Long Cowboy western Poems
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5. Billy, the Kid Part 2
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=195851
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Billy was a lad of many aliases. William Henry McCarty is believed to be his birth name.
Alias Henry McCarty, Alias Henry Antrim,
Alias William Antrim Jr are all one and the same.
Kid Antrim was another alias that Billy became known to be.
His most common alias was simply The Kid.
Then one day suddenly he was William H Bonney
and finally, The Most Legendary Billy the Kid.
At the age of 12, legend says that he stabbed a man to death
because the man insulted his mother.
Legend also says that he killed a man for every year of his life.
It's been said that he was killed by a man once his friend.
Both were always seen hanging around with each other,
but it's also been said that The Kid was shot dead
because of his love for a woman that night.
Billy always fought to stay alive, when others would just accept their fate.
He did back then what he needed to do in order to survive.
It was kill or be killed if you dared to hesitate.
The Kid may have done some things that many can't justify.
Even so, his young life ended far too early to die.
Was he a victim of his time or was he truly the bad guy?
His entire truest to life story is about to unfold. Afterward you can decide.
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7. Catherine McCarty
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=195847
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
The desert breeze
Blowing across sun baked sands
Lifeless eternity going off in all directions
Tracks of wagons show through beneath the blue skies
Centuries of dust lifted into the air by swirling winds
Covering every trace that life was ever there
Heat as hot as any oven roasts even the strongest soul
Water holes that were there one day
Dried up overnight
Surrounded by the bones of horses left behind
And the graves of a few men
Buried by love ones left to suffer
How did they make it?
What made them push on through Hell on Earth?
In the distance there were mountains
Maybe a day away
Most likely a month
Snow covered peaks tempt the soul
Plush with the tallest trees draw them to the west
With rivers flowing like strings of jewels
Rolling down moss covered rocks
Toward the deep blue green sea
The smell of the pine
The clean scent of a waterfall
Drifts across the empty sands
Filling the few left with hope
People and horses struggle
Suffer through pain unimagined by others
Hours, days and weeks more
To stand at the foot of the Rockies
And get a look at the Promised Land
So they will suffer no more
Continued From:
4. Billy, the Kid
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=195852
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Yes he did kill but it was a justifiable sin.
If Billy hadn't killed them they would have killed him.
Some say he killed for vengeance but that was never his means to an end.
If he killed for anything it was for Justice for the murder of loved ones and friends.
Many don't speak of or even know this, but back then this is what all who knew him saw.
Legally sworn Deputy William H Bonney, sworn to uphold the law.
Billy was once a bonified lawman with full authority to issue warrants and make arrests.
He could kill in the line of duty without fear of prosecution, imprisonment or arrest.
The Law Was Sworn First To The Lawman To Ultimately Serve And Protect.
Billy was one of many lawmen known as The Regulators.
They were law that Lincoln County would not soon forget.
Many today also jump to the conclusion that Bonney was Billy's birth name.
He actually didn't begin to use the name Bonney until a few years before he was slain.
Where the name Bonney came from
is still the unanswered question that continues to remain.
This issue alone has been known to drive historians insane.
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6. Billy, the Kid Part 3
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=195848
Folks avoid that spooky place 'specially on dark and stormy nights!
Heard are eerie moans and shrieks and seen are mysterious lights!
A driftin' hoss thief by the unlikely name of One-Eyed Buck LaHore,
Was strung up on the 'hangin' tree' way back in '72, accordin' to local lore!
Now, ol' Jedge Stern, renowned as the 'hangin' jedge' in them there parts,
Owned the hoss that Buck stole, showin' no respect and lack of smarts!
Buck vanished in the night a-high-tailin' it fer the Mexican border,
Trailed by a posse to bring 'im back dead er alive upon the jedge's order!
He was found carousin' in an El Paso cantina havin' a grand ol' spree!
The sheriff said, "Son, come with me! You've got a date with the 'hangin' tree'!"
There was little Buck could do with a dozen forty-fours starin' 'im in the face!
"Boys, you got me! Don't make a scene! Let's git outta this here place!"
Hauled before the jedge, Buck admitted he'd been a hell-raiser all his life.
"But, jedge" he pled, "I didn't cause no harm like molestin' a feller's wife!"
Judge Stern saw things diff'runt 'specially since 'twas his hoss he stole!
"Son, you're to be strung up on a tree and may God save yer rotten soul!"
To this very day on moonlit nights Buck can be seen swingin' in the breeze,
Clawin' at the noose about his neck yellin', "Jedge, have mercy on me please!"
That stern ol' jedge has shown no mercy as is evident from all indications.
Alas, the ghost of that wily thief will haunt local folks for many generations!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
I reckon to us city dudes an' ordinary blokes it seems somewhat strange,
But a cowpoke an' his horse become pards when ridin' the lonely range!
Pausin' fer a roll-yer-own under a ponderosa after a hot ride on the grange,
He might alight from the saddle, lean agin his hoss an' hold this exchange:
"Dan, ol' pard, me an' you has spent years ridin' them bobbed war fences.
I sure do like yer company, ol' pal, 'cause you ain't got no pretenses!
You ain't like them wimmen folk I knows - they is jes' a common scold!
You don't give me any sass an' you kindly do what yer told!"
