The Notorious Clanton Gang proudly presents...




December 2000

Carol Van Wert

By Carolyn Van Wert

Lord, send me a cowboy,
Tall and sweet,
An old Stetson on his head,
An' boots on his feet.

Ridin' a mustang,
Proud as can be....
An' when he comes ridin'
he brings a horse for me.

He's wild as the wind blows,
Gentle as a newborn lamb.
Tough as a grizzly bear,
Patient as the desert sand.

Loving as the day is long,
Steady as the stars at night.
Devoted as a mother hen,
An' honest as a hawk in flight.

So you see there Lord,
Thats the man for me.
if I ever were to find him,
A happy girl I'd be.

An' if you think about it Lord,
I'm not askin' fer much,
But if you'd send me a cowboy,
I'd ’preciate it a bunch!

By  Carolyn Van Wert

That ol’ fencepost standin’ there,
Is all that remains.
The scorchin’ sun an’ burnin’ wind,
Done took the rest away.

It once was a glorious home on th’ range,
Fat cattle, sleek horses, an’ bluebonnets waved.
10 years of drought took it away,
An’ drove the settlers to the grave.

A worn an’ solitary witness
To hardship, toil, an’ pain.
An’ many years have done passed,
But that ol’ fencepost is all that remains.

By Carolyn Van Wert

Dear Lord,
I ain’t asked fer much,
The simple things
Are all I need.

But Lord,
You give me so much more,
A cowboy’s dream come true.
I jist want to take a bit
To give some thanks to you.

For ‘llowing me to see the dawn,
To smell the fresh mornin’ dew,
To hear the lone wolf cry,
I give my thanks to you.

I thank you for the stars at night,
An’ the cowgirl at my side.
I ‘preciate livin’ good,
An’ the steady horse I ride.

I ‘preciate all you’ve done,
The beauty that ye do,
An’ when to the final range I go,
I’ll give my thanks to you.

All poems Copyright © 2000
Carolyn Van West
All Rights Reserved

Who is Carolyn Van West?

I have been writing cowboy poetry for a while, and ran across your Cowboy Poetry website.  I felt compelled to submit some poems for your monthly contest, as well as for any suggestions you might have.

A little about me.  I am a 25 year old single female.   I am a 1st generation rancher, I run sheep and other stock.  I am a poet and an artist, specializing in equines.  I have never submitted my poetry anywhere, so this is a learning experience for me, if nothing else! J  Thanks for looking at them, and hope to hear from you soon.

Thanks again,  Carolyn

 © -2000 All Rights Reserved

Above poems are NOT to be used in any form without the expressed permission of Carolyn Van West.

November 2000

J.V. Donnant

By J. V. Donnant

Once while I was ridin' 'cross the prairie, I met a cowboy at the end of day,
just sittin', sippin' coffee at his campfire, singin' just to while the hours away.
He sang a song of places where he'd traveled, of hosses that he'd rode, of things he'd seen.
I listened as his heart sang me its story. I listened as his soul sang me its dreams.

    And I've cowboy'd since I learned to sit a saddle, beneath the blazin' sun and starry sky...
And 'til  God calls me to join Him 'way up yonder, I'll cowboy right up 'til the day I die.

He sang to me of springtime down in Texas, the nearest thing to heaven that he'd seen,
when nature paints the hills with blue and scarlet all across the prairie grass of purest green.
He sang about the badlands of Wyoming, of Montana's endless sky and rolling plains,
the killing winter storms of the Dakotas, and flash floods out in Kansas when it rains.

    And I've heard the storm cloud sing its song of thunder, and I've listened to the lonely coyote's cry.
    And in their songs my heart can hear its future: I'll cowboy right up 'til the day I die.

He sang about the cowboys that he'd rode with, his pardners, Billy Parks and Henry Brown.
He sang about the ones he'd helped to bury, and he mourned the ones who'd quit and settled down.
He sang about his life with no illusions, he knew a cowboy's future wasn't bright.
He knew the stars would someday look from heaven and hear no cowboy singin' in the night.

    And he'll cowboy 'cause that's what makes life worth livin', and he couldn't change no matter if he tried.
    So tonight I'll ask the Boss of all creation, Please, Lord.let him cowboy right up 'til the day he dies.

By J. V. Donnant

Let me tell you 'bout a mountain lion a 'way out in th' west.
When it come to killin' cows an' sheep, why, he must've been th' best.
A reg'lar varmint legend of widespread renown,
He was the scourge of ranchers for a'hunnerd miles around.

While passin' through a cattle ranch he killed hisself a bull,
He ate an' ate, an' stuffed hisself until he was plumb full!
Then to celebrate th' feast, or maybe cuz he was bored,
That fat ol' mountain lion rared back and roared-an' roared an' roared!

Now all the caterwaulin' that th' mountain lion had done
Caught the ear of a passin' cowboy, who pulled out his trusty gun.
He took his aim.his shot was' to that cat's su'prise,
Th' cowboy shot hisself a lion! Smack between th' eyes!

So the moral to my story, with no "if" "and" or "but,"
Is when a feller's full o' bull. he'd best keep his mouth shut!

By J. V. Donnant

When my troubles all start crowdin' me and life stops makin' sense,
And when it seem like ev'ryone is out to build a fence
around me-one that I can't jump-why, that's the moment when
I break from th' main herd an' go back where life begins.

For me that's Brewster County, Texas.  It's where I belong, it seems,
where my body's free to wander, an' my heart is free to dream.
Where my eyes behold the greatness of solitude surrounds me in God's free
open space,
where sunshine warms my shoulders an' mountain breezes cool my face.

Where a canyon is my bedroom and blankets are my bed
and I go to sleep just gazin' at those fiery stars o'erhead.
Were dawn is the alarm clock that wakes me from my rest
and replaces my DayTimer as it heads off t'ward the west.

Where I stand upon a hillside and see for miles around
the west wind dancin' in the grass an' hear not one single sound,
except that red-tailed hawk a'cryin' as he floats on that same wind,
and I realize time don't live here, it just drops by now and then.

I know I'm just a visitor, too, and soon will go my way,
but I swear I'm returnin' an' look forward to that day,
when I find my heart filled daily with the joy of my heart is filled with
joy again, just from th' bein' there,
'neath Brewster County skies an' breathin' Brewster County air.

