Leo's Poetry Pit

[Russ T Chambers]

Hope he don't sue me for this, but thought it was appropriate:

A COWBOY 4TH OF JULY

In the life of an early-day cowboy
the only two days he could rest
were Christmas that came in the winter
and July the Fourth which was best.

Cause no one could ever out-holler
or let his whole spirit soar high
as a just-off-the-range happy cowboy
when it came to the Fourth of July.

Independence was more than a "Day," boys:
twas his way of life, don't you see,
and he weren't about to miss showin'
just how much it meant to be free.

The cow towns knew that much about him;
they plum went all out for the Fourth.
They opened the town to the trailhands,
who'd come in by wagon or horse.

Tweren't nuthin' could dampen their spirits,
or keep any trailhand away,
and no one could hold back a cowboy
from kickin' his heels up that day.

There was music and dancin' and fireworks,
declarations, and ,not. just a few.
a free-for-all town celebration,
all decked out in red, white and blue.

They were proud of this land and this nation,
and showed it for any to see.
Today we might bolster our own pride
rememberin' our own history.

In the life of an early-day cowboy
the only two days he could rest
were Christmas that came in the winter
and July the Fourth which was best.

[Tensleep]

One of my favorites


Commutin'
Waddie Mitchell

There ain't nothin' like the feelin'
That you get down deep inside
As ya trot out in the mornin'
When you've hired on to ride

And your mount's enthusiastic
And the air is crisp and new
And there's lively conversation
Goin' on amongst the crew.

There's some bridle crickets chirpin',
Jingle bobs tap out a tune;
On one side the sun is risin',
Just ahead there sets the moon.

Shadows high trot there beside ya,
Elongated, keeping pace,
Reassurin' you ain't hobbled
By restrictive time or space.

Out in front the boss is postin'
To the same beat as his song,
And the realization hits ya
That you're right where you belong.

It's then you start appreciatin'
You're on trails where few have trod.
Wonder how you ever doubted
If there really is a God.

Atop a ridge the boss reins in,
So we gather up around;
It's from here he'll call the circle,
So you step off to the ground.

You loosen up the latigo
An' air your pony's back;
You arrange again the blankets
And ya realign your kack.

You mount back up then get dropped off,
Check to see who’s on each side.
You’re glad that you’re a cowboy
And you feel a twinge of pride.

You ate breakfast by the Coleman,
Hurried ‘round to beat the sun,
Have eleven miles behind ya,
But it’s here the work’s begun.

Now in town when folks must travel,
To their workplace every day,
It’s said that they’re commuting
To their job to earn their pay.

They choke on crazy traffic jams,
Fight for seats on bus or train.
It’s a wonder that this ritual
Doesn’t drive them all insane.

We, too, I guess, commute to work
As the job at hand dictates,
But we commune while we’re commutin’—
And what a difference that makes.

[Tensleep]

Another one I like


Backward

Backward, turn backward,
time on it’s wheel.
No more big ships,
or airplanes or automobiles.

Dress me in an old sombrero,
bandana, vest and chaps.
Give me an old slick forked Visalia,
basket stamped, with full taps.

And out where the sagebrush
is dusty and gray,
Lord let me be a cowboy again,
 just for one day.

[Advertising]

[Delmonico]

Another one I like


Backward

Backward, turn backward,
time on it’s wheel.
No more big ships,
or airplanes or automobiles.

Dress me in an old sombrero,
bandana, vest and chaps.
Give me an old slick forked Visalia,
basket stamped, with full taps.

And out where the sagebrush
is dusty and gray,
Lord let me be a cowboy again,
 just for one day.

Love how MMM starts the Sagebrush Symphony album with that.

[kid sheleen]

Plants Rights?  Man, next thing you know you guys will be joining PETA!  Saw a bumper sticker the other day, said PETA... People Eating Tasty Animals!

[Leo Tanner]

I love that "Backward" one 10zzzzzz.
     Commutin is great too, but somethin about that last one really strikes a chord with me


Leo

[kid sheleen]

Yeah. Those were great!  I think I've heard that cowboy for one day before. I'd like to do it too.  Speaking of eating vegetables, or eating in general, here's one.....

The Grub-Pile Call

There's lots o' songs the puncher sang in roundin' up his herds;
The music wasn't very grand, an' neither was the words.
No op'ry air he chanted, when at night he circled 'round
A bunch of restless longhorns that was throwed on their bed-ground;
But any song the cowboy on his lonely beat would bawl,
Wa'n't half as sweet as when the cook would start the grub-pile call.

