Cowboy Poetry

[CHONGS]

Some of my favorites:

I Don't Look Down on Dust No More

I see your boot prints in the dust
out in the horse's pen
and think, perhaps, you're still nearby
and I'll see you again.
Soft dust covers your ridin' chaps,
your round-up hat's wide brim.
"Don't bother with the dust," I say.
"We're just waitin' for him."

I used to watch the dust clouds swirl
and wish them far away.
Dust sneaked inside, nagged me to clean
when I would rather play.
A million times or more I've cursed
the dust, I'd chance to say.
I don't look down on dust no more,
my heart' s in yesterday.

Rain clouds rise up to drench the land
and everything turns green
while dust melts deep into the earth.
I guess I've never seen
a rainbow that's less welcome here
as dust clouds fade away
because it means time's passin' and
my heart's in yesterday.

Rememberin' our little ones,
cleaned up and fast asleep,
or rompin' wildly by the fire
with you, are sights I keep
stored up for when the hard times come.
Somehow they seem to seep
like dust into my wakin' hours;
they pile up soft and deep.

Well, I will dust my courage off
and finish up my chores
so when I ride the other side
my trail will follow yours.
Love's dust collects on memories,
falls from our happy stores
of living close together, glad,
and keepin' even scores.

Time's dusty traces in this place
tell me you had to go.
Your picture here beside me now
reminds me it was so.
I can't hold on to yesterday.
Before too long I'll know
it's time to join the big round up,
our final rodeo.

feel free to share yours 

[CHONGS]

The Gol-Darned Wheel

I can take the wildest bronco in the tough old woolly West;
I can ride him, I can break him, let him do his level best;
I can handle any cattle who ever wore a coat of hair,
And I've had a lively russle with a tarnal grizzly bear;
I can rope and throw the longhorn of the wildest Texas brand,
And in Indian disagreements I can play a leading hand;
But at last I got my master, and he surely made me squeal
When the boys got me a-straddle of that gol-darned wheel.

It was at the Eagle Ranch, on the Brazos,
When I first found that darned contrivance that upset me in the dust.
A tenderfoot had brought it; he was wheeling all the way
From the sunrise end of freedom out to San Francisco Bay.
He tied up at the ranch for to get outside a meal,
Never thinkin' we would monkey with his gol-darned wheel

Arizona Jim begun it when he said to Jack McGill,
There was fellows forced to limit braggin' on their ridin' skill;
And he'd venture the admission the same fellow that he meant
Was a very handy critter far as ridin' broncos went;
But he would find that he was buckin' 'gainst a different kind of deal
If he threw his leather leggins 'gainst a gol-darned wheel.

Such a slam against my talent made me hotter than a mink,
And I swore that I would ride him for amusement or for chink.
And it was nothin' but a plaything for the kids and such about,
And they'd have their ideas shattered if they'd lead the critter out.
They held it while I mounted and gave the word to go;
The shove they gave to start me warn't unreasonably slow.
But I never spilled a cuss-word and I never spilled a squeal--
I was buildin' reputation on that gol-darned wheel.

Holy Moses and the Prophets, how we split the Texas air,
And the wind it made whip-crackers of my same old canthy hair,
And sorta comprehended as down the hill we went
There was bound to be a smash-up that I could n't well prevent.
Oh, how them punchers bawled, "Stay with her, Uncle Bill!
Stick your spurs in her, you sucker! Turn her muzzle up the hill!"
But I never made an answer; I just let the cusses squeal,
I was buildin' reputation on that gol-darned wheel.

The grade was mighty slopin' from the ranch down to the creek,
And I went a-galliflutin' like a crazy lightnin' streak--
Went whizzin' and a-dartin' first this way and then that,
The darned contrivance sort o' wobbling like the flyin' of a bat.
I pulled upon the handles, but I could n't check it up,
And I yanked and sawed and hollowed but the darned thing would n't stop.
Then a sort of a thinker in my brain began to steal,
That the devil held a mortgage on that gol-darned wheel.

