Today I get to introduce a young woman whose work I've been following for about a year, she takes some awesome shots and always has a good story to go with it!
And so, I introduce to you, Laine Smith of Memory Laine Photography.
This is a passion I have for capturing the true working cowboy & the western lifestyle through the lens & stories. This is a lost art & a dying breed of the working man. As technology has begun to take over, many little things have been taken for granted. It's about riding for your brand, the loyalty in a handshake, and the power of a man's word. Most of my photographs have been taken from horseback capturing the "working" cowboy during their normal everyday life. They're not posed, They're not staged, just raw and real through my experiences during sunrise on the back of my horse riding through green pastures.
His name is dean Smith, and he has been a family friend since I was a little girl.. He was gathering up the momma's to put out to pasture.
A lot of you don't really know the story how I really began this little hobby so I thought I would share, I bought a camera a few years ago but I lost all inspiration.. so it sat and collected dust.. Then 2012 the year from hell hit.. I started it off by finding out the man I thought I was going to marry was leading a double life & had a baby on the way, then two weeks later I had to bury one of my best friends who was killed in a tragic car accident, not long after that my grandpa was diagnosed with cancer, only to attend another funeral & bury one of my heroes , my good horse almost died of colic, my niece went into the ER for Pneumonia, and then we received the news that my mom's brain tumor had returned...I was a mess.. The pain was too much to bear.. So I found myself just needing to get away, so I started driving backroads.. I realized that God won't give you more than you can handle, but at this point I was about to break.. until I stopped to noticed the way the sun cast a soft glow upon the open fields, how rain drops held onto the barb wire, how fresh a horses's breath is in the early morning, how your horse's mane softly blows in the breeze, and how the smell of horse hair makes everything ok for a moment. I found the beauty around me.. I finally found some inspiration.. the only way I knew how to control the pain was from behind the camera finding all the beauty in simple everyday things that people take for granted. You see it's not about "pictures" it's about the memories you make of the life you're living, and the ones you love in it.
This is a picture of Joe & my nephew Creek.. Joe has taught Creek's daddy how to cowboy and is now passing down his knowledge to the younger generation.
My advice is to shoot, and shoot a lot! Practice, and practice! Believe in your dreams and go for it!
taken at a branding in Dadeville, Mo. It was in the fall, and these guys are from Oklahoma & Missouri. It was early in the morning.
The young man's name is Heston, and he is a true cowboy! He can work with the best of them. We were riding out to put momma's back out to pasture after we finished working them.
Lucas was looking over a herd of yearlings trying to find his next prospect from Sinclair Quarter Horses while a thunderstorm was getting ready to hit
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My mom came to visit for a few days a couple weeks ago and one of the things she brought with her was this recipe.
We've had this several times since she left and really enjoy it, and the best part is its super quick and easy!
I haven't gotten pictures of it yet...we always eat it too quickly LOL but I'll try to get some pictures added soon.
Basically all you need is leftover baked potatoes, some oil, a baking sheet, and spices and cheese to taste.
I use 3-4 fist size or bigger potatoes for our family, so adjust that for your family.
I often bake extra spuds on purpose so I can make this for a later meal.
As far as cheese goes, I've done this without cheese, with cheddar cheese, and with cream cheese. All variations were consumed with equal gusto and enjoyment.
INSTRUCTIONS
Preheat oven to 400*
Grease Baking Pan
Grate baked potatoes into pan.
Spritz oil over and sprinkle with salt and pepper or other desired spices
Bake for 10-15 minutes.
Stir
Grate cheese over if desired
Bake for another 10 minutes or until spuds are slightly crispy at the edges.
Goes good with Ranch dressing (doesn't everything? LOL) or just as is.
Today I get to introduce a new friend, a Musician and and Cowboy.
Kurt Corsair!
