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John Yaws
Senior Member
since 1999-10-09
Posts 860
Texas

0 posted 2000-02-02 11:58 AM


Hear the clock alarming,
Two hours before the sun-
It’s said, and I believe it...
That our work is never done.
I drink my hot black coffee-
It’s too early yet to eat...
I have to catch the horses up
And trim old Blackie’s feet.
Walk out to the tack room
“Saddle house” it’s called-
Saddles on their “horses”,
And bridles on the wall....
I love the smell of leather
Sweat and saddle soap,
To feel a well oiled  latigo-
A supple, cared-for rope.
There’s not a thing about this life
That isn’t great to me-
I like the wind upon my face-
I feel that I am free.
There’s not a cow that I can’t drive
Or horse that I can’t tame.
I am a cowboy, born and bred-
My only claim to fame.
Twelve to fourteen hours-
We slave out in the sun...
Popping brush and prickly pear
Each time one tries to run.
Head aches from the branding fire
The stench of hide and hair-
It’s not a thing you can describe
Unless a person’s there.
The work is hard and dirty-
The pay is poor at best....
If fame and fortune is your goal
You’ll never stand the test.
But if you have the wanderlust
Were born with itching feet-
A cowboy’s what you ought to be
The lifestyle can’t be beat..
..
.


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© Copyright 2000 John R. Yaws - All Rights Reserved
suthern
Deputy Moderator 1 TourDeputy Moderator 1 Tour
Member Seraphic
since 1999-07-29
Posts 20723
Louisiana
1 posted 2000-02-02 12:10 PM


GS: Your poems are of a cowboy's life and of wandering... but so many bring memories of my early years on a farm... I can smell the smells. *G* Great job!!
SEA
Deputy Moderator 10 ToursDeputy Moderator 5 Tours
Moderator
Member Seraphic
since 2000-01-18
Posts 22676
with you
2 posted 2000-02-02 12:10 PM


Gunslinger, you tell such a great story- every time. I look forward to reading your poems. This was great! -SEA
Danny Holloway
Member Elite
since 2000-01-15
Posts 2034
Tulsa, OK
3 posted 2000-02-02 03:09 PM


A far cry from the concrete jungle, and possibly, closer to heaven than one thinks.  This world now has too few cowboys.  
The freedom of a cowboys life overshadows the hard life it must be.
This poem deserves a trip back up top!
Well done!
DH

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