"I reckon as long as I kin tolerate Cooky's grub an' you git yer oats to eat,
We kin abide the cantankerous boss, rattlesnakes an' the prickly heat.
We've rode togither in mud, dust, sleet an' rain an' the blowin' snow,
An' ye've been a good an' faithful cuss, I jes wanted ye to know!"
"I 'preciate yer toleratin' my git-tar strummin durin' night cattle guard,
When me an' you soothe them dogies when it's a-thunderin' real hard!
I don't know 'bout you, ol' Dan, but I have lotsa time to ponder,
Jes' a-gazin' at the wonder of them mountain ranges over yonder!"
"I ain't never gonna git rich cowboyin', an' ain't that the truth!
But, ol' pard, that's all I ever hankered to do ever since my youth!
Well, if'n yer ready to hit the trail agin I'll saddle up ol' friend.
We has got a heap of work to do before this day comes to an end!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Continued From:
8. Catherine McCarty Part 2
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=195846
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Congratulations Billy
There was the usual exchange of foul words and light shoving around,
but then "Windy" rushed Billy and threw him down to the ground.
He sat on Billy's chest pinning his arms down to the floor.
He punched and smacked Billy's face. Each blow was more vicious than the one before.
Billy called upon all of his strength that he could possibly muster
and tried to work his 41 caliber out of his holster.
"That's enough Windy! You're killing the kid!" some concerned bar room patrons did roar.
A gunshot was heard. There wasn't a single spoken word
as Frank "Windy" Cahill rolled lifelessly to the floor.
Billy struggled to his feet. His bloodied face was so swollen he could barely see.
His smoking gun was still clenched in his shaking hand.
Congratulations Billy. Now look what you've done.
You've gone and killed your very first man.
Tales of this incident have been told far and wide from one extreme to the other,
such as the merciless killer kid who gunned down the helpless blacksmith
and then left the bar whistling without a care or bother,
but eye witnesses attest that the first version describes it best
and that the following quote seems most accurate and right.
"I never saw no killer. I saw a scared beat up boy run out of the cantina that night."
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10. BTK Coming Attractions Part 2
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=195844
Momma’s thankful for his looks,
And how he spends the day.
How he gets onto his horse,
And slowly rides away.
How he rounds the cattle up,
Back into the herd.
The simple he's and ha's,
Are his trusty words.
Momma he’s a cowboy,
Built for this life.
Momma he’s a cowboy,
Who’s energy is rife.
Momma he’s a cowboy,
Who holds his gun with pride,
Momma he’s a cowboy,
God made him to ride.
The way he fixes fence,
And the way he brands the cows.
All day basking in the sun,
Tilling the fields by plow.
The way he wears his cowboy hat,
Working without his gloves.
With busted knuckles all day long,
Still doin’ what he loves.
Momma he’s a cowboy,
Who works the day on by.
Momma he’s a cowboy,
A workin’ kinda guy.
Momma he’s a cowboy,
Tanning that rawhide.
Momma he’s a cowboy,
God made him to ride.
Well one day momma woke up,
At the crack of dawn.
She noticed something missing,
Both his cowboy boots were gone.
Then she quickly realized,
He wasn’t made for her.
But momma keeps on cryin’,
Holdin’ onto his spurs.
Momma he’s a cowboy,
Will your tears subside?
Momma he’s a cowboy,
Who roams beneath the sky.
Momma he’s a cowboy,
Until the day he dies.
Momma he’s a cowboy,
God made him to ride.
(7/5 Trochee rhyme form)
They’re coming. Listen closely.
Hear that distant thrum. . .
that steady thrum- thrum- thrumming
of a tom-tom drum.
There! Beyond the cornfield rows.
Tell me, don’t you see
the tops of feathers moving
forward stealthily?
They’re so close to the house now!
Soon they’ll reach the fence.
Where have all the cowboys gone?
War will soon commence!
Wait! I saw the bushes move.
Roger with his gun
spied a Cherokee and now
has him on the run.
But appearing on the scene,
tomahawks in hand,
those Cherokees have attacked
just to save their man.
Roger’s fallen to the ground.
Oh, my son is dead!
Indians now are swarming,
faces painted red.
Running toward the bushes, they
give a mighty whoop!
Cowboys must come out and fight
this most fearsome group.
A cowboy wins if he is
first one to take aim,
but, touched by a tomahawk,
he will lose the game.
When THE NATIVES ARE RESTLESS
it just isn’t cool,
and I’m counting off the days
till they’re back in school!
For The Catch Phrase Contest/ sponsored by Deborah Guzzi
(My catch phrase: The natives are restless)
In the change of the season, fears fills life in the bush
The weak parish ,the strong survive, summers hot hell sky
The dry spell ends and the cowboys check out the waterholes
A constant fight for seasonal torture in this unforgiving land
The stream runs through the woodland between the gum trees
O'er the rocks it trickles where width and depth rises and falls
A place where time and age has cut and scoured a path
A place where horse and riders have to be weary
From unseen dangers from nature's elements and wild animals
Riding in the outback with guns strapped upon the back
The cowboys search for the herd that grazes upon the land
knowing that the cattle will come to drink at the river's edge
Riding the range is no easy feat in Aussie land
A place where instinct is your survival.