- Life Story
Life story: I grew up one of six boys in central Kansas. Not rich folks. I started working steady at 13 as a maintenance mechanic for a truck line to avoid wearing hand me downs. Dad was a farrier and I was around horses all my life and that passion drove me. Kansas never fit me. I left there ahorseback after graduating school. I headed to Montana to be a cowboy with one brother and a friend. I burned up a couple years and took my first big outfit cowboy job at the Matador of Dillon Montana on Sage Creek at Dell. Then to Oregon buckaroo country at Whitehorse, then to Wyoming. I found what I was looking for on the wagons of Arizona at Babbitts and the ORO. It seemed to me they were doing what everyone else was trying to do. It hadn't changed much there in 100 years. I worked outfits back in Wyoming, Oklahoma, back to Oregon and Nevada. Nebraska, New Mexico. I married an Arizona gal. That didn't last. So, I ended up leasing and managing a 40,000 acre ranch in southeast Colorado. I bought some land and a few cows and have been raising two boys alone for the last ten years.
I started writing a lot of songs after the wife pulled out. I have 4 cds out there and over 100 songs penned.
I ranch and do music for a living. Drought caused us to lose the big ranch so my boys and I moved off grid to a cabin camp with my cows. Remote, no running water or electricity, but better than many camps I've been in.
My songs reflect my way of life. Spirit is my take on God and being a cowboy Christian. My last album is outlaw music. I wrote 17 songs in defiance of the pop crap they call music on the radio. I miss Waylon, Cash, Haggard, when music had soul. So, I tried to make some.
- What advice would you give to someone just getting started as an artist?
If you're an independent artist: I hope money is not your motivator, because there is not much in it. Write and play from the heart. Don't be a mimic, be genuine. Everyone is a critic so do it for you and for three chords and the truth. Be yourself and tell your story. If its good, it will sell itself.
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Today I get to introduce a new friend, a mom, an artist and an entrepreneur!
Jessica Hedges, Cowgirl Poet!
I think every wife who has a husband works long hours can relate to "Listening For His Cinch Bell" and I absolutely love the message of "Cowgirl Craze"!
Story:
Out in southeastern Oregon there is a breed of cowboys and ranchers thriving, raising their families, respecting the traditions of their culture. Jessica Hedges and her family live here, doing the same things, but she's trying to tell their story through social media and cowboy poetry. Sam, her husband, buckaroos for the ZX Ranch in Paisley. Jessica is stay at home mom to their toddler boys, Quirt and Cinch. Previous jobs and living in cow camp gave her the cowboying bug, a yearning for big country, and a desire to learn quality horsemanship and stockmanship. Although she doesn't swing her leg over a horse much these days, it is a goal to return to that part of her life as the boys get bigger. After child chasing and house cleaning, there is somehow time to perform and operate her accessories line, The Buckarette Collection.
Western or mainstream?
Although a lot of what I do appeals to the western world, there are many outside of it who are just as interested. Often times, it's a unique opportunity to share what the cowboying world and beef production in general looks like, possibly having a positive effect on preconceived notions.
Listening for His Cinch Bell
Dear Lord, I know I don’t talk with you enough Here anymore, it’s just because he is late I always knew his days would be long and tough But I didn’t know how hard it’d be to wait It's two hours past dark, four past quitting time He should have been home by now, where’s he at? A storm's coming on; I can hear my wind chimes About then, the first rain drop falls with a splat He mentioned he was checking heifers today Up in the high pasture, the one past the creek He was going to trot out, thought he’d take the grey That raunchy one, you know, that has the mean streak I know I shouldn’t worry, but yet I do He’s a big boy, he can take care of himself His absence continues to make my mind stew Could he be hiding beneath the rocky shelf? Maybe that no good colt tipped over on him? Maybe those heifers are scattered all around From heck to breakfast out on that shell rock rim? And maybe, he’s lying wounded on the ground? At the door, I strain to hear his jingle bobs Regardless of the brewing storm just outside This is the downfall of these cowboying jobs Peering into the dark, looking for his stride Lord, please quiet my mind and ease this girl’s heart For the sake of my sanity, send him home As his wife, I’ve always tried to do my part I promised from his side I would not roam The dog perks his ears and heads toward the front door I can hear it too; his cinch bell ringing And comes the end of my internal war This time, but the battle wounds are still stinging.
How did you get introduced/what got you started?
I grew up with a lot of cowboy poetry and music. It wasn't uncommon to listen to Waddie Mitchell, Red Steagall, Ian Tyson or others while putting out mineral, checking wells, or making the 30 minute trip to town. Not only did we listen to it though, my dad would stop the tape and we would discuss what a particular line meant. Later on, I visited the National Cowboy Poetry Gathering in Elko. Watching all of those other poets perform I said, "I live on a ranch, I have stories, I can do that!" Since then, I've been an invited performer a few different times and the event still holds a special place in my heart.
