Rustlers Poems | Examples

A Wannabe Cowboy

Well, I’ve lived in this Montana country
guess it's been pert near fourteen years 
I call myself a cowboy though I ain't
punched no cows or branded no steers

Ain't broke me no fiery eyed wild stallion
Or pushed cattle across open land 
Never fended off a mountain lion 
nor killed a grizz with my bare hands

I ain't wrangled some ornery rustlers
with my rifle and colt six gun
Haven’t spent winter alone in a line shack
or been in a bar fight just for fun

But I got me a hat, some chaps and spurs
went and watched me a rodeo 
I learned that to be a real life cowboy
is more than putting on a show

Don’t need to wear a Montana slope hat
to live the good old cowboy way
It's more about how you respect the land
and always mean just what you say

You believe in traditions and honor
love, nature, honesty and song
A person who follows his commitments
though he may have to ride alone

If you want to be a cowboy my friend
then it's having the fortitude
to stick to convictions and do what's right
That is the cowboy’s attitude

Old Glory Yet Waves

When I see Old Glory wave
  I picture Lady Liberty beckoning
to boatloads of refugees ~
  not cattle rustlers hanging in effigy

When I hear Taps playing
  I think of young soldiers
who gave their lives for freedom ~
  even as gunfire crackles in urban slums

When I see fireworks on the Fourth
  I am grateful for our independence
and for our growth as a nation ~
  as for iniquities we do penance

When I hear the National Anthem playing
  I stop what I'm doing and saying
Remove my hat from my head, place hand over heart
  ~ Pray that my country not cleave apart

Giddy-Up

Ah, to write
to gather random thoughts
corral them
Giddy-up….whoa….style.
Chase down those tumble weeds,
itinerant thoughts
blown by the whimsical winds
of imagination
into ever unmanageable
clusters of confusion
straining at the painful restraints
of barbed wire freedom.
A delusional state of self imposed
unconscious conformity
ever alert for the “rustlers”
who would cut the wire
breech the delusion
change brands
claim victory.


John G. Lawless
©12/19/2021

The Range Was His Home

You couldn't rattle Tex
  Ice water in his veins
No one ever saw him wince
  let alone complain

Kept to himself, he did
  Felt life was meant to be hard
Carried his lasso and holsters proud
  Tackled fool rustlers, no holds barred

The range was his home, an honest calling
  One where he gave his cattle free rein
'Til sundown was nigh, when he'd change his tune
  Call in his options, by the light of the moon

Came a day when his ten-gallon hat
  No longer was seen on the range, working at
The craft that he loved, more than life itself
  Tex had roped his last steer, put his reins on the shelf

To Escape Inequity

In the years of 
nineteen-hundred and sixties 
in palm of muggy 
Mississippi Delta 
we would walk around 
in thick & bitter air, 
we would hide 
in denial’s shadow 
too witness laissez-faire 
across forbidden tracks, 
then I, as a child, nine or ten, 
would sleep 
and dream of flying, 
of flying above thick 
& blinkered, & pungent clouds 
into flare of 
greeting nihility, 
and as I would awake 
for another chronic day 
rustlers mounted 
jimmy crows 
awaits to shatter our rise

Insomnia Sonogram

agape gave grave to age
bent not to burdens born
cleave verily the leaves of life
distilled stilled styled reviled
entry net try and try
filigree reeds figure loosely
grave gave the age to rage
humble bled humid muddle
insomnia sonogram moss grass 
jubilant talent bilious slant
koan known now shown
lilting quilting tinged with gilding
mellifluous flows of metal filings
nervously reverse obtuse nouns
opulent lute plants ting
preening terns plead for flight
quatrains track rain tacks
remote restless rustlers rust
still lilting laughter silenced 
until nettle salve unwinds
valves self-seal veil sails 
wishes she eschews clothes 
xoxoxox the ox loves my ex
yew we way away my yes
z in me sees z in you

