Long Dern Poems
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When strollin' by the ol' saloon,
on chairs they kept outside,
I spied a dried up, lonsome sort
folks walked by, but eyed.
He had a faithful doggie
with head laid on his knee.
The ol' man stroked him softly,
kind, devotedly.
I stopped an' took a seat nearby,
then shared a cut of chaw.
I thought his story might be good-
he reminded me of Pa.
I asked just where he hailed from,
he didn't bat an' eye-
looked off in space, took one deep breath,
prob'ly thinkin' up a lie.
Come from ever'where, Son,
been places you ain't dreamed.
I settled back to listen.
He relaxed a bit it seemed.
An Indian fighter, I once was,
rode with the Cavalry.
Met ol' Yeller Hair himself
in eighteen, sixty-three.
Was wagon master for some folks
seekin' land to claim,
leavin' homes an' fam'lies east-
thought the West they'd tame.
Had a wife I sure 'nough loved,
two daughters an' a son,
the cholera took 'em all one year,
my driftin' then begun.
Did some drovin' 'hind the herds,
eatin' miles a dust,
catchin' strays, an' keepin' watch
for rustlers we could bust.
Owned a ranch in Texas
but never got no rain,
the drought, it lasted six years,
no reason to remain.
I killed a man in Denver,
the bugger had it comin',
he kicked my dog, stole my horse,
broke the guitar I was strummin'.
Cut trees out in Wyomin',
lumber-jacked a bit.
Camp bully always threatnin',
my throat he'd like to slit.
I rode the rails a piece back then,
an' dern near froze my tail,
sittin' in them boxcars
thru' rain, an' wind, an' hail.
Now, I'm nigh on eighty,
an' comin' to my end.
I thank ya Son for listenin' ,
ya seem 'most like a friend.
I reckon that I've lived some,
an' ain't sure now I'm done,
I just take one day at a time
'cause life ain't easy, Son.
Now, ol’ Twister Tom he was quite a cowboy find—
A real rock hard cowpoke, though the question begged—
Some say that he was a legend in his own mind,
He’d a been six foot six if he weren’t so bow-legged!
But standin’ five foot two he was a dryin’ breed,
So he took up wordin’ and became a poet!
At eighty-two years all the big world he had seed,
So he was a master bard before he knowed it!
So Tom the bronc twister he done went on a tour
And he read his poems at cowboy gatherin’s—
They liked his gravel voice and his odd looks for sure
And they loved all his colorful palatherin’s!
But there got to be so many versifiers,
That it started to seem lots of folks didn’t care—
So they all turned into cowboy verse deniers—
It was so dern crowded that nobody went there!
Tom joined the ranks of Barker, Kiskaddon and Clark,
Chapman, Morant, Fletcher and his great Knibbs—
“It shore beats singin’ ta all them cows in the dark,
And I don’t like wearin’ those overalls with bibs!”
And rarely in recitin’ did Tom make a flub,
But there was a lot he lacked in propriety—
They said he was so dern good he should join a club,
Like the famed Dead Cowboy Poet’s Society!
But with Twister Tom that just didn’t set too right—
Said, “I don’t want ta be in no society,
What takes in any ol’ buzzard just on his sight
And would accept as a member that likes of me!”
But they swore that he’d be a perfect candidate,
Yet he then said, “It seems there’s somethin’ you ferget—
Before I is one of you cowboy poet’s, mate—
They’s just one thang you overlooked – I ain’t dead yet!”
So ol’ Twister Tom he kept makin’ him a name,
He read his verse smooth and with no anxiety—
And when he was dead wound up in the hall of fame
And in the Dead Cowboy Poet’s Society!
Ol’ Prickly was dead, shot down with hot lead, and all of his friends did grieve—
But so it now seems, they fell for his schemes – he owned money before he did leave.
“In that dern cuss, I put all my trust,” said Rod, “but he up and dies just like that—
He borrowed my horse and my saddle, of course, and now he’s still wearin’ my hat!”
“He promised to marry,” cried sweet little Sherry, “he told me I was the only one.
But at the wake hall as I started to bawl, in walks three wives, ten daughters and a
son!”
Now I ain’t got no truck in yer bad luck,” said a tall man to all of Pete’s ex’s—
“But that dern dead ol’ Pete tied me up real neat by sellin’ me half of Texas!”
“Oh, please,” the pastor begged on his knees, “can we not speak ill of the dead?
Surely there was good in this misunderstood cowboy whose life has now fled?!”
But an hour was fleet as they spoke of ol’ Pete, who lived by the lie and the gun—
Hearin’ more tales of Pete’s travails, the preach screams, “Let’s burn this dirty ol’
son!”
Then just in a bit, as their torches were lit, sweet little Sherry faints in a swoon—
For sittin’ in the casket like fruit in a basket, Pete says, its jest a flesh wound!”
