Long Rodeo Poems
Long Rodeo Poems. Below are the most popular long Rodeo by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rodeo poems by poem length and keyword.
The Postal Worker
The lady behind the counter,
she takes my packages,
and gives me, "looks"...
when I tell her I write books,
and request to send my items
media mail.
It is much cheaper by far,
to send my words to another place,
printed between covers,
I design.
It is a way of sending tangible expressions
to friends, family, and strangers...
soon to be friends, and claimed family
without going broke.
No joke.
I love to send just simple cards,
things that I create.
But sometimes it is my fate,
to write more things down,
like a clown...
in a rodeo at a show,
giving the cowboy time to get away...
free and clear from harm,
with charm.
My hair grows red,
as I am fed crackers,
by the parrot
that lives in the zoo
with a few...
wild peacocks
that make stew
for the rabbits to eat.
You see how my feet wander?
They go all over and back.
You can spend nine years in Chicago and not see everything.
I know this because I spent nine years in Chicago, I doubt if I saw half of it.
Do not miss the Navy Pier, the Magnificent Mile, the Baja Temple in Wilmette.
If you go to Illinois, head straight to Chicago. That is my advice.
The Field of Natural History is my favorite museum in the world.
Not that I have been to all of them, but I have been to quite a few.
Try to spend a week or two inside the Field; you will not be sorry.
I was thrilled every single time I arrived, and I never wanted to leave.
The Lincoln Park Zoo is a gorgeous park and a zoo.
Do not miss it. The Shedd Aquarium is lovely also.
If you are sports minded, head toward Wrigley Field,
Home of the Chicago Cubs; be sure and wear red, white and blue.
Chicagoans will help you by giving you directions.
They will be curt but accurate. Not embracing you, but kind.
Every one of them knows where the Magnificent Mile is.
That is where the shopping rivals Rodeo Drive shopping.
There is so much to see, and there are so many restaurants!
If the food is not fabulous, the restaurant will not last a month.
If you want insulted, go to Ed Debevic’s; they are known for that.
Lou Malnat’s Pizza cannot be experienced anywhere else.
Go Cubs!
*The feline Texan way*
A clean coat of paint - on my nails
Red shade of lips - on my smile
Solid oak charms - on my wrist
Country music - around my core
Flattering eyes - a rustic shell.
Join me in a "Country Girls Tale"
~~
Every day I draw near the morning dawn,
Abide by the landscape towards the new Texas sun
A track of yellow roses and cactus galore
I brand my name everywhere I travel
Allowing you near the bounds of my Wild West soul
I maintain it above the snake level everywhere I roll
Got my head up like a cowgirl,
Men around my black leather chaps
I tilt my bull hide hat leaving behind a sweet Texas Trail
Driving down a midnight Texan storm
It takes more than raindrops to knock me from my- “2-Steppin’ world.”
A windy ride, bruises under the hide taking it in like- “A Real Cowgirl!”
I got a tight hold on my saddle, holding on to a brighter morrow
Enjoying the voices and the sound
Tex-Mex lingo, round and round
Ropers and Wranglers are how I dress
I'm all covered, except for the top of my chest.
Living’ it up^, down here in the south.
Erin’ the lungs, shooting up the sport
Long necks’ and kissing under a rodeo’ moon.
Honky-Tonk, tattooing the mockingbird.
Down here:
You will see me sitting on the Country ground,
Peacefully staring into the optics of the "Alamo Stars."
Falling with the art found in the flag I hold.
I am The Wild!
I am The West!
“— A little dotty, but civilized!”
Enjoying the morning breeze,
Where the dew sits on the tip of Mother Nature’s tongue.
There and only there you will find me,
Under the brightest Texas Star
Just the other day when I was walking
down Rodeo drive,
I couldn't believe my eyes. It was him
and he was so handsome in person.
I just saw him in a movie and to my
surprise he was staring right at me.
I didn't know whether to faint or say hello.
With the most masculine voice he said
" I'm Will, what's your name beautiful lady?"
" Alexis I think". He invited me to lunch that
same day.And from that day on we've
been inseparable. I know what you're thinking
but isn't he married? I thought the same thing.
However, he just got a divorce and it only
took thirty minutes.
Alexis Y.
7-3-16
I heard tell some folks think cowboys built the West.