All poems Copyright © 1999
J. V. Donnant
All Rights Reserved

Who is J.V. Donnant?

 © -2000 All Rights Reserved


Above poems are NOT to be used in any form without the expressed permission of J.V. Donnant.

Sherry Stoll

October 2000

By Sherry Stoll

Five gallon buckets are my husband's treasure
No other find gives him more pleasure

He can spot them discarded on the roadside
There isn't a bucket a weed can hide

With flashers on, be bobs and weaves
Dashing toward the bucket to retrieve

Nothing makes him smile more
Than to find another bucket to help him chore

Some buckets are covered in grime
Others have stories from time to time

Like the frosty bucket found at daylight
That didn't cause my husband much delight

He failed to look inside
The bucket by his side

With the warmth of the defrost came a smell
Something was wrong, he could tell

That's when the toilet paper caught his eyes
Along with another little surprise

But he wasn't about to be sidetracked
Until he found the bucket was cracked

It was sad, but he admitted defeat
From his bucket, he had to retreat

A little wiser, other buckets he'll find
Making sure they weren't used by someone's behind

(Copyright 2000 by Sherry Stoll)

By Sherry Stoll

I heard a great commotion in the cattle lot
I looked outside to see if help was needed or not

It was a cowboy in coveralls
Pushing cattle through the stall

Pressing forward on his horse with great zeal
He dogs yelping as they nipped at the cattle's heals

Trying to stay warm on this mini-cattle drive
He was zipped up snuggly as the mud began to fly

He had it all under control
As the wind sharply began to blow

With his cowboy hat pulled down, he didn't see I was near
But I could see he was smiling from ear to ear

(Copyright 2000 by Sherry Stoll)

By Sherry Stoll

Sometimes my husband gets a laugh at my expense
Setting me up under some false pretense

Like the time he had me to help him grind feed
Me and my pitchfork were great help indeed

The corn crib was getting pretty empty
I was dragging down corn as the dog began to get jumpy

I asked my husband if she was after something
He just grinned, knowing what the future would soon bring

Shortly thereafter, a rat darted towards my feet
As I screamed in a shotgun retreat

My pitchfork caught on the door, jerking me back
I was clearly going to die of a heartattack

Laughing, my husband told me to scoop up the rat with my pitchfork
Toss it to the dog and get back to work

I told him he was insane
I wasn't going near that grain

I went for high ground
The tractor seat, where no rat could be found

My husband laughed 'till he cried
He had known about the rat, and lied

He thought my reaction would be pretty funny
But he said, "I didn't make you mad.  Did I honey?"

(copyright 2000 by Sherry Stoll)

Who is Sherry Stoll?

 © -2000 All Rights Reserved

I am a 35 year old farmwife from Northwest Missouri.  I love writing and have a varied writing background.  I was introduced to cowboy poetry when I met my husband almost four years ago. My poems are usually based on real life experiences.  I have lived on a farm now for two and a half years.  Before that I grew up in a small rural town.  I like the simple life. and everyday is full of new material for my poems.  I would appreciate any comments about my poetry.  My e-mail address is

Above poems are NOT to be used in any form without the expressed permission of Sherry Stoll.

Edward E. Anderson

September 2000

By Edward E. Anderson
© 1999 For Sharon

Again it is that time all husbands fear
As their wife's birthday draws near
When the challenge arises each year
What gift will she love and endear?

This time will it again flowers be
But, oh my God, that will be year three.
After much consideration and thought deep
You decide, in'imate apparel in which she can sleep.

You work up the courage and pull yerself off the floor
And head for an in'imate apparel store.
One of those places with clothes skimpy and thin
Like Victoria's Secret or La Crème.

In you go with a face of beet red
Full of embarrassment and you wish you were dead.
Hoping that none of yer cronies will see
What you have been reduced to and must be.

With yer hat in hand you walk around
Looking at the manikins --- profound.
You observe that in'imate apparel designers must be rare
'cause it takes great skill to leave so much skin bare.

A pretty clerk walks up and says "Cowboy do you need a hand?"
And you stammer "How'd ya know I was a cowboy ma'am?"
She says "Your hat gave you away and what would you like to see?"
"Ma'am there is not much left to see, I just want a gift and to be free!"

"Ya suggest a teddy bear, that is profound
tell me ma'm how many bottles must I knock down?"
"The last time I a teddy bear did win,
with a ball I had to three bottles cave in."

"Ya suggest a penoir
but I don't know what I need a pen for."
I am not about to write anything down,
I just need a gift and to quit looking like a clown.

"A bikini and halter ya say,
but I do not wish to lead my horse away
and Bikini is an island in the sea
so I was taught in grade three."

A halter ya say larger band-aids I've seen.
All that holds them in place is a dream
and they must be placed with care
for fear of leaving the wrong thing bare.

"Shorties ma'am? What can that be?"
"Something that doesn't cover the knee!"
"Oooh, that short ya mean!"
as yer face begins to turn green.

Now you know yer out'o yer league
And in'imate apparel has you besieged.
You just want to bury yer head in the sand
And hope you can get out without being seen by a man.

As out the door ya go
Without an in'imate apparel gift in tow
Yer once more free
And flowers it will again be.

By Edward E. Anderson
© 1999 For my daughters

As a lad at the time when biology was kickin' in
I lived upon a turkey ranch with birds as dumb as sin.
These are not the wild and wily ones that in the woods do hide
But, rather the not-so-bright domestic ones that even in herds cannot survive.

Brother and I's winter chore was the breeding flock to atten'
As we entered the great barn and gathered the fertile eggs therein.
Often there we watched a rite that every maturing boy should see
This is the rite between the Toms and Hens so there fertile eggs will be.

The rite begins as the Hen falls upon the ground
And the Toms begin to gather around.
There she lays and quivers and quakes as if to say
"Gentlemen, now is the time --- today is the day."

This excites the Toms into a state to behold
As a circle around the waiting Hen does unfold.
About the edge of Nature's eternal ring
The Toms strut and prance and gobble as if to sing.

It is at this time Toms as if on a Thanksgiving card do appear
With expanded chests, fanned tails, and red heads drawn in near.
About the circle's rim these inflated Toms joust, scuffle, and sing
"Sirs --- Madam I am the one entitled to finish this rite of spring."

