Long Montana Poems
Long Montana Poems. Below are the most popular long Montana by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Montana poems by poem length and keyword.
‘Twas way back in them days
when the ranch owner’s ways
was just about the only law there was around
Rancher’s money was king
and gun violence reigned
till marshal Ben Miller made his way into town
Well that town was real rough
till Ben said ‘twas enough
that’s when he used his guns to bring law to the street
But there's always that one
thinks he's fast with his gun
would soon find himself face down covered with a sheet
For the next twenty years
Ben had kept the streets clear
of any no-gooders that might drift into town
Then folks started to say
Ben was showing some gray
maybe his old age had started to slow him down
The councilmen all met
said it is with regret
that we tell you it's time for you to settle down
They baked him a nice cake
a few speeches they'd make
and introduced him to the new marshal in town
Town folk gathered and cheered
told him how twenty years
was a long time to stay on this side of the grave
Ben took a look around
rode his horse outta town
with his new gold watch and the few dollars he'd saved
That is often the way
a cowboy's life got played
long ago when the country was still just a pup
When a trusted hired hand
gave his life for the brand
honest and loyal was the way he was raised up
If you think this is sad
or Ben's life turned out bad
well then this might be a little good news for you
Was the very next week
Men lay dead in the street
they had robbed the bank and stole the mayor's horse too
When they tried to get Ben
to come marshal again
sure don't take no book smarts to know how he replied
Well, he asked widow Jones
if she'd like to go along
and off to the wide open Montana they'd ride
Was a day in March when
Jasmine married old Ben
Though they had only been courtin' about a year
Said they was gonna go
where the tall grasses grow
gonna try their hand raisin a few cows and steers
Well they made it alright
through frozen winter nights
mostly cause they hadn't built up much of a herd
When the next spring turned mild
it brought both calves and child
after that first year their ranchin' blood had been stirred
It’s been thirty years since
granpap left Defiance
now I stop alongside his grave near' every day
I watch over his spread
more than five thousand head
as they grow fat right here on the Rockin’ Bar J
There’s many a tale that spreads across the night
when the sun o’er the plains yields to campfire light.
Tales about cowboys, who once roamed the plains,
scratching a living using their rope and reins
A few were happy when it came time to tell,
but many of them were just sadder than hell
Cause most of them ended with some poor old soul
lying all alone in a forgotten hole
There's a story I recall about a man,
that made his way north from the wide Rio Grande
Arlie he was called by those that new him best
folks round the Rockin Bar J just called him Tex
When the punchin’ all played out Tex left his home
in search of somewhere with enough space to roam
He found Montana where mountains scraped the sky
with enough space where he could live right or die
Tex knew a few summers and could feel his age
whenever Montana snows covered the sage
He felt time too quickly closing in on him
his hearing was fading, and his sight was dim
Round the bunks they told of a stallion named Ghost
catchin’ him would give a man the right to boast
They said that horse can’t be caught by any man
so all through the winter Tex worked on a plan
Tex had studied that hoss and knew he was smart
the cunning of a fox with want in his heart
There wasn’t a horse that could match his pace
Tex knew he won't beat him in a flat out race
Summer had run long, this one hotter than most
Tex laid his plan to get that horse they called Ghost
With hellfire in his eyes and his nostrils flared
Ghost come down from the mountain lookin’ for mares
Now Old Tex was ready to play out his plan
he’d strung out three horses across the grassland
Twenty miles apart those geldings stood ready
for an eighty mile stretch Tex could ride steady
Tex spotted Ghost silhouetted 'gainst the sun
that horse stomped and glared then took off in a run
Ghost was in the lead and Tex brought up the back
but Tex’d studied his foe and knew where he'd track
Towards Rattlesnake Butte that stallion did run
was heading straight into that bright morning sun
'cross dried grass and sage Ghost never skipped a beat
Fast as a Chinook through that Montana heat
Ghost was fast and Tex saw him pulling ahead
but they’d reached the exchange and Tex mounted Red
Red was sure footed and as fast as the breeze
and he started closing up that gap with ease
He was her part time lover
even though he was her only one
A man you could love
But she’d never let him know…
she had a full time heart
Although her strings
had some wear and tear
throughout her years.
