By the time the sun's faded o’er the prairie
well I’m just about as tired as tired can be
My horse has been fed and all the tack is clean
after a biscuit and a few campfire beans
I lay my head down on blanket and saddle
listening to lowing of grazing cattle
Somewhere cross the campfire a guitar gets strummed
and songs start to flow from those old cowboy’s tongues
Voices that float across those low campfire flames
telling tales of glory, riches and fame
Songs sung by punchers that history won’t name
about all those brave men who once roamed the plains
Lending voices to the songs, a coyote’s howl
the screech of a hawk and the hoot from an owl
The shuffling of the horses hitched to the line
the sough of the wind as it flows through the pine
The strum of guitar and the hum of soft tunes
The sight of the stars as they shoot cross the moon
I pray I will always have these kinds of nights
with cowboys singing across my campfire light
Categories:
ranching, poems, poetry,
Form: Cowboy Poetry
When Len traveled to Oklahoma
to obtain a ranching diploma
a bull butted him hard
out in the training yard
and he but earned a hematoma.
... CayCay
July 25, 2019
State Limerick Contest
Categories:
ranching, abuse, animal, change, dream,
Form: Limerick
Love Is Like Loving Myself
Horn Haiku
If love will be like
Loving myself, why should I
Love anyone else.
Enough of me is
Always enough, so you will
Not need anymore.
What if we did use
Capital letters too much;
Could have bad effects.
While I was ranching,
Some idiot wanted to
Put up a tall wall.
Piece of cake dropped off;
Ate all of it until gone;
Wish we had some more.
Jim Horn
Jim Horn
Categories:
ranching, allegory, analogy,
Form: Haiku
Here's the doodle, way out West
mind's a noodle, not depressed,
searched the Pantry's, not to guess
where's the boot, hat, cowboy's vest!
Fair and Rodeo, next month soon,
all the young'uns needing room
their vacation, munching's boom
cupcakes, chips, the same old tune!
This might work, the cattle breaks
and roping tricks combine to make
the Western motif for land's sake
I'll do their garments as a bake!
Sprig some chocolate on the boots
and colored bits, the vests light up,
and say that Cowboy hat, iced blue,
who can resist this interlude!
While calves are tangled by tossed ropes
these plates of cookies will win folks
and on the fair grounds, horses broke
will highlight ranching moments told!
And at the Bake Shop, not to boast
their pastry goodies had before,
ranch style brings my feelings high,
the colors bouncing upwards score!
Now grab a plate, this will be fun
maybe an entry, I should make
these charming cookies Number One,
should bring the biggest hungry down!
Categories:
ranching, blessing, boy, , western,
Form: Monorhyme
heartbeat of the American dream
early settlers escaped tyranny
rode West, used squatters’ rights
claimed land and turned to ranching
nights ‘neath stars and grub by campfires
from nearby hills wolves howling
driving cattle across wide prairies
boomtowns erected when gold was found
ghost towns remain as a symbol of lost wealth
cowboys saw the growth of a nation
encountered tribes that rebelled
met others that passed peace pipes
Tombstone today haunted by sounds
barroom brawls and sultry saloon singers
not an easy life; the strongest survived
few emulated Clint Eastwood or John Wayne
just men who still enjoy freedom to roam the range
but freedom always comes at a price
few riders had family ties
ladies of the night were their comfort
only a handful became rich ranchers
still they ride
still they ride
Categories:
ranching, cowboy-westernfreedom,
Form: Free verse
In crackled tintypes bent with long ago,
Amid flaxen sunset and skies of cherry—
In worn leather-carved ancient scenario,
He dare not lie in milkweed prairie.
He rides resolute toward that sweat-tinged fame,
Always the heart’s hero of our once young eye,
As pale ivory range sighs softly his name
And we all know the real reason why.
It is high sage country that he will ride,
As that tin sun burns alabaster away—
And new birthed rains roll off his cow rancher hide,
So his soft summer’s mirage will stay.
Some see him crude – of but limited worth—
Lacking pure knowledge or certain savoir-faire—
But born of bone plain, he is of no fool’s birth—
A force of nature that’s always there.
From coat’s patina past years slide, of course,
As lines are spurred so deep into his Sphinx face—
But he’d rather be poised high atop his horse
In no other country, time or place.
His heritage is long – it’s here he’ll die—
He rides his own land in cruel spring rains and snows—
And like that wax jacket, he’ll keep his hopes dry,
Because ranching is all that he knows.
Categories:
ranching, cowboy-western, hope, introspection, nostalgia,
Form: Cowboy Poetry
Spring
Ah, spring is in the air. The time when Mother Nature renews herself.
The loving arms of the sun and the tears of the clouds bring forth the little green
shoots of promise. The little animals have preformed their dances of renewal
and their species is ensured. Ranching on the Rosebud Reservation of S. D. we
had a cow calf operation. Our springs were in tune with nature and not only did
we calve in the spring but we also had a fall calving group. We ran about four
hundred cows and since we were basically a one man operation there were
times my poor husband had to yield and allow me to help.
Categories:
ranching, cowboy-western, funny, happiness, nature,
Form: Cowboy Poetry
Let go of his hand,
He is on his way
In search of a New Frontier.
Watch for his footprints there in the sand,
And wave as he passes near.
His years on earth
Were long and fruitful,
He did what he set out to do.
He married Claire, who was there by his side,
To help make his dreams come true.
Ranching was his way of life,
His family was always near.
When he retired
He was still at hand,
If problems should appear.
Children, grandchildren,
And great-grandchildren too,
Wave as he passes by.
But look real close, at the footprints in the sand,
For another set you'll find.
I can not nelp but wonder,
As soft as the clouds must be,
Will their footprints show up
As they do in earth's sand,
For all of us to see?
His spirit is still here
In the Sand Hills of Nebraska,
On the old ONE HUNDRED and ONE,
Four generations have known God's blessings
With His help they will go on.
When we arrive in that New Frontier,
Don will be there to show us the way.
Until we do, a word of advice,
Let the footprints he leaves, there in the sand,
Guide you day by day.
Cile Beer
written 2005
Categories:
ranching, family, love,
Form: I do not know?