I've heard 'em warble "Ol' Sam Bass" for hours at a time;
I've listened to the "Dogie Song," that well-known puncher rhyme;
"The Dyin' Cowboy" made me sad, an' "Mustang Gray" brung tears,
While "Little Joe the Wrangler" yet is ringin' in my ears.
But of the songs the puncher sang, I loved the best of all,
That grand ol' chorus when the cook would start the grub-pile call.

There wasn't any sound so sweet in all the wide range land;
There wa'n't a song the puncher was so quick to understand.
No music that he ever heard so filled him with delight
As when he saw the ol' chuck-wagon top a-gleamin' white;
An' like a benediction on his tired ears would fall
The sweetest music ever heard--the welcome grub-pile call.

I've laid at night an' listened to the lowin' of the steers;
I've heard the coyote's melancholy wail ring in my ears.
The croonin' of the night-wind as it swept across the range
Was mournful-like an' dreary, an' it sounded grim an' strange.
But when the break o' day was near, an' from our tarps we'd crawl,
The mornin' song that charmed us was that welcome grub-pile call

[Leo Tanner]

Del, I think we found yer poem


Leo

[Delmonico]

Got a better on, need to get it found.

[Delmonico]

Maybe some Red Steagall will hold ya over.

The Fence That Me and Shorty Built


We'd picked up all the fencing tools
And staples off the road.
An extra roll of 'bob' wire
Was the last thing left to load.

I drew a sleeve across my face
To wipe away the dirt.
The young man who was helping me
Was tuckin' in his shirt.

I turned around to him and said,
"This fence is finally done,
With five new strands of 'bob' wire
Shinin' proudly in the sun.

The wire is runnin' straight and tight
With every post in line.
The kinda job you're proud of,
One that stands the test of time."

The kid was not impressed at all,
He stared off into space.
Reminded me of years ago,
Another time and place.

I called myself a cowboy,
I was full of buck and bawl
I didn't think my hands would fit
Post augers and a maul.

They sent me out with Shorty
And the ranch fence building crew.
Well, I was quite insulted
And before the day was through,

I let him know that I'm a cowboy,
This ain't what I do.
I ain't no dadgummed nester,
I hired out to buckaroo.

He said, "We'll talk about that son,
When we get in tonight.
Right now you pick them augers up.
It's either that or fight."

Boy, I was diggin' post holes
Faster than a Georgia mole.
But if a rock got in my way
I simply moved the hole.

So when the cowboys set the posts,
The line went in and out.
Old Shorty's face got fiery red
And I can hear him shout.

"Nobody but a fool would build
A fence that isn't straight.
I got no use for someone who ain't
Pullin' his own weight."

I thought for sure he'd hit me
Glad he didn't have a gun.
I looked around to find a place
Where I could duck and run.

But Shorty walked up to me
Just as calm as he could be.
Said, "Son, I need to talk to you,
Let's find ourselves a tree."

He rolled a Bull Durham cigarette
As we sat on the ground.
He took himself a puff or two
Then slowly looked around.

"Son, I ain't much on schoolin',
Didn't get too far with that.
But there's alot of learnin'
Hidden underneath this hat.

I got it all the hard way,
Every bump and bruise and fall.
Now some of it was easy,
But then most weren't fun a'tall

But one thing that I always got
From every job I've done,
Is do the best I can each day
And try to make it fun.

I know that bustin' through them rocks
Ain't what you like to do.
By gettin' mad you've made it tough
On me and all the crew.

Now you hired on to cowboy
And you think you've got the stuff.
You told him you're a good hand
And the boss has called your bluff.

So how's that gonna make you look
When he comes ridin' through,
And he asks me who dug the holes
And I say it was you.

Now we could let it go like this
And take the easy route.
But doin' things the easy way
Ain't what it's all about.

The boss expects a job well done,
From every man he's hired.
He'll let you slide by once or twice,
Then one day you'll get fired.

If you're not proud of what you do,
You won't amount to much.
You'll bounce around from job to job
Just slightly out of touch.

Come mornin' let's re-dig those holes
And get that fence in line.
And you and I will save two jobs,
Those bein' yours and mine.

And someday you'll come ridin' through
And look across this land,
And see a fence that's laid out straight
And know you had a hand,

In something that's withstood the years.
Then proud and free from guilt,
You'll smile and say, 'Boys that's the fence
That me and Shorty built."

