sing, Pink Faeries; sing to the Yellows!
Faery voices rise like bellows.
Dancing 'round their their ring, white magic flows,
Shining with the colors of Faery growth!
Daisies shine in widespread air,
Cats meow with songs so fair.
Songs of Faery pinks for us to be renewed,
Banning shadows, banishing the blues.
Circles, squares, and ovals play,
While Cosmos shines night and day.
Cactuses crown such dreamy love,
So be it---rejoicing from above.
Sing Yellow Faeries; sing to the Pinks!
Faery voices rise with winks!
Dancing 'round their ring, white magic flows,
Shining with the colors of Faery growth
Dusty little towns
West of the Great Divide
Where great-grandchildren of cowboys
On ranches still reside.
Small western museums
With local antiquities inside;
Native American artifacts,
Some horse tack for a cowboy's ride.
There among the fancy
Are two dresses hemmed above the knee,
20's Jazz Age fashion
Worn far from the speak-easy.
Caused a bit of an uproar,
As they danced on the sawdust floor.
Who were these rebel cowgirls,
These flappers from western lore?
They come to our door dressed as witches…as princesses…
as wizards, as ghosts and goblins too…
As pirates, as cowgirls, as ladybugs…
as warriors who know karate or kung-fu.
“Trick-or-treat!” They say…
as through the night their numbers increase.
They look into our bowl of candy and ask,
“Please, may I have a piece?”
We gladly hand a piece to every baby
every child…every teen…
and when they say, “Thank you!”
we all smile and say, “Happy Halloween!”
For one night the troubles we face in this world are forgotten…
because with every girl and boy…
under the costume…behind the masks
we see the innocent faces of peace and love and joy.
At the end of the evening we gaze into our bowl
that through the night by the children has been picked clean….
And I always wish handing out peace in the world
was as easy as handing out a piece of candy on Halloween.
I also make a second wish
once and all the monsters, ghosts and goblins have been fed:
I wish that while filling their bags with another piece of candy
we could assure them of a life filled with peace ahead.
hollow the words seem when said to a wall,
bounce back with fear and anger to keep,
papal silence for the thrall to burrow asleep,
worms of thoughts weep by sunrise to fall.
skills of a magistrate in proper order would bow,
kings would castrate themselves to drink milk,
cows jump moons for the money pig on top,
steak and bacon sizzle on the solar flare.
where are we in all this, wondrous saloon?
cowgirls and cowboys, or more like cowards?
the paddle doors swinging and the guns draw,
would you shoot or hesitate, ten steps is all you take?
turn and boom it all flutters down in spades,
joining in this house of cards in the breeze.
We are old MacDonald’s great-grandchildren
who help him in his fields during weekends,
We gather chopped hays and feed his chicken,
then watch him works with his farmers and friends.
We love working in the fields together,
We ride ponies and horses…we’re cowgirls!
We greet his hardworking farmworkers who’re there
while they cut rice straws with their sharp sickles.
Our grandfather owns large hectares of land,
Ranging from the foot of the blue mountain
to the spot where we, three sisters stand;
Tour around freely! Ride in his land train!
Beyond grandpa’s rice fields are big orchards,
And behind are gardens with vegetables
where we’ll immensely enjoy afterwards;
Healthy foods will be on our long tables!
Our grandpa is so happy to have us,
He says, “ With triplets grandkids, life’s so nice!”
So, when we go back to school he gives cash,
buys new dress, pair of boots and hair bowties.
A Cowboy lives his life,
From sunrise to sunset.
Hard work, calloused hands,
And a bunk to hang his hat.
Riding, roping, branding,
It's all for a week's pay.
Come Friday night it's time,
To chase the blues away.
A few cold beers in hand,
A Cowgirls twirling skirt.
It helps a man forget,
The hard days in the dirt.
But when the fun is done,
And the sun starts to grin.
It's time to grab the reins,
And Cowboy up again.
I was once your cowgirl and you were my Indian
This was in the San Joaquin valley of California that you planted your seed in me
Boy did we have a pow wow
It was a delicious experience and made me think of the
arrival of the Mayflower so long ago
Yes, I was your cowgirl at the ripe age of forty
And, you looked like such a beautiful Native American Indian
Together we played cowgirls and Indians
He's nine years beautiful
It was Saturday night at Community Hall.
There was popcorn and pretzels and birch beer for all.
She sat off in the corner, her hands on her knees,
A fly on the windowsill nobody sees.
She’s Hannah, sad Hannah.
She’ll never be rodeo queen.
‘cause you can’t steal the show
If you don’t do-si-do.
Sad Hannah just turned seventeen.
All those cowboys and cowgirls were twirling around.
As Hannah just sat there, her heart on the ground.
Neither banjo nor fiddle could lighten her mood.
She pulled out her hip flask and got herself stewed.
She’s Hannah, sad Hannah.
Left out of the fun once again.
So, she’ll just roll away
With a bashful sashay
And drown her misfortune in gin.
Crossing the hoedown lines
Courteous men tilted hats
Country cowgirls in skirts
Corsets set on fire
Careening to music
Crystallography,... stop
Calm returns, silent floor.
October 17, 2020
Sponsor: Joseph May
Pleiades 2 Poetry Contest
Cut off jeans are for me.
Cultured pearls just for thee.
Clowns make me want to pee.
Cooking BBQ from the sea.
Chaps I wear on each knee
Cowboys drink beer not tea.
Cowgirls dance with much glee.
Date Written:10/12/2020
We kids from the fifties were always dressed as cowboys or cowgirls.
Our TV shows in black and white included guns, bullets and horses.
The men were the shooters, the women helpless, Indians died all over.
I decided at a young age I would be an Indian; I hated the cowboys.
Not fond of the cowgirls either; except I did like their fringed skirts.
I discovered that Indian women wore fringe, and decided to be one.
We had cap guns, and got to shoot all over the place, if we were boys.
I was a girl, and was encouraged not to shoot but rather to have a doll.
Wearing war paint, I scalped my doll and named myself Wise Eagle Woman.
The other girls avoided me, thinking I was the strange one.
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