Beyond the edge of this circle with its activities so confusing
There was always one sage and experienced Tom who did not find this amusing.
This one always understood the task to be done although pretty he may not be
As he watched the circle of Toms so proud and laugh at what he did see.

Through the ring this Tom would sneak
While the other Toms would not give him a peek.
He and the hen would then the rite complete
And walk through the ring smiling, clean and neat.

Even now, the circle's activities would not end
As the jousting Toms continue their right to the Hen defend.
It is only later that these Toms tire and they begin to lift the veil
To observe the task is done and their efforts did fail.

When you next upon a committee, council, or board do serve
And you find that the proceedings grate upon the nerve,
Remember the circle of Toms as the Hen upon the ground did lay
And watch for those who strut and prance, and for those who make hay.

By Edward E. Anderson
© 1997 For Those Who Follow Us

Listen my children, Black Kettle wants you to hear
that people of honor are people to endear,
and a promise of peace is a difficult way to go
even in bountiful Colorado.

Black Kettle was a chief of the Cheyenne
who treated to fight no man.
then back to Colorado he did go
to once again pursue the buffalo.

But, Chivington and his troops
upon the camp did descend
to destroy Black Kettle's people
and bring his peace to an end.

Black Kettle to his flag of honor did turn
as about him his camp did burn.
while his children did succumb
he kept his promise and fought no one.

 Oh Black Kettle
 Woe Black Kettle
 Oh Black Kettle
 How can we know?

Away to Indian Territory he had to go
to watch his remaining children grow,
again to honor his promise to fight no more
upon this land so far and so poor.

Even in this place, peace could not be again
as Custer upon Black Kettle did descend.
Seeking his honor once more to return
as many a camp Custer did burn.

Once more, as troops his camp overran
Black Kettle under his flag did stand
and kept his promise to fight no man
as those about him fell upon the land.

As life from Black Kettle that day did go,
he remembered bountiful Colorado,
spring when the prairie grass does grow,
and the time of the buffalo.

 Oh Black Kettle
 Woe Black Kettle
 Oh Black Kettle
 How can we grow?

For his promise Black Kettle did die
now with the buffalo he does lie
so to each of us he could give
this lesson that he did live.

Who is Edward E. Anderson?

 To be posted

 © -2000 All Rights Reserved

Above poems are NOT to be used in any form without the expressed permission of Edward E. Anderson.


Jim Tracy

August 2000

By Jim Tracy

They say crime don't pay
And that's true, I'd bet
Way out here in the sticks
We ain't got criminals yet.

But if we ever found some
I figure they'd probably flee
Cuz we'd stretch they're necks
From a nearby cottonwood tree.

Folks here come around
To a open unlocked door
Mostly folk are welcomed
For three hours and more.

My keys are always found
Where they belong in my truck
My wallets on the seat
If Y'all need it, grab a buck.

But don't steal from me
Or my neighbors or my kin
Because if'in you do
You'll be see'in me ag'in.

See-we take care of our own
Don't call no highway patrol
Around here a good holster
Is what we call, Gun Control.

By Jim Tracy

I always eat health food
Never tried nuthin' more
And I don't get my grub
At no health food store.

I's raised on the range
And always saw the cook
He didn't have a need
For a fancy cookin' book.

We ate our meals standin'
Not sprawled in a chair
We digested just fine
Ridin' off yonder there

Never ate much salad
Not out on the range
Our food eats the salad
So it would seem strange

Got fruit to eat now & then
Usually apples off of a tree
No need to shop organic
Truth is they were free

Got my veggies ever day
Most always they was beans
Cuz they fit with beefsteak
Like broke in boots and jeans

Never tried to eat no tofu
Don't know how it looked
And all that Japanese food
Couldn't eat  till it was cooked

Never worried what came next
Didn't bother with a menu
Our cookie filled us up
Regardless of the venue

I think I'll stick by the fire
And I'll git fed jus' fine
Real stick to the ribs food
Stay with me down the line

No don't get all upset with me
Git all knotted up and brood
We ain't talking life or death
After all, It's cowboy health food

By Jim Tracy

They picked up bales of tea
And threw 'em over the side
Many a Patriot gave their life
And for our Rights, they died.

Now and then across the years
Others tried and then
America stiffened up her back
And fought the fight again.

Now they fight the fight with words
Scramble sound bites all around
Throw the whole crew in a pot
The truth cannot be found

In a war we'll hold our own
But not with these politics
They cheat and lie, disgracefully
It's how they get their licks

I know rules and I fight fair
The truth sleeps in my bunk
But it doesn't seem to matter much
When you're dealin' with a skunk

Now they want Amendment two
Tryin' to take my guns away
I'm glad Moses is my President
And I truly am the NRA.

Who is Jim Tracy?

 I grew up in the northeast corner of South Dakota and spent a spell in Minneapolis and Colorado before moving west to the Puget Sound.  While chasing elk around the North Park Mountains I met some honest hardworking folks who ran a ranching operation in the high country.  The poetry comes as a result of my respect for the Tilleman family and for the Peterson clan of
Miracle Ranch, (a kids camp in Port Orchard, WA).  They're still teaching me more than a thing or two about how to Cowboy, but most of the trainings impact has been on my son Ryan. He's become a man of character and faith, thanks in part to their cowboy example.
                                  Jim Tracy

 © -2000 All Rights Reserved

Above poems are NOT to be used in any form without the expressed permission of Jim Tracy.

Diane Thompson


by Diane Thompson

His hands are bent and worn with scars that show.
Her hands weren"t as smooth as they had been years ago.
Pa and Grandma worked for many years, side by side.
Some years they laughed and some years they cried.
To a ranch in New Mexico he took his bride
For someone else he would work and ride.
But with the first of the babies, they moved back home
To work and prosper on a place of their own.
Raising those boys was no easy chore
And with the passing years their family grew more
With daughters-in-law added to the fold
Who blessed them with grand kids to enjoy as they grew old.
Hired hands and friends were welcome at her table
And she loved to cook for them as long as she was able.
Fryin' chicken or calf fries for feedin' two or twenty
No matter who showed up, there'd always be plenty.
With the summer's bounty stored away
To be enjoyed later on a cold winter day,
A bus load of people stranded by a storm
Found food there, and were made safe and warm.
There were times when the hail got all the grain
Or the grass was so dry that the cattle didn't gain.
Even if they had a good year, the prices would be down
But they kept on, even when the house burned to the ground.
They always managed to stay one more year.
He'd say "We'll make it next time, there's no need to fear."
Through all the good times, and even the bad
They were thankful for all the blessings they had.
Family and friends came from far and near
Their advice for staying together all wanted to hear.
They supported the community, the church and the school
And rarely missed a ball game, which the kids thought was cool.
Grandma used to knit at the ball games without a hitch
She never missed a play, or dropped a stitch.
But soon she forgot where her knittin' might be
And she was unable to name you or me.
But it was sixty plus years since he'd said "Be mine"
And they always looked at each other with eyes that would shihne.
Though it had been a long time, you'd still hear Pa say
"Grandma is just as pretty as on our weddin' day."
If leavin' a legacy is man's purpose in life
We got the best from this man and his wife.
Pa and Grandma showed us, no matter the task, to do our best
And then let the good Lord take care of the rest.