Subject matter
As the old adage goes, write what you know. Most of my work revolves around my stories, the stories of those around me, and my outlook on life.
Cowgirl Craze I don't know what has come of girls these days Or why they are damaging the cowgirl's name As their denim hemlines continue to raise In a sad race for their ten minutes of fame They've cheapened themselves from silver to rhinestones Desperately trying to catch a team ropers eye They're surgically attached to their cell phones Chasing the Wrangler butt of some random guy I've never been one to judge some others ways But this is getting out of control you know This diluted attempt of a cowgirl craze Is in desperate need of a firm hand's whoa There's still a few originals that exist That work like men and keep a house like ladies They are beautiful, smart and always persist And'll pick a ford over a Mercedes They don't wear Daisy Dukes with Fat Baby boots And they're not out running around on their men Nope these girls are grounded and true to their roots And always remember to say their amens So don't lump us all together, I beg you Please don't consider those other as kin Just keep this in mind about the cowgirls view We're twice as hot and don't show half the skin
What advice would you give to someone just getting started as an artist?
Just don't ever give up. Remember that there is a creative side AND a business side to every craft. You may have the best work but if you can't market it, no one will ever know. Do not fear trial and error, going through the process will teach you a lot. Never under estimate the power of networking.
Tell me more about The Buckarette Collection.
The Buckarette Collection started as a pregnancy insanity project turned full blown
business. We had just moved out of cow camp, it was the middle of winter, I was 6 months along with my oldest, I'd been pulled off horses, and my husband went from a camp guy to a crew job. Life was definitely changing, and I needed something new. Since my cowboy poetry travels would have to slow down a bit, I needed to find something closer to home. Headbands were just starting to get popular, so I taught myself how to make them. Before I knew it, there was jewelry, hats, sunglasses, etc being added. Now, I have 2 seamstresses as well as a couple shop helpers and a new department being announced soon!
One of the ranchers ready to ride to check on his cattleToday I have the pleasure of introducing another friend who I have yet to meet in person, hopefully someday, somewhere we can sit around a campfire and have some coffee!
May I introduce, Dina C. Smith, Cowgirl with a camera!
- Life Story
I was born in Tularosa, New Mexico, on November 8, 1963. My home town is Alamogordo, New Mexico. I was the 7th child and a twin. I was crippled and hard of hearing, I could not talk till age 5. I attended public school, then attended a boarding school for the deaf. I graduated from the New Mexico School for the Deaf in Santa Fe, New Mexico
in 1982. I married, moved to Wisconsin, raised and homeschooled my children for 8 years. The marriage ended in 2001 and I met my husband Steve, who features in most of my photos. We worked on several ranches and farms taking care of cattle and horses.
We also raised our own Longhorns. Then, in 2013 my husband, Steve, was offered a wrangler "cowboy" job in Creede, Colorado. The first year he had a rider help him. I couldn't ride because I was in a horrific accident a year and half before. I was in a wheel chair for 7 months and used a cane for the next year or so. I kept myself busy by taking pictures of the wildlife, landscape, flowers and cowboys, of course.
The second year I got my chance. I became my husband's sidekick, a real cowgirl and took my photography to the next level. I have had 3 exhibits in Wisconsin and a calendar for the year 2015, and will again be selling calendars for 2016. Since I was a tiny tot I had a dream that someday I was going to be a real cowgirl and here I am, doing what I've always wanted to do.
Cowboys riding to check on cattle
- Day Job, Western or mainstream?
We work for the Park Grazing Assocation out of Alamosa, Colorado area. This is our 3rd year.
One of the ranchers ready to ride to check on his cattle
- tell me about your subject matter, (ie just horses, just buckaroo style, rodeo etc. )
My photography is western, buckaroos and wranglers
cowboy looking about to see how cattle are
-What advice would you give to someone just getting started as an artist?
My advice is if you truly want to do this, well, take as many pictures as you can and learn about your camera and how your photography affects a person or people. I carry my camera wherever I go, even in a saddle bag when I ride the range checking cattle.
This week the artist I am featuring for #WesternArtWednesday is a man I am honored to call friend even though we have yet to meet in person. He is a Cowboy Poet who, I'm sure you'll agree, has great talent!
