SHADOWS
Living in the west
shadows of
my horse
and hat
following
me home
Category: Cowboy Poetry
THE OLD WILDCATTER
THE OLD WILDCATTER
Sad as a West Texas duster
he sits on a cracked vinyl stool
Remains of youth and charm
slip through a dry-hole smile
Still drilling from habit
the wild lands of women
Still praying for gushers
FROM A SADDER TIME
FROM A SADDER TIME
Prairie boy, tumbleweed, rolling forever
and the only rest if he should tire
is against barbed wire
A COWPOKE WATCHES POLO
A COWPOKE WATCHES POLO
Look at them go
backin and forthin and bumpin and turnin
Saddle, nothin but a cow pie with stirrups
Them boys can ride
A PRAIRIE VILLANELLE
A PRAIRIE VILLANELLE
If prairie wheels again had I
I’d chew the gravel and the air
with prairie roads to fly
I’d plume the earth into sky
to show them I was there
If prairie wheels again had I
Past placed where dead neighbours lie
I’d not linger, who would dare
with prairie roads to fly
Dust to dust gets in your eye
I’d look for other things to share
if prairie wheels again had I
Then greener farmyards I’d pass by
in mem-mirages free of care
with prairie roads to fly
I’d roll past all that makes you cry
afloat I sunsets clear and fair
in prairie wheels again had I
with prairie roads to fly
DON’T WORRY MATE
DON’T WORRY MATE
Up North working the neighbour’s calves
One of those mixed farm forty cow
no corral kind of operations
good folks though and they help us out
We’re branding and cutting and vaccinating
in a lean-to off the barn in shit eight inches deep
No room for a horse or a rope
so you just have to grab those calves
and throw them down right side up
so they’re dry enough to brand
The farmer’s son loses his grip on a catch
and the calf tries to bolt past me
I turn quick, grab the head and come ‘round
fast to where the farmer stands flat footed
with that big syringe in his hand
needle pointed forward
Into my shoulder, skin, flesh and the bone
dumping the whole shot of multi-task
vaccine
The next day the arm hurts bad
and it doesn’t look too good
So we drive down to Mossbank
to see the old Aussie flying doctor
who must have gotten off course
to land in Saskatchewan
He gives me some medicine
and says come back in three days
I say I’ll probably be fine by then
and it’s sixty miles round trip
He says “don’t worry mate
you’re vaccinated for shipping fever”
And I’ve been traveling ever since
THE MARLBORO MAN
THE MARLBORO MAN
There is no longer
a wild wild West to tame
or outlaws or Red Indians
to join in the old macho game
Of the testing of his manhood
and the building of his fame
And yet he retains the rugged look
of a steel-eyed firebrand
that can only be seen in the fearless few
who daily face death at every hand
Though now his risks are reduced
to trippin on the scenery
where he rides for a phony brand
And that cigarette in his hand
KENDRA
KENDRA
When the natives of this land
suffered a death such as this
they knew how to grieve
They felt it to the depths of their being
and cut deep into their arms and legs
that they might reach deeper
Today my great friends
I reach and bleed with you
Written for my cousin Kenny and his wife Betty on the tragic loss of their eighteen year old daughter
PINCHER CREEK ALBERTA
PINCHER CREEK ALBERTA
Mid June and Cowboy Poets back in town
voices hoarse from long winters silence
And a thousand and more are here to hear
for the poets have been listening all year
Listening to the cattle and the coyotes
and the Northern Lights at nights
And they have been reminded
and being reminded they remember
and remembering they come here to remind
And just listening we remember
and unwind
BUD McKAGUE
BUD McKAGUE
You can’t take it with you
they all say
And I believed it
till today
But that was gold
and crowns and
worldly glories
Bud beat those odds
he took his stories
(Bud, who knew and could tell more stories than anyone collapsed and died last year shortly after getting a standing ovation at Pincher Creek)