Folks' Poems Andy Nelson Cowboy Poetry at the BAR-D Ranch www.CowboyPoetry.com

The Box R Cavvy

I watched them run the Box R cavvy,
Through the middle of town today;
On a rain covered asphalt street,
In Wyoming, the third week of May.

It shocked my subconscious being,
And my cowboy core came alive;
A dormant corner of my past,
Awoke as I witnessed the drive.

Nothing looked more out of place,
Than those sixty head of horses;
Running down a black top luge,
A dichotomy of forces.

It was as if virtue and vice,
Were drawn from the very same well;
Horse shoes attacking the pavement,
Like Heaven had spilled into Hell.

The contrast of muscle and steam,
Erased the background of the truth;
As glass and iron melted away,
I felt once again in my youth.

I watched outriders lead the herd,
Their slickers forbidding the rain;
Streamlets dripping off of their hats,
And off their horses' tail and mane.

The melodic clop of horse hooves,
Drowned out the noises of the street;
The stress and pain of urban life.
Dissipated under their feet.

Two worlds clashed in an altercation,
That echoed off the man-made walls;
The Yin and Yang of hide and steel;
Rumbled down the alleys and halls

Then like divine answer to prayer,
They came and went without warning;
And they vanished without fanfare,
Without, sorrow, grief or mourning.

But left me with the sense of peace,
Knowing I’d soon be headed home;
And did not have to stay behind,
In the land of asphalt and chrome.

My damaged soul had been mended,
By the healing vision of steeds;
The beauty and power entwined,
To fulfill my hunger and needs.

Now the city seems more tranquil,
And perhaps a bit more savvy;
Since the day the concrete jungle,
Played host to the Box R cavvy.

© 2007, Andy Nelson
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

The Old Crockett Spurs

As long as I can remember,
The Crockett spurs belonged to Jim;
They’re modest, yet very complex,
And remind me a lot of him.

Tempered through hard work and labor,
Engraved with years of bad weather;
Forged from the iron of turmoil,
Thick in the skin and the leather.

Perfectly balanced in function,
Dependable when called on to work;
Precise when applied to the trade,
Dangerous when used by a jerk.

Both may appear harsh at first sight,
But are subtle when put into use;
The hard edges have worn down some,
Polished by the years of abuse.

Not very flashy to look at,
Don’t make a whole lot of noise;
Often overlooked by most folks,
Except for real working cowboys.

As progress replaces tradition,
An emotion within me stirs;
My heritage is a priceless gift,
Like Jim...and those old Crockett spurs.

© 2007, Andy Nelson
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

Andy told us, "My big brother Jim and I were talking about 'cowboy collectibles' and it was mentioned that some priceless pieces are only priceless to the owner and not to a potential collector. They hold a sentimental—not a monetary—value that could rarely be comprehended by the average person off the street. It is in this way that I treasure my relationship with Jim."

Andy and Jim Nelson host the popular Clear Out West (C. O. W.) radio, and were named Top Radio Disk Jockeys in 2006 by the Western Music Association (WMA).

photo by Lori Faith Merritt, www.PhotographyByFaith.com
Andy and Jim Nelson

"The Old Crockett Spurs" was featured in the program for the 18th Annual Durango Cowboy Gathering, in this impressive presentation, image courtesy of the gathering:

Hogzilla

We was doing some entertaining,
In the Glenrock city park,
When the insects started acting really mean;
All the women started screaming
And the dogs began to bark,
Twas the darndest sight a guy had ever seen.

There had been some porcine grappling,
In the confines of a pen,
That’s pig wrestling, to folks who are in the know;
When a monster pig escaped the grasp,
Of thirteen full grown men,
And rampaged through the middle of our show.

His hide was cracked and scaley,
With tusks that reached his tail,
And he had to weigh at least five hundred pounds;
The noises coming from this thing,
Were like a banshee’s wail,
Or at least the way a wounded grizzly sounds.

He was chasing little children,
Tracking those that could not run,
And trailed them like a San Francisco stalker;
He was drooling from his pig lips,
As he ate a cat for fun,
Then sighted in an old lady with a walker.

She screamed for help and hit a lope,
With Hogzilla on her heels,
As her husband came a wheeling to her aid;
A valiant effort, sure as heck,
Midst the daunting squawks and squeals,
But his wheelchair lost it’s traction up the grade.

So I grabbed my full length poly,
And whistled a big loop out,
With no thought of either losing life or limb;
My cowboy snare sailed straight and true,
Around Hogzilla’s razor snout,
And I jerked the slack and put the catch on him.

It shattered panes of auto glass,
When the mutant pig went vocal,
And it set the piggy swat team on the run;
It was lucky for the town folk,
The sniper was a local,
And he shot him with his tranquilizer gun.

The facts herein may be tainted,
With delusions of high hope,
And if the pure gospel truth were to be known,
Hogzilla was just a wiener pig,
I caught with a small kids rope,
And twas the luckiest loop I’d ever thrown.

© 2007, Andy Nelson
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

Andy and brother Jim regaled their Clear Out West (C. O. W.) radio listeners with more of this story on their June 23, 2007 program, which you can listen to in their archives here.

Thank You for Your Support

This is a song of biological harmony
One with a sympathetic overtone
A song that revels in diversity
We sing of symbiotic Yellowstone

Everything co-exists to the smallest fraction
In Yellowstone Park, the circle of life has grown
Even the paramedics thrive on the action
So feel free to throw them a bone

That's right, go ahead
And feed the bears you ding dongs
Join the elk in sing-a-longs
Ride all the buffalo in our resort

Climb rocks from dusk till dawn
Sunbathe with no clothes on
The park medics thank you for your support

Grandpa with his white legs
And sandals with his socks
Give the mosquitoes something to chew
See Junior with his dreadlock hair and Birkenstocks
Well the animals are fun to watch, too.

Trash collectors, tour guides and the park rangers
At times, may get a little bored.
But the paramedics always welcome the danger
Cause somebody's bound to get gored.

It's fun for the whole family
So, test the waters for heat
Give the badgers a doggie treat
Though your vacation may be cut short
Run wild with the moose
Sure turn your little dogs loose
The park medics thank you for your support

Yellowstone Park is the best place to hide
From the cares and the worries of your life
So just hop into your SUV and ride
With your girlfriend or someone else's wife

What better place to enjoy the view
Than this land that progress forgot
But for those who bring the rat race with you
It's best to just stay at home and rot

So, enjoy your national park
Give the finger to the bikers, make fun of the hikers
Not everyone gets a police escort
Drive your RV like NASCAR
Drink like there's a no-cash bar
The park medics thank you for your support.
Yellowstone National Park medics thank you for your support

© 2007, Andy Nelson and Kip Calahan
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.