As you may have noticed, the schedule has changed a bit for the blog.
For the next while we will be featuring one artist a month, on the second Wednesday of each month.
We are expecting a new little ranchhand this spring and between housechores, ranchchores and toddler wrangling, there's not much time left for looking up artists to interview!
So for now that's the new schedule.
NOW! Enough blather from me, go see what Smokey Culver has to say!
Life story:
I was born and raised in Southeast Texas on the Gulf Coast. I grew up during a time when my little
community of Pasadena was still somewhat rural, and got my first horse at age 11. That was about the
time I started tossing a lariat and signing up for the steer riding event at a the Deer Park Rodeo. I will
enclose a poem dedicated to that rodeo. As I got older I continued my connection with horses, and
started calf roping and steer roping in my early 20s.
Day job:
I started my railroad career at age 20 just out of the Navy, and ran freight trains all over Texas until I left
that job in 1995 to become a railroad safety consultant. I currently work as a consultant/expert witness
in railroad accident litigation, which allows me to set my own schedule, making rodeos and poetry
gatherings often. I was not raised on a ranch like a lot of cowboy poets, but my grandfather, who
named me Smokey, owned a big spread that was to have been passed down to me. Sadly this did not
happen, but my lifelong dream to own my own place will come to pass someday. I have included a
poem about my grandfather, whom I called Jay.
I am involved with a horse rescue ranch in South Texas called Habitat for Horses. The property where I
volunteer my time has about 100 horses at any given time. We get the abused and undernourished
ones, nurse them back to health and put them up for adoption. This allows me to handle a lot of horses
and not have to pay feed bills, vet bills etc. I am HfH's coordinator of volunteers, and am on the
investigation team. A labor of love.
How introduced:
I was never really interested in poetry until I realized that I had a natural ability as a poet and song
writer. I was in my late teens when I began writing songs and poetry. Had a record published in about
1975, but it never took off. I still write a song from time to time, but in the past few years have focused
mainly on poetry.
Subject matter:
I call myself a cowboy poet, but the truth is I write about a lot of things besides cowboys, but most is
about down home folks, small towns and country life and things like that. I have written many tributes
to deceased friends, family members and pets, and am often called upon to write something for a
memorial service for folks that I have not met. I feel truly honored when I receive these requests.
When I sit down to write a poem, I pray for the words and they come. I give that credit where it is due.
I am just blessed to be the one writing it down.
Advice for new artists:
Keep a notepad or iPhone handy. You never know when an idea will come along, or a subject that you
want to write about. I often wake up in the middle of the night and record an idea or a line or two that I
would never remember if I didn't record it right then. Don't get frustrated if you get stuck in the middle
of a poem. Walk away for awhile and come back later. It will all come together. Focus on rhyme and
meter if you write that style. Keep your rhyming words as perfect as you can.
I have a book available on Amazon, A Wrap and a Hooey.
My second book, Ridin' Shotgun is due to
come out any day, and will also be available on Amazon.
If you liked today's #WesternArtWednesday post be sure to check out the #WesternArtWednesday index page to see past features! Sign up for the Cowgirl Mama newsletter up on the right side of the page so you'll never miss another post
Today I get to feature my favorite Cowboy Poet and Photographer, CowboyAmerica!
(No one's allowed to get jealous that I say that cuz I'm married to the man!)
Without further blather from me, CowboyAmerica!
Connect with Cowboy on Twitter Or Check out the photos on his Instagram Account . He no longer checks Iinstagram but there's some cool photos there. Life Story
Ranch Raised by a family
of Texas Cowboys, we raised mostly what were known as “whiteface”
or HORNED Hereford cattle, back when the Hereford was king. I grew up
raising and training American Quarter Horses. I became a horse
trainer for the public at 8 years old. I went on to work for a TQHA
trainer of the year; we won 3 divisions of the All American Quarter
Horse Congress in one year. Later I went on to work exclusively on a
private ranch, training cutting horses and at one point I had 10 head
of horses in the top 10 standings of the NCHA Area 24.
