Long Buckaroo Poems
Long Buckaroo Poems. Below are the most popular long Buckaroo by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Buckaroo poems by poem length and keyword.
Happy Trails
Upon the floor I lay,
Glued to the black-and-white TV set
In my western-patterned flannel PJs,
Toting a cap gun holstered at the waist
And a whistle tethered
To my cowboy hat chinstrap.
With my hands cradling my face,
And my arms bent at the elbows
To support the weight,
And my restless legs waving
With my bare feet fluttering,
I watched the Lone Ranger
And his sidekick, Tonto
Round up outlaws
To bring to justice
In the old Wild West.
He wore a white hat,
And covered his face with a mask,
And loaded silver bullets
Into his Peacemaker’s chambers,
Unafraid of dying
In my childhood mind.
And I cheered for the Lone Ranger,
When upon his horse, he galloped
Down the road at the end of the show,
Shouting, “Hi-Yo, Silver! Away!”
But Roy Rogers was my hero,
And Dale Evans was the girl I adored.
Because he sat tall in the saddle
And cast a long shadow
When he rode on Trigger
At the Double R Bar Ranch.
His throat was bone-dry,
But his eyes glittered
When he sang campfire songs
Under the California sky.
And she sat tall in the saddle
When she rode on Buttermilk
And trotted right up
To the carrot in my heart,
And she said, “Buckle up, buckaroo,
If you want to be my hero.
Dust yourself off now,
And get back in there.”
She was the girl I adored.
And I would watch
Roy Rogers and Dale Evans
Ride into the sunset
At the end of the show.
They would wave their hats
While singing “Happy Trails”
And say, “See you tomorrow.”
He was my hero,
And she was the girl I adored.
And I knew there would be a tomorrow,
And I would never grow old,
Watching the Roy Rogers
And Dale Evans show.
***
Note:
The "Roy Rogers Show" was an American family western TV series that ran from 1951 to 1957 on NBC.
A cat sat on a buckaroo hat
A hat that was not a hat
but a Flying Fox bat,
A bat like a hat
that was not a bat
but a Spacecraft
from the planet Cobalt…
Can you just picture that?
This story is as simple as that
of Merlin, the magic cat
from way yonder planet cobalt
in a Spacecraft like a bat –
Slick, smooth and flat
with a cockpit and all that
and a cat from the planet cobalt
in an outer space, as far as that…
There’s more to it than that!
While chasing an alien Rogue Rat
in and around the galaxy and all that,
Cat Cobalt in the outer space got lost
in the rat’s extraterrestrial habitat…
Now, what’s up with that?
Here and there, with this and that
From beyond yonder just like that
Poor Cat Cobalt on our Earth fell flat,
No ceremony and no welcoming mat…
Oh, who would ever want that?
To get back home this resilient cat
with one purpose alone and that’s that
He rebuilds the broken Spacecraft
with the help of ‘Meow’, a domestic cat
and goes back home to Planet Cobalt
Now no one knows where it’s at…
This ends the tale of the Cobalt cat!
~Contest: Merlin The Magic Cat
~Sponsor: Mystic Rose Rose
An old trail hand came upon a man,
His wagon was stuck in the mud.
He asked the man if he needed a hand,
He said thanks, my name's Delmar Crudd.
Well hello Crudd, I'm Benjamin Fudd,
I'm just your common Buckaroo.
I'll help you Crudd get out of the mud,
But you'll have to feed me when I do.
That sounds like a plan you old trail hand,
I'll take all the help I can get.
Once out of the mud I'll feed you Fudd,
We'll eat as soon as the table is set.
With a push and shove and help from above,
Crudds wagon was finally free.
Once the table was set, Fudd finally ett;
And rode off to the West towards the sea.
Then on the next day and well on his way,
Fudd came across a man with three wives.
Shared his water with wives, sons, and daughter,
The man said thanks, you just saved our lives.
We'd like to feed you and if you need to,
You can dally with one of my wives.
Said I'm a Mormon, named Edgar Norman,
I live by making and sharpening knives.
After he fed, Eds wife joined him in bed,
Oh what a night for Benjamin Fudd!
You can make a bet, he'll never forget,
Fudd was fed better by Ed than by Crudd.
The Whittlers
The stately county courthouse was their usual meeting place,
a columned Greek Revival, and a lovely public space.
They sat upon their benches under lofty pecan trees,
wood shavings on their ankles and some cedar twixt their knees.
Those old boys were called the whittlers, but that was a disguise.
They came to talk of memories and hang out with the guys.
Born long before the TV went and addled peoples wits,
they could tell some stories that would cause your sides to split.
