Folks' Poems Billy James www.cowboypoetry.com

RUNNING CIRCLES

They’ve got me runnin’ circles;
I wish that I was free.
I’ve heard they was no fences
In days that used to be.

I’ve heard a horse could rear and buck
And spread his nostrils wide,
Could have a hundred mares along
A’ runnin’ by his side.

I’d lead my herd to water that
Was sweetest on the earth;
I’d be their strong protector, too,
Whenever one gave birth.

He’s left the fence gate open!
Now here’s my chance at last
To be out on the other side!
I’ll look, and then run fast.

Well, I don’t see no water there;
And I don’t see no bed;
And who will put my saddle on?
Who’ll make sure I am fed?

And who will wipe away the sweat,
And curry tangles out?
And where’s the shelter from the storm?
I sure am having doubt.

I guess that being free is just
Words I misunderstood.
Inside I have all those things free.
Outside, I never would.

I guess it all depends upon
Which fence that you’re behind;
And everyone’s behind some fence –
Some here, some in your mind.

God made the man my master, so
With him I am set free;
So I’ll stay here and be the horse
That God wants me to be.

I wrote this poem after seeing a horse running in circles behind the fence
in a corral.

BURNED HIDE

I r’member when they burned my hide.
If horses could, I would ‘a’ cried.
It hurt so bad down on my rump;
When it was done I bucked and jump’d.
For quite some days I felt the sting;
But nothing could erase that thing.

Before too long, it was forgot’,
I joined the rest out in the lot.
Then someone came and broke the fence!
It was at night, and made not sense –
They never ride me in the night.
I wondered if they had the right.

They put me, and some others too,
In this big trailer with no view.
They kept us there for three - four days
And never let us out to graze.
They didn’t even give us hay,
Just water in the heat of day.

Then, someone swung that gate out wide,
It was the man that burned my hide.
“All these are mine,” I heard him say,
As he pointed to my rump that day.
He fed us good, then took us home
Where we had plenty a’ space to roam.

Then I remembered that the sign
He burned into my hide that time
Was there to tell them who I was;
Then, I was proud of it because
Had they not burned it on my hide,
I know that I’d have surely died.

So, sometimes, when it hurts at first,
That pain is not always the worst.
The worst’s not knowin’ whose you are,
Without that you won’t get too far.
The one who burns his brand on you
Is the one who cares and feeds you, too.

MY ROOTS

I can’t rope, and I can’t ride;
Ain’t got no six-gun on my side;
But I got me a hat and pointed boots
‘Cause I’m gonna’ get back to my roots.

I ‘as Texas born’d; and there I grow’d;
They weren’t no places that I knowed
‘Cept Texas land, the land I love,
No sweeter land, but that above.

Then ‘is filly came along and caught my eye;
An’ I jest couldn’t tell her good-bye.
So I tagged along there by her side
An’ we saw Texas opened wide.

From Texarkan’ to El Paso,
From Dalhart down to Laredo,
From Brownsville up to Wich’ta Falls
You name a town; we seen ‘em all.

Then once I looked, and seen a sign;
And questions raised up in my mind.
“What part of Texas is this here?”
“We ain’t in Texas.” Said my dear.

“It’s Hollywood, we’ve come so far,
I’m gonna’ be a movie star!”
Well, stomp my hat! I nearly cried!
I’ been too long at this filly’s side.

I’m packin’ up, I’m goin’ home.
In Texas there’s ‘nough space to roam.
Back to my roots, I’m on the road
Right back to Texas where I grow’d.

There’s ocean shores, and mountains high,
And big skies where the eagles fly
There’s desert land and plains stretched out,
There’s trees and flowers all about.

There’s rivers north, east, south and west,
There’s plenty places you can rest.
Big cities to the smallest town.
Yea, that’s my home, I’m settling down.

WHO’S THERE?