Well, enough from me.
I introduce to you, Sergio "Trigger" Schaefer!
- Life Story
My dad was a cowboy. His lifestyle didn't rub off on me until after I went to Texas. I got my head right and took it upon myself to fill his boots. I worked wherever I could and learned as much as I could. I was intent on punching cows and working horses for the rest of my life. That was, until I met my wife. Like so many other cowboys, I fell in love, and was put on notice. I couldn't marry her, until I had a "real" job. One with a 401K and a retirement plan. I always thought $400 a month, three squares hot, and a cot was perfect? She obviously didn't. I took a full-time town job and continued to do day work, when I could. We had a son; he's 16 now. Two more years of high school and perhaps, one day, I can hire on full-time to a nice little outfit. At least, that's kinda the goal! Until then, I enjoy entertaining the folks who do the work, and live the life!
Who doesn't write about family? My son is the inspiration for a few poems. All parents can relate to that. I just happen to be blessed with a funny kid!
The Ghost
At the Sunday table one day
We watched Wyatt play
Out at the In-Laws home.
Tradition dictated
That we all waited
And Wyatt began to roam.
He was still small
Being a toddler and all
But, he was a mobile kid.
He could walk upright
And gave us a fright
When he decided to run through the house, like he did
As usual, I got to talking
While he began walking
I felt no need for concern;
There were plenty of eyes
So, I saw no surprise
Sooner or later, he'd learn.
A while had passed,
The table filled fast,
I couldn't wait to dig in.
Figured Grandma had Wyatt
Cleaning him up, or at least try it,
And lunch was about to begin
We all took our places
As I looked at the faces
Of my family, getting ready to eat
I heard a noise -
It didn't sound like toys,
More like...boot-covered feet?
It came from near the door
On carpet-covered floor,
Little "thuds", not loud, but there
A moment passed by;
I couldn't believe my eyes
As my hat took to the air!
It glided with ease
Across the couch, like you please,
Only the crown in sight.
The couch back was in view,
I wasn't sure what to do,
It gave me a bit of a fright!
The hat flew some more,
The boots hit the floor,
Every step getting louder.
Then, something else hit the air,
(I'm sure it was there)
The distinct smell of...baby powder.
It came to the end of the couch,
For what I can't vouch,
But, "the ghost" finally neared.
With my boots past his thighs
His grin filled our eyes
And his cute little face appeared.
Wearing only diaper britches
We broke out in stitches
Wyatt smiling ear to ear
That lid he was sportin
'Sure made him shorten
As my finger wipes away a tear.
He came moseyin' on over to me,
His age less than three,
And I sat that cowboy on my lap.
My boots slipped to the floor
He kept my hat a bit more
But, couldn't wear it, during his nap.
- Career, Western or mainstream?
This is a tough question. Cowboy poetry has always been a western genre. But, since Waddie Mitchell went on the Johnnie Carson show, and then Baxter Black, it might be considered mainstream? Yet, so many folks have never heard cowboy poetry. so, I guess it's still western!
This is one I was inspired to write with my dad. He loved old western movies. The story was easy to put to rhyme. It was one of his favorites!
Talk of the Town
This snow's been falling all day and this is the coldest yet.
This outfit's had a rough time getting 'em set.
A drive's comin' and time's short. All this herd needs is a trail brand.
Last month we were in Texas riding in the sand.
My partner almost crippled his horse ropin' a heifer down
and came close to going with it, when we all went to town.
You gotta know we got crazy and lost all our sense.
We got to drinking and went outside and ol' Whiskers took out a fence.
His mount got away from him as a shot rang out. He fired his six gun with glee.
His eyes all crossed and red, God knowing, he couldn't see.
His horse ran for a house. The one the bar keep's said to own.
In his saloon, above the bar, he kept his ownership papers well shown.
You see, it wasn't just a fence. But, after it fell down,
Whiskers horse ran for the porch, kicked up his heels and started spinning 'round!
While all this was going, without a moment's pause,
I fell backwards laughing. Corn whiskey helping the cause.
This horse was stubborn and stout.
Whiskers on his back screaming "TARNATIONS, CUT IT OUT!!!!!!!!!!"
By then, I had tears in my eyes. While I proceeded to soak my drawers.
