Tview Cowboy Poetry

Here's a sample of excellent cowboy poetry written by Timberview students in Mr. B's classes over the last several years. You can find previous drafts of William C.'s 2007 poem "The Lost Cowboy" at tviewlalab.blogspot.com in the post "Cowboy Poems" and see how Will kept making improvements until he finally ran out of time. "Cowboy Poker" by John S. and "My Cowboy's Return" by Katie K. along with "The Lost Cowboy" were submitted to the 2007 Red Steagall Cowboy Gathering Youth Poetry Contest. In 2006, Elizabeth C.'s poem "How the West Began" (also published here) won first place in that contest, and in 2004, "Picture" Marissa H.'s poem won second place. It's here, too.

My Cowboy’s Return
by Katie K., 2007

I knew the drive would take a while, how long he couldn’t say.
I hoped that he’d be comin’ back before the end of May.

He said, “I’ll try to hurry home so I’ll be back with you
And pretty soon our baby girl or little buckaroo.

We thought he would be back in time; she wasn’t due till June.
The pains, they started comin’though a month or so too soon.

Long hours of pain ‘n’ pushin’ and our baby girl appeared
Her daddy not beside me, just as I had feared.

My heart was filled with dread and fear ‘cause she was itty bitty.
Although she was so small and weak, her tiny face was pretty.

Seven days had come and gone before I heard the neigh
Of my sweet cowboy’s chestnut mare I’d prayed for every day.

An anxious look upon his face, with trail dust in his hair,
He looked at his new baby girl, her skin so very fair,

And when he took her in his arms, I knew that she’d be fine
‘Cause daddy’s brand new little gal smiled for the very first time.

Cowboy Poker
by John S., 2007

Five fine gamblers sit around a table,
Five gents from cities back East,
Five high-class card-sharks, minds sharp and able,
And one bunkhouse player cowboy.

Five stone cold faces, showing not one thought,
Five faces born of eastern creed,
Five expressions with emotions naught,
And one wide, cocky cowboy smirk.

Five expensive suits with black and gold threads,
Five pairs of brand new leather shoes,
Five regal hats set high upon their heads,
And one rough, dusty cowboy hat.

The cards are drawn, the ante’s in,
The poker players examine their hands.
Eyes glare out from behind the cards,
To see a broad grin learned from western lands.

Indeed, the cowboy grinned with heart,
His face shone bright with mirthful confidence.
The gamblers shrunk beneath its glow,
But each man’s hand gave him assurance.

The pot was large and filled with green,
And each showed his hand in a nervous rush,
But the cowboy’s hand crushed them all,
For he showed a royal flush.

The cowboy grinned and pulled in his due
Then smiled, “Hey don’t y’all whine a peck!
You got no reason to be so blue.
You just couldn’t win with a western deck.”

The Lost Cowboy
By Will C., 2007

Where have all those cowhands gone,
those men with the calloused hands,
the untamed souls who tend the cattle,
and thrive in our native lands?

Those stubborn ol' righteous cowboys,
all set in their mulish ways,
keepin' to their sacred code.
every night and every day?

Where’s that devoted tough ol' bunch,
with spurs that never die,
their leathery bodies hard at work,
with minds tough and tried?

They worked the ranches and rode the range,
with sweat runnin' down their side,
the hardest workin' lot of men,
their hearts swollen with pride.

Now where have all them cowboys gone,
away from the place they called home,
the vacant space they left behind,
where the cattle no longer roam?

Maybe those folk who live their lives,
always ridin' so free,
never have been really gone,
but live inside you and me.

How the West Began
by Elizabeth C., 2006

I’m not so sure just how the West began,
But I’ll tell you what I know:
Cowboys have been here forever
Through the rain, the sleet, and the snow.

Ropin’ the cattle, keepin’ the wild horses tame,
Livin’ life and hopin’ things will always be the same.
We look at the stars when life becomes a bore,
But them cowboys look up and see a little bit more.

They made a trail where not many go
And looked to the West when them wild winds blow.
They passed on their stories, legends, and ideals,
So when the past opens up, we’ll know they were real.

I’m not sure how the West began,
So I’ll tell you what I know:
The cowboy’s heart is forever,
And a cowboy’s forever never ends.


Picture
By Marissa H., 2004

Lookin' at that young'n in this picture
you could hardly tell that little girl is me -
bright eyes squintin' in the blazin' hot sun
'bove a wide smile so warm and carefree.

My silky, dark hair's a'blowin' in the wind
streamin' 'neath Pa's ol' rawhide hat,
reminds me of his patched and tattered clothes
and that peculiar way he always spat.

I got my favorite pony's reins in hand.
Her po' elderly head's a hangin' low.
Through her old age she never called it quits
though her pace grew real nice and slow.

Chips are scattered all around the grass
just waitin' for me to gather 'em up.
Wood's scarce there on the prairie where we lived,
we always used cow chips to cook our sup'.

I'm sportin' my brand-new calico dress
that MeeMa finished sewin' night before.
It was the only one she made that year.
Our crops was thin, and we was really poor.

My li'l white home stands solid there behind me.
The paint is peelin', and the wood is old.
My Gramps and his and his had all been born there.
'Least that's the windy I've always been told.

I don't rightly know where Pa's hat got to.
There's only a few strands left of my hair.
My blessed horse left her stall long ago.
That lovely homemade dress's gone threadbare.

Yet my eyes is just as lively and as brown.
My broad grin still lights up the darkest rooms.
True, my worn skin now has a web of wrinkles,
but the cowgirl spirit of my youth still blooms.