She wasn’t going to let him put her heart in his pocket.
No, she wasn’t about
to give her heart away
She’d play it cool.
Never let him see her fears
Pretend she was tough
Never cry or show any tears
He was a man,
raised right by his mother
He’d lay a rose upon her pillow
He was a man like no other
There ain’t nothin’ better
then a cowboy lover
His name was Jesse from Montana
He had skin the color of lightly roasted coffee
from being out in the sun so much
His smile, a bit crooked
made him look a bit mischievous,
in a teasing sort of manner
It could knock your socks off
if you gazed too long
She met him at a little café’ in Big Sky
leaning against the counter
like a long, tall drink of cool water
Boots, hat and all the makins'
of a real cowboy
She had slayed the paper dragons of her past
Put them all behind her
She was bold and brave;
asked for his number
which he willingly gave
with a smile, a little bit crooked,
a bit mischievous
in a teasing sort of manner
They’d cuddle in their blanket
under the stars and the moonlite
listening to Hank Williams songs
drinking coffee around their campfire
telling stories from their pasts;
laughing, snuggling
Before she’d go to sleep at night,
he’d kiss her cheek
and hold her close in his arms
One night as she lay in his arms,
he stroked her cheek
with his tender touch,
kissed her lips and held her tight
He said, “What would you do if I asked
"Ask what”, she said?
"Little lady, do you know I love you,
would you kindly be my wife”?
When he said that to her that
wonderful nite under the stars
she realized...
She wanted him, to put her heart in his pocket
That was the night
she gave her heart away
She wasn’t playin’ it cool
She let him see her fears
She wasn’t really all that tough
Then, she cried and showed him her tears
He was a real man,
raised right by his mother
He laid a rose upon her pillow
He really was a man like no other
Nope, there sure ain’t nothin’ better
then a cowboy lover
*~The Sweet End~*
The Camp Cooky’s singin again outa tune,
about turnin 60 today around noon
"What good is there in it?" I hear him say,
and it got me to thinkin . . . seein it was his birthday
It seems bein 60’s got two spins to that tale,
one frittered and wrinkled, the other covered in shale
The one who’s 60 if truth be told,
is still younger than all those 61—to real old
In the campfire’s crackle of light I can see,
how everyone younger, is likely dumber than me
So if my hands struggle with the knots and riggin fer sure,
the knowin and the tellin to those younger’s worth more
Havin outlived many a cow horse, while lovin them all,
the awnry and skitterish, the short and the tall
The summers ridin drag, and the worst winters mendin fence,
with a slicker full a holes, and that ol dog with no sense
And while the cuttin and the brandin seems boring to some,
it’s the importance of their nature and gettin things done
When the hats and the spurs and even the saddles are all gone,
and the sun sinks over that last mountain, like in Dusty’s ol song
I’ll remember the good times, lettin go of the bad,
and think back on the pards and the ladies I’ve had
Because just like for Cooky, it happened last year to me,
and turnin 60 seemed ranker than any bronc could ever be
But like that new Visalia saddle the boss man said was now mine,
I've found somethin that’s different, somethin gentler and kind
The speed and the strength ain’t been traded for free,
and somethin woke up that I guess was sleepin in me
And as I yell to the wrangler “Cut me one gentle and nice”
without loosin too much pride I ask, “Can you help Ol Jim
cinch his riggin real tight”
Then once more in the dark I ride off in search of the herd,
singin that one favorite cow song every real hand has heard
And as I inch up on the lead steer whisperin mellow and low,
“Yippee ki yay, Ol Fella; you ready to go”
For maybe one last time we push North thru the dark,
the sun still two hours off to the right of our mark
While in the distance a wolf howls, as that lead steer catches my eye,
and in that instant I know I’m still needed—a long ways from g’bye
(Dewey Montana: Circa 1990) Read In Elko Nevada, 1993
I once lived in high Montana
and I knew a man who live there,
went by the name Rodrigo,
known to most for his wild hair.