Whiskers got clean bucked off, staggering up and rubbing his sores.
The horse, meanwhile,continued his fit. Outright and quite steady.
Out the door came a woman, the bar keep's wife named Betty.
In her hand there hung a lantern. Shining bright and wide.
The horse flat kicked her arm and threw it to the side.
This, in turn, started the fire in the yard by the house.
Taking all it wanted. Including the shack owned by her spouse!
Whiskers ran for it in fear. He wanted no part of THIS.
Knowing it good and well, his reward would NOT be a kiss!
A few days passed by and all went pretty good.
Work went on and no sheriff came. So, we kept on like we should.
Blackie, our foreman, went to town. To see if the smoke had cleared.
He went to the saloon for a drink and all was NOT as feared.
It seems he heard the regulars talking of that night.
Asking if those guys were anywhere in sight.
It was odd, to say the least, that a reward was overdue.
The boy had burned down a "cat house" and the bar keep up and flew.
Betty was NOT his wife. But, a "lady of the night",
and the sheriff's been tryin' years to get them out without a fight.
So, old Whiskers done that town a favor, burning that house down.
And Whisker's crazy horse is now the talk of the town.
-How did you get introduced to your art?
I've been writing poetry, since I was in junior high. Back then it wasn't western based. It was what was in my heart and head. My way of venting or expressing my feelings. I was a closet romantic. All my friends wouldn't have understood it back then. But, the girls sure did! I wooed the young ladies with them. After I came back from Texas, I was immersed into the western life. So, obviously, my material and topics changed. I found myself sharing them with other cowboys, family, and friends. My foreman, at the Winter Hawk Ranch, encouraged me to recite publicly. After three seasons, I gave in. I performed in my first cowboy poetry gathering in 1994, here in Colorado Springs. I've been doing it ever since.
Coffee is the drink of choice by cowboys. At least all the ones I know and myself. I thought to myself, no one ever talks about the side effects. Let alone, in the middle of winter!
The Game
Being ten below
with a foot of snow
and coffee in your gut,
One may tend to think
"my favorite drink!"
and "Always makes the cut!"
I have to agree
it's not hard to see
Yeah, I REALLY LOVE IT!
It's my life's blood
thick as river mud
My mornings perfect fit!
That is, until noon
it's a different tune
when my gut starts to bloat,
desperation ensues,
start feeling the blues,
you hear sounds from your coat!
This cannot be good,
move fast as you could,
the outhouse calls your name.
You're moving so fast
the door comes at last;
it's the start of "the game"
You dressed for success,
thought "warmest is best",
with layers you put on.
Keep in mind the cold
not feeling so bold;
they ALL have to be gone!
Now, here's the pickle
the cold don't tickle
and your zippers are froze!
So, what can you do?
Solid ice clean through!
your mad zippers got chose
I think you're aware
of the game we share--
we all seem to play it!
It's not played for fun,
we all come undone
and do our dance a bit.
Please keep in mind
the weather's not kind
I'd choose buttons next trip!
The "dance" won't last long
it won't go so wrong
and you'll greet that next sip!!!
- What got you started as an artist?
I can answer this question easily! The crowds!!! I fell in love with the folks who love this genre. They are sincere in their appreciation for it. I love making folks laugh and enjoy seeing their reactions to my madness, on stage!
My other favorite topic is my wife. It always seems to strike a familiar cord, with the married crowd.
Splash Yourself
We came up with a plan.
See, I'm a fair man
To take turns with "quality time"
She would choose hers
Without any burrs
Or sass or guff of mine
Likewise, for her
Although.....it's a blur
I can't recall mine done?
But, nonetheless
I must confess
Her idea sounded fun!
Ya see, it was her turn
I had lessons to learn
on how to relax and tan
So, off to the pool
Just like a fool
I lay on my floaty like a man
The sun just beat down
I felt like a clown
It's hard for me to relax
My farmer tan shown
my whiteness well known
and she began stating "facts"
"You won't stay white long."
she said almost in song
"We'll get you some color soon!
If you did this with me
Twice....maybe THREE???
You won't look like the moon!"
Well, I didn't say a word
I just focused on the bird
Laughing and watching me there.
The time seemed to fly
And I opened one eye
It felt hot, on my skin, that was bare
I'm hot. Are we done?
