Cowboy Poetry
If This Old Tack Could Talk Gene Stowell
The wooden door hangs crooked on a broken rusty hinge,
and bailin' wire now holds the latch
where once a lock had been.
A floor of dust and cinders, tattered walls and cobweb beams-
it's a cowboy's house of treasures and a horseman's living dreams.
Now along one wall are pictures of horses young and old
who came to know the gentle hands
and one man's heart and soul.
And thses well-bred colts and fillies
learned the ways to prove themselves,
as shown by the trophies standing tarnished on the shelf.
There's some tiny little halters in the corner that I found
that the old man put on babies
old enough to lead around.
A trunk with hobbles, ropes and twitches
that the cowboy used with care,
to breed, or worm, or doctor when the old vet wasn't there.
The snaffle bits have rusted, 'cept the inlaid silver rings
on the
Mexican creations
that he brought there on spring.
But those split reins lay so neatly on those headstalls in a row,
you feel the care that once was taken by the way they hang just so.
Hackamores and sidepulls almost fill the second wall,
so many rawhide wonders it's be hard to count'em all.
Spades and Mona Lisa bits hang stately one by one,
and thier silver cheeks still sparkle
as they catch the morning sun.
Tie-downs, leads and drivelines, woven blankets by the score,
and some trick bits, gags, and gadgets
that you just can't find no more.
And the saddles, boys, you'll never see a better bunch,
and each one had a special purpose
to that old hand, I've a hunch.
Well it saddens me to be here 'cause the old man's left us now,
guess the good Lord's just short-handed
and needs help to work his cows.
Now he's up there in green pastures, ridin' meadows at a walk,
and this young buckaroo could learn a lot,
if this old tack could talk. In Memory of
Lloyd "Como" Cormier
1921-2001
Cowboy Is His Name
There's a hundred years of history,
And a hundred before that
All gathered in the thinkin,
Goin on beneath his hat
The old flame burns within him,
Till his skin's as cold as ice
And the dues he paid to get here,
Are worth every sacrifice
All the miles spent sleepy drivin,
All the money down the drain
All the "if I's" and "nearlys",
All the bandages and pain
All the female tears left dried,
All the fever and the fight
Are just a small down payment,
On the ride he makes tonight
It's guts and love and glory,
One mortal's chance at fame
His legacy is rodeo
And cowboy is his name