But Roddy didn’t grow it long
to try and impress some girl,
Roddy was a history nut,
obsessed with the medieval world.
He had all sorts of goblets,
tankards, and great drinking horns,
he must’ve owned a dozen swords,
but was always buying more.
Roddy owned full chain-mail armor,
wore it to the renaissance fair,
and he paid no heed to the folks
who would shake their heads and stare.
But Roddy’s greatest possession
was one he built with his own hands,
Roddy had a full-sized catapult
and would launch stuff across his land.
One day I went to see my friend
and he was launching things out back.
He said,”Get me that watermelon,
and we’ll launch our next ‘attack.’”
We loaded up the giant fruit,
and laughed as it took to flight,
said he,”If launching fruit be wrong
then to hell with being right!”
Next we took a bunch of apples
to achieve a shot-gun effect.
I cracked a joke and Roddy laughed,
so hard we didn’t see what came next.
A black bear in the woods nearby
saw the apples in their pile,
and wouldn’t find a meal that good
if he wandered a dozen miles.
He ran out onto the scoop
while we were both still laughing,
Roddy pulled the lever, unaware,
and he sent the bear a-flying!
The bruin’s moan caught us both
as apple and bear too to sky,
across the field to lodgepole trees
did the beast and his lunch fly.
He disappeared in the branches,
vanishing from our line of sight,
I stood stunned, said to Roddy,
“Should we go see if it’s allright?”
Roddy shrugged and started walking,
we both made our way over there,
high up in an old lodgepole pine
sprawled a frightened, confused bear.
The branches had broken the fall,
saved the beast from being dead,
I said to Roddy,”We should go
before that bear can clear its head.”
Roddy took a picture on his phone
to prove what had happened that day,
then we beat a hasty retreat
before the bear could come our way.
To this day Roddy still recounts,
in his booth at renaissance fairs,
how catapults can launch anything,
even hungry and wayward bears.
I once traveled around the U. S. on a Greyhound bus,
My wife thought I was crazy, but she made little fuss,
It was, by far, the most awesome adventure I ever took
Three changes of clothes, lots of grit, and a puzzle book,
In Atlanta, my small suitcase was temporarily lost
I forced myself into the luggage corral, despite the cost,
I luckily found it before we left for Memphis, and then
Decided I’d never ever check my luggage on the trip again.
A friend met me in Memphis, and I spent the night,
After two days solid on the bus, I suppose I was a sight,
A hot shower and change of clothes, boy, was I set
For the long trip to Phoenix, again, where I was met
By friends I hadn’t seen since my St. Louis days,
I spent the night with them, then went on my way,
Arriving in San Diego, California a day or two later,
I caught a Greyhound going up the west coast, terrific
The most beautiful iconic route along the coastal Pacific.
I stopped off in Oakland to get a night of rest, and
Having no more friends along the way, the land
Up to Spokane was more of the same, but I digress,
For after Oakland I had no good places to undress.
Starting across the northern part of the country
I knew I was beginning to smell a little bit funky.
No one cared to sit beside me, I had plenty of room
I did my best in the stations’ restrooms to groom.
Across Montana, Idaho, and through Dakota, I go
A layover in Minneapolis, then on to Chicago,
Where the time on my ticket summarily expired.
When I approached the desk, they wanted to know
If I was the guy traveling around the country, so,
I told them, yes, and they said go on home “on us,”
So, I headed home to Virginia on the Greyhound bus.