by Diane Thompson

That cowboy was good lookin', great smile and blue eyes.
I never dreamed I would win such a prize.
Folks said he was restless, wouldn't stay with me long
But after all these years, I guess he's proved 'em wrong.

I've spent years cookin' and cleanin' and feedin' the crew
And sortin' and brandin', even pulled a calf or two.
He knew he could depend on me to always be there
Livin' and lovin' this life that we share.

We moved quite a bit in the early years.
Leavin' family and friends, I cried a few tears.
A few places weren't much better than sleepin' outside
But I was always glad I was along for the ride.

It was a great way to raise our kids, who've grown and moved away
But they always laugh and remember those days
When they had chores to do before goin' to school.
Those responsibilities showed them that life has a few rules.

Most cowboys work at the whim of the boss
But sometimes they move on just 'cause there's rivers to cross.
This was the longest we'd lived anywhere.
I thought we might stay, since there's gray in our hair.

But he says it's time to move on, everything will be fine.
That's life with a cowboy - taken one day at a time.
That look in his eyes says he's ready to go
And I'll be ready, too, if I don't pack too slow.
Another garden will be left for the new hired man's wife.
I sure hope it will ease some of the stress in HER life.
There'll be lots of memories in this place that I'll leave
But it's not in my nature to sit down and grieve.

The two of us together is how it should be
Stayin' anywhere without him never appealed to me
So I'm packin' our things with a smile on my face
The sadness I'll hide and look forward to a new place.

They played "Whither Thou Goes" at my weddin', but see
I never dreamed what that would mean for me.
Now I know it means I'll follow wherever he goes
And where we'll end up, the Lord only knows.

This move might even bring us closer to a little place of our own.
Yes, I married a cowboy, and I've always known
There'll be new and greener pastures somewhere to ride
And, Lord willin', we'll ride them together, side by side.

By Diane Thompson

I'll drink my margaritas without salt
Exercise daily, and try a mile to walk
Take blood pressure pills and something for my belly
Eat dry wheat toast, without honey or jelly
Eat lots of vegetables and fruit, but leave off red meat
Purty soon I ain't gonna have nothin' good to eat
Just to live six months longer in some nursin' home
Cause I'll be too durn weak to live at home alone.
I'm tryin' to be healthy and eat just right
But Im still takin my vitamins with a cold Coors Light.

Copyright 1999  Diane Thompson

Who is Diane Thompson?

To be added soon.

 © -2000 All Rights Reserved

Above poems are NOT to be used in any form without the expressed permission of Diane Thompson.


Neal A. Robertson

June 2000

Cowboy Saturday Night
By Neal A. Robertson

With thirty dollars in my pocket,
And my spurs on made by Crockett.
I'm looking forward to a lively Saturday night.
I'm smilin' and I'm happy,
As I sit astride my Appie,
Just hopin" I don't get drunk and start a fight.

In my saddle made by Frazier,
I'm seekin' me some pleasure,
As I hit the trail for the border town.
Thinkin' 'bout the hard work done,
And a' lookin' for some fun,
And rememberin' the brunette in the bright red gown.

I had only seen her once,
And I'd felt just like a dunce.
I'd been drinking and not in my right mind.
T'was about six months ago,
In town for the rodeo,
And I'd mingled with people, not my own.

I had been drinkin' rotgut whisky,
Drew a bronco that was frisky,
Was laid out flat in seven seconds flat.
I came to that afternoon,
In the back of a saloon,
The brunette was a' fannin' me with her hat.

I had slunk back to the spread,
Nearly wishing I was dead,
With a hang-over, Man, I guess I'll never learn.
I had lost my thirty dollars,
In the saloons and gamblin' parlors,
It would take another thirty days to earn.

So now I'm headed back to town,
Thinkin' 'bout that bright red gown,
And the gal that is the object of my passion.
In my white hat, made by Stetson,
And my Tony Lama boots on,
I'm all set now, to make a good impression.

As I approach that border town,
My head, it begins to pound,
I'm thinking, What if she doesn't remember me.
It would be just my luck,
That she is interested in some young buck,
I figured I'd just have to wait and see.

As I ride on down Main Street,
My old heart, it skips a beat,
When I see her comin' from the general store.
With a young cowboy at her arm,
Looks like she is turning on her charm,
I don't think I can take it anymore.

So I head to the old "Long Branch",
Wishing I'd never left the ranch,
Now here's a place where I can drown my sorrow.
I'd just got a cool one down,
And called for another round,
Thinkin' things are gonna be difficult tomorrow.

When through that swingin' door,
Comes my imagined paramour.
With the young cowboy tagging at her heels.
She is headed straight for me,
I'm as nervous as can be,
Now I know just how a condemmed man feels.

I'm about to cut and run,
She says, "I'd like you to meet my son".
Well, I just gasped, and my eyes formed a glaze.
She said, "He's here from San Angelo,
In town for the Rodeo,
He'll probably be around a few more days".

Well, I looked her up and down,
Then I realized what I'd found.
She must be 65 at least, if she's a day.
But thats ok with me,
I'm as happy as can be.
Cause I just turned 70 last may.

Copyright  1999  Neal A. Robertson

Tillie Jean, The Rodeo Queen
By Neal A. Robertson

Matilda Jean, was a rodeo queen,
Back in her younger days,
She ran the barrels for 15 years,
On buckskins, paints, and bays.

Matilda Jean was a rodeo queen,
They called her Tillie for short,
She made a big hit with the rodeo crowd,
"Cause she was such a good sport.

