Long Cowpokes Poems
Long Cowpokes Poems. Below are the most popular long Cowpokes by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cowpokes poems by poem length and keyword.
Two cowpokes stagger to the saloon
Fighting because thems fighting words
Over a red parrot blocking their path
Pacing arrogantly before the bar entrance
Flapping green wings and screeching
The two men eventually find their way in
Order up a bottle of whiskey
Drink it down quickly and ask for another
Both argue a matter dramatically clear
Articulate philosophical words from the whiskey and beer
One says the feathery creature outside is a bird
The other says its a parrot
B-I-R-D I says! says Jack, with a black patch over an eye
PARROT! Screams back Sam because Sam's the man
Judge Johnson interrupted the hombres
Disturbed from his corner and sleep
Lifting himself and his beard, heavy from drinking
Figuring to intervene
Jack screams at Sam, you're as dumb as a sack of dirt
That thing, that BIRD outside has wings not fur
It has a beak and eats seeds too you goof
Sam yells back, That species is parrot you idiot!
Judge Jonson jumps in, “It does not matter.”
Then he collapsed. Table crashed…. The end one…. so that's that
Jack and Sam step outside with drawn pistols
One of them says one more time, “BIRD!” “You *****!”
The other replies, “PARROT!” “You bastard!”
They both gunned down the bird. No surprise
And went back to drinking inside
Being they was best buddies and all
The parrot or bird ended up there at the top
On the hill in the cemetery in lots a pieces
May it rest in peace
With a tombstone above its head
The epitaph read;
Here lies the dead bird Polly. It was a parrot.
Had a terrible speech impediment
It screeched and met its doom
If it knew something about sobriety
If it could have quacked or chirped quietly
Stayed clear of bar flies and saloons
Who knows
But Bye bye birdie good-bye
Hank rested his boots on the railin' of the bunkhouse when day was done.
The pointy-toes of his scruffy boots framed the slowly settin' sun.
He leaned back in his rockin' chair, his hands embracin' the back of his nape,
Contemplatin' his tattered boots, (tho' they was still in purty good shape!)
He paid ten bucks fer 'em at a Sears Roebuck store twelve years er so ago.
Hank wanted Tony Romo boots but cowpokes don't make that kinda dough.
He was mighty proud of them boots, just 'bout the purtiest he'd ever seen!
He broke 'em in astraddle his faithful mule, Old Dan, on the trail to Abilene.
Back on the ranch he wore 'em fixin' fences and brandin' wily steers.
Hank rodeoed, throwed from buckin' hosses to his pards roarin' jeers!
The boots made good pillers when sleepin' 'neath the starry skies.
He'd shake 'em good to dispose of scorpions when at dawn he'd rise!
He fixed a pair of silver spurs to the boots, of them he was mighty pleased.
Hank spent hours polishin', buffin' and keepin' them babies greased!
When paid his meager pay he'd scrape manure off'n them to seek romance.
Hoppin' in his Ford 150, headin' fer Clyde's Saloon fer Saturday night's dance!
Time moved on inexorably and the boots became marred and battered.
Them old boots, Old Dan and cowboyin', to Hank was all that mattered.
He told his pards, "Boys, I ain't askin' much, but ya'll promise without fail,
That you'll bury me with them boots on when I come to the end of the trail".
Well I Declare – If It Aint The Bounty Man
Well I declare! When I was young and free
I slung 2 guns from about my waste and charged a fee
And shot anything in sight that moved
As long as I got paid of course
I would shoot calories if there was a dollar in it
And lose weight in the process upon my horse
Now I’m 84 and there aint no shootin anymore
But when I was young if you heard me say
“Well I declare” the word “war” was sure to follow in that statement
“Well I declare war on everyone in this here nation!”
And yell, “What in tar nation!” at the cowpokes in the saloon
Yes sir. They’d all run and hide like rabbits and baboons
Well I declare. I can’t remember anything anymore
Who am I kidding?
I was never young. I was born 84 and ready for a war
Created on 9/02/14 for- Well I Declare- Poetry contest
Two old cowpokes were reminiscing about the olden days,
Comparing thoughts about the way things are nowadays.
Spending the afternoon guzzling beer at the local saloon,
Chawing terbaccy aiming near misses at the brass spitoon!
"Well, they is even wimmin herdin' dogies in designer jeans.
