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.
They left their father's hearths, those stalwart pioneers,
To follow their dreams to the west seeking new frontiers.
They laded Conestoga wagons and without a backward glance,
With faith and fortitude, ventured into that vast expanse!
They gathered at Independence to form a wagon train,
Then, ferried the Mighty Mo to trek the featureless plain.
They followed the rutted Oregon Trail of those who'd gone before,
Never sensing the hazards and trials that were to be in store!
They were met with savages, mud, dust and howling gales,
Trudging westward, ever westward over endless hills and vales.
With visions of virgin homestead land they followed the sun.
They wouldn't be deterred from the migration they had begun!
"Prairie schooners" were crammed with goods and vital tools,
And were drawn by plodding oxen and cantankerous mules.
The caravan was under the command of a crusty wagon master.
Not to obey his ever bidding was sure to court disaster!
Alas, they left many desolate graves along the rutted track,
Victims of exhaustion, disease and fearful Indian attack.
They conquered interminable valleys and towering crests,
To fulfill their aspirations and complete their western quests!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
It seems that the truth is never quite square
it’s just a bit catywampus you see
All about the way that the cowboys lived
back in them old westerns on our TV
Them outlaws and sheriffs had old six guns
that could shoot forty-nine times on a load
Look real close and see them telephone poles
running alongside an asphalt paved road
Good guys always wore white and bad guys black
with their pearly teeth that sparkled like snow
It just took a minute to saddle up
and get anywhere they wanted to go
They could quick draw and fire their six shooters
And hit a nickel tossed into the air
But they just could never hit the outlaw
till he got to where he’d fall down the stairs
When being chased by a few Indians
they’d throw bullets out the end of their gun
If they did run out of ammunition
that’s when they’d just throw their pistol and run
A hero could get shot right in the chest
but never a drop of red would you see
The next day he’d be out riding his horse
while chasing the outlaws with his posse
At the end of it all the good guy wins
he would get the horse, the dog and the girl
He would live happily ever after
in his black and white TV western world
Well, perhaps right now you won't immediately understand what I'm saying,
but trust me dear friend, yours truly is dearly paying.
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=189205
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=185515
Check it out. I just made two separate web addresses rhyme perfectly.
The above is a perfect example of a poet reaching out desperately.
If you go to one web address, it will always bring you back here.
If you go to the other web address it will take you elsewhere.
If you're not sure which web address is the correct one to choose,
here's a hint;
The web address in your browser right now is the web address not to go to.
We stopped fer a bite at the Gooseberry Patch, I reckon it wuz a week er so ago.
I wuz slurpin' my usual bowl uv chili - Boys! That stuff'll set yer ears aglow!
My spouse wuz toyin with her salad anticipatin' a slab uv gooseberry pie,
When I noticed a feller settin' next to us a-wearin' a Stetson hat and bolo tie.
He wuz nursin' a Coors Beer - better known in these parts as Colorady Kool Aid.
He wuz wearin' jeans and cowboy boots - it 'peared that his shirt wuz tailor made.
I ain't the most observant feller but I could tell he'd spent years in the saddle.
As he ambled to our table, his bowlegs confirmed that he'd spent years astraddle!
He nodded and said, "Howdy!", and we chatted about the weather and this and that.
He wuz a little hard uv hearin' so we invited him to our table to continue our chat.
I reckoned he wuz about 65 er so and could be taken fer the Marlboro Man.
He wuz a little over six foot tall and frum his ranchin' days sported a handsome tan!
He talked about ownin' a ranch jes' east uv Colorady Springs and the cowpokes life.
Sayin' that cowboyin' ain't all that glamorous and the challenges that are so rife.
He'd done some rodeoin' up in Wyomin' ridin' wild broncs and a-ropin' steers,
And wuz a prominent rodeo jedge travelin' about the west in his younger years.
When I told him I dabbled in western poetry his eyes lit up like the mornin' sun!
He's a writer uv western lore and is retired, now that his cowboyin' days is done.
We were privileged indeed to meet him, perhaps the last uv that stalwart breed.
We made a new friend that day, a real Colorady cowboy by the name of Chuck Reid!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
The Quakers, being religiously persecuted, set sail from expatriated England;
they were the first settlers to reach the shore of New England: a free land!
Later the Puritans came and settled in other eastern, bustling colonies
seeking the same religious freedom, but their urge was stronger than dreams.