They'd kid me 'bout the pile of books that I had just checked out.
Said I was sure to ruin my eyes and fry my brain no doubt.
But I guess they got a kick out of their young devoted fan,
'cause they'd trot out all their stories and tell them all again.
There were stories of big ranches and oil boom shanty towns,
of work on rigs as roughnecks and touring rodeo clowns,
and how they used to ride the rails when no work could be found.
But the way they spun those stories had me rolling on the ground.
And in between a whittle and another spit and chew,
they showed me how to whet a knife and tie a buckaroo.
Though they had so many stories and lessons to impart,
I'd have to hear the cowboy code before I could depart.
"You give a man a good hard shake and look him in the eye.
If you mess up, tell it straight, never cover with a lie.
Always give a full day's work and live out each day with heart.
A man's no good without his word, so finish what you start.
Protect the weak and help them, and respect your elders, too.
Never leave a friend behind, nothing else will ever do.
And when your days on Earth are done, according to God's plan,
you can face up to the reaper, and meet him like a man.”
If that was all I learned from them, that lesson was enough.
For a kid without some guidance, this life can be quite tough.
Other folks made fun of them, and thought them no account.
For me they were the heroes I would trade for no amount.
The stately county courthouse still stands upon those grounds,
although now those shaded benches are nowhere to be found.
And where once the mighty whittlers carved and held their court,
the squirrels now gather up pecans and chase around for sport.
© December 28, 2013
Memories of a bookworm. Considerable poetic license taken.
SAGEBRUSH RANCH
holding his small hand,
jumping up and down,
in the silver box —
a playground with mirrors
and three buttons.
people that look like us
are all around.
when the box is full
they disappear.
the ding-ding sounds
and doors part ways,
as we exit into the gallery,
where only grandma takes note
of the paintings that blur
as we hurry to the Sagebrush Ranch.
the stagecoach rocks,
horses hooves sound a steady beat,
as we watch the scenery (on a little screen)
the buckaroo protects his grandma,
with fingers cocked, ready for an impending shootout.
the checkerboard sings
as we press buttons —
the crooning of a cowboy in our ears.
we “sit a while” in the wicker rockers.
there’s a room in the ranch
with a rope-style bed, and
a treasure chest of play clothes.
the four-year old grins, as he digs,
putting on boots way too big
and a black and white faux-cowhide vest.
i help this towhead into the saddle
of a life size horse, teaching him
the little that grandma knows —
“giddyup” as he stirs the rein
and “whoa” as he leans back on his critter.
the boots oft slip, and he orders
“the princess” to pull them on again.
assisted with a dismount,
he runs to the chuck wagon to beg
a carrot from the nearby cook,
pats down the horse and urges him to eat
after the long and dusty desert ride.
the excitement as he gallops to each station,
enterprising in each task, never letting “the princess”
relax. he climbs the ladder into the loft,
and makes her ascend. they watch cowboy t.v.
at the end, they ride the stellar box, up and down
then to the cowboy store, where his cherub cheeks
blush and his eyes twinkle, with a dollar in his hand.
he pays for a lollipop in the shape of a cowboy boot.
this cowpoke falls asleep,
as the modern carriage rocks him
and grandma smiles as she wields the reins.
2/27/2019
On the dry Prairie and then Mississippi Valley, yahoo buckaroo;
I come out eating choking dust daily, yahoo;
While on the long open range;
This cattle drive I parade;
Moo-be then dar doggies;
Through open Plains and Gulfs in Valley range;
Yippee ki-yay, Yahoo buckaroo doggies;
Got a rope and a horse, hey flowing mange!
Also got a sixth barrel caliber Bang Bang git them bandits;
I ain't going to be in shooting unless it's in self-defense;
Because this keeps me saved me from them Outlaws those dirty varmints;
That corn whiskey on my breath;
I'm a self-proclaimed cowboy;
I'm not afraid of this life or death;
And one day I'm going to be a big-time Lariat Oh, boy;
Screaming yippee ki-yay Yahoo buckaroo wooh!
From the range to the rodeo this is where I'm going to go;
I am a cowboy
1/19/21
Cowboy Poetry Poetry Contest
Rhyme poetry form only.
