Cowboy Poetry

Wind and Water

One of many things which we take for granted in our modern society, is that we can walk into the house flip a handle and a stream of pure clean water will flow out for our use. But it was not the case for those pioneer settlers who came west. In many cases, the search for water was a matter of life and death. And but the ranchers found that they could use the wind they could harvest the wind and use windmills to produce that life giving water.

This poem is titled Wind and Water.

When the pioneers came west, and as conditions grew hotter,

at stake was life itself and the endless search for water.

In their quest for new lands and the destiny of their dreams.

They came west along the rivers and stayed quite close along the streams.

But when they settled down to farm and find a place to dwell,

it was essential that they find a productive waterwell

for watering the livestock and as domestic needs were asked

a windmill was important to meet these vital tasks.

In a machine shop in Connecticut. One Daniel Halliday

designed the type of windmill that is still in use today,

with a fixed vein and blades that could adjust to the wind

and pump the life giving water on which their hopes were pinned.

There was no electric power or gas engines for the well.

So the windmill was a godsend as a pioneer would tell.

Some 6 million windmills were installed across the nation

until there came gas engines and rural electrification.

But it's possible to find where such a relic still remains

the windmill of the West, a sentinel of the plains.

Happy trails!

The Draft Horse

I'm a big fan of the cow horse the Quarter Horse as a working cow horse, but there was another equine that was very important in the settlement of the West. This is a poem about the draft horse.

He's the workhorse of the species who pulls the heavy load,

he can haul a load of freight or a wagon down the road.

He is mighty, he is tall, perhaps 19 hands high.

He has a build for pulling and is willing to comply.

He is a strong and gentle giant and when harnessed with a mate

has ability to pull a huge amount of weight.

In the history of our nation, his massive feet shoulders and bone

pulled the wagons and the plows from which our nation's grown

now the engine and the tractor have come to take his place,

but some people have preserved them. A memory time will not erase

these horses and their purpose we want to reinforce

so today we pay tribute to the mighty draft horse.

Happy trails.

Zoom on the Range

As we've been in the pandemic and working from home, it seems like I'm on zoom calls all the time. There's so much zoom and so much social media that I developed a a new Kansa state song in honor of the state of Kansas. with apologies to Dr. Brewster Higley, the author of the original Home on the Range, this poem is called zoom on the range.

Zoom zoom on the range where the virtual pictures display

where you will not be heard if your mute is incurred

and the dad gum zoom calls go all day.

How often at night when my screen is still bright,

and I look at websites from afar have I sat with eyes glazed to see videos praise

while I wish that my phone had more bars?

Oh YouTube videos sure can make some good shows

as I work with my webcam

and mics and my day is complete when I Facebook and tweet.

I just wish that my posts got more likes.

So zoom zoom on the range where the virtual pictures display

where you will not be heard if your mute is incurred,

and the dad gum zoom calls go all day.

Happy trails.

Beuno Chaparreras

If you go to a rodeo, you'll see that the bull riders and the bronc riders are wearing fancy Batwing chaps, usually with friends that really shows for the competition. I have a couple of chaps that we use here at the ranch. One are these heavy duty workshops, complete with manure. They're very thick and heavy leather. They really come in handy if you're working like with locust trees on the fence line. And then I have my fancy show chaps made by an outfit in Abilene. And these are great for performance, or for riding in a parade. I really like to look at these chaps. If you study the history of chaps, you'll find that it goes back to the Hispanic culture. That's where the name chaps originates.

This poem is called Bueno Chaparerras.

When a cowboy is riding hard, his legs need protection

from stickers or thorns that might need deflection.

Centuries ago writers wore a kind of apron of leather,

but those were awkward for riding in any kind of weather

than the wise vaqueros in old Mexico

made leggings of leather to wear on the go.

They were called scheppers and Mexican lingo

soon shortened to shops by the American gringo.

Chaparerras took their name from the low Chaparral

with thorns which gave the shops rationale.

The first chaps were called shotguns with like tight leather pants.

Then Batwing chaps were the ones that supplants

chinks are shorter for the legs top half of course,

which is handy for a farrier, who'd be shooting a horse.

Now motorcycle riders wear leather chaps too,

for protecting their legs just like the Cowboys do.

We give thanks for this protection when we get into mishaps,

and we thank the Hispanic culture for giving us chaps

Happy trails.

Thank You Note

There are lots of unsung heroes in our society today.

But certainly, let's not forget the farmer where it all begins.

There are lots of unsung heroes here in our world today,

teachers and police, the guy who brings the mail our way.

First Responder, waitress firefighter, the forklift driver with the load.

The store clerk soldier janitor, the trucker on the road.

What about the moms and dads working hard to make ends meet

those caring for the elderly, or repairing lights or Street,

the welder and the preacher? The one who runs the big machine,

the salesman and musician The one who keeps our water clean.

Those who volunteer in church, the one who cares for kids or cooks,

those who serve on clubs, committees or take time to keep the books,

those in the county office, the nice lady at the bank.