"Noooo this is fun!
Splash water where you're hot.
You'll cool down."
I lost my frown
And gave it all I got
Now, drenched to the bone
My situation unknown
She finally calls it a day.
We started to get out,
I hear her shout
"OH MY GOD! I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO SAY?!?!?"
"You're so red!
From your toes to your head!
Honey, I feel such remorse."
Sunscreen was not used,
The suns rays just cruised
Without a thing to stop their course.
I went to the tub
My skin too hot to rub,
And my knees and jaws were chattering.
I sit there in pain,
It was hard to refrain
From giving a verbal battering
I promised I would,
And so, I made good
On HER choice of "quality time"
As the vinegar flowed
My seeds have been sowed
I'm reaping the choice of mine
Her comments poured out
I couldn't help but shout
IT'S NOT CLOSE TO FUNNY!!!
She was trying to keep it light
In spite of my plight
"I'm soooo sorry, honey."
Sun poisoning came--
She's not to blame--
I dealt with it just fine,
But, NEVER again, EVER
Will I pull THAT lever
Vengeance soon would be mine
For the time that she laughed
A plan I soon draft
As the redness and blisters fade
Peeling began fast
I knew it wouldn't last
And I was certain of the plan I made
She lay there in bed
As I hit the head,
And the mirror caught my eye
My whole torso was ready
So, I lifted steady,
And removed a ten by ten strip in one try.
I walked to the bed
Not one word was said
Until after I held it up to the light.
GET A LOAD OF THAT!!!
She squirmed where she sat
YOU CAN SEE THIS, RIGHT???
After the peeling was done,
I decided no more sun,
Or, at least, none in a pool.
It's been my choice,
(in a timid voice)
That's my ONLY rule.
A hard lesson was learned
I hate being burned
I'll avoid it, if I can
Next time it's her call
I'll act natural and all
But, the pool is on permanent ban!
- tell me about your subject matter, (ie just horses, just buckaroo style, rodeo etc. )
I write about a lot of subjects. This isn't always what cowboy poetry contest and western magazines want to hear. They all want modern day material. I love it all. I write about old west stories, mountain men, historical figures, and topics that the city and country folks can understand. I went to a Baxter Black show, years ago. He said he writes about topics that only country and cow folks would understand. This made me think. Why segregate your audience? Why not include everyone? So, I split it up. Now and then, I use cowboys terms that city folks won't get. But, the next poem includes them. I like to think I write something for everyone
This is one of the crowd favorites. At least among the lady folk! True stories always make for good material! It's just another cowboy, out of his element, kinda thing.
· For my wife.....TRUE STORY
Show Towels
When most of us were growin' up we learned to wash our hands.
Wiping clean the dirt and grime we collect across the lands.
My mom once told me to dry 'em off on a towel that was clean.
So, natually I did it good, on the FIRST thing that I seen!
With this in mind, I'll go on and tell ya of my "deed".
I just came home from work, makin' money that we need.
She yells to me "Get washed up! Dinner's almost ready!"
So, I head to the sink and lather up real steady.
After rinsing I shake 'em good and turn to face a towel,
Dryin' off my hands, which earlier, were quite foul.
As I'm about to finish the job my fiancee walked in an' glared.
Tells me of these "show towels". A secret she'd not shared.
My first reaction, of course, was "What the heck are those???"
She proceeds to tell me "They're like porcelain dolls with bows!
You are NOT supposed to use them!!!!!" She yells right in my ear.
"They're only used to look nice! I've had them less than a year!"
Why, I had no clue you have a towel for "show".
The way I was raised up, how was I supposed to know???
All I did was dry my hands (Not that they were soiled).
But, the way she came uncorked, you could see her blood was boiled.
I calmly apologized and headed out to my plate awaiting me.
But, since that little occurrence, she couldn't let it be.
"You've NEVER heard of show towels???"
"NOT ONCE in my WHOLE LIFE!"
"Well, you'd better get used to 'em if I'm gonna be YOUR wife!"
"So, where do I dry them off after I go scrub clean?"
"The USABLE TOWELS are under the sink."
"You mean....The one's I've never seen???? "
"You've been using my GOOD TOWELS since we've both lived here???????"
"Well, YEAH! They're clean and dry, so, I had very little fear. "
"I should ring your neck for this!!! You KNOW how I am!!!"