Along the way I did things
such as gaming, rodeo, roping, and team penning. I guess you could
say my life story has been about doing things on horseback. I’m
actually more comfortable sitting on horseback than walking on my own
two feet.
Career.
I’ve done many things as
most modern cowboys have, everything from construction to welding, to
briefly working for a Fortune 500 Company, finally with a few years
in The Mission Field.
How did you get
introduced to your art.
When I was a kid my dad
had a subscription to Western Horseman magazine, so much like my
collection of World Book Encyclopaedias I consumed every word and
photo. The cartoons and poetry were some of my favorites and that’s
what inspired me. I penned my first poem in the late 60s.
Subject Matter
My subject matter up until
just a few years ago had been only true things, things that I’ve
lived. As a kid I was inspired by people like Ben K. Green and John
Ford, so my poems had always been about things I had done, like my
poem "Twine Tosser". In 2009, after my poem "The Palomino Border Collie" was published, I decided to try my hand at fiction. That’s when "The
Christmas Cowboy" came along and a few others.
Palomino
Border Collie
There
he was, as I pulled into the drive,
Standin there all shaggy
lookin barely alive.
I stepped out of the
pickup truck and mosied over his way,
“Whataya say lil’feller,
have you lost your way?”
As I dropped down on my
knee and stretched out my arm,
I began talking softly, “It’s ok
buddy, I don’t mean you no harm”
Slowly I reached to give a
pat and reassuring hand,
But I could tell by the
way he flinched it’uz something he didn’t understand.
Just at my fingertips, I
could barely scratch his brow,
“let me slip this leash
on you and we’ll get you some chow.”
I’ve bought horses with
cockle burrs and cows with mud on their back,
But the shape this dog was
in nearly gave me a heart attack.
I got out the clippers and
really went to work,
I’m a Christian
Gentleman so I won’t repeat what I said about some jerk.
A couple hours later he
was finally ready for the tub,
The way this pup was
stinkin he really needed a scrub.
40 minutes later wrapped
in a towel in the living room floor,
I saw a gleam in his eye
that all owners adore.
He’d just been
mistreated, maybe misunderstood,
But in the next few months
he learned what it was like to be treated good.
He learned to fetch a ball
and come and sit when he was told,
He even gained some
confidence and learned to be bold.
He became my buddy and
followed my every step,
Every time I went to the
barn he was there to help.
Sleepin right beside me,
following me around every day,
He became a ranch dog
that’s all I got to say.
We went to the feed store,
the ladies oo’d and aah’d,
“Pardon me” a lady
said, “for a ranch dog, his breed seems kinda odd.”
Ol’Ted was my buddy; I
couldn’t shame him in front of this clod,
I said, “but he’s a
special breed, sacred in his land,
Known for bein special;
why he’s a heck of a hand.”
Lookin at his features,
she wanted to know the name of this special breed,
“Aw Ma’am” I said,
“It’s not that special” It’uz like most I know’d she’d
see’d,
“He’s a palameaner
border collie, you can tell it from the golden coat”
Rollin her eyes above her
specks, she looked at me like I’uz an ol’ goat.
Studying him again she
said, “OH I never knew,
But looks like this one’s
makin a hand for a cowboy like you.”
Then she knew I was
funnin, cause the ladies at the counter laughed,
At the breed I chose, to
protect my other half.
So now you know Ted’s
story, just an old mistreated mutt,
But that don’t change
the fact of things, I’d still like to kick that ol’boys butt!!!
This Poem can be found in
the book “A Bone On My Pillow” ISBN # 978-0-615-32797-6 on pages
28&29 and Ted is on page 30.
This Poem was written in
the summer of 2004 after rescuing a part Field Spaniel and Cocker
Spaniel that was soon named Ted (AKA Teddy Ruxpin). This dog was
severely abused and was in horrible condition. Ted was one of those
miracle dogs who made a complete turnaround after 3 long years of
intense therapy. Ted is now happy to meet almost anyone and will
often offer a handshake or a favorite toy as his greeting to a new
acquaintance. Ted’s personality is now very close to that of the
Championship Border Collies that I’ve been privileged to own. I
still get to see Ted though he now lives with his new owner, a
Portland Oregon celebrity make-up artist. I have rehabbed many dogs
over the last 30+ years and believe that all any dog needs is a
chance to prove his GOD given talents!!!