I appreciate all these that I should take the time to thank.

But life could not go on without our daily bread.

So let's recognize the farmers whose efforts keep us fed.

Thanks to all the unsung heroes for contributions great and small.

And a special thanks to farmers whose work helps feed us all.

Happy trails.

You Go Yoga Goat!

I thought I'd seen it all, and then I got a call from a guy in town. He said, "We want you to come help us do goat yoga." I said, "Goat what?" Yes, goat yoga is a thing.

So we rounded up some goats, we went into town and built a pen and watched it happen. This poem is called "You Go Yoga Goat."

I thought I had seen everything, but I was surely wrong

because I found something new when goat yoga came along.

We brought our goats to town, and we put them in a pen

where a bunch of people came and brought their mats on in.

Folks laid down on their mats and the instructors helped them move

through various positions, health and wellness to improve.

They would roll and move their body into various contortions,

which seemed to help them stretch by increasing proportions.

The goats would mill around them for however long it took,

while giving all the people a sniff or just a look.

When folks got on their hands and knees to make a tabletop,

the goats jumped on their back, and they didn't want to stop.

It was their first time seeing yoga, I am sure to note,

that I never ever, ever had seen yoga with a goat.

Happy trails.

Both Sides of the Fence

Fences are something we take for granted in these days. As you drive down the Kansas countryside, there are fences all over. It's interesting to learn that the very first fences, which were built in this country, were built not to keep cattle in as they are today. They were built to fence cattle out, because homesteaders were starting to plant crops in an era of open range. This poem that I wrote is called "Both Sides of the Fence".

Good fences make good neighbors, in Robert Frost, I read,

and that old time poet was right in what he said.

For you'll keep your neighbors happy and life will be a song

if the fence keeps the critters on the side where they belong.

A good tight five-wire fence is a pretty thing to see,

but my old fence always needs fixing, which is a pain to me.

I hate a fence which won't keep my livestock inside,

and those fences get in the way when we're out on a trail ride.

There will always be fences, so I'm resigned to my fate.

I just have one request, would somebody open the gate?

 

 

Virtual Reality

As we have adjusted to life with coronavirus, we're working under stay-at-home orders and told to do social distancing.

We're told to do everything virtually nowadays. Well, we're doing our best, but Mother Nature will only go so far. This even applies to our veterinarian. Here's a poem I wrote called Virtual Reality.

Due to coronavirus, the vet had changed his ways.

Virtual consultations now filled his practice days.

The health department said to do social distancing,

avoiding personal contact is part of everything.

The vet now worked online, reviewing clients' vaccinations

as they prepared to move cattle to their summer destinations.

Then one old rancher said with a twinkle in his eye,

"Hey Doc, there's something that I've just got to try.

The county says I've got to do everything virtually,

using online or conference calls or Zoom technology.

When I do my daily chores and the cows want to be fed,

I think I'm just going to give them virtual feed instead."

Well, the vet smiled. "You could sure try that somehow,

but in the end, all you'll have will be a virtual cow."

Happy trails.

Our Friend Chuck Wagon

Cowboys love to eat, and it was an essential part of modern-day life as well as the old cattle drives. The cookie was a very important part of the crew in the old times of those great cattle drives from Texas to Kansas. This poem is a tribute to that Chuck Wagon. It's called Our Friend Chuck Wagon.

An army travels on its stomach. A wise person once said,

"Because of food supplies important when a group's marching ahead,

we have to have food when a group is on the move.

It's essential to life and to keep us in the groove."

That's true for armies as seen from soldier's leadership

and for others such as a lengthy family trip.

It was also true in yesteryear on cattle drives of old

when Longhorn herds came North with cowboys brave and bold.

Those cowboys had to eat. Chuck Wagon came too

with food supplies and a cook to make it do.

It might have sourdough for biscuits, lots of pots and pans

with coffee, dried fruit beans, and maybe something in some cans,

but Chuck Wagon would roll along accompanying the herd

to serve the Cowboys food when the boss would give the word.

We give thanks for this system which former history reveals.

I guess that Chuck Wagon was the original Meals on Wheels,

Happy trails.

On Average

Economics has been called the dismal science, kind of like the economist who has forecast 10 of the last 5 recessions. I have a lot of friends who are economists, and they know that making forecasts is a very risky proposition. One friend of mine says, "Give them a date or give them a number but never give them both." When you study economics, you come across, of course, the law of averages, and this poem is called "On Average."

Two economists were sitting in a small duck blind,

peering across the field where the moonlight shined.

These economists' job was to calculate

various economic factors all across the state.

They were widely known experts who knew economic measures

so well that they were considered academic treasures.

But they took a break from the numbers front

to take part in this annual morning duck hunt.

It was quiet all around this field

as they waited for trophies that their hunt would yield.

Then first light came on this cool gray day,

and they heard a lone duck as they flew their way.

Both economists fired as the duck flew by,

one shot five feet low, the other five feet high.

As the duck flew away, one economist said,

"Well, on average, that darn duck is dead."

Happy trails.