"Ok. Ok. I'm sorry. Let's forget it "
"NO! That's let's forget it, MA'AM!!!"
- What advice would you give to someone just getting started as an artist?
Simple. Don't do it for the fame or the money. Like cowboying, there's no money in it. You do it because you love it. Not everyone will be the next Waddie or Baxter. They are the exception to the rule.
Cancer has touched so many lives. Mine is no different. It can't be ignored. The intro to this poem is pretty self explanatory. I sure miss this man.
This one's a VERY personal poem I wrote for my friend. It was intended to help him keep his head up. The family liked it so much, they put it in his memorial hand out. It's called:
THE FIGHTER ( for John)
I know I'm not the first to have heard such news.
And after a hard days work, ya tend to get the blues.
But, I'm here to tell ya this man's my friend.
And I know he's goin' to fight this, until it comes to an end.
It wasn't long ago, when a mutual buddy came to my door,
and tells me there's somethin' wrong. It's got his family on the floor.
"I'll let them tell you. It's only right."
And we headed on over to the house on that fateful night.
John and Shellie were on the couch. Everything seemed just fine?
But, he had this "look" about him. And he put it on the line.
"I went to the doctor today. They ran some different test.
And they told me I have cancer deep within my chest."
I wasn't sure how to respond to news quite like that.
I remembered a dear lost loved one. And how losing her still sat.
Then I looked at them again and concerned questions spewed out.
After the answers came I realized, that's NOT who this is about.
John's a fighter. He won't just lie down.
I give my support to him wholeheartedly, and won't let his family frown.
We keep it light, as usual, and talk about our next rides.
I give the support his family needs, that helps them roll with the tides.
We talk about how stubborn he is, as strong as oxen teams.
His humor is as sharp as ever, aware of unfulfilled dreams.
He sees no disappointing end and lives life day by day,
As only a man of will can do with positive things to say.
With every good thing that happens to make his day go by,
it only makes me more confident, that this bird to shall fly.
I've only known him for awhile, not into multiple years,
But, I've grown to love him dearly and I will NOT shed a single tear.
We really don't have a reason to? Maybe just due to our own fear?
This will be just another river to cross, bearing fruit on the other side.
He's already told me in conversation, there's plenty of time left to bide.
He has more irons in the fire that have yet to be placed.
And this is just one more test in life that has to be faced.
I look forward to him feeling better and catching years of flack,
About things like my favorite football team, and riding so far back!
I once thought that I should keep God out of my poems. I didn't want to offend anyone in the crowd. Over time, I realized, I cant. God blessed me with this skill and I should use it. So, I wrote this for a cowboy church performance. It was a homerun!
The Lord loves a Sinner
The old cowboy had a few sips,
vulgar words left his lips,
and no, he wasn't always kind.
But, his best friend, his horse
well treated of course!
He knows just what's on his mind.
The stock's made him insane,
and put him in pain,
hence, the bad words and drink.
At the end of the day
there's not much to say
So, he likes to lay there and think
His eyes look to the sky,
a few clouds float on by,
and crickets serenade.
A thought crosses his mind,
he starts to unwind,
realizing the choices he's made.
He crawls to his gear,
his eyes filled with fear,
fumbling through the pile.
His saddle bags get tossed,
he seems almost lost,
and tears well up for a while.
An hour had passed,
his hands become clasped,
and he kneels upon the sage.
"Please help end my search?"
(The wind blows through the birch)
"I think I'm on the wrong page."
As he bows his head low
his eyes catch a glow;
the moon lit up it's face.
There on the ground
lay safe and sound
was his Bible that lost it's place.
How the letters glow!
The moonbeams helped show--
he took it as a sign.
The breeze died down,
his mouth started to frown;
the pages were less than fine.
Though aged and battered,
it's condition not flattered,
his questions began sorting.
The cowboy opened the book
and upon just one look
his fingers found Psalm 104:14
"Thanks for the reminder Lord."
The tears then poured,
and the answers finally came out.
He forgot what he's doing out there
his soul came to bare,
and the Lord cleared away all his doubt.
Well, folks, that's all for today, but if you'd like to see more I encourage you to check out Trigger's page on Facebook and give him a "like"! Tell him I said hi :)
