Tag Archives: Ranch Life

Poems and stories describing life working, living and growing up on a farm or ranch

SWEARING OFF

Audio Recordings, Cowboy Poetry / tagged , , / / by

SWEARING OFF

The story was told by my old friend Bill
about a time when he was four
well maybe a little less, maybe a little more

Seems he’d been rubbin’ up against some boys in town
and learned some language that made his momma frown

His folks tried about everything from soap on down
but the lessons they were pouring in just wouldn’t stay down

Finally they said, now Billy my boy
the decision we’re makin’ gives us no joy

Because generally we like you , and you’re pretty good
with your chores
but there’s no room on this ranch for language like yours

So, though it’s sure to make us grieve
we’ve packed your bag, and you’ll have to leave

They peeked through the curtains as he walked down the lane
with Dad remindin’ Mom that some lessons have pain

Billy stood at the road for 20 minutes or more
then slowly trudged back and knocked on the door

They slipped from the window and opened it slow
he said
“where in the hell am I supposed to go?”

ONE ROOM SCHOOL

Audio Recordings, Nostalgia / tagged , , , , / / by

ONE ROOM SCHOOL

There were seven students and eight grades
With the inkwells covered to save the braids

The first day of school
the boys all rushed through the door
to fight for their seats
with their father’s initials carved thirty years before

At recess there were garter snakes, and gophers, and mice
which girls who were being chased, and teachers
who had just opened desk drawers didn’t think
were so nice.

At recess you could get on the big teeter totter
on the North side. If you could get high enough,
long enough, you could get a bobbing glimpse of
one of the big boys, hand outstretched for the
well deserved strap.

In winter the pot bellied stove was set up in the
back center of the room. How warm you were
depended on how close you were to the back. The
teacher didn’t always teach from the front of the
class

There was a big tin shield five feet high around
the stove to keep us from burning ourselves
although it got hot enough itself to do a pretty
good job

Any lapse in supervision added to its décor as
we melted our wax crayons into modern art on
its silver sides

It was always great to hear the lessons
meant for other ears than these
and to sting the older kids in spelling bees

In those days outdoor toilets were cricket

and so was the game we played
with firewood for posts
and baseball bats
for bats.

GROWING STONES

Audio Recordings, Cowboy Poetry / tagged , , , , , , / / by

GROWING STONES

Each spring on our farm
the old father sun turned up his warmth and
charm
melting the frost deep in the heart of the mother
earth

The
egg babies
thereby created
rose to the surface
to play in the open air
mischievous miscreants all
waiting to jamb diskers and drills
and if they get a little grain to hide in
ambush swathers, combines, and oil pans of
grain trucks

so we had to gather them into
school bus stone boats and wagons and haul
them off to places where they could be with their
older brothers and sisters on the reform school
rock pile

there is still some hope
that someday they can learn to be pillars of the
community

TRAIN DAY

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TRAIN DAY

Once a week, once a week
they came from all around, all around
and swelled, and swelled, the size of our young
town

And the chugging grew, and the chugging grew
and the chugging grew, and the whistle blew
and all was new, and the children knew

But now the lines are down, all down
old folks and old dogs in the town
not a child nor a pup, nor a pup
and not one elevator up

DANCES WITH HORSES

Audio Recordings, Cowboy Poetry / tagged , , , / / by

DANCES WITH HORSES

And what is the poem of Rusty
who slips at full gallop and picks up all
four feet and sets them down sure on the next
dry spot

Of Lady still so afraid of wire she can buck
fourteen hours tired
if a four inch chunk should strike a hoof

And the dance of the wild mare in the corral
who kicks and one foot goes by on each side of
your head

And of the colt separated from mother’s flank
by a gunny sack in the face and a quick gate,
who turns a tight arc and comes back at you, and
you see it in the eyes and duck and he sails over
taking out the top rail

And you hear that your father gave you the first
compliment you’ve
ever heard of by turning to the man beside him
and saying

“The damned fool will get himself killed someday”

BUFFALO CHIPS

Audio Recordings, Cowboy Poetry / tagged , , , / / by

BUFFALO CHIPS

Lily pads floating
on the sea of prairie grass

Heat for the tepees
or the homesteaders cabin

Nothing wasted in the West

And every boy knew
that a good sharp stick or a pointy toed shoe
would let you know
if one was just right, or still a little too new

And I’m here to tell you, that compared to a
good dry chip
meeting a West wind’s invitation

A Frisbee is a weak and poor, plastic imitation

GOOD OLD BOYS

Audio Recordings, Cowboy Poetry, Personal Growth / tagged , , , , , / / by

GOOD OLD BOYS

For years you’ve been cleaning up your act
But now the good old boys are coming back

And the guy they’re coming back to see
Is the good old boy that you used to be

You broke some broncs and drank some
beers
And played tough football in those
years

Cruised to front and back seat double
features
And took big guns to kill small timid
creatures

Since then you’ve passed through many a
door
But can’t say to them. I’m not that person
anymore

Of course they may have changed too

But how oh how could they tell … You

THE OLD DRY GUY AND THE BATH

Audio Recordings, Cowboy Poetry / tagged , , / / by

THE OLD DRY GUY AND THE BATH

The old timers were all settin around the general store
I think they’d been there forever or a few days more
hocking up gossip and spit and an occasional snore

And as it’s always been in the West of the East
the one who knew the most said the least
He had a face like old harness and one bad eye
to myself I called him “the old dry guy”

Late January one year the old boys were a buzz
old Jeb had got scalded and burned off some fuzz
He’d been bathing in his kitchen in the old tin tub
and reached across for the kettle to warm up the rub
slipping he’d spilt it and lost some skin and some hair
and the boys were all speculatin’ how much and where

They’d talked it around for about three hours or more
when the ‘old dry guy’ moved in his chair by the door

They all got real quiet and leaned closer to hear

He said

“Serves the damn fool right, takin a bath this time of year”

GRASS FED

Audio Recordings, Cowboy Poetry / tagged , , , , / / by

GRASS FED

Shakespeare knows what we gotta do first
but let’s get rid of the feed lots next

Oats was made for breakfast
and corn was made for whiskey
cows was made for eatin grass
and calves for runnin frisky

Surely not for standin around
burstin their livers on a lot of hot feed
that they don’t need, and we don’t need

The beef might be
a little tougher to chew
but our hearts and our jaws
would soon be back to as good as new

And it might
come in real handy
not to be steroid de-sexed
when it comes to what we’ve gotta do next

TOO CROWDED

Audio Recordings, Cowboy Poetry / tagged , , , / / by

TOO CROWDED

My folks took some time off in the sixties
from their Saskatchewan ranching and
traveled down through South Texas

One day they stopped to talk to an
old cowboy sittin and a wittlin
on a rickety ranch porch

When he found out where they were from he said
“Say – do you know a man up there
by the name of Bill Prior?”

They said “Yes, he’s an old bachelor who lives up
past our north pasture, why do you ask?”

“Well” he said, “About 1928 Bill and I are out lookin
for some strays when we see another rider
coming over the furthest hill.”

Bill said to me, “It’s getting too damn crowded
down here, I’m heading for Canada”

“He turned his horse North and I haven’t
seen him since”