Sponsored by: Line Gauthier
He grew one of them bushy mustaches
like Sam Elliot wears under his nose
Bought him some fancy duds from Cabela's
sure looked spiffy in his Buckaroo clothes
Alligator skin boots and silver spurs
thought he looked like all them real cowboys did
Added chaps and ten gallon Stetson hat
and called himself the Kansas City Kid
He'd got him a Palomino horse that
he didn't have a darn clue how to ride
And a beat up old red Ford pickup truck
with a blue eyed dog to be by his side
He packed up and headed to Montana
from his home in the woods of Missouri
Said he was fixin’ to be a cowboy
and the best anyone would ever see
He rattled that old truck to Montana
it conked out right there in front of the ranch
He said he wanted to learn to cowboy
if the boss seen fit to give him a chance
Well the boss brought him out to the bunkhouse
told all us cowboys that his name was Tim
Said he wants to be a cowboy you see
so show him the ropes and take care of him
I asked him what he knew about branding
could he stick an iron to a cow's rump
He said he would probably be alright
if I'd be kind enough to show him once
Well can you at least ride that horse of yours
to cut out a heifer or throw your rope
That boy looked at me straight into my eyes
gave me a slight grin then shook his head "nope"
Think you might be able to break a bronc
that has spent its whole life out running wild
“Well I was in a real mean sheep bustin’
back in Missouri when I was a child”
What about fixin’ up supper vittles
I might be able to use me a cook
"Pretty sure I can do a decent meal
as long as I have some kinda cookbook"
Well I got me these here bulls need cutting
and a short stretch of fence that you could mend
Can't be that hard to cut a bull he says
if you would just show me how to begin
That was twenty years ago boss hired Tim
cause there was something in him he could see
Tim spent all that time learning to cowboy
and became the best there would ever be
A cat sat on a buckaroo hat
A hat that was not a hat
but a Flying Fox bat,
A bat like a hat
that was not a bat
but a Spacecraft
from the planet Cobalt…
Can you just picture that?
This story is as simple as that,
A Spacecraft like a bat
Slick, smooth and flat
with a cockpit and all that
and a cat from the planet cobalt
in an outer space, as far as that…
There’s more to it than that.
While chasing an alien Rogue Rat
in and around the galaxy and all that,
Cat Cobalt in the outer space got lost
in the rat’s extraterrestrial habitat…
Now, what’s up with that?
Here and there, with this and that
From beyond yonder just like that
Poor Cat Cobalt on our Earth fell flat,
No ceremony and no welcoming mat…
Oh, who would ever want that?
To get back home this resilient cat
with one purpose alone and that’s that
He rebuilds the broken Spacecraft
with the help of one domestic cat
and goes back home to Planet Cobalt
Now no one knows where it’s at…
This ends the tale of the Cobalt cat!
~08/01/18
~"Cat Poems" contest by Tania Kitchin
I've got this awesome idea
To write the greatest of poems
It'll start out nice and easy
Then with a BANG make some noise
It will be widely read
In every coffeehouse in town
Soon to catch on like a wildfire
Then #1 with a bullet nation bound
Writing so amazing
It'll astound everyone
Why it might even get hired killers
To turn in their guns
It'll make the strong want to weep
And the weak to stand strong
There will be waves of applause
This poem will have it all going on
They'll beg me to let them use it
In a Presidential speech
Afterwards they'll fly it straight to the conflict
Where it'll bring peace to the Middle East
Finally coming to rest at the Smithsonian
Taking up it's rightful place
They may have to move that old Shuttle
To give my poem plenty of space
But before any of this can happen
Before it rings true, buckaroo
I suppose I should think up something special
And jot down a line, maybe two...
Cowboyin' seems so romantical as seen in th' pitcher shows.
Ain't a lick uv truth in that as ever' workin' cowpoke knows.
Movie stars is paid big bucks with a fancy saddle fer thar horse,
An' always ride off into th' sunset with a purty gal, uv course!
Real cowpokes don't wear designer jeans er fancy rhinestone suits.
You can tell a real buckaroo by th' looks uv his scruffy boots!
He's rousted out uv his bunk at th' break uv day;
(Seems it wuz jes' an hour er so ago, since he'd hit th' hay!)
He ain't got no time to strum a git'tar an' croon to a purty gal.
You'll usually find him ropin' an' a-sweatin' in a hot corral.
More'n likely them big stars lunch on caviar at th' country club,
While a cowpuncher eats beans an' bacon fer his daily grub!
In them western movies, handsome dudes ride tall in th' saddle.
A cowpoke has bowlegs frum years ridin' his cayuse astraddle.
Stunt men are handy to take th' falls fer fragile movie stars,
But a cowboy has to rough it an' can prove it by his scars!
When day is done th' movie cowboy goes home to his plush chalet.
A workin' cowboy goes to his humble bunkhouse at th' end uv day.
Cowpokes wonder why they cowboy - it shore ain't fer th' pay,
But they'll keep on a-ropin' and a-ridin' til they're old an' gray!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)