Category: Cowboy Poetry

Growing up on the farm as a small boy I remember my mama’s horse was my toy My mama always said she was part of our family And she loved

through sunrise haze I watch twenty-two blue herons land at the edge of the stubble, stand motionless as if not knowing what to do when away from water and sky

Sure is pretty here tonight; excitement in the air, Busy shoppers hustle home through Central Park. The tree must be ten stories tall in Rockefeller Square A million lights are

We pushed our ponies ‘long the ridge What with the river running deep Current too strong to get across An’ us out scouting sheep We were way up on a

He showed up in the springtime, when the geese began to honk; He signed up with the outfit, and we fattened up his bronk; His chaps were old and tattered,

My nephew from the city spent the summer on the ranch He’d yearned to be a cowboy, and thought this’d be his chance He stayed out in the bunkhouse, that’s

Dust on the ceiling Dust on the floor I didn’t want to dust But mama said I must So I roped a dozen banties In my auntie’s chicken coop And

I had a wise old father-in-law Who gave to me his marriage law He’d lived to be some ninety-two So he’d sure found out what to do To git along

The holiday season is fast approaching and, in the spirit of celebration, I’ve collected some toasts that may?—?or may not?—?be appropriate to your western gathering. All the best of the

Another year grows calmly old And frost is on the morning grass; The quaking asp has shed its gold’ The mountain lakes lie still as glass. The fields, their summer

He rides alone on a hill A horse, a dog and a gun A thousand sheep scattered below In the Alberta midday sun His thoughts; five thousand miles away With

A St. John’s cowboy dreams of rubber boots and Newfie Sod Oh he can worry down a T-bone but he’d rather have salt cod. A cowboy from Quebec laughs at