I've sort o' dim and hazy remembrance of the stop,
With the world a-goin' 'round and the stars all tangled up;
Then there came an intermission that lasted till I found
I was lyin' at the ranch with the boys all gathered round,
And a doctor was sewin' on the skin where it was ripped,
And old Arizona whispered, "Well, old boy, I guess you're whipped."
And I told him I was busted from sombrero down to heel,
And he grinned and said, "You ought to see that gol-darned wheel."

[CHONGS]

The Lonesome Cowboy

A cowboy is a lonesome man
There's none more lonesome in the land,
He rides atop his only friend
His horse, a companion on whom he can depend,
His woman may be miles behind him
Sadness and desperation may find him,
But a cowboy who's wise will turn to the earth
To lend him solace and even mirth,
The earth from which all beauty springs
Such bounty, forth she always brings
He'll dig a hole with cracked, scorched hands
Pour in all the water that hole demands,
Until that earth is moist, just right
The earth'll never put up any kind of a fight
His cries of joy no one will hear
In case I am not being clear,
I'm saying that cowboy is going to eff a hole in the ground
We all do it, that's what I have found
Any cowboy that knows that lonesome hell
Can fashion a land virginny well,
If a cowboy's seed worked like other seeds
There'd be cowboys growing across the plains like weeds.

[steve dave]

I've been to a lot of cowboy funerals where they were read and always 

[CHONGS]

Canned Termaters

Them old time western cowboys mostly ate what they could git,
And drank what turned up handy, but I've heard them all admit
They sometimes got so tired of beans, of beef and even 'taters,
They'd purt near swap their saddles for a bait of canned termaters.
About the only stuff in cans them days was pork and beans,
Terrmaters, Eagle milk, and corn, and maybe some sardines;
And none of these was plentiful out where the cow trails ran,
For grub come mighty costly when you bought it in the can.
But sometimes in the wagon bed of big ranch operators
You'd find maybe a case or two of stuff called canned termaters.
 
Them old time cowhands never heard of vitamins an' such;
They never craved no fancy foods--at least not very much--
But, comin' in from cow-work where the dust was thick and hot,
Them juicy, cool termaters--well, they sure did hit the sport.
You even liked them better than you did dried apply pie,
And, when your outfit furnished them, you sure was livin' high.
Why, even when you et in town, you shocked them restrunt waiters
By turnin' fancy vittles down and eatin' canned termaters!
 
A-batchin' in the boars-nest, as the line camps then was called,
You often tired of cookin', and your appetite got stalled,
But if up there upon the shelf some canned termaters stood,
You'd "cut a can" for supper, and it sure did savor good.
Some days inside your slicker you would pack a can or two
Tied on behind your saddle. If the water holes was few
You'd "cut a can" and drink it as you jogged along the road,
And swear that canned termaters was the best fruit ever growed.
 
In town, the morning after you had helped the owl to hoot,
Your tongue would taste like leather from the top of some old boot,
Until you found a grocer that would trust you for a can,
And when you'd cut and drunk it, you was sure a diff'rent man.
 
That's how them oldsters tell it of the days when life was rough,
When ridin' men was rawhide men, and nothin' else but tough;
When men with hides and stummicks like on ol' bull alligator's,
Was still like kids for candy--when it come to canned termaters.

[CHONGS]

A Dangerous Life

The cowboy’s life is full of danger
To risks to his life he is never a stranger
He knows there’s a chance his horse may throw him
He lives in fear that a storm may blow him
Of all the ways a cowboy may meet his end
There are few against which he can defend
His rifle can’t shoot the wind or the fire
It will not work against vampires
Who stalk the plains for cowboy blood
And leave their pray dead in the mud
Every shadow that moves in the night
Gives the cowboy vampire fright
Vampires! Vampires! Vampires! Vampires!
With fangs as sharp as new barbed wire
They sneak up behind cowboys, sit behind them on their horse
And ride that way for miles, of course
The cowboy riding unawares
Until he feels icy fingers brushing his hairs
Off of his neck to get a clean bite
And reduce his pallor to a ghostly white
A vampire can look like anyone
Getting killed by one would not be fun
A smart cowboy will carry a stake of wood
And bury it in the heart of anyone he thinks he should
Some of these may turn out to be regular men
But better safe than sorry, then.

