About
Chris Isaacs
Some Poems
Books and Recordings
Contacting Chris Isaacs
About Chris Isaacs
Waddie Mitchell's words about Chris Isaacs can't be improved upon:
Recipe for a Cowboy Poet
Start with a cowboy
Add a bucket of intelligence
A barrel of wisdom
A lifetime of experience
A lot of salt
A dash of wit
A sprinkle of irony
Mix together
Expose the heartAdd special ingredient
(personality and philosophy)
Just water enough to bind
Knead and stretch to the limits,
Bake in the sun for at least thirty years.
Serve in large doses, or small, as required.
I know this recipe works,
'cause I got it by examining Chris Isaacs© Waddie Mitchell, reprinted with permission from Cowboy Miner Productions, from the book jacket of Chris Isaac's Rhymes, Reasons, and Pack Saddle Proverbs
A two-time winner of the Academy of Western Artists "Will Rogers" Award, Chris Isaacs is a poet who has lived the life that he writes about. He has seen life from a Cowboys point of view for all of his 50-plus years, and his poems and stories are alive with the heart and humor of life from a cowboy's point of view. He can usually find the funny side of any situation, and is considered by many to be one of the finest humorists in the country.
He has worked at many different aspects of the cowboy life from being a full time working cowboy, to rodeoing, to many years as a packer. In between jobs you could usually find him making a living as a horseshoer. He has a passion for good horses and mules, and has even owned a good dog or two. All of these things have given him lots of material for his poems and stories and he has had the opportunity to share these all over the country in the past few years.
Chris credits his friends with a good share of the success he has had with his poetry. "I have been fortunate enough to have some of the best poets in the world as my friends and helpmates. When you have folks like Buck Ramsey, Curt Brummett, Ross Knox, Waddie Mitchell and others to give you honest critique and some guidance, it helps you hone your craft. I am also a true 'fan' of this art form, and I think that helps."
The last couple of years found him performing more and more with two of his old partners, Jesse Smith and Sunny Hancock, as the Cardiac Cowboys Comedy Hour.
Chris has recorded three albums of his poetry: All Out & Other Poems, Tolerated, Chris Isaacs, and his third album, Both Sides, was voted best poetry album of the year for 1997 by the Academy of Western Artists. He also recorded a Christmas album, Merry Christmas from Our Camp to Yours, with his friends Jean Prescott, Sky Shivers, and the late Buck Ramsey. He currently has two CD albums, Out with the Crew, a collection of poems written by some of the finest contemporary cowboy poets in the country and an album of his old favorites entitled Most Requested. Chris has two books of poetry, Bringing it Home and his latest endeavor, Rhymes & Reasons, which has received some national attention, being nominated for a Wrangler Award for Poetry by the National Cowboy Hall of Fame, and the Buck Ramsey Award given by the Academy of Western Artists for the poetry book of the year.
Chris lives in the beautiful White Mountains of eastern Arizona with Helen, his wife of 34 years, and when not off performing can usually be found pretty close to home.
A Few Poems
The Cowboy Creation
The Flying Horse
Thanks, Grandpa
The Dying Breed
The Wild Horse RaceMichael Bia (separate page)
All poems © 2001, Chris Isaacs, reprinted with permission from
Rhymes, Reasons and Pack Saddle Proverbs published by
Cowboy Miner Productions, Phoenix, Arizona
The Cowboy CreationHere's to all the "real cowboys"
(May God preserve the breed)
Who make their living horseback
And still live proud and free.Who ride the "grande pastures"
Or the feedlot alleyways.
Who fight the heat of summer
And those freezing winter days.Who wouldn't trade their worn-out "kack"
For the trappings of a king.
Who still believe in God and Country
And the joy that family brings.Men who still believe that freedom
Is the most important thing in life.
That you treat a lady with respect
Be she a stranger or your wife.Who use a different way to score
The tally book of success.
Who keep company of horse and cow
And avoid the cities' urban mess.Success they measure by the ruler
Of honesty and truth,
Though their manner may be bashful
And their style a bit uncouth.Their ways have stood the test of time.
They wear well the cowboy pedigree.