Now, Tillie was wild, to put it mild,
Back in her younger days,
She partied 'till dawn, and sometimes beyond,
And was known to pick up strays.

She partied with some, of the rodeo scum,
And smoked her Virginia Slim.
Hangovers she nursed, and sometimes cursed,
Brought on by her tonic and gin.

One morning in June, in Saskatoon,
Tillie was having a blast,
Back of a corral, in the chaparral,
When Reverend Mike approached her to ask,

If she would be his hazer next day,
Reverend Mike was a bulldoggin' champ,
He'd seen how Tillie could handle a horse,
And his regular'd ran off with a tramp.

Now, Tillie said, and with some dread,
That she needed to think it over,
The cowboy preacher, had nothing to teach her,
But she wasn't exactly rollin' in clover.

She'd lost her last buck, from a run of bad luck,
The Reverend had made her an offer,
If she hazed for him, tho her future looked dim,
She  just might replenish her cofer.

So long about noon, on that clear day in June,
Tillie made up her mind with good reason,
So to the church door, where she'd neer been before,
She went to tell the Reverend her decision.

She slipped in the door, tiptoed 'cross the floor,
Took a seat in the back, and started squirmin',
The Reverend was preachin' of sinnin' and drinkin',
And that was the jest of his sermon.

Tillie listened a while, then started to smile,
Why, thats me that he's talking about!
While others did pray, she got carried away,
And stood up,  "Amen", she did shout.

She repented that day, in her own sort of way,
Got down on her knees at the altar,
The words of a song, kinda pulled her along,
Like a green broke colt on a halter.

She gave it a go, at the big rodeo,
She hazed for the preacher on her filly,
Reverend Mike won it all, He made a big haul,
And divided his winnings with Tillie.

They became a team, in steer roping it seems,
And the good times just seemed to get better,
They liked one another, got close to each other,
And became known as a heeler and a header.

Now it would appear, that my poem should end here,
As I have nothing more to expound,
Except, they married that June, on a bright afternoon,
In the middle of the rodeo ground.

Copyright 1999  Neal A. Robertson

Who is Neal Robertson?

It is indeed an honor to be selected as "Poet of the Month" for June 2000.
There is so much good poetry on your website.
I was born and raised in Oklahoma on a farm near Quinlan.  I graduated
from Oklahoma State University, and after a stint in the U.S. Army, I
taught mathematics about 30 years mostly in Burbank, California.  After
retiring, I moved to Grants Pass Oregon where I teach part time at Rogue
Community College.  I started writing western Poetry a few years ago.  Most
of my material is drawn from people I knew and things that I experienced as
a boy in Oklahoma.

Sincerely, Neal A. Robertson

 © -2000 All Rights Reserved

Above poems are NOT to be used in any form without the expressed permission of Neal Robertson.

Dale Page

May 2000

By Dale Page

The morning was cold. It was just minutes old
When I saddled my gelding for leaving.
I pulled up my slack, climbed aboard my old kack,
And paid heed to this outlaw's deceiving.

He stood there a bit, then he threw a big fit
Of bucking, so I commenced raking
And giving him heck from the hurricane deck
Til that bangtail stood winded and shaking.

The colt, named Big John, had just two saddles on
When we figgered he'd never be broken.
But we'll have to get by, this rounder and I
And battle the fear that I woke in.

There's a babe on the way--it'll be born today,
Regardless of timing or weather.
So I'm off to the town to bring the doc down
To where hope and wife wait together.

Well, it clouded up fast; it was soon overcast
And the sky turned to black all around us.
But the horse did all right and the town was in sight
When the lightning and thunderbolts found us.

I was soaked to the skin when we finally rode in
And my pony was jaded and beaten.
But we turned around soon, we were rolling by noon
With the doctor when Big John had eaten.

At a quarter past one, the sky came undone
Til the rainwater rolled down the trails.
Doc feared for his life, but he thought of my wife,
And we rode on to ease her travails.

The world went all dark and we wished for an ark,
Though we boys weren't like Noah in spirit.
So we both hunkered down, praying hard not to drown
In a rain so bad fishes would fear it.

We rode in a trance, never thought of the chance
That we took when we came to the river.
But my wife's giving birth and nothing on earth
Could hold back the help this doc could give her.

I sure played the fool crossing Rito Azul
When the floodwaters rolled down the mountain.
But Big John was game, he lived up to his name
With the courage on which I was countin'.

We jumped in the flood, which was surely half mud
And beef-sized logs tumbling and turning.
We were nearly acrost when the doc was near lost
In the evil, unstoppable churning.

The tide engulfed him and he screamed, "I can't swim!"
And then commenced spitting and splashing.
But he tired out fast, looked to breathe in his last,
And went under all wide-eyed and thrashing.

I thought he was lost, but I measured the cost
And forced my young bronc in the fracas.
That horse did his best, he was up to the test;
He had far too much heart to forsake us.

In the dark waters there, I grabbed for Doc's hair
And we pulled him out coughing and choking.
John swam to the shore with the burden I bore
And I dropped Doc there shaking and soaking.

He was nearly done in, but he said with a grin
That he reckoned we better be going.
We started again through the hail and the rain
And the cold bitter winds that were blowing.

Our old clock struck four as I ran through the door
To find my wife crying and frantic.
I rushed to the bed. "Don't you worry," I said.
"The doc's here--there's no call to panic."

Doc's part had begun. He said, "Stand aside, Son.
I 'spect you know foaling and calving,
But babes ain't the same, thought this lady seems game
For whatever troubles she's having.

Twas an hour til morn when our baby was born
And I said hello to my daughter.
Her mama was well, and I chose not to tell
How we'd nearly been killed in the water.

The medico stayed--he was sure 'nuff afraid
To go back across the cold river.
So he calmed down the pa and he nursed the new ma
With all of the care he could give her.

And as for the horse, he was rode down, of course,
But it mended the evil inside him.
Believe when I say, that henceforth from that day
Even ladies and children could ride him.

Dale E. Page
copyright 2000

By Dale Page

The roundup camp was quiet in the dusk--
An old cowboy lay dying in his bed,
And all his saddle pardners gathered round
To hear the words the broken cowboy said.

"Come prop me up to see the sunset, boys,
And mourn my long lost dreams and face my fears.
I'm crossing the divide tonight to leave
This broken heart I've carried all these years.