As I was layin’ out one night,
The clouds shut out the moon’s dim light.
My fire was all that helped me see;
But that was still ok by me.
The herd was still, all bedded down,
And breezes dancin’ all aroun’
I spied this wrangler in the clear
And wondered, “What’s he doin’ here?”
So I thought I’d palaver make.
I offered him a seat to take.
“Say, Pard, I see you over there;
Come set a spell in this ev’nin’ air
The coffee pot is on the heat,
‘Cept I ain’t got no grub to eat.
But come on over here and set;
I don’t think we have ever met.
Now, by what handle do you go?
My handle’s Jake if you want to know.”
“Who?” was the word that I heard back.
I know that some folk’s hearin’ ‘s slack;
So I repeated “Jake” real loud;
But he was quiet as the passing cloud.
“Now look here pardner, can’t you talk?
You come on o’er. Ain’t fer to walk.
The foreman’s comin’ soon this way.
If you don’t talk now, he’ll have his say.”
“Who?” was the question in the wind.
I saw him stretch and start to bend.
I felt my Colt, my forty five.
“Ol’ Jim’s the foreman of this drive.
And if you’re here to trouble make,
He’ll shoot you down, your life he’ll take.
So, afore you risk bein’ in the sod
Better say your name, or meet with God.”
“Who?” – That got my goat at its worst!
He asked the question he asked at first!
I fired three rounds to make him skeered;
But he stood still, none more afeared.
Then I rushed forth to knock him down;
And this is what I up and found:
I banged my head as the owl flew free.
“Whoo, Whoo,” he said. I had shot a tree.

Then, I had to climb that tree real fast
‘Cause since my gun made such a blast,
Them cows thought, Well, it’s time to go;
And they headed straight for me, don’t you know.
I couldn’t even see my horse;
He’d joined that herd of cows, of course.
So I just held on to that branch
And hoped I’d live to see the ranch.
When all the dust had settled down
And others brought the herd aroun’
Ol’ Jim came ridin’ up the road.
He sure was mad, and that I knowed.
‘Cause he had put me there in charge
Of all that beef, both small and large;
And he said any blasted sound
Would start them hooves to stomping ground.
My face was messed up from the fray,
My clothes were torn, hat blown away,
I looked a sight; but that was good
‘Cause he did what I thought he would.
“Where are you, Jake? How do you plead?
I’ll have your hide for this stampede!”
Then, he seen me, “Jake, ain’t that you?”
I quietly answered him back, “Who?”
“Jake!” - “Ah, nah, my name is Sam;
I’m not that Jake you think I am.
And, ah, the reason why that I am here,
Well, ah, - I was out here huntin’ deer. . .”
He pulled the kerchief from my face.
“Even for a liar, you’re a disgrace!
Why, I’ve a mind to string you up,
Or put some poison in your cup!
We lost ten head because of you!
And you got the nerve to ask me, ‘who!’
So ‘fore I lose my ev’ry wit,
You hit the road! You’re fired! Now git!”
Didn’t even ask him for my pay.
Just found my horse and rode away.
Now, if some day I meet with you
And ask your name, please don’t say, “Who?”

CONVERSATION WITH AN ANT

Me and the boys had gone one night
Down into town, and was we tight!
We drank so much of that town’s booze
I thought our way back home we’d lose.
If my horse hadn’t known the way,
I surely would ‘a had to stay.

We smelled just like a skunk times ten
When that bunk house we entered in.
Well, I just couldn’t take it there;
So I stepped out to get some air.
I set me down beside this tree
And this is what my eyes did see.

The ants were crawling all around;
They was hundreds of them on the ground.
It was their home that I had chose’
So this one ant climbed on my nose.
I couldn’t lift my hand that high
So I jist figgered there I’d die.

Then this here ant, to my surprise,
He looked me right straight in the eyes
And spoke, “What are you doing here?
Don’t bring out here your smell of beer!
You go back in to your own house
And live in there with roach and mouse.

We built this home with toil and sweat.
We travel far our food to get.
We tote ten times our weight to gain
The family food, come sun or rain.
We suffer from the heat and cold
And birds, too, take a heavy toll.