Chicago to Indianapolis to Knoxville, I did my best
When my wife picked me up, I’d finally get some rest.
She had me sit as far away as I could get in the car,
Because I smelled like sardines left in an open jar!
The experiences I had I won’t forget as long as I live
I wouldn’t trade the adventure for anything you’d give
The stories I have to tell are far too many to share,
I’ll just say travel the U.S.A.; if you can, if you dare.
Written December 10, 2022
The Expert in Death
She reluctantly closed the book,
locking the painting back inside her mind,
then a sudden frisson of emotion,
another surreal-reveal moment,
and her smile was flint; lips unmoving
as slices of memory were being served…cold.
The relationship began with an Internet handshake
and a few engaging discoveries about each other.
It developed weekly, daily via the telephone,
stretching from Whitefish, Montana to Dover in Kent.
Initially, they felt distanced from each other
but soon they were emotionally in the next room.
A month later, in London, they met,
a spill of nervousness, a thrill of emotions
and that night jazz developed their relationship,
an allegro rhythm which rose to a presto beat
and then ‘hey presto’ they were moving in together.
He, a job in London; she followed, as did their marriage.
The months hustled by, the clock ticked relentlessly
but their allegro rhythm slackened, slowed to adagio.
Then gradually he began to control, to criticize
and, on one occasion, even bully with bruises.
It pleasured him, darkened him, reminded him
and slowly he began to feast on it.
But he hadn’t noticed that someone else had moved in!
The artist, Salvador Dali, had slipped into her imagination
and had decided to settle, to stay, to simmer.
So now the surreal had entered their relationship
but what he did note was the tickling cough again
and the spit of pain, occasionally scoring his stomach.
Preparing the evening meal, she felt for the perfumed bottle
caressing its curved edges she flushed with excitement,
soon she was adding seasoned drops of Aqua Tofana,
those special ingredients: arsenic, lead and belladonna
and she slyly sed at the irony of the situation.
He thought HE was the power and SHE knew he wasn’t!
Very soon now she was to be a widow…..a black one
but she knew she wouldn’t cry, she’d been disconnected,
and after all, she was now an expert in death.
She thought once again of the book, the painting,
the Salvador Dali image - Death Outside the Head
and then of the enduring journey of her subconscious.
Ian Souter Nov, 2024
It was pretty late in September
and I was over the Billings way
I was riding fence for Freddie White
on the west end of the Rockin Bar J
Well night time can fall pretty early
come along bout that time of the year
I started me up a little fire
and was cleaning up some of my gear
That's when I heard a "Whoo-up in camp"
softly floating over the pine trees
At first I thought it was ole Freddie
come a ridin' out to shoot the breeze
"Come on in" I yelled right back to him
my hand sittin firmly on my gun
When in rides this old bearded cowboy
looked to be bout a hundred and one
Well he said his name to be Johnson
so with that I passed him my name too
Asked him if he'd like to sit a spell
maybe share a little of my stew
For I had gauged him up to be a
decent and right honest man you see
‘Cause he seemed to hold himself just right
and by the soft way he spoke to me
So after we tossed down our bedrolls
and we had hunkered down near the flames
That's when Johnson pulled his red eye flask
we started toasting old cowboy names
Those names like Billy Brooks, Bose Ikard
Goodnight, Conrad Kohrs and Otto Franc
Olly Loving, John Chisum and with each name
we tipped the flask and drank
As all the old cowboys tend to do
we reminisced ‘bout the olden days
And all the things we used to do
while living the good cowpuncher’s ways
How these here youngsters nowadays ain't
got no clue ‘bout how things used to be
When a man could go from here to there
live and ride the range completely free
Johnson had seen just fifteen summers
when he started his first cattle drive
Sixty more winters have passed him by
he said his luck had kept him alive
For him riding herd out on the range
is the only life he's ever knowed
He said he would never trade that way
for no diamonds, jewels or gold
Well just about dawn the next morning
after we shook hands and parted ways
I knew that I too would never leave
behind me, these good old cowboy days
So when you find my bones out on the range
with my gun and saddle by my side
Just know I was still living the cowboy ways
when I took my final ride
Some songs
Are of saddest times
The skies of darkest days
Some words
Bring such discontent
There are no gentle ways
To tell the tale
Without the tears
That tear the heart in two
But I will share
This saddest tale
Of hearts both black and true
There was a widow
With a son
He was a spunky lad
And when she found
Another man
The boy turned
Mean and sad.
