Long Cowboy westernold Poems
Long Cowboy westernold Poems. Below are the most popular long Cowboy westernold by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cowboy westernold poems by poem length and keyword.
It's brandin' time once't agin in the corral at Triple "T".
The dogies have been cut from the herd after a frantic spree!
Cowboys sweated and cussed in suns reachin' a hun'ert degrees,
As they flushed 'em out of arroyos and groves of salt pine trees!
It will be a frenzied week or so on the Triple "T" spread.
Even seasoned hands anticipate it with consternation and dread!
A feller could bust some bones gittin' them wild dogies lassoed,
Wrestlin' them brutes to the ground a-tryin' to get 'em throwed!
In his reliable old cuttin' hoss the cowpoke has put his trust,
To help bring them wily critters down, a-sprawlin' in the dust!
After much bawlin' and kickin', the calf is at last subdued,
And is seared with the Triple "T" brand, forever to be tatooed!
The dusty old corral rings with raucous hollers and hoots,
As a cowboy gets kicked and goes sailin' head over boots!
His calloused hands and nose leave deep furrows in the earth.
He gets up shakin' his head and a-cussin' fer all he's worth!
Brandin' season's over, now he can return to fixin' fences,
Herdin' cattle and savorin' Colorady's mountains and expanses.
Ain't no gittin' 'round it, brandin' comes with a cowpokes career.
He'll be back in the corral a-ropin' and a-cussin' agin next year!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (©All Rights Reserved)
The brilliant sun 'wakens me and heralds another glorious dawn!
I rub the sleep from my eyes, stretch my bones and stifle a yawn!
The diamond-filled sky was my roof, the soft grass was my bed.
The dew was my blanket - my saddle, the pillow for my head!
My dog Duke races about and faithful Wild Lightnin' grazes nearby.
I'm suddenly transfixed watchin' a magnificent eagle transit the sky!
I've had my bacon, now with a cup o' joe, I savor His Creation!
Each day of my vagabond bourne is filled with so much elation!
I sit on a log and watch rainbow trout leap from the lake.
They put on a dazzlin' acrobatic show just for my sake!
White tail deer and antelope graze in the vale 'cross the way.
With such beauty and serenity, 'tis hard to keep emotions at bay!
I fill my tin cup again and watch the embers of my fire ease.
I ain't "saddled" with schedules - I have only myself to please!
So I reckon I'll tarry a spell and gaze on the mountains o'er yonder,
Relax, scratch old Duke's ears while we both muse and ponder.
Old Duke nuzzles my face and swishes his tail to and fro.
It's time to saddle up - I sense Wild Lightnin' is also anxious to go.
I anticipate bein' 'wakened by Old Sol early each morn,
So Wild Lightnin', Duke and I can continue our vagabond bourne!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Buster had traveled the rodeo circuit fer nigh on twenty years,
Bull ridin', bareback ridin' and ropin' them frisky steers!
He wuz a lanky feller wearin' chaps, jeans slung low on his hips,
With a Bull Durham roll-yer-own a-danglin' frum his lips.
He drove his battered pickup towin' an air conditioned van,
In which traveled in style his cuttin' hoss, old faithful Dan.
This wuz to be his final rodeo, his final cross-country trip,
Vyin' once agin fer a few bucks and a national championship.
In the bull ridin' event he straddled a brute called Dynamite.
That old cuss did all kinds uv gyrations to the crowd's delight!
But Buster hung on as Dynamite tried to unseat him frum his back.
He'd rode him before and knew he wouldn't cut him any slack!
In the bareback ridin' contest he drew a bronc called Killer.
He twisted ever' which way - that ride shore was a thriller!
Buster and old Dan wuz amazin' when it come to ropin' steers.
They broke the standin' record, a-bestin' all their peers!
Buster'd had more'n his share uv broken bones and sprawls,
And uv dust, mud and the mind numbin' overnight hauls.
He retired to a little spread in Colorady to enjoy his leisure.
Old Dan was retired as well to frolic in the pasture!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
A properly equipped cowpoke is bound to impress the boss.
He'll need a mount of course and a silver-studded saddle fer his hoss.
He'll need some chaps to protect his jeans frum them pesky burrs,
And his outfit wouldn't be complete without a fancy pair of spurs!
A wide-brimmed Stetson is needed fer shelter frum the searin' sun.
It's also dandy fer feedin' oats to his hoss when their work is done.
He'll need a pair of Tony Lama boots with high heels and pointy toes,
And a bandana to keep the dust and bugs from a-pluggin' up his nose!
When on night patrol and the restless herd is spooked by lightnin' bright,
A harmonica is a handy gadget to soothe the herd frum takin' flight.
A coiled riata he'll need to corral them stampedin' wild cows.
He'll wear a pair of 44s to shoot rattlesnakes (if'n the boss allows)!
He'll need a couple of blankets fer sleepin' 'neath the canopy of stars,
And bags of Bull Durham fer roll-yer-owns and maybe a few cigars.
He'll need a heap of patience when gallopin' through the chaparral,
Roundin' up them frenzied dogies fer brandin' in the old corral!
He'll be a-chasin' cattle and a-fixin' fences thro' rain, sleet and snow.
He wonders sometimes why he cowboys - it sure ain't fer the dough!
He'll need lots of fortitude to abide "Cooky's" taters, bacon and beans,
But he'll keep at it 'til he's old and gray, 'cause cowboyin' is in his genes!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Placed No. 10 in Giddy up! Little Dogies! Contest May 2010
"ALL RISE! THIS HONORABLE COURT IS NOW OPEN AND IN SESSION!"
Th' court room wuz his domain, bailiffin' wuz his profession!
No one dared hornswoggle him in that hallowed room.
Should any nonsense occur, he'd surely lower th' boom!
Usin' th' butts uv his forty-fours, he'd gavel th' court to order.
An' he pounded agin an' agin to quell any cheeky disorder!
The wisened old judge tolerated th' bailiff with some bemusement.
His antics provided folks with local lore an' amusement!
He'd served th' venerable judge fer years on th' western frontier.
His steely-eyed glare filled grovelin' scalawags with fear!
Hoss thieves, cattle rustlers an' drunks he'd seen galore,
An' desperadoes, train an' bank robbers by th' score!
Warn't no guns er bowie knives 'lowed thro' th' front door,
An ya better aim fer th' spittoon an' not mess up his floor!
B'fore enterin' his sacred realm ya'd better wipe off yer boots.
He didn't take no guff frum any of them hell-raisin' galoots!
Adjournment wuz gaveled fer th' old feller an' is talked uv today.
He met th' Big Judge In The Sky, on th' cold floor where he lay.
Seems he vigorously gaveled his rods, a stray slug hit his head!
Th' judge couldn't cope with that an' he too keeled over dead!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)