Big John Wayne In Cowboys Pleiades C

“Cowboys” , big John Wayne starred.
Cowhands abandon him.
Call, joining the Goldrush.
Could greenhorn kids succeed.
Camp cook and chuck wagon,
Complete the trail crew drive.
Cow punching green schoolboys
Called on to claim their jobs.
Cimarron,  the oldest,
Capricious, turned away.
Cow punching, green schoolboys
Combating bucking horse,
Caught  on  to rope, brand, herd
Cattle, and  cow-horses.
Cattle drive is ready.
Cimarron follows close.
Cattle-rustlers kill Will,
Corralling all his herd.
Cow punching green schoolboys
Caught and killed the rustlers.
Complete the cattle-drive.
Cattle sold, gravestone bought.
Carved, “ Beloved Husband and Father”

8/22/2016

Not for contest: 

Pleiades C
22 lines, 6 syllable each line
17th   line 9 syllables

The Cowboys is a 1972 American western film starring John Wayne,

John Wayne  nickname Duke 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Cowboys
using; 
http://www.howmanysyllables.com/poem_syllable_counter_workshop/index

Original of Doom of Tom Horn

Original of Doom of Tom Horn

I just found original of it I had 
written back in the 50's. Here it is.

Tom Horn will surely die today
For all his sins now must pay
Bounty hunter born and bred
But pretty soon shall be dead.

There were many rustlers he did kill
Among them freight he would instill
With his new Winchester Ninety Four
Shot them all down by the score.

Most thoughtful and polite was he
All of his victims were sure to be
Lying hands crossed on their breasts
Head gently on a rock laid to rest.

Big Tome went searching for someone
But instead he found the rustler's son
Into his body a bullet soon did send
Poor, young lad's life came to an end.

Posse chased terrible Tom everywhere
His life they never wanted to spare
Caught and dragged him back to town
And main street did march him down.

Calmly was approach to life now doomed
All was quiet and around tension loomed
Tied to his neck a noose was now worn
Quick was the end for big Tom Horn.

James Thomas Horn, Retired Veteran

Silent Wyoming Silos

They wait, deep down in the red earth,
covered from the yellow, Wyoming sun,
like Tom Horn, a while ago, 
but deeper than he, not the same, 
they wouldn’t kill for fun, 

and the bored army busies itself beneath; 
their mind-numbing  repetition unclear, 
but the fear, the fear stays, keeping them
on their toes and best behavior

and the specters of the cattle barons, and 
rustlers and Geronimo, wonder at these busy 
ants underground, eating, sweating, filling in 
a thousand forms; 
I wonder, do they write poems?

“Here I sit in my rocket-chair, wondering 
what’s  happening way up there, on the prairie; 
while down here, I tick the charts and ponder, 
how it would feel to turn the key, turn the key,”

blah, blah, blah….or perhaps they have 
chess clubs and baby showers and tense 
debating thrills, and Buddy Rich, jazz hours
between the  mind-numbing shifts and drills;

and there’s  a Slim Pickens, ride- em- cowboy  
move still,  next to every lady-soldier’s heart, 
while another day on the wide-open, God’s gift
prairie passes by;

and up above, in the dawn light, Tom and Geronimo
ride by the metal hatch singing;

 “I got you under my skin,”

Water Shortage

Water Shortage 

I have seen the future 
Water famine and revolutions
Wars over water,
No not the kind of balloons 
Of water people throw at
Each other, nor
A wet t. shirt competition,
But real war with blood that
Runs into dry gutters 
Rustlers who kill animals for 
Their blood and leave carcasses
To rot in the field. 
Chilled blood with a chaser of water
Only the rich can afford. 
The unwashed masses, with
Plastic Jerry cans, overturning 
Water tankers, shower units 
Have been dismantled.
Yes, I have seen the future and it stinks.