Many moved westward on foot, on horseback and on overloaded wagons...
exploring the American wilderness plundered by indigenous Indians;
they searched for grassland everywhere, to let their cattle roam and graze;
first they built wooden shacks on vast, lush prairies full of Queen Ann's Lace.
And out of this American westward expansion, came the fearless pioneers,
who sought gold mines...despite the wild cowboys causing troubles
with heavy drinking and desire for unscrupulous women, seeking money and pleasure,
who served them more whisky and lured them to a room with a demeaning measure.
Beyond the Rocky Mountains' and the Appalachians Mountains' skies,
these diligent pioneers obtained wealth with sweat and sacrifices...
changing and shaping the wild landscapes of arable land,
avoiding the drudgery of getting stuck in mud and sand.
Some modern folks, when they hear his name,
will roll their eyes and look ashamed,
thinking the cowboy is uncivilized,
with his hats, and guns, and round-up rides.
That somehow they are beyond the stuff,
to good for the wild, and the rough,
following some unwritten ‘elite’ law,
suppressing the urge to shout ‘yee-haw!’
But I think when it all is said and done,
cowboys are truly made of awesome…
Riding swift across the wide-open plains,
coat flapping behind like your horse’s mane,
maneuvering a large and panicked herd,
turning a stampede with iron nerves,
rough-hewn men cooking by the firelight,
coyote chorus yips through the night,
knowing that for all the wind and grit,
it sure beats sitting in an office.
A battered hat worth more than any pearl,
grabs the attention of the cowgirls,
boots that announce you in any room,
be you a mere hand, or fancy bride-groom.
Leather vests that dress up any shirt,
and somehow can even make fringe"work,
a bandana or a wild rag,
with a thousand uses, not a mere fad.
The tell-tale jangle comes from your spurs,
vast coat made out of buffalo fur.
Square-dance, line-dance, twirl a girl around,
to fiddle and steel guitar’s sound,
campfire songs to entertain the kids,
harmonicas to sing the blues with,
teaching the folks to throw a lasso,
then breaking out tricks with swirling rope.
Living life by a strong honor code,
one that good people would do well to know.
Wyatt Earp and his famous revenge ride,
Masterson cut Dodge City down to size,
Doc Holliday gambling with a death wish,
Billy the Kid, criminal, yet tragic,
Wild Bill holding those aces & eights,
and old Kit Carson, out blazing the way,
Buffalo Bill brought the people a dream,
and who can forget, the legend Bass Reeves?
A six-gun at ready, holster right side,
the lines of a Winchester, ever sublime.
Ranches that sprawl on mountain and prairie,
riding the trails where man can breath free,
rampaging rodeo, those guns are fun,
and damn can those barrel-racers run!
Living out of doors, by both skill and luck,
be it on a horse or a pick-up truck,
It’s clear that when all is said and done,
that cowboys are truly made of awesome.
Continued From:
6. Billy, the Kid Part 3
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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.
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8. Catherine McCarty Part 2
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otra vez,otra vez`
I do, say and say again
I am the rock star of the ring
I risk my life again and again for fame,
Some might think of my passion
As just being poetic and practical
Or simply culture or unethical
However, nevertheless not when my life is on the line
Stronger than a herd of Buffaloes
Faster than the
Speed of a race horse,
He is now broken free of his corral
A streak of fury, rushes me
Despite my fear of dying,
My main focus is to
Take the bull down by its horn
>>
I looked deep into his eyes,
I saw mingling of rage
I carefully swung the cape,
A taunt of furling red
Aiming for its horns
The crowd roars, while
The old ladies sob for the bull
The men cheers for
Salvatore the Matador
Nothing more stimulating than the ladies
with the beautiful smiles
The bull is going to die
Continued From:
5. Billy, the Kid Part 2
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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
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He is a young boy turned man before his time
He is someone with a dream
Who shows compassion for his work
He wakes before dawn and drinks his coffee without cream
Who along his journey always finds an adventure
He is a cowboy at heart
Riding in the saddle
Eating meals over open fire
Watching his cattle
He is trying to make a dime
Leaving everything behind
Meeting new faces
He is genuine and heartfelt
He is neither a lover or a fighter
He is one with the land
He gives everything to the land
His soul and his life
He eats, sleeps, rides, and will die on the land
He is consumed by the land
He is a cowboy and will always be classified as a cowboy
With his cowboy hat and wrangler jeans hidden by his brown duster
Seated upon on an iron horse
I look at him and say to myself "I wish i could be like him- free"