"Turn out old Buck, my gelding, when I'm gone,
And Harv, you take my saddle--it's the best.
Make sure that Dan, the wrangler, gets my spurs,
And then you fellers divvy up the rest.

"Please write my girls to tell them Dad passed on
And say I thought of them until the last.
You tell them that it cut me to the quick
To know the hurts I caused them in the past.

"Would someone take my grampa's pocket watch
And send it with a note to Mary Kay?
Just tell her she was always on my mind
And send what little cash I've squirreled away."

To Harv, his pard, he said, "You recollect
The bluff I showed you north of Beatty's Flat?
I'm asking you, my friend, to plant me there--
No cemetery plot could equal that.

"I never should have tried that roan," he said,
"'Cause topping broncs is work for younger men.
I hate like hell admitting I've grown old
And can't do all I used to do back when.

"I won't be having breakfast with you, boys,
Or helping with the gather in the fall.
But as I lie here dying I must say
That life was worth the trouble, after all."

Dale E. Page
copyright 2000

By Dale Page

"Call the wrangler in from nightherd.
Fetch a log to feed the blaze.
While you boil a pot of coffee
I'll remember better days.

"Make the bell mare stop her jingle.
Still the coyote's lonely song.
Listen while I tell you, fellas,
'Bout the girl who did me wrong.

"Quiet down the camp cook's clanging.
Tell the hood to rest a spell.
Pull your soogins near the fire and
Listen close to what I tell."

Glad they were to stop their choring
Some of them took out a chew.
Others passed around the makings,
Wondering what an old man knew.

"In my youth I was," he started,
"Much more than the man you see.
Custom boots and hand-tooled saddle--
No one sat a horse like me.

Got a job a-breakin' horses,
Took to it right naturally.
Rode the bad ones to a standstill,
Nothing was too tough for me.

"Young and strong, I craved adventure,
Driven by some hidden force.
Every day my life was rode hard,
Put up wet with no remorse.

"Saturdays we'd turn the wolf loose,
Ride to town and dance all night,
Woo the town folks' long-haired daughters,
Get back home before first light.

"Then one day I met a girl with
Long brown hair and sparkling eyes.
From the first she said she loved me,
Figured she had won the prize.

"Boys, I lost my head so quickly--
Fell for her in every way.
Told her of the dreams I carried,
Told her all I'd be one day.

"She agreed with every item,
Said my dreams were her dreams, too.
Said she'd share my ev'ry notion.
She convinced me she'd be true.

"Years passed by, and dreams went with them.
She forgot the plans I had.
With those dreams, a part of me died;
What was good turned into bad.

"Fellas, you should heed my lesson,
Lest you meet my bitter end.
'Fore you take a girl to marry,
Better make her first your friend."

Grief had filled his sad old eyes and
Turned his face an ashen gray.
Finally, he said, "I'm finished,"
Heaved a sigh and walked away.

Dale E. Page
copyright 2000

Who is Dale Page?

Dear Ladies and/or Gentlemen,

I'm a former wrangler, bull rider, horseshoer, who lives in New Mexico. I do a little writing when we're not in the mountains riding. You have my permission to print these on your site if you accept them.

      Regards from the Land of Enchantment, Dale Page.

 © -2000 All Rights Reserved

Above poems are NOT to be used in any form without the expressed permission of.


Larry Hannon

April 2000

By Larry Hannon 1995

They saw it in the Buffalo
His shaggy robe of white
And the Golden Eagle
As he soared thru clear, blue sky.

They saw it in the newborn colt
As he stood on wobbly knees
And in the powerful thunder bolt
And autumn's colored leaves.

But never is it seen so clear
By all the human race
As when to man it does appear
In the glow of an infant's face.

Larry E. Hannon,
Copyright 1995
All Rights Reserved

By Larry Hannon

I rode along the old rim rock
And there among the pines
I drew the old mare to a stop
And set there for a time.

I gazed across that valley range
Where the grass grew lush and green
And wished old times had never changed
I love the simple things.

Like the eagles soaring over head
Against a clear blue sky
While a mama licks her new born's head
As he stands for the very first time.

While I listen to the gentle breeze
Whisper thru the pines
With a good horse there between my knees
I thanked the Lord on high.

I rode down to the valley floor
Up to a crystal creek
While I stood on the grassy shore
And watched the old mare drink.

I watched the eagles glide above
Majestic there on high
The old mare gave a gentle shove
And looked me in the eye.

As I stepped back in my saddle
I heard the eagle scream
While I looked back toward the cattle
I heard the rippling stream.

Then from somewhere up above
I heard the angels sing
And again I thanked the Lord above
For all the Simple Things.

Larry E. Hannon
Copyright, 1997

Part of this poem was read by Paul Harvey on his noon Program, December
7, 1999.

By Larry Hannon
Copyright 1996

So sweet I heard the voices sing
As soft as the new fall snow.
I thought I heard some jingle bobs ring.
With hoof beats soft and low.

Then I heard two people laugh
Familiar from long ago.
It brought back memories from the past
Of those gone down the ghost road.

I looked out thru the window pain
On a clear bright moonlit night.
Two shadows moved across the plain.
The youngest on the right.

The old hand rode a good brown mare
The youngster, a flashy paint
By the way they rode, I knew this pair
The Lord's two cowboy saints.

The Man had took them off this range
Not so long ago
As I caught my breath, and called their names
They faded into glistening snow.

When I awoke on Christmas morn
Thoughts of the dream came back
While headed out to chore in the barn
I was stopped by two sets of tracks.


Who is Larry Hannon?

 Bio will be place here when we receive it.

 © -2000 All Rights Reserved

Above poems are NOT to be used in any form without the expressed permission of.