Instead uv a horse, they is usin' fancy all-terrain machines!
Dudes wear alligator boots an' jeans with Calvin Klein labels.
Ya kin bet they won't curry a horse er muck th' stables!"
"Each mornin' th' boss has a tooth-grindin' decision to weigh;
Will it be th' helicopters er pick-ups fer th' roundup today?
It wuz no big decision whut we wuz to use, uv course,
We'd jes' saddle up an' ride th' trail on our faithful horse!"
"I've even heerd tell they now uses cell phones to keep in touch.
We wuz jes' outta luck if'n we got in a serious clutch.
Fer chuck we had beans, pertaters an' applesauce.
Nowadays, if'n they don't git fancy grub they gits mighty cross!"
"I reckon the things we is talkin' about ain't politically correct,
But I 'spose it's a good thing now an' agin to recollect,
On how us ol' fellers did th' job in good ol' yesteryear.
Ol' pard, let's mosey up to th' bar an' git another beer!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Barbed wire seems a 'thorny' subject on which to opine,
But there arose a need for such for people and beasts to confine!
Cowpokes cussed as they worked with it mutilating their hands.
Sheepherders fussed with cattlemen as it spread across their lands!
'Tis said back in 1874 Joseph Glidden, who 'bristled' with the idea,
Was awarded a patent for barbed wire to provide a cure-all panacea!
Split-rail fencing to outline boundaries was rapidly becoming passe',
To keep neighbors' straying goats, horses and other critters at bay!
Sheriffs found barbed wire handy to enforce a judge's firm dictates,
To confine hoss thieves, cattle rustlers and other such reprobates!
Inmates trying to scamper through the wire were apt to rip their pants,
Or worse, might end up in 'boot hill', caught trying to scale the fence!
Alas, sinister uses for barbed wire were found beyond bucolic meadowlands.
'Twas used to enslave thousands of innocent souls behind its menacing strands.
Thousands of men, women and children were consigned to death at Dachau,
Triblinka, Buchenwald, Ravensbruck and Auschwitz-Birkenau.
Among its many other diverse uses it has even marched off to wars,
To protect gallant American soldiers on far too many alien shores.
Mister Joseph Glidden was doing mankind a great favor, he thought.
Were he alive today he might say, "My gawd, what hath I wrought!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
It was high noon in Dodge City, Kansas on that hot and sultry day.
The sheriff was makin' his leisurely rounds on Old Dan, his faithful bay.
Rowdy cowpokes was wettin' their gullets tossin' whiskey down.
That mornin' they'd herded their steers to the railhead jes' east of town!
After bein' on the trail fer weeks they was ready to go on a drunken toot!
The sheriff had been through this before and was ready to settle any dispute!
He was lanky with a leathered face and wore a .44 slung low on each hip.
He was fast on the draw as shown by a dozen notches on each grip!
The cowboys convened at the Long Branch Saloon when an uproar was heard!
They was settlin' an issue with Slick, the resident gambler, that had occured!!
They was yellin' and cussin' tryin' to git their paws on that miserable cheat!
A brawl erupted and shots was fired - the fight spilled out into the street!
The sheriff arrived on the scene and expertly drew his blazin' guns!
After the smoke had settled, three fellers was sprawled upon their buns!
Their pals, havin' seen the odds, hopped on their hosses and took to hoof!
The gallant sheriff triumphed once agin and thus ended the daily spoof!
When the swirlin' dust had settled and the billowin' smoke had dissipated,
The tourists who saw this excitin' event cheered those who had participated!
I reckon you thought a bit of history was bein' played out in old Dodge City!
(If I "steered" you in that direction with this bull, what a doggone pity!)
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
The marshal saddled up as dawn broke over old Dodge City.
Upon town rabble and mean hombres he took no pity!
He donned his ten-gallon hat and strapped on his gun.
On his vest the marshals' badge gleamed in the rising sun!
Sheepskin chaps and fancy boots completed his dandy outfit.
He was a handsome dude - with the ladies he made quite a hit!
He mounted his horse Woody and took a ride about the town,
Ever on the lookout for desperados of notorious renown!
He took a break for a hearty breakfast of bacon and eggs,
Then continued on his rounds on the lookout for society's dregs.
Rowdy cowpokes galloped down Main Street on a toot.
Marshal Dan escorted them out of town in hot pursuit!