[Delmonico]

Or some Don Edwards.

The Ballad of Jack Thorp

Long ago there was a man who rode throughout the west
Collecting songs and poetry and verses of the range
He wrote "Little Joe the Wrangler" and the "Pecos River Queen"
A ballad huntin' cowboy and Jack Thorp was his name.

Jack was a big man, a friendly sort of guy
He had a way with horses, played a banjo-mandolin
A sure-nuff cowpuncher from his boots to his wide-brimmed hat
A singin' buckaroo and a pardner of the wind.

One night while trailin' horses he rode up to a camp
On the night air a cowboy song came driftin' soft and low.
A song he never head before 'bout a steel dust cuttin' horse
The fastest one in Texas by the name of "Dodgin' Joe."

A banjo-playin' cowboy knew two verses of the song
He sang 'em once again while Jack wrote down the words
How many songs were sung yet never written down?
Jack knew there must be plenty more out there he hadn't heard.

Next mornin' he had breakfast wrote a letter to his boss:
"I've made up my mind to keep driftin' on my own.
I've quit huntin' horses, started huntin' cowboy songs
When you see my dust arrivin' I'll be comin' home."

A cowboy song is just like gold, it's anywhere it's found
From a cow camp down in Texas to a saloon in Idaho
So with ol' Gray Dog, his saddle horse and his pack horse Ample too
They traveled down those ballad trails in search of "Dodgin' Joe."

Jack became the first to collect the cowboy songs
Songs about the hard life and the free life on the range
A living part of cowboy life was saved because of him
And now I feel the time has come for me to do the same.

'Cause a cowboy song is still like gold, it's anywhere it's found
From a cow camp down in Texas to a saloon in Idaho
With my trusty pet horse Red and my pack horse Peco too
We'll travel down those ballad trails like Jack did long ago.

[Leo Tanner]

Well that last seems ta fit this thread jus perfect

     I remember the fence one, an anyone who has had the task of trainin youngin's can relate, I'm sure.  WE sure got a perty good batch in here so far. 


Leo

[kid sheleen]

I think I saw a Robert Service poem a while ago posted here.  He's one of my favorites.

 
 
The Call Of The Wild
      
 
Have you gazed on naked grandeur where there's nothing else to gaze on,
Set pieces and drop-curtain scenes galore,
Big mountains heaved to heaven, which the blinding sunsets blazon,
Black canyons where the rapids rip and roar?
Have you swept the visioned valley with the green stream streaking through it,
Searched the Vastness for a something you have lost?
Have you strung your soul to silence? Then for God's sake go and do it;
Hear the challenge, learn the lesson, pay the cost.

Have you wandered in the wilderness, the sagebrush desolation,
The bunch-grass levels where the cattle graze?
Have you whistled bits of rag-time at the end of all creation,
And learned to know the desert's little ways?
Have you camped upon the foothills, have you galloped o'er the ranges,
Have you roamed the arid sun-lands through and through?
Have you chummed up with the mesa? Do you know its moods and changes?
Then listen to the Wild -- it's calling you.

Have you known the Great White Silence, not a snow-gemmed twig aquiver?
(Eternal truths that shame our soothing lies.)
Have you broken trail on snowshoes? mushed your huskies up the river,
Dared the unknown, led the way, and clutched the prize?
Have you marked the map's void spaces, mingled with the mongrel races,
Felt the savage strength of brute in every thew?
And though grim as hell the worst is, can you round it off with curses?
Then hearken to the Wild -- it's wanting you.

Have you suffered, starved and triumphed, groveled down, yet grasped at glory,
Grown bigger in the bigness of the whole?
"Done things" just for the doing, letting babblers tell the story,
Seeing through the nice veneer the naked soul?
Have you seen God in His splendors, heard the text that nature renders?
(You'll never hear it in the family pew.)
The simple things, the true things, the silent men who do things --
Then listen to the Wild -- it's calling you.

They have cradled you in custom, they have primed you with their preaching,
They have soaked you in convention through and through;
They have put you in a showcase; you're a credit to their teaching --
But can't you hear the Wild? -- it's calling you.
Let us probe the silent places, let us seek what luck betide us;
Let us journey to a lonely land I know.
There's a whisper on the night-wind, there's a star agleam to guide us,
And the Wild is calling, calling . . . let us go.

