MacMurphy’s head hangs
Fittingly from my saddle horn.
I’d snatched it in a moment
When he couldn’t decide
Which way to parry.
The look of surprise is still on his face.
MacNulty’s ugly mug provides
Balance on the other side.
He was just slow, or stupid, or tired of living.
His expression is one of benign neglect.
I wonder whose woman will miss her man more.
But these are thoughts best left to philosophers.
The only head that speaks to me at this hour
Dangles with doggish eagerness under my kilt.
Fiona, warm up the haggis.
I’m coming home.
I sit upon a horse below,
with saddle horn in hand
Wipe of reins I speak giddy up,
four hoofs now galloping on
Through trees with branches
this path I follow is new
Opening up into a valley
With sky's coloring blue
Clouds light as a feather
rolling hills a sunset beyond.
A vast array of violet tulips
farther then the eye may see.
Out yonder I see my lady
Waiting with a basket of hunger
She lays under a old oak tree
Where two initials once carved
Within a cycled shaped heart
this love I found so long ago
Her treasure I find in my heart
with a smile of a bright sunlight
and stars of sparkling eyes
Her mane upon her head now gray
Through years of love together
rearing two boy’s now grown
Many thought’s passed away
beauty these eyes I still see,
As she lay’s under our tree
Still tempting my old soul
With eyes matching a look
And a heart as precious gold
hearts still beating together
As our one life grows old
Though Santa never responded to pleas
There was just one gift I wanted each year
A horse that could run at the speed of light
A bold little gal, I never had fear
With two high school friends, I went a ranch
To ride in 103-degree heat
Through the bramble bushes and prickly pears
Upon little “Misty” I took my seat
The Mustang Adoption Program’s success
Sparked ranchers from Tucson, Arizona
To give a home to a rust-colored mare
Many miles from my home near Daytona
Cryptic white markings graced Misty’s neck
Like words in Native American code
“She’s so small,” I whined, hoping to ride fast
But no matter, to the desert we rode
Even the roadrunners were envious
When Misty gained speed and hit her full stride
Warp speed! I clung to the saddle horn
As Misty passed larger horses with pride
My hat fell on a cactus, sweat filled my eyes
My life flashed before me, quite a surprise
It seemed like she had wings as we flew
Don’t be quick to judge a horse by its size
*For Gregory Paul's "Favorite Animal" contest
Often times I dream of days gone past -
Although, I've not lived then -
Neither saddle or horse shoe cast:
Where was he when I first envisioned the outline of his long, hatted figure?
Atop a horse named, "Fourth of July" -
Montana perhaps or Wyoming is where he lingered...for a time.
Long since dormant, there remains only tattered
images of a dusty saddle horn, bent buckles, a frayed lasso hidden under
some felled and hollowed out oak, that still rustles with callused sounding
boots of cowboys retiring, still wet with the days cattle drive, sore and
worn out talks of how they could have been with the perfumed, bustled
women of their otherwise, ordinary youth.
5/7/2014
WINCHESTER MODEL 73 - The Gun that Won the West
Deputy why don't you leave that cowboy alone?
He ain't doin nothin, he's a long way from home.
Can't you see that Winchester by his saddle horn?
If you know what's good for you, you'll leave him alone.
Deputy why don't you let that cowboy ride on?
Do you think he carved them notches out just for fun?
Can't you see that Winchester by his saddle horn?
If you know what's good for you, you'll leave him alone.
You think that Winchester looks good to you.
But one more notch is all you'll be I'm warnin you.
Deputy why don't you let that cowboy ride on.
He won't even slow down unless you draw your gun.
Don't you know that Winchester's not there just for fun?
If you know what's good for you, you'll leave him alone.
© ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
• My cowboy has walked me to this horse eating pit-
• I think I should dance and jig and throw quite a fit-
• Gators and snakes and no bottom in sight-
• If I put my hoof in it something will bite-
• The ditch is wide and the water is green-
• I’m getting spookier from the reflections I’ve seen-
• Hang on fat cowboy and grab that saddle horn-
• This big ole horse is going airborne!-
• I tried to warn him of the upcoming jump-
• When he hit the ground he made quite a thump!-
• He dusted himself off when he got off the grass-
• Dirt and mud still stuck to his fat ass-
• From his perspective he still failed to see-
• That leap I made surely saved him and me!-
By Mike Francis
Three girls weathered the Arizona heat
Ranch hands distributed straw cowboy hats
Without them we’d have fallen to sun’s defeat
As our horses bounded through desert flats
Far faster than the onlooking wildcats
My comrades suffering from heat stroke
We chilled the next day and drove to Tombstone
Where spirits of Wyatt and his crew were evoked
Marshal’s badges for sale, tickled my funny bone
Placed on my hat, in the sun the badge shone
The next day we rode again full speed
Tense fists clinging to the saddle horn
Through an area best known for tumbleweed
My hat flew off, a cactus now adorned
No longer on my head was it worn
After we returned to the stable
I set out on foot and retrieved my marshal hat
To reach it, I was nearly disabled
Coyotes did not put out a welcome mat
To shoo them away, I swung cactus like a bat
*Entry for Carol’s “My Favorite Hat or Bonnet” contest. (True, but for the swinging
of the cactus -- ouch!)
I Drew A Portrait of A Cowboy
With Bronco Jumping to the Sun
The Sunlight, was Both His Halo
And Sunrays, His Blazing Gun …
As He Rode High, Against Blue Sky
And Came Down, to Earth-Dirt-Brown
He Hung Onto That Saddle Horn
And Sat It Like A Crown
A Cowboy Hat, Was Silhouette
With Its Studded, Silver-Band
Also, On His Chaps, and Spurs
And Spanish Leather, Gloved Hands
His Jaw, Was Set, in Steel
A Strong, Granite Profile
Of Determination, Skill and Handsomeness
And Hard, Big-Country Style
… and I Love That Portrait of A Cowboy
Getting Bronchoed Up In The Sun
Seeing Sun and Sky, and A Wild Stallion Try
To Buck That Son – Of – A – Gun !
Griping and growling, the camp cook is up
I know that he was born with an attitude
No way one can slumber around here
Smelling the coffee boiling, I need a cup
Wide open spaces, kitchen is kind of crude
Three more hours before the Sun will appear
Roll a smoke and roll you bed
No longer time to snore
Shake the scorpions out of your boots
No counting the cob webs in your head
Do worry about closing the door
Tumbleweeds have shallow roots
Crazy cattle, wild broncs for the day
You just know they have been eating loco weed
A run for your money, make you grab the saddle horn
That is how you earn your pay
And the nature of the breed
In a pasture full of mesquite thorn
Supper will be around midnight
Hot cup of coffee and a cold biscuit
Come payday, maybe some bacon
Around a campfire light
Then you know that it is time to quit
For a cowboy, just another day in the making
Eye of Needle
A poor man yes but eye have fish and even corn and carry all my worry on NO
saddle horn eye lift the Egypt bag and strap it to my back and picnic in the basket
rides with me on handles lifted up to shoulder hurt not acting up but staying
healthy as eye go eye walk from time to time eye ride sew on the bus eye go am
lifted up by Jesus than enough the echo carries me again enough the echo of
eye cry eye thread my eye the needle is undone.
Eye of Needle
Raw-boned trees scratch a dark hazy gray sky—
Far mountains gleam white with winter’s solutions.
Seems it’s this time of year we wonder why,
We even pause to make new resolutions.
In these random views from the saddle horn,
We creak worn leather with our restless spirit—
Like almost from the first day we were born,
We ride this life quickly, yet we still fear it.
And so we’ve lived to see this New Year dawn—
Vow again to do all those things that are right.
But we do not know what each day will spawn
Or if we will softly ride into the night.
So from this saddle horn we barely hold,
We ride on toward what a New Year will unfold.
Jason grab the fleece
Set it squarely under there
While Murray tightens the girth
Madge how many tries does it take to put on a bridle?
I don’t care if the nose armor’s low
So long as it’s straight
Where is Jacques with that damned chain
How are we ever going to be ready by nine
They’re carrying him in now ?
Streuth! The tail wrap’s slipped
Elmwood you’d better pray
he can’t see through that new visor
That saddle horn is duller than Clyde mud
Where is David with the shield grease?
What’s wrong with you people?
The tourney’s about to begin
and Gods Hammer we’re third in the grovel line
Again!!
Who has the lance duty today?
Shards and Sweetness Victor
What have you been feeding this steed?