The Killing Night In Kenya

THE KILLING NIGHT IN KENYA

Lush green fields cushion diamond skies--
Cattle rustlers burst through night
Machetes swinging like a game 
Mid spring blooms whose scent delights

Rifles slung like children’s packs
Hug shoulders that should lie abed
Blood trails flow moonlit from stealth feet
Leaving sixty sleeping people dead

Victoria Anderson-Throop
12/30/12 ©

Death week of 12/22/12

Ronald Reagan: So Long Cowboy

Fold your tent now
Cowboy, the prairie sunset has come
Pull the hat low
Over the silent brow, let the horse go home
Without saddle,
It's round up time for you, the trail is done.
Bit and bridle;
O let it go free, and feel the weightless
World runs with it,
Put the branding iron down, blow out the sun;
The mind's habit
Shutting out the endless tedium and stress
Now can reclaim
The dignity that future-centered men
Denied; the fame
Past-centered men recalled and softly blend
With their own hopes;
And none but the dead ever realized.
Roll up the ropes
The cowboy no more rides, or seek the prize.
Rustlers die fast
Cowboys live long, lariat looping ferile glory;
Rodeo past,
The poled hat and belt tell all the final story.

Its Christmas Time In Dodge City

(To the tune of Silver Bells)

Wooden sidewalks, and the shop fronts,
Dressed in wild western style
In the jail there’s a feeling of Christmas

Cattle mooing, cowboys shooting
Riding mile after mile
And down at the Long Branch you hear

Silver spurs, silver spurs
It’s Christmas time in Dodge City
Jing-a-ling, saloon girls sing
Soon it will be Christmas day.

Mobs in street fights try to stay polite
While they bleed red and scream
As the towns folk rush home
To take cover

Hear the jaws crunch
See the kids bunch
It’s Matt Dillon’s big scene
As he catches the rustlers you’ll hear

Silver spurs, silver spurs
It’s Christmas time in Dodge City
Jing-a-ling, saloon girls sing
Soon it will be Christmas day.

Silver spurs, silver spurs
Soon it will be Christmas day.
Soon it will be Christmas day.


When we travel in the car we sing to the radio. The other night, Silver Bells came on and I sang Dodge City to make my wife laugh.

Cowboy Kindness

Cowboy Kindness


Cowboys are known 'bout their kindness to strangers,
even against outlaws and rustlers.
To a cowboy it matters not the dangers, 
and on this night, 
it was none the differ.

I was ridin' grave yard,
one night long ago.
A winter storm was blowin'
snow fallin' and the wind cold.

When I came apon a feller stuck in the snow,
his team tangled and all astray.
So I pulled up to help, wouldn't ya know,
So this man could be on his way.

He was tall and broad with eyes,
that looked so kind.
even though there was much work for me,
I didn't mind.

So we got his rig fixed and team hitched,
he gave me a small gift,
wrapped in paper of gold.

I handed it back to him,
sayin' "There's no cause,
it belongs to some boy or girl,
so be on yer way Mr Clause."

"For the sun will soon be up,
and you have to leave bacause,
there is bound to be milk and cookies,
so go for there is only time for a short pause."

When my shift was done,
I went to get some some chuck.
A simple Christmass breakfast,
wouldn't ya know the luck.

Ol' cook with his laddle pointed,
to the corner with the tree.
Under it was a brand new saddle..
From Santa, To. Me

A Cowboy's Revenge

Last winter he wandered away to the west
wearing a black hat ,a suit and a vest,
he practiced his shooting till he had it honed
he put a hair trigger on all that he owned.

He had to find Jagger ,a wolf of a man,
to bring him back down he would tackle his clan
A rough pack of owlhoots who hid out in caves,
up in the Sierras where only God saves.

He followed the trail of pillage and pain,
till he came in sight of the cave in the rain.
The rustlers were loaded with liquor and guns
fighting and laughing and having some fun.

He went in there blasting his pistols on fire,
he killed every man with a vengeance most dire,
The only one left when the smoke cleared away,
was Jagger who snarled"who are you anyway?"

The cowboy in black tipped his hat with a smile
It's your own son he said....
Now you're going to trial.
You left us to die on the trail in the past,
but somehow I lived and I swore to the last,
I'd find you and bring you back home to pay
for killing my Ma and now this is the day!

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