P.J. Hogan

MARCH 2000

Cowboy Autumn
by P.J. Hogan

Cows below the drift fence now,
with this last small bunch.
Loosen up the cinch on Nellie,
Sit here, 'n have some lunch.
Sun beatin' down, so shed my coat,
now I smell the sage.
My heart goes out to City Folks
(lLike songbirds in a cage)
Here I sit in Yer creation,
Part of nature, wild 'n free!
Ya always make me wonder
Why Yer so damn good ta me!
Here it ism the Fall again,
Oce more Ya paint the trees.
Bears hibernatin' soon
'Long with the honey bees.
How Wondrous is Yer Master Plan!
I feel Yer touch within the breeze.
Birds seen ta know it's time ta go,'Before the winter's freeze.
Then in time, Ya cover
the mountains her with snow.
Next years summer water
fer the farmers down below.
'Ole buck deer comes a struttin'
Head a antlers holdin' high!
Hear 'em? Now I see 'em!
Bunch 'o geese is flyin' by.
Jays is comin', squawkin',
Think it's time ta dine.
Sun tryin' hard ta melt the frost,'In the shade 'o that 'ole pine.
Squirrel's scoldin' that 'ole buck now!
"Get outta my winters stash!"
Woodpecker tries ta git a bug,
Out 'o snag trees' lightnin' gash.
"Ole crow soundin' hungry too,
with his "Caw-Caw song.
Watchin' from that 'ole dead branch,
Fer lunch ta come along.
'Ole squirrel's still "raisin' cain"!
Throwin' sticks 'n such.
He can spare a cone'er two,
'cause he gathers way too much.
Shur wudn't want 'em in a zoo
, this "wild menagerie"
But, City Folks don't "pass by" much,
(so they never get to see)
How manynters is it now?
You've kept me on this earth?
Nie on fifty-seven,
Not countin' year 'o birth.
And of all Yer seasons,
 Since I was very small,
(Not too hot 'er not too cold)
I've come ta love the Fall.
The Fall is where I find my life.
Comin' on my "winters rest".
But, heart is calm cuz what's ta fear?
Cuz I know that I'm Yer guest.
Nellie's sleepin', with her head down,
So Might catch me "forty winks"
Leanin' against this 'ole snake fence,
with all its crooks 'n kinks.
I like soakin' up Yer nature,
In no hurry ta "skedaddle"
Besides! The last o' summers butterflies,
Is sittin' in my saddle!

Silent Pain
by P.J. Hogan

Lord!, I'm soaked but not complainin'
The smell of earth is in the air.
'N Yer lightnin' bolts that "slash" the sky!
Is enuff ta raise yer hair!
But it was jist a yesterday,
This land was parched 'n dry!
The rocks ' sand was "smokin' hot"!
>From Yer sun, that hung in sky.
Ya'd doff yer hat, 'n wet yer lips,
Whilst sweat ran frum yer brow.
Hard ta say who had greater thirst,
Grass, 'er Tree, 'er Cow?
In the dried up holdin' tank.
The dirt was cracked and curled.
No movement in the windmill's blade.
Nor in tumbleweeds, once "whirled"!
What wind there was came in Spring.
Sucked ground's moisture, (What it had)
Then bent the trees, 'most double!
Like a she bear , when she's mad!
Where once was grass, in shady place,
Is "Hard 'n Parched 'n Brown!
Cows stripped bark from willers there.
Last meal there was around!
Squattin' and a thinkin',
Drawin' with dry stick in dirt.
If this 'ol drought don;t break up soon.
We're in a world a hurt!
Of an evenin', when the sun set,
Ya cud almost hear land, "Sigh".
Even Whipporwill sounds thirsty!
As he sings his mournful cry.
Gazin' at the nite sky,
Not a cloud is there ta find.
You know, them big 'ole fluffy ones?
 The stars hide in behind!
I thought about the "Good Book"
(Mamma read so long ago)
How Ya opened up the "Vault" in sky,
Watered Earth way down below.
Then a coyote cried at Moon,
'N jist for what it's worth
I wundered was it dry like this
In th land that gave You birth?
Heard an orphan bawlin', then,
(Guess I softly cursed)
He ain't got no Mamma
Ta help him quench his thirst!
Thought I saw a Mare's Tail
Last evenin', high in sky
'N there seems ta be a breeze now
As I watch the darkness die.
Maybe I hear rustlin' leaves
In that big cottonwood.
Change a oumin'? (Can't quite see.)
Hope it's for the good.
Dust-devils! Racin' thru the flats!
Like sly escapin' thieves!
"Whirlin' Dervish" of the plains,
Stirrin' up the dust 'n leaves!
More clouds cummin' fast now!
With the stronger breeze.
A doubtin' heart keeps hopin'
They have'nt come ta tease!
Calves is got their tails up!
They circle chase aroung,
With a surge of energy,
They dug down deep 'n found!
Mother cow starts bawlin'
(fer her little one)
Seems how, most Mothers call ya,
When yer havin' lots o' fun!
The mornin' got some darker,
As the first drops hit the ground.
Punchin' holes rite in the dust,
makin' "pock marks" all around.
First it comes, drop by drop,
Then it comes in sheets!
'Ole beetle scurries fer a rock,
As on his back it beats!
Windmill is a pumpin' now!
But, she's got a ways ta go,
Afore she fills that most dry tank,
up ta "overflow"!

Nellie is plum soaked too,
Head down, jist standin' there.
I've survived sum troubled times
With this 'ole honest mare.
Now I 'spose that Yer wonderin'
What I'm doin' on one knee?
"Hunkered" in the shelter
Of this 'ole cedar tree.
Ain't got a lot o' learnin'
So fer this land; (That was in pain)
I'm doin' best that I know how,
Ta Thank Ya!
Fer this rain!

by P.J. Hogan

Sun is standin'"High 'n Hot"
But I'm shaded by this tree.
Such things make me wunder, Lord,
Whyyer so damn good ta me?
Yet, Ya say, it jist gits better!
Cum the time we're "called away",
With You 'n Friends 'n Happiness,
In a place we'll always stay.
So lemme conger up a "vision"
Of what it might be like,
Whilst the cows s busy drinkin',
'n grazin' 'round the dike.

Man of the Cloth once told me,
"Ya don''t fret what's left behind".
What "You've" put there, (In Yer Goodness)
Would boggle cowboys mind!
Maybe have the time there
Ta learn ta spin a rope?
Cowponies won't "bog theri heads"
When ya break from trot ta lope?
'N every horse's walkin' gait,
Jist like a rockin' chair.
To ride a hunnerd miles a day,
'N be no worse for wear!
Trails is always grad-u-all
Not full a stumps 'n rocks!
Time is told, by sun 'n moon,
(Not by city clocks!)
Cowboys wud gather 'bout corrals
Ta spin a yarn er two,
Roll sum smokes, tell sum jokes,
'N the sky is always blue.
If y git the "hungers"
They'd be plenty a steak 'n corn.
Bread ya fry, 'n apple pie,
'N chese, cut fresh frum horn!
Then restin' with yer head laid back,
With saddle fer a prop.
Jist a "tad" a "suppin whiskey"
(Kind that brings $5 bucks a pop!)