And these reluctant heroes of the west
Have created ten million "wanna-be's."© 2001, Chris Isaacs, reprinted with permission from Rhymes, Reasons and Pack Saddle Proverbs
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
Following this poem, Chris Isaacs writes: The American Cowboy is the only true icon that this country has ever produced. He has become a symbol of America throughout the world. As a packer and wrangler I have had the opportunity to deal with people from all over the world, and it has always amazed me that folks from foreign countries will still come to the west expecting to find "guntoting cowboys and Indians" here in Arizona. They are fascinated by the west and anything "cowboy." Hollywood has a lot to do with this phenomenon, but I think the real cowboys are still mystified by the fact that they are viewed as a "symbol." They shouldn't be surprised. The values that most of them hold dear are the values that made this country great to begin with. Love of family, faith in God, a strong belief in right and wrong, a love of country, a strong work ethic, a handshake worth more than a contract, these values are admirable in any society. Not a bad type of "symbol" to be.
The Flying Horse
As a cowboy "making a circle"
You can see some funny things,
But the strangest one I ever saw
Was a horse that sprouted wings.It was way up on the Hulsey Bench
When the summer grass was high;
One of those days so filled with beauty
It'd bring a tear right to your eye.I was riding ol' Spud and leading a mule,
Packing in a load of salt,
When a bend in the trail brought to my eye
A sight that made us halt.There in the meadow asleep like a babe
Laid a big ol' buckskin mare.
She was dreaming the dreams of the pure in heart;
She didn't have a care.She must have filled her belly in the cool of the morn
And when the sun got high
She found her a sunny spot to sleep
And just dream of the by-and-by.Now the thing that was odd about this scene,
That would get your attention twice,
Was off to the side stood a big black crow
Just as cool as summer ice.The ol' crow seemed perplexed, he wasn't quite sure
If the mare was alive or dead.
So he hopped to and fro all around ol' Buck
From her tail plumb up to her head.Now where to begin on this pleasant repast,
The ol' crow sat there and thought.
To start at one end and just work my way through,
That's the best was as likely as not.Now if I start at the head I'll run into them bones,
And they're mighty hard on my beak.
But if I stick to the soft parts and bypass the rest
I ought to have him gone in a week.So Mr. Crow hopped up around to the back of ol' Buck,
Just to find him a good place to start.
He looked up and down from the him and the hock
Just to find the tenderest part.Now with ol' Buck stretched out like a stiff on a slab,
It sorta left her tail stickin' out in the air.
And right there underneath seemed a good place to begin;
Why, there wasn't even no hair.Mr. Crow looked again and said to himself,
"Oh, my, is that a bullseye I see?
I swear, that shows me right where to start,
And the best part of all, it's plumb free!"So, without further ado, he raired back and pecked
And hit that bullseye right there on the dot,
But his joy turned to horror when Buck's tail clamped down
And Mr. Crow realized he was caught.Ol' Buck quit the earth like a space shuttle flight
Just leaving the launching pad.
To be woke from her dreams in just a fashion
I figure it drove her plumb mad.She jumped, she bucked, she whirled, she kicked;
She was clearing the tops of the trees,
With that ol' crow's head clamped tight under her tail
And his wings just fanning the breeze.Now the higher she'd buck, the harder he'd flap,
And they both had something they wanted to lose,
But the harder he'd pull, the tighter she'd clamp;
It was kinda like one of them "catch twenty-twos."'Course from where I was sitting it was easy to see
How ol' Buck could've cured all her ills.
If she'd just lifed her tail and broke wind real hard
She'da blowed that crow plumb over the hill.But when I seem 'em last they was tearing down trees
And clearing the brush, far and wide;
Ol' Buck trying to pinch the head off that crow,
And him just a whippin' her hide.Like I said at the first, as a cowboy at work
You can see some peculiar things.
But the strangest thing I ever saw
Was that horse that sprouted wings.© 2001, Chris Isaacs, reprinted with permission from Rhymes, Reasons and Pack Saddle Proverbs
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
Thanks, Grandpa
I think back now and then on the days of my youth,
They were happy and carefree and fun.
Some of the best of them all were spent with Grandpa
I was proud to be his grandson.Gramps had shoed horses most of his life;
A better shoer was dang hard to find.
Sometimes he'd take me along, though I wasn't much help,
He'd say "I might get in a bind"And I'll need a good handler to help bail me out
If some half-broke ol' horse just won't stand.
A good handler's important to a man hanging iron,
And my grandson here, he's a hand."Oh it made me feel good to hear Grandpa brag
About his horse holder when folks were around.
To hear him say that he needed my help
To me was a beautiful sound.I'd watch every move that Grandpa would make
Around a horse with some nervous quirk
He'd go easy, but quick, and I soon came to know
I was watching a master at work.I'd ask questions and, Gramps, he would answer,
And though I was too young to know,
He was trying to lay a foundation
For me to build on and grow.I asked once, "What's this horseshoe worth, Gramps?