Then he done said, “All reports of me bein’ dead, has done been exaggerated—
I seen Saint Pete before, but he warn’t no cure and ol’ death is over-rated!”
They chased Pete alone from the funeral home and he’s never been seen again,
But no one did care, just so he wasn’t there – he claimed no kith, kin or friend.
So it goes to show if you’re dyin’ to go, its better you take enough lead—
‘Cause if your name’s Pete, life ain’t complete until they’re sure you’re stone dead!
Ben raised up a dern disappointment, Daddy, well, he wanted a boy.
Wasn’t nothing under the bleeding red sun Ma could do but keep on a tryin’
Ya’siree, she was one branded filly and dern iffin that filly didn’t birth a maverick.
Daddy, well he had him some hard times a com’n
and he didn’t ev’n try to hide his fallen face when Sis was born.
that un, well, she was maverick number two!
Daddy was the devil may care sort and him and his seed strayed far afield,
sowing his wild oats, praying for an heir, he himself was one
‘slick hairy dick’ so to speak [that’s cowboy lingo for a maverick himself]
and you know what they say, “The cow plop don’t fall far from its ****”
He kept on pokin’ Ma ‘till he got that boy, all nine caterwauling pounds!
Dynasty founded, one hell of a shindig was thrown, as luck would have it,
Dad strayed, but not before he taught his gal’s not to take guff from any man!
Out on the range, Dad rounded up a couple more Betty’s
“Yehaw, did that brand sizzle” got his self a couple more bucko’s
for the dynasty and another sweet filly, all of them mavericks to the core.
Funny thing is old Dad’s gal’s got more balls then most men.
So, I guess in the end [wink] he taught us well!
*This is a Cowboy Poem, it is a maverick to it's form because
Cowboy poetry is rhymed, metered verse written by someone who has lived a significant portion of his or her life in Western North American cattle culture. The verse reflects an intimate knowledge of that way of life, and the community.
[Never lived in the West, don't like anything that looks at me with one eye!
"...names have been changed to protect the innocent."
P.S. I'm the maverick!
There was a rumor that I heared ‘bout Pete
Goin’ and committin’ matrimony—
But that’s likely as ol’ Scratch getting’ beat,
And who said it is full of baloney!
But John-Bob done says he was the best man
And shore nuff Prickly went and tied the knot—
But I cain’t see Pete wearin’ a gal’s bran’,
So I done thinks it’s just as likely not!
But lo and behold in rides ol’ Prickly
With a purty gal all strawberry blonde—
But ol’ Pete, he is lookin’ might sickly
And of his nose ring he just ain’t too fond!
Then right in front of the whole dern ol’ town,
Stoney, smilin’, he just pops the question:
“Is you hitched Pete? With yer feet on the ground?
Or is we dreamin’ and you’s still our bastion?!”
Ol’ Pete, he climbs down back to earth and yells:
“Not many call me a bastion and live!
I ain’t never heard me no weddin’ bells
And here’s a passel of advice I’ll give:
“Never jumps to them conclusions, mister,
That even your eyes may lead you to see—
Ya see this here is my dear young sister—
And all you cowboys better let her be!”
Well, all the town folk done apologized—
And there sure weren’t no ring on a finger—
But we gets to thinkin’ that they had lied
When their kisses did linger and linger!
“Well, gosh dern! That proves it!” Stoney did say,
“It’s shore nuff somethin’ that ya jest cain’t miss!
If Pete and that gal married up OK—
An ol’ married couple wouldn’t still kiss!”
So I reckon the moral here ain’t neat—
Don’t jump claims or to no dern conclusions—
Specially ‘bout the ol’ cowboy called Pete
Or you’ll wind up with just more confusions!
Cnt think ov anythng other than u
cnt stop smiln whn yo name z talkd ov
uve managed to get thru me ,all wories turnd of
u hve cleand dat melancholy on ma mind
mde m show u, parts i hide e most
a day ,a minute ,a sec without u ,im lost
dat special thing in m,im selfish to share
u that 1 secret n m in failng 2 hide
that 1 thing i wil do anythng 2 protect ,evrythn to kip
the first and i ope the last i wil feel ths dip for smethng
dat special thing i cnt talk of
but that 1 secret i cnt kip
u and only u a secret n me i cnt hide
a day ,a minute ,a sec with u i cnt mention wat its lyk
i think and hope dats hw heven is
u eas ol the pain ,mke evry dae new
at tymz i thnk we wre md fo each othr
they say t doesnt exist ,bt with u ive seen it ,felt it and its true
true love ,or mybe ts the true us
clouded my judgmnt ,md me an inmate ov your soul
for e first tym im not scard and yet im frightnd i wil want more
evn whn im n pain ,yo voice tkes evry dip thorn awae
Silence with u ,filz lyk a 1000 songz
since e moment we met ,uve nvr escaped my mind
all i want ,ol i wil evr nid z u by ma side
bt u a secret ,i cnt show u around
@ e sme time i wish i culd hide u
i dont nid to say t, ts writn ol ovr my face
i wish i culd hv met u a moment ago
bt t feelz lyk ive known u fo a long tym
my past, my life ,my future,
i cnt talk abwt u, i wil alwyz kip u hiden
bt ey know abwt u ,i cn nvr hide
u dat dern im willn to talk of
n me z a secret u, i cnt hide
u the secret n me i cn writ
With the hot summer sun beating down,
leaving blisters on our necks and back.