Robert W. Service
   

[Russ T Chambers]

Seein’ as how it has Purt Near cleared of here today!

PURT NEAR!"
They called him "Purt Near Perkins,"
   for unless the booger lied,
He'd purt near done most everything
   that he had ever tried.
He'd purt near been a preacher
   and he'd purt near roped a bear;
He'd met up with Comanches once
   and purt near lost his hair.
He'd purt near wed an heiress
   who had money by the keg,
He'd purt near had the measles,
   and he'd purt near broke his leg.

He'd purt near been a trail boss,
   and accordin' to his claim,
He'd purt near shot Bill Hickock--
   which had purt near won  him fame!
He'd purt near rode some broncs
   upon which no one else had stuck
In fact he was the feller
   Who had purt near drowned the duck!

Now mostly all the cowboys
   On the Lazy S B spread,
They took his talkin' with a grin
   And let him fight his head.
But one named Tom Maginnis
   Sorter told it to him rough:
"You're ridin' with an outfit now
   Where 'purt near' ain't enough!
We tie our lasso ropes to the horn,
   An' what we ketch we hold,
And 'purt near' is one alibi
   We never do unfold!
In fact, right now
   I'll tell you that no word I ever hear
Sounds quite so plain damn useless
   As that little pair: 'purt near'!"

That's how ol' Tom Maginnis
   Laid it out upon the line,
And like a heap of preachin' talk,
   It sounded mighty fine.
But one day Tom Maginnis,
   While a-ridin' off alone,
He lamed his horse
   And had to ketch some neighbor nester's roan
To ride back to the ranch on.
   But somewhere along the way
A bunch of nesters held him up,
   And there was hell to pay!

Tom claimed he hadn't stole the horse--
   Just borrowed it to ride.
Them nesters hated cowboys,
   And they told him that he lied.
The cussed him for a horsethief
   And they'd caught him with the goods.
They set right out to hang him
   In a nearby patch of woods.
They had pore Tom surrounded,
   With their guns all fixed to shoot.
It looked like this pore cowboy
   Sure had heard his last owl hoot!

They tied a rope around his neck
   And throwed it o'er a limb
And Tom Maginnis purt near knowed
   This was the last of him.
Then suddenly a shot rang out
   From somewhere up the hill!
Them nesters dropped the rope an' ran,
   Like nesters sometimes will
When bullets start to whizzin'.
   Tom's heart lept up with hope
To see ol' Purt Near Perkins
   Ridin' towards him at a lope.

"Looks like I purt near
   Got here just in time," ol' Perkins said,
"To see them nesters hang you!"
   Tom's face got kinder red.
"You purt near did!" he purt near grinned.
  "They purt near had me strung!
You're lookin' at a cowboy
   That has pert near just been hung!
And also one that's changed his mind--
   For no word ever said,
Can sound as sweet as 'purt near',
   When a man's been purt near dead!"

[kid sheleen]

 

By God , Sir, That's a good one!  I purt near busted a gut!

[Leo Tanner]

By God , Sir, That's a good one!  I purt near busted a gut!

I had a boss once that always said "purt near" an I could hear him in ma head while I read that.  Awsome RT.


Leo

[Russ T Chambers]

I first heard “PURT NEAR!" down at EOT several years ago.  It was recited by Larry Maurice, a Cowboy Poet (I always capitalize Cowboy Poet), from Truckee.  (You may have run into or heard of him, Leo).  I heard the phrase “purt near” the other day  it brought back memories, and I had to find the words to it

[Leo Tanner]

I do know of Maurice.  He's been down here a time or two fer various events at the fairgrounds.

     Were you at End of Trail this year?  I guess that had a lot ta do with the smaller than usual turn out at Scarlet's event last weekend.  I'll have ta make it down there one of these years.


Leo

[Tensleep]

Leo, EoT this year was June 14-22, I expect most folks were back by last weekend.

[Russ T Chambers]

Leo
I had a fifteen consecutive year run at EOT, including their starting place at Coto De Caza, and then at Raahauge's.
Then they pulled out and moved to Albuquerque.  That became a little too far to haul my primitive camp (and I had problems with the way they pulled off the move),  So I haven’t had the privilege of attending the Founders Ranch event.
Used to kid Larry about the fact the only time I saw him was at EOT (almost 600 mile away) when he lives in Truckee (only about 30 miles).  Have run into him several times over the last couple years.