cowboy poetry

fbharjo commented on the word cowboy poetry

From the Bar D roundup

The Philosopher

(A Tribute to Owen Barton, 1987)

They gave me a gentle old pony

Too fat and lazy to run,

And sent me out on the rangeland

To see what the drought had done.

I could see it was only a Grandpa chore

To get me out of the way,

So I filled my canteen with water

And quietly rode away.

When I reached the forks of the draw

There was no water in the ditch.

In just two hours my horse had the scours,

And I had a case of the itch.

The spot where the beaver pond once stood

Is a big dusty salt lick now,

But I can remember when late in September

There was water to drown a cow.

But the ditch rider came along one day

With five sticks of dynamite;

He drained every drop of water

And blew the dam clear out of sight.

The beavers were the best engineers

Our valley ever had,

But the Government trapper took 'em out,

He said their influence was bad.

The cowboys dug out Moonshine Spring

To get water in big supply,

And now there is a four-inch pipe,

And the whole dam thing is dry!

I sat down there on the rim-rock

With these troubles on my mind,

And then I saw a hereford bull

The cowboys had left behind.

His head was hangin' near the ground

With a tongue too dry to drip.

And a protected species magpie

Roostin' on his hip.

'Twas then I saw a flash of brown

In the shaded brush near by,

A mangy, thirsty old coyote

Just waitin' for the bull to die.

I was wishin' for a rifle

As she walked over to a hole,

But when I saw her starvin' pups

I was ready to shoot that bull!

It's tough to get confused and old

After all the miles I've trod,

Me, a sittin' on the rim-rock

Tryin' to act like God.

While criticizin' all the dumb mistakes

I've seen some people make,

I should surely know by now

Life ain't no piece of cake.

But I've got my satisfaction

And had my biggest thrills,

Just watchin' coyotes and magpies

And thinkin' about red ant hills.

© Colen H. Sweeten Jr.

June 11, 2009