But we keep working, that’s our life.
We work with trouble, fear and strife.”
He raised his stinger and I knew
Jist what that ant was gonna do.
I said, “Now, look here Mister Ant,
Don’t sting me, please; why you jist can’t;

At least before you stab my nose,
Jist listen to some of my woes.
I work hard, too, here on this spread.
I punch them cows to earn my bread.
I mend them fences, round up strays,
I’ve put in lots of real long days

‘A settin’ posts and stringing wire.
I gotta say, I earn my hire.
And brandin’ time, that is the worst;
‘Specially if you get a cloud burst.
I wrestle dogies in the mud
Lose sleep, and time, and sweat and blood.

Ain’t many times, when day is through,
I go to town to get a brew;
But when I do, me and my friends,
We live it up till the night ends.
I didn’t mean to spoil your house.
See I ain’t got no kids, ner spouse.

This ranch here is my family.
And without them, I’d lonesome be.
So me and you ‘s somewhat the same.
Oh, by the way, what is your name?”
“Ain’t got no name, I’m jist an ant.
But I’m real proud of who I ain’t.

I ain’t no cat, nor mouse nor frog;
I ain’t no tree, nor bird nor dog.
I got my life, I live it well;
But here is one thing I can tell
About yourself, and who you are.
You surely ain’t no movie star;

But you got brains, though just a few,
And, though an ant, I got some, too.
You should be proud you got a name,
‘Cause that means that you’re not the same
As some old dog or cat or flee
Or even someone great, like me.

Be glad you got a job, and food;
And that you got a boss that’s good.
Be thankful that the life you live
Is big enough that you can give
To others when you see a need.
Cause, if you don’t, you’d best take heed

That when that Man up in the sky
Looks down on you with His big eye,
Just like you’re doing now to me,
He doesn’t like what He might see.”
I gently put him on the ground
So he could then rebuild that mound.

I moved away and watched them work.
But then I felt this little jerk.
“Hey, wake up man, the sun is up.
There’s hot brewed coffee for your cup.
You slept through night out by this tree
But it’s now time at work to be.”

I felt my nose; it had no sting.
I rubbed my eyes, and heard the ring
Of breakfast bell, time for first chow.
Then off to find some lost, stray cow.
I never told them what I dreamed
Because to me it surely seemed

To be some words that I could use
If once again my way I lose.
And though I’m in my own bunk bed,
Those ant’s words still are in my head.
I’ll jist thank God for what I’ve got
‘Cause to most folks that’s quite a lot.

A COWBOY'S BIGGEST FEAR

You’ve heard of how the cowboys life is filled with aches and pains;
With sorrows and with bitterness, and yet he still remains
The strong and silent handsome type who always wins the day.
He ain’t afeared o’ anything, whatever’s in his way.
Well, I will let a secret out that’ll set your mind in whirls;
That secret is – he is afraid – yea, he’s afraid o’ girls.

Yea! He may wrestle some mean bull and throw him to the ground;
Or he may ride some wild old bronc ‘till he is brought around.
Why, he can grin a grizzly down, and bring him to his knees;
Or he can bite a rattle snake before that thing can sneeze.
He’s up and tough and at ‘em rough before the flag unfurles.
But there’s one thing he don’t admit; its, “I’m afraid of girls.”

I’ never seen a cowboy shake when trouble comes to town.
But let some filly blink and eye or make some silly frown,
And that cowboy will start to tremble head down to his toes.
He’ll start to mumble frightful things, and forget all he knows.
And, if she smiles when she sees him, well, Lord have mercy, son;
That man will melt there in the dirt, and blush til settin’ sun.

I’ve seen their knees a knocking when they see some purdy lass.
I’ve seen ‘em drool and daydream if some young miss they may pass.
I’ve seen ‘em stumble to the ground to take a second look.
And if she turns to look at him then they get really shook.
If she should say a “Howdy”, then they’d mumble and they’d slur;
And you can’t tell just what they’d say, or what they’d say it fer.

Then, sometime in that cowboys life, his fear of girls will fade
And he will buckle up his girt and out there he will wade
Into that sea of mystery, that’s also known as love;
And some young gal will come along that fits him like a glove.
He’ll turn into a gentleman, he’ll tip his hat and bow.
I’ve seen it happen lots of times; you can’t tell when ner how.

