Long Cowboy western Poems
Long Cowboy western Poems. Below are the most popular long Cowboy western by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cowboy western poems by poem length and keyword.
In a dusty fleabit mining town
The kind you’d see on screen
The stranger rode down Main Street
Looking evil, looking mean
He packed a pair of six guns
And a sawn off in his vest
Those folks was mighty nervous
But that’s something you’d a guessed
The drug store shut the shutters
And the hotel did the same
The sky grew dark and cloudy, and
It looked like it might rain
The stranger in his poncho
He stayed sitting on his horse
He’d rode near fifty miles
He was saddle sore, of course
It took some time, but he got down
Then standing in the street
He opened up a well worn pouch
And rolled a cigareet
He struck a match across his chin
And in it’s dying flame
Some folks recognised him
Though, they didn’t know his name
Moving slowly down the boardwalk
Headin’ straight towards the bar
The light’ning flashed and all could see
The stranger wore a star
He pushed in through the bar room door
And silence filled the air
Those men was mean and moody
He could feel their hateful stare
Sidling slowly to a barstool, well
The mood, it sorta eased
For at last they had a starman
And they seemed like they was pleased
The starman drank his coffee
Ate some victuals and some bread
It had been a long hard day,and
He was ready for his bed
But then he saw the gunman
From the corner of his eye
He knew the man was faster
And he knew that he could die
Dressed in black all over
Staring deep into the room
The gunman, like a shadow
Almost hidden in the gloom
Though running short of time
The lawman hatched a cunning plan
He only had one chance to get
The better of this man
Moving quickly from his barstool
Heading straight toward the door
The sheriff hit the gunman
And, the gunman hit the floor
A well-appointed cowpoke, of whom there are still a few,
Wanted to be properly clad for his first job interview.
So, to impress his potential and somewhat cynical boss,
He has a silver-studded saddle throwed across his hoss!
He's wearin' a ten-gallon hat, a Stetson if you please,
And a bandana 'round his neck to catch the dusty breeze.
The dude has a roll-yer-own a-danglin' from his lips,
And a shiny pair of forty-fours a-hangin' from his hips!
He's wearin' a hand-tooled leather belt of the finest grade,
And a "cowboy" shirt and a vest cut from top-grade suede!
A woolly pair of chaps covers his bow-legged knees,
And protects his Calvin Kleins that fit so tight they squeeze!
His gleamin' pair of Tony Lama boots with pointy toes,
Completes what he considers proper cowboyin' clothes.
The silver spurs on his boots glint in the noonday sun;
Ah, he's the ideal picture of a range-ridin' son-of-a-gun!
The boss, arms folded, feet spread, sportin' a knowin' grin,
Didn't seem to be impressed, much to the greenhorn's chagrin.
Sizin' him up from head to toe, he said, "You look fit and able",
Handed him a fork and shovel and sent him to the stable!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved
The world was a cold place
in the time of hats.
The past, and would be present place
a cold place.
Fedoras, Stetsons, and Stovepipe hats
Scottish Tam o’shanters, Raccoon caps
and feathered headdresses,
lay upon the pate of man.
The world was a cold place,
small critters fled from the trappers lures.
Beaver and rabbit skins made up
Chimney Pots hats for
frontiersmen and Presidents.
The West was far and wide,
the Indians, the buffalo,
and the wild mustangs
roamed the range, free.
The world was a cold place
and folks needed to cover their scalps
IF they want to keep them.
Hats are returning now
for the world is again a cold place
more than the little critters should run in fear.
Glitterin' gold wuz struck along Alder's Gulch in eighteen sixty-three!
Potential prospectors came frum as fer away as Knoxville, Tenn-o-see!
Hordes uv soiled doves and gamblers migrated to the Gulch as well,
Along with platoons uv ruffians and barkeeps, their potent booze to sell!
Fellers labored hard all week pickin' and a-shovelin' at their claim.
But Sundays wuz set aside to raise 'oly 'ell, much uv it to their shame!
Baptist preachers thumped their Bibles tryin' to preach above the din.
There warn't no churches so they preached in saloons aginst the wages uv sin!
Hurdy-gurdy gals roamed about 'neath the steely-eyed gaze uv their 'madam'.
Guns and bowie knives wuz rife and wuz brandished by the dudes that had 'em!
Brawls erupted resultin' in blackened eyes and numerous bloodied noses,
Leavin' heaps uv rowdies sprawled on sawdust floors in grotesque poses!
Pie-aner players added to the din beltin' out their bawdy songs!
Preachers gave up and said to 'ell with it and joined the festive throngs!
Poker games wuz proceedin' in ever' saloon, usually endin' in a ruckus,
Since there seemed to be an excess uv aces held by some cheatin' cuss!
Fallin' down drunks wuz nuisances that bouncers simply booted out the door,
But they somehow meandered to another pub to imbibe a little more!