Christmas
Cowboy
Years ago on the Flyin S
when I was but a young man,
I had the privilege to
work with Nick, he was the top hand,
He rode a spotted horse
that never stopped to open a gate,
You’d see’m flyin over
8 foot cattle guards, A fact I can honestly state.
There weren’t none
others I knew, that’uz quite like Nick,
He’uz always whittling,
or makin something, even out'of'a stick.
Well it’uz in December
and dern it sure was cold,
“Heifers was out of the
top section” is what we’uz told.
We saddled up our ponies,
him on Spot and me on Ol’Cap,
And Nick he’d ride ahead
and open every gap.
Ain’t no way I was about
to jump that sorrel over a cattle guard when I could just as easily
open that gate,
But
dern if Spot wasn’t walking at a good West Texas rate.
Well we made it to the
supply station and bedded down for the night,
After some of my good
beans and coffee, Nick said we’d leave at first light!
Just before I doused the
lantern, a feed store calendar is what I could see,
Friday the 23rd
was the date of this piece of HIStory.
Nick fell asleep cutting
on one of his sticks,
If’n it’d been me
fallin asleep with my knife out I’d woke with more than a splinter
prick!
Hard tack biscuits and
dried apricots with our coffee and we saddled in the dark,
It’uz gittin light and
Spot knew the trail, “We better git” is what Ol’Nick barked.
Well we found’m in the
neighbor’s meadow, 144 head in all,
Nick rode to where the
fence was down and he just gave’m his call.
I’ve seldom seen
anything like it, heifers on the backside of 40 sections just comin
at the sound of a Cowboy’s drawl,
It’uz down right
powerful, akin to the Lord callin the Apostle Paul !!!
Well we spliced 4 wires
and restretched the 7 all the way to the rock stack,
By the time Nick was
through you could play a tune when he slipped off the fencing jack.
He seemed to be in a
hurry, workin awful fast,
By the time it was all
tied off we were feelin a Northern blast.
We headed back to the
station to leave those fencing tools and I thought I’d fix some
lunch,
But Nick was now cold to
the bone and set in the saddle with more than his usual hunch.
We rode hard all
afternoon, hopin to get back just after dark,
But on this 24th
of December, Ol’Nick was shiverin in the cold and seemed to lose
his spark.
We had made it more than
three quarters the way back to the barn,
When I heard Ol’Nick say
“well darn.”
“What’sa matter Nick,
have ya got some place to be?” He said he had to get to town,
there was someone he needed to see !!!
Well, knowin Nick a quiet
man, that was something unusual to see,
I never known him to leave
the ranch in all our HIStory.
Then he said, “me and
Spot are gonna ride on ahead, you don’t have to keep up with us”
The last of them I saw was
the big spot on that red nosed App slowly fadin away in the dusk!
He’d always worn a red
wool coat handmade by a tribal mother,
Lined with white sheep
skin like no other!
Well I awoke just before
dawn and something wasn’t right,
I didn’t smell Nick’s
coffee, he musta not got back last night.
I jumped in my boots and
went out to the barn, there was Spot, still saddled and nearly froze,
Wy, I wouldn’t’uv
even recognized him if it weren’t for that red nose.
I led him in his stall and
got that icy saddle off his back,
And a few gift wrapped
presents in an ol’gunny sack.
Was that what Nick had to
do that rushed him off into the night,
He and old Spot and those
cattle guards that were met with bounding flight.
Well, I blanketed ol’Spot
and rushed to saddle Cap,
By now I was fearin Nick
was a victim of mishap.
Well about the time I
headed out the barn, Spot was bout to paw down the stall door,
So I slipped on a long
lead, as his hooves were sparkin up the floor.
He was rarin’ to go, and
I was sure he’d know the way,
So it was him that led me
to Nick on that Christmas day.