Clothes that don't wear out no more,
No scrapin' mud from boot.
No dressin' up ta go ta dance,
(In "city slicker" suit)
Thinkin' with this "ole pine stick,
Scratchin' dirt be-twixt my boots,
How-a-bout a big 'ole ranch?
You 'n me be in cahoots?
Four (make that five) thousand cows
Slick haired, 'n fat 'n sassy!
"Paradise" on sign above the gate,
Now wouldn't that be classy?
Best dunk my head in water tank
'N come on down ta earth!
Cows 'er all tanked up now,
Judgin' by their girth.
Well it's always good ta talk with Ya
Even thoe Yer always quiet.
Ya speak thru trees ;n things one sees,
But Silent? (I don't buy it!)
Some say the greatest peace that's known,
Is likin' where ya are!
So I guess this place Ya done put me
Don't miss heaven far!!

Who is P.J. Hogan?

 PJ Hogan was born on a ranch in Colorado in 1942. Through his parents who were both born in 1901 he was privileged to meet and hear tales from many old time cowboys and miners.  Some of these old characters rode with the last herds of the
1870-80-90's. He didn't become a rancher himself but the cowboys he met and the horses he rode are fresh in his memory.

His mailing address is:
P J Hogan
2995 Hwy 348
Delta, Co. 81416

 © -2000 All Rights Reserved

Above poems are NOT to be used in any form without the expressed permission of P.J. Hogan.


Noel Burles


By Noel Burles

An old tin cup hung on a branch
Bout rusted clean away
How long that it had hung there
No one could even say.

The branch that cup had hung on
Was grown now right around
Leaving only half a cup
Waiting to be found.

Who had left it hanging there?
I wished that cup could talk
Did he plan to fetch it back
Or was it just forgot.

What tales of travel could it tell?
Of campfires now grown cold
But that cup retained it silence
And it story never told.

By Noel Burles

The time has come to say good-bye
This will be our last farewell.
Although our paths may meet again
One can never tell.

It's true I've found another
A beauty queen no less.
You yourself stood out one time
But God you've become a mess.

It's true you never let me down
You were always there for me.
But now I have to leave you
That's the way it is you see.

I'm sure you'll find another
Someone to love you true
Someone to look after you
And someone to care for you

But I really must be going
I wish you the best of luck
You've really been a great old car
But you've been traded for a TRUCK...

By Noel Burles

As I walked up a creek one time
A buffalo skull I chanced to find
You know I got to wondering why
how he come about to die?

Was it wolves that brought him down?
Or an arrow his heart had found,
and how many rivers had he crossed?
Before his life was finally lost?

Did he get to see the mountains
In that brilliant fall?
Did he walk across the prairies
Where the grasses grow so tall?

Did he walk from Manitoba
With its lakes and woods and sand?
Did he have a chance to walk
All across this land?

All these things I wondered
I guess I'll never know.
As I sat and gazed upon
That ancient buffalo.

Who Noel Burles?

I was born and raised on a cattle ranch near Pincher Creek, Alberta Canada.
I have worked on cattle ranches, in sawmills, the oil patch, rodeoed, driven truck,
and played guitar and sang lead vocals in a traveling road band ...I've been there..
I have just recently published my second book of Cowboy Poetry entitled
Tall Tales True Tales and Pony Tales


 © -2000 All Rights Reserved

Above poems are NOT to be used in any form without the expressed permission of Noel Burles.

Phyllis Ann Hall Ante


Phyllis Ann Hall Antle

There was a young cowboy

Who set out into the world all alone.

Many things he had seen and done,

Some his mother had never known.

He woke up one day

From an ugly and scary dream.

He packed his bags

And left the life in the dream he had seen.

He set out on his own

With what little he did own

And moved to another place

Where he would someday call his new home.

He was a hard working cowboy

With a strong will of his own.

Searching for a life

That he had not yet been shown.

A cowboy's life is lonely

Or so it has been said;

Hard work, many long dusty days,

With only a rock to rest his weary head.

And if he is lucky

There’s a little time off

To hit the bars

To wash the dust and dirt off.

But while he is there

Little does he know

He is there searching

For some sense of his life to show.

Then back at his bunkhouse

As he falls into his bed

With all his cowboy dreams

Dancing through his head.

Would he someday meet a young lady

Whom he'd not yet seen?

Would she be the answer to a prayer

Or the answer to his dream?

Many questions in his mind he had.

Was this cowboy always to be so alone?

Was his life finally shown to him

In a dream so far away from home?

© 11/3/97

Phyllis Ann Hall Antle

Sitting here by the campfire

Looking out over the Plaines,

Its so hot and dusty out here.

Lord, we could sure use some of your cool Texas rains.

Looking around me I see my ol' pal, Rowdy

And my trusty horse, Red.

No matter how hard I work them

Never a complaint has ever been said.

While watching the flames on the lonely campfire,

Out in the distance one can see the flashing of light

Dancing gracefully in the distance.

A storm seems to be brewing in the stillness of this hot summer night.

Sitting here pondering

Things of the future, things of the past

I wonder how much longer

This ol' cowboy's life will last.

Sitting in the darkness and silence of the night

I pray to my Lord up above

And thank him for many forgotten blessings

And this ol' cowboy's life that I truly love.

©  8/9/98

By Phyllis Ann Hall Antle

There is a country girl

Who is a city boy’s wife,

Whose heart is aching

To leave this city girl’s life.

Her heart is aching for

The wide open spaces.

She no longer wants

To see city faces.

She wants to breathe

The country fresh air.

She wants the peace and freedom

That is waiting for her out there.

No one understands

These feelings that she has,

For wanting to get away

From the life she now has.

Is she wrong to want

For something so much?

It’s like reaching for something

Too far away to ever touch.

One day she’ll realize this dream

That she desperately aches for,

Then she’ll be like an eagle

set free and ready to soar.

Phyllis Ann Hall Antle©


Who Phyliss Ann Hall Ante?

To uploaded as soon as we recieve the info.

 © -2000 All Rights Reserved

Above poems are NOT to be used in any form without the expressed permission of Philliss Ann Hall Ante.

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