So, what is the solution to this problem that we’ve got?
You can’t just do away with all them heifers in the lot.
That may be alright now, for some, to drive away them fears;
But then you wouldn’t have no one to ride and rope them steers.
So, you still would have a problem, ‘cause no matter what you do
You must always remember that your mom was a girl, too.

SNOW

See the snow! Watch it flow
From on high to here below!
All the world’s a white pillow
Made of snow, blanket snow.
See the snow! Watch it blow
Forming drifts in row by row;
Many layers, all aglow
With the snow, blowing snow.

Cattle know ‘bout the snow;
Drop their heads and move real slow.
Hear them low while they go,
Moaning softly through the snow.
Horses know ‘bout the snow;
Turn their backs to that dread foe,
Covers trails where they must go
To and fro, blinding snow.

Cowboys know ‘bout the snow.
Pull their hats a way down low
‘Gainst the snow, and curse the snow.
Got to make them cattle go
Through the snow, drifts of snow;
Got to urge his horse to go
Through the snow, chilling snow,
While those drifts still higher grow.

Don’t God know ‘bout this snow?!
How it chills from head to toe?
How some head get lost in snow?
Trails are covered! Don’t He know?
Sure He does! He made it so
In the dark the trails would glow;
In the spring the grasses grow,
Rivers can keep up their flow!

Don’t you know ‘bout this snow?!
That He’s sent it here to show
How He covers sins, although
They are scarlet, with the snow?
Scarlet sins are white as snow!
Let that word from God echo:
White as snow, white as snow,
Snow, snow, snow, white as snow.

Author’s explanation and interpretation:
            Meter of the poem – Iambic, unameter
            Rhyme scheme – a, b, a, b.
            Largest word in poem – 4 (four) letters (shot)
            Smallest word in poem – 1 (one) letter ( I )
            Average size of words in poem – 2 (two, i.e., go)
            Poem class – “Cowboy” The subject of the above poem must be a cowboy because cowboys wear their six-shooters in holsters where the barrel points downward toward the toe. Others, such as police, detectives, crooks, etc. wear them on shoulder straps, under their coats, or hidden somewhere else on their person.
            Stated setting of the poem – the old West
            Background for poem setting – A cowboy shoots his toe and has to go to a sawbones doctor to get fixed up.
            Application of poem – If you shoot your toe, you should seek medical help fast.
            Intrinsic value of poem – It describes the romance,[1] and dangers[2] of cowboy life; and reveals his sensitivity,[3] wisdom[4], courage,[5] and love for horses.[6]

[1] Everybody knows that the cowboy is the most romantic character in the whole universe.

[2] Toting one or more six-shooters on your hip (s) while you do hard work on the ranch, or do hard drinking in the saloon, is certainly one of the most dangerous of life’s varied occupations.

[3] Note that this cowboy is sensitive enough about the feelings of others that he tells them of the purpose of his departure. Some cowboys just ride off into the sunset with nary a rhyme nor reason for their leaving, as witness the Lone Ranger, Red Ryder, Lash LaRue, et al.

[4] He was smart enough to go the doctor after shooting his toe, wasn’t he?

[5] It takes a lot of courage to do a job that is as dangerous as the cowboy’s (See footnote 2 for an explanation of the dangerous life of the cowboy.)

[6] It is common knowledge that you have to read “between the lines” to fully understand most any kind of poetry, including the class, “cowboy”; and, “between the lines” of this poem you should read:

While attempting to mount his dearly beloved horse, a cowboy got the trigger of his six-shooter tangled in one of the many, varied purpose straps that hang from the saddle. The trigger was thereby engaged, which made the firearm discharge. The projectile (bullet) traveled downward (really fast), and pierced through the boot of the cowboy at a position just behind the narrow point on the front end of said boot, thus striking the toe of said cowboy. Then, even though the cowboy was seriously injured, he never struck, nor even cussed at his faithful pony; but he trusted that his stately mount would convey him safely to the aforementioned sawbones doctor.