Walking through those swift murky currents,
just you‘n me, and a gunny sack.
Dipping our heads below the surface,
searching for a fish’s hidden den.
With nimble fingers probing into holes,
hoping to find the catfish within.
Perhaps a green and slick-skinned bullhead,
maybe a flathead or channel cat.
Can't waste any time on carp or drum,
or some other junky fish like that.
One hand slowly slides into the hole,
until it latches on to something.
You hope it's a fish and nothing else,
that might decide to bite, claw, or sting.
I know all about them noodling tales,
and that how a few of them are right.
Like them snapping turtles so dern big,
could take my hand off with just one bite.
Or them spear nosed alligator gars,
with needle teeth all along their snout.
Or fish nearly as long as a man,
that can drown you without any doubt.
While poking around under some rocks,
just might be where a cotton mouth hides.
So you never go noodlin’ alone,
always have a good friend by your side.
Heard ‘bout a boy crawled into a hole,
to put his rope through a fish's gill.
They found his head two miles down the creek,
and they’re looking for his body still.
If it sounds a little dangerous,
on that I certainly will confirm.
But you know them big grandaddy fish,
ain't gonna bite on no itty-bitty worm.
Just because there was a limited access to truth
Does not mean there was an interruption declaring my love for you
I have had all the opportunity in the world to express myself
Self just got in the way, dern self
I know I need you
I want you
I desire every part of you
What happened is not because of you
It is me and I confess I was riding on the train of despair
I know you said you have rode this ride and you care
What am I to do but express it now, reveal it to you
I had to sit back add ingredients to this soup
This delicatessen savor substance of you I need
I smell you when I am asleep
Holding you, you close connected tight fitted sheets
I do miss the sweet flavor of your kiss
I miss, I do miss
I may studder a little when I write these words
I am jilted tilted toss leaning toward the curb
As I drive I can hear you and the words caressing my ears
How they have helped me, love covered these fears
Wiped every tear
I know I have caused you to shed
I come now to you no other instead
Here I am, I am here, love lifted it all
I am here, I apologize not answering your call
Can I say, will you accept this now?
Me being here confessing how
My life will never be complete without you
I never hold it in any longer
I need you
I desire you
I love you
Ya know whuuut?
E’en when Iiiii’m dawunk
I aam steel a gud po’et,
An if this dern puter
keybroad wud stop
mov’n in curcles,
I cud e’en show it.
In…in…intoxication
dun mmm’pair me none;
I’ll jest show you
how dis is done.
Ware’s my bottle?
I need a wittle more.
Oh man…
My head is kinda sore.
She shouldna left me!
I di’nt mean to do it.
Well, I’ll jest write a love pom to her,
“How mush do I luv you…”
Ahhhh, screw it!!!
I messed up – di’nt I?
I do’n know why.
I guess I’m just a boob.
I probly shud eat some food.
She ain’t com’n back this time,
I jest know it.
You think this kinda pain
will make me a bettur poet?
Uh, oh.
I do’n feel sooo gud.
I feel like I might pass out,
but she di’nt hav to shoutttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt
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“Things ain’t the way they used to be,”
The old cowboy sadly said.
“Herds stretched as far as you could see
Some two or three thousand head!
“There was a time your word was good,
Only your handshake would do—
Now it seems all’s misunderstood
And folks are too quick to sue!
“And our music was of the earth,
Campfires, coyotes and such—
But things change and bring forth new birth
Of things that don’t mean that much!
“There was a time when men were tough
And it didn’t seem a curse—
And gals were gals – not made rough—
There weren’t such thing as a man purse!
“All things, they change but not them dern
Ol’ politicians—
They’s still all crooks that ought to burn
Without hesitation!
“Things ain’t the way they used to be,
In this, our great nation—
Like glass eyes, things seem to come out
In the conversation!
“Life’s made of rides and failed farm crops—
We’re full of pain and disease—
One day we lick those lollipops—
The next you’re pushin’ daisies!
“Yep, things have gone from bad to worse—
We tap on life’s window pane—
Some say these words are just bad verse—
We write what we can’t explain!”