He pulled up to the Triple "T" Ranch in a shiny Cadillac.
In his trailer was an Arabian steed with the finest tack.
He wore Tony Lama alligator boots and Calvin Klein jeans,
And a stylish Stetson hat - he looked like a man of means!
He strode to the corral where grizzled cowpokes lazed.
They chortled at the greenhorn, each of them amazed!
"Where's the boss?" he asked, "I'm seeking a position!"
"Over yonder" said they. (The boss eyed him with great suspicion!)
The boss sauntered over to see what the hullabaloo was all about.
"I'll handle this! You fellers git back to work!" he said with a shout!
He sized up the lad saying, "Son, I ain't impressed with them fancy labels!
But you're hired! Here's a shovel! Ya kin start by muckin' out them stables!"
Entry for Carolyn Devonshire's "Green Humor Rhymes" Contest
I was in the saloon to beat the heat
To have a few beers and rest my feet
I removed my hat a took a seat
Just then someone called me to the street
I look out the swinging doors and see Black Bart
The fastest gunslinger in these parts
I don't know how this trouble got its start
His eyes are as black as his evil heart
He calls me out with his hand on his gun
I cannot talk him down, I cannot run
My back is to the setting sun
The end of this showdown has just begun
I draw first and shot off his ear
He is surprised but shows no fear
Just those black eyes and that evil sneer
He shoots and his bullet whizzed by very near
My second shot got him right between the eyes
He didn't have time to realize
That the undertaker had already calculated his size
Even before I closed his eyes
There is a lesson to be learned here
It was a long hot trail to get here
No matter how black your heart or evil your sneer
Never interrupt a cowpoke and his beer
2019 Poetry Marathon Mile 18 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mark Toney
2/13/19
Lord have mercy on such as me
I am a man of simple means
Came to Texas in sixty three
Wasn't ready for gals in jeans
Came on the train in suit and tie
Directly from the frozen North
Now I'd seen girls to make you sigh
But nothing compared to Ft Worth
There were girls in tight fittin' pants
That made me want to shop for boots
I'd never heard of a square dance
But here I swore to plant my roots
It took years of fibs and lyin'
A fair cowpoke I came to be
He saw how hard I was tryin' -
Lord had mercy on such as me
9/27/2017
Oh, your saddle needs a soapin'
And your spurs are flecked with rust--
And there ain't much need for hopin'
'Cause your boots are touched with dust.
The days last a little longer--
There ain't nothin' much to do--
But memories grow stronger
'Cause your ridin' days are through.
You sing in that roan rockin' chair
And you ain't got no regret--
Days go by as you sit and stare
But some things you don't forget.
The West is still within your mind
And you smell the sea and sage--
You never knew the modern grind--
You're young at heart and never age.
Oh, your cowpoke hat's a hangin'
And your fringe of hair is gray--
There's no dinner bells a clangin'
At the end of lonesome day.
Yes, these days aren't meant for moapin'--
In the good Lord you will trust--
For no more you'll go a ropin'--
Now you're ridin' with the dust.
There was once an old cowpoke named Meyers
For decades he'd rode an old hoss named Squires
He'd roped steers and fixed fences
Enjoyed beer and square dances
And was bowlegged as a pair of pliers
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
I met a lanky ol' feller th' other day,
An' I want ter tell ya'll about 'im if'n I may.
An' ol' slouch hat was pulled down on his pate,
An' he ambled along at a leisurely gait.
Slightly bowed legs says he'd spent years in th' saddle.
His steely-eyed glare would make a rattlesnake skedaddle!
His flowin' mustaches drooped down b'low his jaw.
In his cheeks wuz a huge wad uv terbaccy chaw!
He wuz leadin' a handsome cattle cuttin' cayuse.
Let me tell ya'll uv his skill with a stream of terbaccy juice.
Why, its been told 'round these parts fer years,
That frum fifty paces he kin pin back a jack rabbit's ears!
"Well, it's time to go ter work", rails the boss,
An' he climbs aboard his good and faithful hoss.
Ridin' all day long, th' fences to mend, and,
Gittin' ready to round up the dogies to brand!
Pete tol' me he'll never herd cows in a pick-up truck,
Nor eat grub frum no fancy eatery fer chuck.
He'll keep ridin' th' range on his devoted ol' horse,
Cowboyin' th' ol' ways with absolutely no remorse!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Her spurs are smaller,
An' so are her jeans.
Her attitudes are taller,
These Cowpoke Queens.
In a Cowboy's world,
She has learned to cope.
Whether gowned an' pearled,
Or a lip full of cope.
She will administer a shot,
Re-bed a stall.
For respect she has fought,
To doubt her takes gall.
She will pull a calf,
Braid pretty a tail.
You dare not to laugh,
When you out throw a bale.
She will load her truck,
Bags each a hundred pound.
She don't live on luck,
Skill's where she's ground.
She will rasp an' shod,
An' curry a pony.
She ain't no fraud,
She ain't no phony.
She will rope a steer,
On a bull, find a seat.
She knows nothin' of fear,
Crow she won't eat.
Letters she will end,
With X's followed by O's.
Fences she will mend,
With hair in ribbons an' bows.
Rather her horse to kiss,
Than some, spiffy Beau.
Nothin' there to miss,
She'll rightly tell ya so.
This world without a cowgirl?
I shant dare to dream.
Mixed perfect how swirl,
Chocolate in vanilla ice cream.
By Jim "Ish" Fellers
Copyright ©: February 26, 2004 ~ Thursday
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