BILL TOTI
About Bill Toti
Rounding Them Up
The only sound is the chirping
And the swish of Buck’s hoovesOn the dew-wet grassAs we approach the remuda.
A mare looks up as we approachCurious, but not bothered enough to stop chewingBefore she goes back down for another tugOn that sweet spring alfalfa.
I shift my boots in the stirrups to ready my balanceAnd hear the reassuring rub of leather-on-leatherA tilt of the head and a gentle cluckAnd Buck picks up a lazy lope.
The change in energy explodes their passivity.Heads pop up, startled,Figuring it must be time to panicBut not quite knowing why.We round the back end of the herd and I lean inwardBuck understands, and crafts a gentle turn,Hooves slipping slightly on the wet morning tears,He seems content that I got my balance right.The horses run for the gate as I squint into the sun,And I realize that nowhere on God’s good earthCould I possibly findAnything better than this.© 2008, W. J. Toti
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
Bill comments:After retiring from the Navy, I moved to Texas, and needing a new adventure to replace my submarine experiences, immersed myself in cowboy culture and began riding in earnest. But more than simple adventure, after twenty-six years on active duty in the military, escaping into the cowboy lifestyle (even if only on weekends) allowed me to return to a simpler, less complicated life where nothing much matters except for the purity of your cause and the good temperament of your horse.
"Rounding Them Up" was an attempt to communicate this simple pleasure. It was written one Sunday morning, while I was serving as a volunteer wrangler at Frisco Horse Park in Frisco, Texas.
These fenceposts bear a thousand signs
Of ranch work come and gone.
Each barb becomes a tie that binds
Each nail a battle won.
The lines all cross at pasture’s end
And merge to form a point
That frames my life in summer’s rain
So eager to anoint.
The fenceposts measure many miles
Of land and my life past
The tragedy of love and smiles
That never seem to last.
The wires stretch out parallel together
Converge, but never touch
Like cowboy folk who strive to measure
Our fortitude and such.
They reach out there beyond the hills
To places out of sight
Daring us to sneak out where?
To trace the moonlit night?
The lines draw out a great green field,
Whose span cannot be seen
So raging things are calmly shown
A spectacle serene.
The fenceposts hold by other means
Unintended though it be
Restraining more than grassy greens
Their new bound stock is me.© 2009, W. J. Toti
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
Bill comments:
I can best be characterized as a part-time cowboy. Although I've done ranch work in the past, a career in the military and then industry has been my real livelihood.
When I could, I would get my cowboy fix by volunteering to help out on a friend's ranch, mostly sorting, weaning, spring and fall doctoring, branding, pushing the cattle to the new season's pasture, and the like.
After one of these particularly hard working sessions, I commented on how much I loved it. I said I looked forward to the day when I could afford to do this full time.
My friend Delton, the ranch owner, said "Boy! What's wrong with you? You travel all over the world and come here when you want to! I wish I had that kind of freedom! But I'm tied to this place as much as these cows!"
Although I could have predicted his response, the notion of him being fenced in the same as his cattle got me thinking. "Fenceposts" is the result.
About Bill Toti:
After retiring from the Navy, I moved to Texas, and needing a new adventure to replace my submarine experiences, immersed myself in cowboy culture and began riding in earnest. But more than simple adventure, after twenty-six years on active duty in the military, escaping into the cowboy lifestyle (even if only on weekends) allowed me to return to a simpler, less complicated life where nothing much matters except for the purity of your cause and the good temperament of your horse.
Although I am new to cowboy poetry, I have published a great deal of prose over the past twenty years. I am a recently-retired submarine captain and a survivor of the September 11th 2001 attack on the Pentagon. My narrative of 9/11, titled "Antoinette," was published in Operation Homecoming, a Random House book that compiled several stories of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan written by military authors.
Read Bill Toti's "Antoinette" here at the Random House web site.
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