The only thing I know for sure is I always did my best
to give a man a good days work for an honest wage
ridin' among tumbleweeds and dried brush of sage.
I wear a Colt 45 to scare off rustlers and killin' snakes
and I don't play cutthroat poker with tinhorns or rakes.
It ain't never been an easy job, the life of a ranch hand,
herdin' cattle near the flowin waters of the Rio Grande,
but it's the only way I always wanted to spend my days,
beddin' down under the stars, watching the herd graze.
I'm keepin' one eye open for those wanderin' lil dogies,
chewin' on the end of what's left of smokin' my stogies.
I lassoed a proud stallion, and gentled that big paint.
He's been a good trail horse, so I got no complaint.
I was in love with a rodeo gal, a pretty lil' barrel rider
but she told me a cowboy wouldn't be a good provider.
So I strum my guitar, singing a lonesome cowboy song
about findin' a good woman who won't do me wrong.
One day I'll be an old cowpoke, lying up on that hill,
but not 'til my last roundup, and my body's had its fill
of ridin' the range, mendin' fences, ropin' mustangs,
and eatin' chuck wagon beans when the bell clangs.
I've been thrown off a bad bronc, name of Buckin' Jet,
but don't put my name on that tombstone; not just yet.
January 26, 2021
Cowboy Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Line Gauthier
As Mayor Tom often says when he's off on one of his escapades...
"Greetings" this time from Milton Creek! It seems like decades
since we've shared the latest news about what's been goin' on.
The law is still being abided here. For that, we thank Judge Horne.
Sheriff Mark is still away on a secretive meeting about a commission.
Guess, it's not so secretive since I just mentioned it in my admission.
The town is safe in the capable hands of Daniel Rodgers for a while,
and deputies Terry, Duke and Mike are always lookin' out for the vile.
It's been mighty tranquil here in Milton Creek and surrounding towns
since the hombres and rustlers are gone, there are no worried frowns.
The law here never lets down its guard against the evil doers of crime,
so, we're enjoying the pleasant atmosphere; a long-awaited peacetime.
Telegraph agent, Jerry sent word that soon we'll be hosting a rodeo.
It promises to be an exciting event for everyone... a big western show.
There's a list of events, and I hope each category will fill with names...
Calf ropin' and barrel racin' will take place with lots of other games.
I've noticed Jan and Tania have both signed up for a few of the events,
Ranger David will ride broncs and bulls, so will several other residents.
Deb said she would, too, although it's a decision she might regret.
Constance will be checking out the animals since she's our new vet.
There's still two months before the first rodeo opens in the Creek.
I'm adding a new wing of rooms to Aces Hotel; a few will be a bit chic.
We're hopin' to draw in nice folk who might settle down from afar
and bring in revenue for the Manx when they belly up to the bar!
Anne-Lise will perform trick riding to begin the rodeo celebration.
It'll be a week-long event, so we're extending this as an invitation...
Come to Milton Creek for drinks and eats... steaks and whoopie pies!
and bring your competitive spirit if you're aimin' to win a rodeo prize.
Preacher Paul Nederlof will be here to pray that everyone stays safe.
Cowboys and cowgirls, strap on your chaps so your legs don't chafe.
Guns will be collected by deputies when newbies ride into Milton Creek
cuz we don't take kindly to black hat gangs. It's peace here that we seek.
I'ma gonna wake up, at the brink of dawn
Drink some coffee, throw my blue jeans on
The little red rooster is my alarm
Cock-a-doodle doodling on my farm
I'ma gonna water, all of my crops
Especially, my barley and hops
Then I'll roll up, a bunch of bales of hay
Where the goats and the horses and the cattle lay
I'ma going to the pasture, down by the creek
That's where I go, when I want to sneak...
A little moonshine, that I'd steal from my dad
It's the best damn moonshine that I've ever had
Yeah, I'ma gonna wake up, at the brink of dawn
Drink some coffee, throw my blue jeans on
The little red rooster is my alarm
Cock-a-doodle doodling on my farm
Then I'll rassle with the piglets playing in their sty
and I'll feed the Billy goats a little bit of rye
Then I'll fetch my little lady a cold bottle of wine
And steal another bottle of my dad's moonshine
Then I'ma gonna go, to see the rodeo
And then do a little square dancin' do the "Dosey Doe"
Then I'll stagger over by, the old rustic school
And I'll jump into the river, it's our swimming pool
Yes sir, I'ma gonna wake up, at the brink of dawn
Drink some coffee, throw my blue jeans on
The little red rooster is my alarm
Cock-a-doodle doodling on my farm
Gonna wake up, at the brink of dawn
Gonna wake up, on my farm
Gonna wake up, at the brink of dawn
From that Cock-a doodle doodling damn alarm
Weeds and grass grow in the cracks
of sun-faded, crumbling pavement,
a parking lot that once was full
of stressed parents and cowboys nascent.
