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Alice This poem was written in response to an ArtSpur on cowboypoetry.com featuring Pat Richardson's drawing of Sammy, a mule. It reminded me of how scarce mules were out in the ranch country where I lived. Cowboys of that time (and western heroes of modern days, with the exception of Festus in the Gunsmoke series) disparaged those worthy creatures. In my youth, Alice was the only mule for miles around and, as a result, seemed to think she was a horse. It's comforting to believe that, perhaps, she never really learned the truth about her lineage and the character of her father. Along the Cowdog Trail I remembered our cowdog, Barker, the other day when I saw a fellow at an intersection holding up a sign, "Will work for food!" Barker did that! He was a real cowdog, although why he was named Barker is a mystery 'cause he rarely barked when he was working. Other than working for nothing, he was a pretty smart dog. A Bit O' Sod This poem was inspired by the memory of a neighboring rancher who had come from Ireland. It's dedicated to a fine Irish couple who, in recent times, lived next door to us. Cadfael in the West This poem was inspired by the stories of Cadfael, a fictional hero created by Ellis Peters. Cadfael was a Benedictine monk, an herbalist, and a detective in medieval England. His adventures are related in more than twenty well-researched novels, thirteen of which were also the basis for a TV series produced by Carlton and aired by BBC and PBS. Mairéad Reidy, a fan in England, provided an illustration to accompany this poem...you can see Cadfael in the Great American West by clicking here. Chicken Feet Out on our ranch, nothing was wasted. Even the feet and lower legs of the chickens were stewed or fried. Although there wasn't much meat on them, they were flavorful to gnaw on and the kids regarded them as a real treat. A Conkless Horse My daughter-in-law challenged me to write a western poem in the style of Dr. Seuss, a poem she could read to our great granddaughter. Of course, at the time of this writing, our great granddaughter is just coming up on six months of age so I reckon it will be a while before she understands what she's hearing. Deterrence This is sort of a "challenge poem." The local newspaper, the Tri-City Herald, asked for comments on the death penalty. It came to mind that, back in the early 1930's, my grandfather pointed out a hanging tree which, he said, hadn't been used for years. It seems it was a visual reminder for folks to think twice before stealing horses or committing some other crime. I reckon that idea has been confirmed by current studies which indicate the death penalty can be a deterrent to capital crime. Evening Winds We've never tired of the vast inland sea of grass that undulates over the Sandhills of Nebraska moved by the changing winds. We've never forgotten the stories of those...both men and beasts...who were there, those who came there, and those who are now there. Five Senses Seein' the painting, "Waxed Jacket," by William Matthews on the web, I was reminded of a youthful ride toward home many years ago, a ride that sorta involved every one of the five human senses...hearing, seeing, tasting, smelling, and touching. Goose Creek This poem from my book, Western Images was awarded an Honorable Mention (certificate and cash) at the 13th Annual Juried Poetry Reading sponsored by Allied Arts of Yakima Valley. Click here for the certificate.Goose Creek was a nearby stream in the Nebraska Sandhills. It was a grand place for a child to fish (although the catch was usually crappies or sunfish about four to six inches in length) and to swim. We dammed up a section of the creek to create a swimming hole deep enough for diving. Hard Times Party The Great Depression and a lingering drought was cause for concern in the early 1930's but as folks came together, expressing their problems and concerns, sharing modest successes, life was eased and they could go back to work with renewed hope and energy. The rock soup was a bit of rural humor…the soup was started with a rock and water in a large kettle and, as folks arrived, they'd add their food donations (primarily meat and root vegetables) to the pot. The result was an excellent soup and the rock was washed and saved until the next occasion…some rocks were said to be better than others for starting rock soup. Heaven Bound Cowboys did live a rough life and there always seemed some question as to whether they'd make it through the Pearly Gates. But, overall, they were fun-loving, caring, and helpful people who lived a decent life even though they didn't wear their religion on the sleeve. Horse Talk Although I've never been one for swearing, I did learn a lot of four letter words while working with horses in the hayfields on several ranches in the Sandhills of Nebraska. Honest, it just seemed like those horses wouldn't respond to any commands unless they were illuminated by four letter words. Fortunately, those words never became part of my day-to-day vocabulary. Infinity, Eternity A friend, on hearing this poem asked, "why in the world is a western and cowboy poet writing about the universe?" Well, when you're ridin' you have a lot of time to think and the seemingly unending expanse of the western skies offer a lot for a cowboy to think and wonder about. Irritated Bulls There's been lots of press coverage for Mad Cows but not much about the Bulls! This poem looks to correct that situation! Journey's End A number of my previous poems have been inspired by pieces of art (ArtSpurs in the form of paintings or sculptures commissioned by CowboyPoetry.com). This latest one was inspired by "A Cowboy's Christmas Eve" by Dee Strickland Johnson which appears on the internet at http://www.cowboypoetry.com/artspur.htm. Old Time Soddy Scattered through the Sandhills of Nebraska, there were numerous homes laid up of "prairie bricks," sod houses… soddys…built of the most available material. Some remain, still occupied, warm in Winter, cool in summer, and filled with memories. opPORTunity The Port of Benton, an inland port based in Richland, Washington celebrated its fiftieth anniversary in 2007. This poem was written for presentation at their anniversary celebration. You say it ain't cowboy? Hey, it's western! Outlaw Blue Old Blue was actually my dad's horse, the meanest horse I ever rode. He bucked me off more times than I care to remember. And that club tail of his? It was a wicked weapon. Pre-Empted [This was a December challenge poem written for the Poet's Group which meets at the Northshore Senior Center in Bothell, Washington.] I remember Pearl Harbor. I was just back from a Sunday school class held in our rural one-room school when the news came over our battery-operated radio. The message was filled with static but it was clear...our nation was at war. Roamin' Cowboy This poem, written from a woman's viewpoint, is about a friend who believed a roamin' cowboy when he said he'd return to her. Now, an aging spinster, she still waits, even knowing that her cowboy will never return. Shortcut When he was young, an acquaintance of many years ago lived in a little western town where the only entertainment was in the pool hall next door to the general store. He often told of falling in an open grave on the way home one winter night and I've tried to capture his tale in this poem. Spot When I was in the fifth grade, a rancher loaned Spot to me in exchange for me taking care of him for a while. Spot was a real charmer and soon became quite a pet around our place. This is his story. |