At high noon the peace of Dodge City was interrupted,
When a brawl at the Long Branch Saloon suddenly erupted!
Shooting began and Marshal Dan drew his peace-maker;
Two rowdy gun-slingers had a date with the undertaker!
With Marshal Dan, peace in Dodge City was guaranteed.
Danny dismounted his rocking horse Woody, his faithful steed.
It had been a tough day trying to be fair and impartial.
Now it was afternoon nap time for the little five-year old marshal!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
He drove up to the Triple "T" Ranch in his brand new Cadillac!
In his air-conditioned trailer wuz his Arabian steed an' the finest tack!
He'd dreamed uv bein' a real workin' cowboy since he wuz a tad,
So he fitted hisself out with the latest fashions there wuz to be had!
On his Tony Lama alligator boots he wore a pair uv silver-plated spurs.
Over his Calvin Klein jeans he wore deerskin chaps to stave off the burrs.
He wore a hundred dollar Stetson hat an' fancy vest uv top-grade suede,
An' slung low on his hip wuz a 44 in a leather holster uv the finest grade!
His git-tar wuz slung on his back - across his shoulder wuz a coiled rope.
The grizzled cowpokes chawin' their terbaccy saw in this feller little hope!
They wuz loungin' 'round the corral railin' not believin' whut they saw!
He strolled their way remindin' them uv rhinestone cowboys on Hee-Haw!
First thing he said wuz, "When do we dine and I prefer silk sheets on my bed!"
An ol' cowpoke in scruffy boots an' jeans asked, "Whut wuz 'at you said?"
(The thoughts crossin' them cowpuncher's minds had best be left unsaid!)
"Son, you'll sleep in the top bunk tonight an' beans an' bacon you'll be fed!"
The ranch foreman trotted over to see whut the hullabaloo wuz all about.
"You fellers let me handle this! Ya'all git back to work!" he said with a shout!
He sized the lad up sayin', "Son, I ain't impressed with all them fancy lables!
Begin yer career with this here manure fork!" an' he sent him to the stables!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Cookie, fire-up yer chuck wagon 'cause th' round-up is begun!
Us cowpokes is gonna cull th' herd frum dawn to th' settin' sun!
We is gonna supply you wid th' cookin's fer our chuck tonight;
Heaps uv good ol' Rocky Mountain oysters broiled fer our delight!
It'll be a hot an' dusty trail as we drive 'em frum th' chaparral,
An' herd them cantankerous kine fer brandin' in th' ol' corral!
It'll take a heap uv sweat an' a lot uv cussin' to git 'em movin', alright,
But it'll be worth it, 'cause we is feedin' on Rocky Mountain oysters tonight!
Usin' our cuttin' hosses we'll rope an' wrestle th' bulls to th' ground.
There we'll brand an' neuter 'em as they beller an' kick around!
We'll be bruised an' kicked fer little pay but that'll be alright,
'Cause we is gonna enjoy a feast uv Rocky Mountain oysters tonight!
Us cowboys works hard wid little pay rollin' 'round in th' manure,
Convertin' bulls into steers; that's more'n them city fellers could endure!
But that's okay, 'cause at round-up time we gits a special treat;
Tonight we is gonna enjoy a feast uv Rocky Mountain oysters to eat!
The Rot Gut Incident
Tumbleweeds blew into Town
Rolling two bearded cowpokes with them
Looking for some action and the sheriff
The Bloody Mary is the only saloon in Rot Gut
I reckon this is a proper place for the ornery
For a couple of horny no good clowns
They didn't come to sing a song or read the bible
Revenge was on their mind
Along with other assorted kinds of crime
They wanted ugly Molly for some nasty sport
And whiskey to wet their whistle
After a spell the drunken foe came down
From playing with their whore
Staggered on the stairs for lack of balance
Demanded me, Sheriff John, served up for their amusement
I killed their brother Bob last year in this here very bar
For starting troubles with the patrons
And stealing from the tip jar
I happened to be there with hat in hand
When they called me out
And made me take a stand
Then drew their guns to shoot me down
If they hadn't been such drunken boozers
Slower than molasses
I’d be telling a different kind of tale about these losers
And they wouldn't be planted six feet under ground
In the cemetery just outside of town
Used as fertilizer for the flowers
In Rot Gut that’s just how things go down
7/13/14 A Town Called “Rot Gut” contest