Cowboys & Poetry by L. A. Keller

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In the wild west days, cowboys didn't have much to entertain themselves out on the range at night. After a long day's work there might be a song or a story to be told.  If you ever have the chance to experience this for yourself - riding all day, camping out under the stars and listening to cowboy tales I recommend it. It's an Americana experience like no other.

Here's some cowboy poetry so you can carry your glass of wine, sit in your backyard under the stars and imagine what it was like.

All Dressed Up

Things is pickin' up as most folks knows,
So I sent to town fer to git new clo'es.
Some onderwear and a big hat box,
A couple of shirts and a passel of socks.
Some overalls and other truck,
Three red bandannys throwed in fer luck.
My boots aint new but they'll do right well,
I reckon I'll make them last a spell.
I'll be the pride of the whole derned spread.
With a fust class Stetson on my head.
A bran new slicker tied on behind--
It's strange how yore clo'se improves your mind.
Nice new clo'es purtects the hide
And sorter contents a man inside.
Clo'es does a heap toward makin' the man.
Try goin' without and you'll onderstand.

Bruce Kiskaddon

Remarks By "Bronco Bob"

I wouldn't make no Wall Street king;
I'm no financial guy;
I don't know much o' anything
But makin' money fly.
But I kin pitch a rope an' git
A steer at ev're throw,
An on the ranges I am "it,"
'Cuz cows is all I know.
I wouldn't make no parlor gent
Close-herding' gals — that's right!
'Cuz I ain't wuth a tarnal cent,
When wimmen heaves in sight.
But when I'm asked to read a brand,
Or tame an outlaw hawss,
Well, pard, that's biz I understand;
That's where I am the boss.
I couldn't sing no op'ry air;
At that I ain't no bird,
But I kin bawl out purty fair
When I am on night herd.
I don't know this "Il Trovatore"
That's bragged up purty steep,
But "Swannee River" when I roar
Makes cattle go to sleep.
I ain't no city dude, that's sure,
With starched-up shird by gee!
For me the city has no lure;
It's Sagebrush Land for me!
A bronc' that's scrubby, touch an' hard,
An open range to roam;
A blanket in the bunkhouse pard,
An' that's what I call home!
I'm clean stampeded when some girl
Comes maverickin' 'round
To git my bronco heart a-whirl,
An range my feedin' ground.
But when the brandin' fires gleam,
An' round-up work gits hot,
I ain't a-travelin' in no dream,
I'm Johnny-on-the-spot!

Earl Alonzo Brininstool

Happy Trails,

Leslie

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