The maid who cleaned the widow’s house
Saw the what was going on.
How each day the battle raged
As soon as she was gone.
The man took off
His silver belt
And like a man insane
He beat the boy, he cursed at him
And called him filthy names.
The mother’s love had maddened him
He hounded the poor child
Jealousy had filled his head
By hate his heart defiled.
He loved the widow, now his wife
Her son was in the way.
He sent the boy away to school
On that their wedding day.
The boy wrote home--
He hated school
They beat him there and worse
They starved the boy
To punish him
For writing silly verse.
The boy wrote home to plead his case
He promised to be good.
He begged to be at home again
He’d even chop the wood!
At the widow’s urging
The man re-read the letter
'He must come home'--his sweetheart cried--
'He's promised to be better.'
The man sent off the widow
Quick to get her son
She left him on the next train
Before the day’d begun.
The day was hot, the winds were bad
The clouds, they shouted rain
The neighbors said that angels wept
As they hailed the train
The man stopped by to get the mail
Without his widow’d wife
Another letter from the school
How tiresome was his life!
He put the letter in his bag
And headed his way home
When bedtime came he got it out
He liked to read alone.
'Your son is dead,' the letter said,
The hand was from a man
the school was starving naughty boys
the lawmen had a plan.
The school would close, the boys all leave
But one boy would remain.
The dead boy would be with his ma
When she returned by train.
The man who loved the widow
And took her for his wife
Hanged himself before the dawn
And took his own dear life.
The widow and her son
Returned through beating rains
She walked into that darkened house
And blew apart her brains.
When we planned our road trip we set up with Budget
that a Toyota Corolla would be waiting for us in Seattle
but after standing in line for 2 hours…I was a little rattled
When Budget ran out of cars and sent me to Avis…at their counter I was told…
“We don’t have your Toyota Corolla…but we can give you a new Kia Soul.”
Our Kia had 6 miles on it when we began our trip…
and as with any relationship we tried to take it slow…
while we navigated the Seattle freeways at night…we told her all the places she would go.
And she was such a good sport…wherever we went she gave it her best .
driving all around Seattle, Olympic national park and through the rains in the Northwest.
She took us all the way to the sun in glacier…she made this trip with ease
She drove right by a grizzly bear on our way to Lake Louise.
Through the dusty plains of Canada she waited patiently as we packed, unpacked and packed
and did not flinch in Montana when a pebble caused her windshield to crack.
We thought about substituting her because of that cracked windshield
but Deborah made the case
that in the 2000 miles we’d already driven….we’d grown accustomed to her face.
Besides, we figured at this point we had nothing to lose and everything to gain….
So on she drove us with her cracked windshield to Canada
then into Vermont, New Hampshire and Maine.
In Maine, like us, she rested for a few days…
and I could fulfill a promise I’m sure she had come to doubt
that I would take the time to clean her…all of her…inside and out.
We got her when she was just a baby
I’m glad we decided to keep her in spite of her little crack…
and when we returned her to Budget in Bangor
she had more 6800 miles on her back.
It’s funny that Corolla we thought we were going to drive…
on this trip never played a part
But we were happy with our substitute…the Kia Soul with heart.
In 48 days she grew a little older, she’s not as aligned as she once was
and she’s developed a few scars everyone can see…
Perhaps that’s why we love her so much…
because she’s a lot like Deborah and me.