Why the Long Face?
Tag Archives: Horses
In honor of Farmer’s Day
Uncle Tony and Cousin Werner at seeding time a long time ago. 
CHILDREN HAVE
CHILDREN HAVE
Children have a great sense of smell
Maybe that’s why
their diapers make them cry
their first
breast sends them
on a lifelong quest
and a cinnamon bun
can stop us all in the mall
On a farm there’s hay
before it goes into the cow
and hay when it comes out
The pungency of pig, the foul of fowl
Rain before the first drop falls
and the whip of lightning after it cracks
Smoke on dad’s clothes from the prairie fire
snuff from the round box cutting his shirt
The dog, even wet, not diminished in love
If lost in a blizzard, or in the dark
it is always best to let go of the reins
so the horse’s nose can point you home
Lost in the world at four a.m.
twice blessed if yours can do the same
LITTLE BROWN JUG
LITTLE BROWN JUG
My father had three sons
and taught them all
how to tie a grain sack, how to cut a calf
how to talk to a horse you walked up behind
so you wouldn’t get kicked or killed
Good things to know
but none of us are working cattle now
He played a mean harmonica
would that he would have taught us that
TABBY LA ROSA
TABBY LA ROSA
Horses are cats
they just want to be
petted and loved
Although
when you neglect to do so
they are much more likely
to send you flying
than piss on your best Persian rug
That sort of thing is reserved for cats
and cats are not horses
and deeply resent
being ridden
as every toddling two year old
in history (unable to read history)
will have to have etched
on the blank slates of their skin
HAWAII FIVE OH
HAWAII FIVE OH
It was so damn beautiful
It could have been an
ad for anything
A young man and a beautiful
young woman, hair streaming
over soft well-tanned neck
gallop along a deserted
white-sand Oahu beach
They wouldn’t include
in the thirty second ad
how very hard the cowboy
from Canada is trying to
impress the Island maid
How many thousands of acres
How many broncs he has rode
How she had given him
the eighteen hand Hunter to ride
and how they had left the silly
English saddles behind
How good he feels about himself
as the sand kicks up from hooves
how pride goeth before a….
rogue wave crashing at their feet
And the big horse spooking
and the cowboy’s instincts doing
everything right, if he had been
neck-reining a quarter horse
and everything wrong on this one
Who goes left while he goes right
right out from under
With nothing but gravity
between him and
where his butt meets
the wet hard sand
The visible bruise
lasts a week or two
The therapy is taking
a little longer
THE POETRY READING
THE POETRY READING
The secret to hauling horses
is to step on the gas fast
hit the brakes hard
then the gas
again
A few rounds of that
and their feet
are far apart
and well set
You can pretty much
do what you like
for the rest of the trip
DANCES WITH HORSES
DANCES WITH HORSES
And what is the poem of Rusty
who slips at full gallop and picks up all
four feet and sets them down sure on the next
dry spot
Of Lady still so afraid of wire she can buck
fourteen hours tired
if a four inch chunk should strike a hoof
And the dance of the wild mare in the corral
who kicks and one foot goes by on each side of
your head
And of the colt separated from mother’s flank
by a gunny sack in the face and a quick gate,
who turns a tight arc and comes back at you, and
you see it in the eyes and duck and he sails over
taking out the top rail
And you hear that your father gave you the first
compliment you’ve
ever heard of by turning to the man beside him
and saying
“The damned fool will get himself killed someday”
GOOD OLD BOYS
GOOD OLD BOYS
For years you’ve been cleaning up your act
But now the good old boys are coming back
And the guy they’re coming back to see
Is the good old boy that you used to be
You broke some broncs and drank some
beers
And played tough football in those
years
Cruised to front and back seat double
features
And took big guns to kill small timid
creatures
Since then you’ve passed through many a
door
But can’t say to them. I’m not that person
anymore
Of course they may have changed too
But how oh how could they tell … You
TOO CROWDED
TOO CROWDED
My folks took some time off in the sixties
from their Saskatchewan ranching and
traveled down through South Texas
One day they stopped to talk to an
old cowboy sittin and a wittlin
on a rickety ranch porch
When he found out where they were from he said
“Say – do you know a man up there
by the name of Bill Prior?”
They said “Yes, he’s an old bachelor who lives up
past our north pasture, why do you ask?”
“Well” he said, “About 1928 Bill and I are out lookin
for some strays when we see another rider
coming over the furthest hill.”
Bill said to me, “It’s getting too damn crowded
down here, I’m heading for Canada”
“He turned his horse North and I haven’t
seen him since”