A grand sign over the entry
now is rotted two-thirds away,
this old piece of my childhood
truly has seen better days.
It was an old-west town once,
where we learned of the frontier,
now the totem pole is fallen down,
brings to my eye a sad tear.
The old Indian village, long gone,
is now just some concrete pads,
not the grand teepees I explored
back when I was just a lad.
The cavalry fort once rose proud,
a solid wall of rough-hewn logs,
now one rampart remains, broken,
sinking into a nearby bog.
It’s old flagpole still stands tall,
but Old Glory no longer flutters,
trash and graffiti lie about,
the whole place looks like a gutter.
And up at the bank where long ago
the ‘bandits’ always struck ad two,
I can recall how kids with cap guns
always ‘made’ them drop their loot.
Nearby is the big stable
where families could take trial rides,
the roof is gone, it’s been ten years
since any horse was inside.
Finally I see the arena
where rodeo riders ran wild,
wrestling steers, breaking a bronc,
clinging to a bull with style.
The old stands are half-collapsed,
the corral is full of small trees,
hard to believe it ever enrapt
young children in such revelry.
Some say it was P.C. parents
afraid of imaginary strife,
some say the Hollywood now
can’t make a western to save their life.
Others say that the owners died,
and their kids didn’t want to load,
whatever the reason, it was sad
the day the old-west town closed.
I hear that there are now big plans
to turn it all into a park,
a taxpayer-funded state debacle,
as such projects usually are.
They have their designs but we all
know what should really be done,
it should be rebuilt so that our kids
have a place to run ’round with cap guns.
Princess of the Prairie, with hair of golden flax,
smiling from a picture frame, looking through the cracks.
You grew up on a farm, not far from Saskatoon,
close to Joni Mitchell, under a harvest moon.
It was four strong winds that blew you to L.A.
I was eighteen when I met you. I well remember it today.
Fortunate was I, that those cold winds were blowing,
a vision of serenity, your long gown was flowing.
The sweetheart of the rodeo, laughing like the sun,
you shined happiness on everything and everyone.
Your generosity was endless. I had no place to stay.
You had no problem at all, taking in this stray.
When I found my own place, my memory is certain,
it was dear you who sewed my bedroom curtains.
You were on easy terms, with people, animals, and plants,
charming everything alive, they didn't have a chance.
We shared a special night that stands out as unique -
your tickets to Peter Paul and Mary at the Greek.
Your picture's peaceful presence, as I drink tea, all curled,
radiates your connection to the spiritual world.
You were like a friend, a sister, or a girl next door,
gazing at your photo, I wonder why not something more.
Princess of the Prairie, with hair of golden flax,
I wonder why it was, that never did I ask.
I decided today when I woke up
To write a poem for everyone
I'd start off with the very old
And end up with the young
In between I'd have kings and queens
Along with a peasant or two
A genius with a dozen degrees
Even a few without a clue
For the in-laws and the outlaws
Though at times they act the same
If right now they're sitting next to you
No need to mention names
I'd also write it for the Catholics
Protestants and Jews
So as not to leave anyone out
A Methodist marching band with kazoos
What would a poem for everyone be
Without rodeo and circus clowns
The ones that paint happy faces
Over the top of their life's frowns
The tall the short and skinny of course
Those that are tipping the scale
Which these days are most of us
But let's not dip into that well
And of course I can't leave out
All the gays and all the straights
Who never knew that they were straight
Until the gays knew they were gay
I guess we've all been labeled
I really don't mean to offend
Oops...I almost forgot to include
All the mustached women and hairy backed men
If you find you weren't in here
And think that your unmentionable
I'd like you to know my friend
My rudeness was unintentional
You may take this poem for everyone
And do with it what you wish
Perhaps the closest receptacle
Where it may join it's friends...the trash