Dedicated to the memory of Winston Black, Carlyle Dunhill, Baxter Fields, Tom Sherwood, Lester Dellwood, Wesley Norton (And several folks whose names I am not aware of).

[CHONGS]

Pete’s Error

There’s a new grave up on Boot Hill, where we’ve planted Rowdy Pete;
He died one evenin’, sudden, with his leather on his feet;
He was Cactus Center’s terror with that work of art, the Colt,
But, somehow, without warnin’, he up and missed his holt.

His fav’rite trick in shootin’ was to grab his victim’s right,
Then draw his own revolver — and the rest was jest "Good-night";
He worked it in succession on nine stout and well-armed men,
But a sickly-lookin’ stranger made Pete’s feet slip up at ten.

Pete had follered out his programme and had passed the fightin’ word;
He grabbed the stranger’s right hand, when a funny thing occurred;
The stranger was left-handed, which Pete hadn’t figgered out,
And, afore he fixed his error, Peter was dead beyond all doubt.

It was jest another instance of a flaw in work of man;
A lefty never figgered in the gunman’s battle plan;
There ain’t no scheme man thinks of that Dame Nature cannot beat —
So his pupils are unlearnin’ that cute trick they got from Pete.

[slimz]

A Dangerous Life

The cowboy’s life is full of danger
To risks to his life he is never a stranger
He knows there’s a chance his horse may throw him
He lives in fear that a storm may blow him
Of all the ways a cowboy may meet his end
There are few against which he can defend
His rifle can’t shoot the wind or the fire
It will not work against vampires
Who stalk the plains for cowboy blood
And leave their pray dead in the mud
Every shadow that moves in the night
Gives the cowboy vampire fright
Vampires! Vampires! Vampires! Vampires!
With fangs as sharp as new barbed wire
They sneak up behind cowboys, sit behind them on their horse
And ride that way for miles, of course
The cowboy riding unawares
Until he feels icy fingers brushing his hairs
Off of his neck to get a clean bite
And reduce his pallor to a ghostly white
A vampire can look like anyone
Getting killed by one would not be fun
A smart cowboy will carry a stake of wood
And bury it in the heart of anyone he thinks he should
Some of these may turn out to be regular men
But better safe than sorry, then.

Dedicated to the memory of Winston Black, Carlyle Dunhill, Baxter Fields, Tom Sherwood, Lester Dellwood, Wesley Norton (And several folks whose names I am not aware of).

"There was a point early on where you rhymed 'him' with 'him'?"



"It was a secondary rhyme, you son of a..."

[DQ12]

does chingon watch comedy bang bang?

[Reboulet]

[Bill Clarahan]

Just a personal observation but all cowboy poetry sounds like cow crap.

[hatingfrancisco]

Just a personal observation but all cowboy poetry sounds like cow crap.

eff you and your personal observations Bill Clarahan.

[The1BigWillie]

I get horribly uncomfortable when I accidentally get stuck around some cowboy poet reading or reciting something any 3rd grader with the ability to rhyme could master.  The only difference between the cowboy poet and the 3rd grader is the "cowboy's" mustache. 

[hatingfrancisco]

I get horribly uncomfortable when I accidentally get stuck around some cowboy poet reading or reciting something any 3rd grader with the ability to rhyme could master.  The only difference between the cowboy poet and the 3rd grader is the "cowboy's" mustache. 

 

[Bloodfart]

Chingon you ever been to the Pairie Rose? I've never been but people I know who like that kind of stuff say it's the bees knees.

http://www.prairierosechuckwagon.com/

[Reboulet]

 "The Lonesome Cowboy" by Dalton Wilcox:

                    A cowboy is a lonesome man 
                    There's none more lonesome in the land, 
                    He rides atop his only friend
                    His horse, a companion on whom he can depend,
                    His woman may be miles behind him
                    Sadness and desperation may find him,
                    But a cowboy who's wise will turn to the earth
                    To lend him solace and even mirth,
                    The earth from which all beauty springs
                    Such bounty, forth she always brings
                    He'll dig a hole with cracked, scorched hands
                    Pour in all the water that hole demands,
                    Until that earth is moist, just right
                    The earth'll never put up any kind of a fight
                    His cries of joy no one will hear 
                    In case I am not being clear,
                    I'm saying that cowboy is going to f*ck a hole in the ground
                    We all do it, that's what I have found
                    Any cowboy that knows that lonesome hell
                    Can fashion a land virginy well,
                    If a cowboy's seed worked like other seeds
                    There'd be cowboys growing across the plains like weeds.