On Sundays they had their spree - on Mondays though sick and broke,
They panned fer 'dust fer another Sabbath frolic - the aim uv ever' bloke!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Continued From:
6. Billy, the Kid Part 3
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=195848
****************************************************************************
On April 10th, 1846 on the ship Devonshire from Liverpool,
one Catherine McCarty, age 17 arrived in New York during times most cruel.
She made this long journey to escape the famine occurring in her native Ireland.
We don't know if she arrived alone or with family
or whether she was married or accompanied with a boyfriend.
The passenger arrival manifest has her listed a servant as the occupation she did.
Based only on her age and her name, many historians have speculated and proclaimed
that she's the mother of BILLY the Kid.
Billy's mother died on September 16th in the year of 1874.
She was 45 years old according to her obituary.
Combine the above information and we know one thing for sure.
Immigrant Catherine shared the same age and name as did the true mother of Billy.
It seems that due to health reasons, Catherine McCarty's life had gone onto
searching for dryer climate out west as a single mother of two.
One of her sons would live a full life and then fade into obscurity.
Her other son would die very young and become one of the greatest legends to ever be.
****************************************************************************
To Continue Go To:
8. Catherine McCarty Part 2
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=195846
In this silent evening
I have stopped worring,
I'm convinced to forget
the worries of the present...
I dream of the unknown tomorrow by
looking up at the serene sky;
my solitude gets deeper
as darkness draws nearer...
If sadness gets unbearable,
I'll try to find comfort
from anyone who might
lift up my spirit;
where else will I find an honest smile
if not in someone who cares a lot?
In this stange moment
I remain to dream of that
mysterious land which appears
in the clear distance;
down there there must be
something to make
a few changes
into my destiny...
I'm not afraid of the unknown tomorrow,
whatever expects me
I'll accept it with courage;
I dream of the unknow tomorrow
as the red sun burns on the range...
She has a cowgirl hat and a set of spurs,
And sometimes she's as gentle as a cat that purrs,
Imagine that....she's my way with words,
And her and I together'd tame a buffalo herd,
Yea! she's the cats meow...can make a racehorse nicker,
Make a wolf pack howl...when our hearts are gettin' quicker,
When we go downtown to dance and drink some liquor,
We get unwound..meet friends...the mood gets thicker,
Imagine that and also this,
I can't resist her country cowgirl kiss,
And that is that and this is this,
She can't resist this country cowboys kiss,
Yea! she's the cats meow....can make a racehorse nicker,
Make a wolf pack howl...when our hearts are gettin' quicker,
When we go downtown to dance and drink some liquor,
We enjoy the sounds of those drums and guitar pickers.
And that is that...along with this,
I can't resist her country cowgirl kiss,
Imagine that...she's my way with words..
Yea! her and I together'd tame a buffalo herd,
Yea! her and I together'd tame a buffalo herd,
My baby has a cowgirl hat......Imagine that!!
Once upon along ago
Pioneers sailed over ocean flows
To start anew in a different world
Where centuries later new flags unfurled
The above appears reasonable to me
But it's the happenings to the Apache and Cree
The Westward Movement was inevitable
Murderous chaos as the indigenous fell
It's so easy to sit now and look back at the past
Where our ancestors prospered, whilst theirs didn't last
Do we look on in pride at our family tree
Never caring to the think about the Cree, Apache
Borders will fall as others will be encroached
Lands will be taken or politically poached
The Westward Movement are white mans words
But for gunfire and greed, they may never have been heard
The houses were gone, no roads made of stone,
just the familiar dry, adobe scene,
Linton shook his head,”I gotta get home,
don’t care if it’s barley past three!”
He reached his cottage, his mind pondering,
found his wife inside putting soup on,
couldn’t help but smile at her swollen belly
pressing forwards against her white apron.
She said,”Dear, what ever brings you home now?
The other men are still out on the range.”
Linton shook his head, and let out a sight,
said,”My love, it’s been a very strange day.”
He told her of stone roads, and massive houses,
of the strange boy, the police, and the whores,
when he mentioned them, she shielding her stomach,
said,”We don’t take about those days any more!”
He said,”Just as well, cause the more I think,
the more I’m worried I might have gone mad.”
She smiled,”I think you’ve had too much sun,
go lie down if you’re feeling that bad.”
Linton did so, then said, as he relaxed,
“The day didn’t leave me completely insane.
My love what do you think, if we have a girl,
of choosing ‘Norma’ to use as her name?”
Old CAP'N CRUNCH was hanging out one day
With the bunch at SPECIAL K Ranch
When FROOT LOOPS from the city rode by
With their pay CHEX in their pants
Greeted them each with warm CHEERIOS
Asked them if they'd ever SHREDDED WHEAT
They were full of PEP and said no not yet
His shock was TOTAL and COMPLETE
So he thought he'd show these SUGAR PUFFS
Just how cow pokes get their KIX
He mounted his faithful horse APPLE JACKS
And performed a bunch of neat TRIX
He turned on the JETS and performed like a vet
Wearing LUCKY CHARMS on his belt
Landed on his MUFFET when his horse reared up
Crushed his NUTS 'N HONEY they swell't
©Jack Ellison 2012