That red wool coat,
glistening in the snow,
But huddled up inside,
Nick still had his glow.Well Doc got him all fixed up, made a splint for his broken leg,
But before Doc could finish, Nick had already begun to beg.
“Take my ol’red wool coat, I’ve an errand for you son,
cause without the presents in that sack the ranch kids won’t have their Christmas fun!”
Nick is long gone now, and I whittle every chance I get,
Cause me and that red nose App on Christmas Eve are jumpin Cattle guards yet!
I still wear Nick’s ol’red coat, in memory of what he done,
Sharin the Love of Jesus, deliverin’ toys to little kids so they can have some fun!!!
Write or do what you know,
practice it repeatedly and like my grandfather says in my poem "Twine
Tosser", “Practice doesn’t make Perfect, Perfect Practice does”
If you need help, find someone who does it in a way that you admire
and learn from their experience and expertise. I was fortunate enough
to grow up around the last of the Real Old Time Cowboys, men who made
a living in the saddle, so I hung on their every word as I grew up
and began to live the Cowboy life myself, and eventually expressing
it in poetry !!!
Catchin’
Fillies
I had an epiphany as I
woke to the mornin sun,
I now know what it is
that’s stealin all my fun.
Twernt an ornery Mustang,
or rope that quit laying right,
It’s dern chasin
fillies, what’s been keepin me up at night.
Oh it aint that I caint
find’m or git’m out on the town.
It’s a teachin’m to
ground tie that always leaves me with a frown.
Now I knowed some shiny
fillies, what trotted with their tail in air,
But caint find one I’d
trust with the herd, and that would always treat me fair.
Like catchin good horses,
I’d say it’s about the game,
Now that I understand this
deal, I only have me to blame.
You caint go runnin at
their head, with loop that they can hear and see,
You gotta stand in the
middle of the pen, and say easy now, come here to me. Soon they
quit trottin the rail, and lookin out over the fence,
They break’r down in a
walk, then stop; and look at you intense.
Standing with lead in
plain sight, they’ll mosey over your way,
Cause somewhere in’a
twixt them ears they need ya at the end of the day,
If ya go easy, with a slow
and gentle hand,
Somehow
inside they know’ you’re their man.
They’ll come close
enough to smell your breath, and look you I the eye,
And if that first touch is
done correct, they’ll be with you till they die.
What’s the moral of the
story, what is it I’m really tryin to advance,
Well it aint the loop you
throw that get’s’m caught, somehow it’s the stance!!!
If you liked today's #WesternArtWednesday post be sure to check out the #WesternArtWednesday index page to see past features! Sign up for the Cowgirl Mama newsletter up on the right side of the page so you'll never miss another post
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 :)
I had an epiphany as I woke to the morning sun,
I know now what it is that's stealin all my fun.
Twernt an ornery mustang, or rope that quit laying right,
Its durn chasin fillies what's been keeping me up at night.
Oh it ain't that I can't find'm, or git'm out on the town,
Its teachin'm to ground tie that always leaves me with a frown.
Now I knowed some shiny fillies,
What trotted with their tail in air,
But caint find one I'd trust with the herd,
and that would always treat me fair.
Like catching good horses, I'd say its about the game,
Now that I understand this deal, I only have me to blame.
You caint go runnin at their head, with loop that they can hear and see,
You gotta stand in the middle of the pen,
And say "easy now, come here to me"
Soon they quit trottin the rail, and lookin out over the fence,
They break'r down in a walk, then stop; and look at you intense.
Standin with lead in plain sight, they'll mosey over your way.
Cause somewhere in'atwixt them ears they need ya at tha end of the day.
If ya go easy, with a slow and gentle hand,
Somehow inside they know; you're their man,
They'll come close enough to smell your breath, and look you in the eye,
And if that first touch is done correct,
They'll be with you til they die.
What's the moral of the story, what is it I'm really tryin to advance,
Well it ain't the loop you throw that gets' m caught, somehow its the stance!!!
*Copyright 2009 Flyin W Productions All Rights Reserved*