[Reboulet]

"I One Time Killed a Frankenstein" by Dalton Wilcox:

                    I one time killed a Frankenstein whilst shopping in a store,
                    he lurched towards me arms outstretch as I ambled towards the door
                    in my hands a new bandana, a hat ten gallons deep,
                    in my body was a soul which my body aimed to keep
                    his voice was ghastly as he spoke in halting monster speech
                    and I tried with all my might to stay out of his reach
                    he said "you gotta pay for that" and filled my heart with dread
                    and then I drew my six gun and shot the monster dead,
                    the news reports described the monster simply as a man
                    to keep from terrifying folks as only a Frankenstein can.

[CHONGS]

Arizony Sunshine

I look upon the midday sun
The summer heat is no fun
My cows have died, flies all around;
Tears from my eyes fall to the ground
Flash goes the match, and it gleams
After I scratch it 'cross my rough jeans
Low-tar? No this will have to just go
I need to pull out my bag and blo some sweet dro.

[Reboulet]

Just a personal observation but all cowboy poetry sounds like cow crap.

Fun fact: Andy Daly was inspired to create his Dalton Wilcox character after hearing a terrible cowboy poet's 

[CHONGS]

Missourah Moon

Dust swirls sweety, silently singing
I see Ol' Cowpuncher Hudspeth's been drinking
My blue eyes dart to and fro, clear as a lake
And with the speed and cunning of a horse-biting snake
I reach for my Winchester, my baby called Ace
And I shoot that sonuvabitch Hud right in the face.

[CHONGS]

Homecoming

They're takin' me to the hangin' tree
One last cigar they've a-given to me
I scream, I cuss, I fuss and I fight
But in the end,  I know they are right
Shooting a man in the face with a rifle
In this here state, that's not a trifle
The rope is scratchy, sure to give a rash
But what do I care? I'll be gone in a flash.

[Bill Clarahan]

Just a personal observation but all cowboy poetry sounds like cow crap.

Fun fact: Andy Daly was inspired to create his Dalton Wilcox character after hearing a terrible cowboy poet's 

Sounds plausible

[Bill Clarahan]

Just a personal observation but all cowboy poetry sounds like cow crap.

eff you and your personal observations Bill Clarahan.

Don't hate, hatingfrancis, just remember this quote from Shakespeare " Different strokes for different folks" , if you and Chingon like shitty prose then I say bully to you

[CHONGS]

El Indio

They said RowdyyBoy Rick was as rough as a bear
I reckoned aloud, "Well sir, I simply don't care"
Rick stood up real quick, the star on his chest gleaming
His eyes were a-fire, his bald greasy head steaming
I tipped my ol' Stetson, black as a snakes heart
Then in flash, RowdyyRick and I stood 40 paces apart
The cowardly barkeep Steve ducked under his counter
Afraid of the side effects from this imminent encounter
The RowdyyBoyy was wearing his Colt Subnosed Single Action
While I was strapped with Smith'n'Wesson to my satisfaction
The dust-ridden clock on the wall struck an ominous one
Both RowdyyBoy Rick and I knew what deed had to be done
El Indio in the corner smiled and gave me a wink
He threw a knife into Rick's back before he could think
I shot him seven times, five of 'em real nice and close
Then I gave the smelly barman three of the same dose.

[Bloodfart]

Missourah Moon

Dust swirls sweety, silently singing
I see Ol' Cowpuncher Hudspeth's been drinking
My blue eyes dart to and fro, clear as a lake
And with the speed and cunning of a horse-biting snake
I reach for my Winchester, my baby called Ace
And I shoot that sonuvabitch Hud right in the face.

Winchester is the best sir.