Can't be more than a nickel or two."
He looked at the shoe, and then looked at me;
He said, "Son, that depends on you."If you take that old shoe and throw it back in the box
And forget that it's even around,
Why it'll tarnish at first and then turn to rust.
After a few years it just won't be found."Or you can take that same shoe and nail it on cold,
Without shaping or working it any.
The chances are good that you'll cripple the horse,
And that shoe would be worth not a penny."But if you take forge and anvil and work that shoe right,
And trim up the foot like you should,
Well, the horse may not know it, but I promise you, son,
You'll do yourself and that pony some good."That's the way life works, pard: the choice is all yours,
If you want you can just rust away.
Or like the cold shoe you can look mighty fine
And still not be worth your pay."But if you can take the heat and blows that life gives,
And bend, but never crack,
Then your value mounts up and you're a worth a whole lot.
You can face life and never look back."Well, I don't know if I realize yet
Just how wise my grandfather was,
But I cherish the memories I have of him now,
And I'll love him forever becauseAlthough he was just a small-town, country horseshoer;
Never had much more than just family and friends;
But he knew about "life," and the value of work,
And how to help boys become men.
© 2001, Chris Isaacs, reprinted with permission from Rhymes, Reasons and Pack Saddle Proverbs
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
The Dying Breed
I can't call myself a cowman;
Hell, I've never owned a cow,
But I've worked for some good ones;
some that sure know howTo make the calf crops pay the bills
when there wasn't enough rain,
Or hold their own with bureaucrats
and play that never-ending gameMen whose word is binding;
Whose handshake is their bond.
They give what is expected
and then they go beyond.Men who understand good horses,
and what cow mammas tell their calf;
Who take life "rough and tumble"
and still manage a good laugh.Whose hands are rough and rope-burned,
who walk with stiffened gait.
Who stick by a friend through thick and thin
and never vacillate.Who took good care of their land
before that was politically correct,
Who feel endowed by their Creator
to preserve and protectThe land they are stewards over
and that job they took to heart
They made their life's work ranching
and they play well their part.So it's been my lot for many years
to have worked for some of the best
Of these men who may be a "dying breed"
yet have not shirked the test.Who have not knuckled under
or sold out to the corporate dragon.
Who've held the ranch together
and still ride out with the wagon.And I thank the Lord in heaven
for giving me the chance
To know some of these good men
who still work the "family ranch."© 2001, Chris Isaacs, reprinted with permission from Rhymes, Reasons and Pack Saddle Proverbs
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
Following this poem, Chris Isaacs writes: I've been in and around the cowboy lifestyle all my life. I've been a working cowboy, a day-work cowboy, a rodeo cowboy, a packer, and horseshoer almost all of my adult life. Yet like most purists, I've been hesitant to call myself "cowboy," because I feel that title should be reserved for the folks who earn their living every day as working cowboys. It has been my good fortune in life to have become good friends with some sure enough top-hand cowboys, and to have been included in their circle of friends. Men like B. A. Randall and his son Burt, Billy Green, and Art Lee. In my circle of poet friends, men like Leon Autrey, Curt Brummett, Jesse Smith, Sunny Hancock, Kent Rollins, J. B. Allen, Waddie Mitchell, Larry McWhorter, Ross Knox, Rolf Flake, and others who are "cowboy," have been a great influence in my life.
I take it as a high form of praise when someone calls me "cowboy" and I never argue the point. However, I am sensitive enough about that title that when I started going to cowboy poetry gatherings, I billed myself as a "Packsaddle Poet" because that's how I was earning my living. I've tried to "make a hand" whenever the opportunity presented itself, but I am always aware that a "Cowboy" has honed skills that I may not quite have mastered yet.
I'm starting to get preachy, so just let me say that my poem, "The Dying Breed," was written because of the great admiration that I have for the men who make their living as cowboys. Especially those who are still trying to hold the "home place" together and fight the daily battle with not only the elements and the market, but also with folks and agencies out there who would destroy that way of life. May God preserve them and the cowboy way of life.
The Wild Horse Race
From the Bloody Basin country
beneath the Arizona sun
Came three wild and woolly brush hands
just to have a little fun.
They decided to expand
their reputations don't you know,
As the greatest Wild Horse Racers
at the All Ranch Rodeo.
Their claim to fame was elementary.
Said they simply were the best
At the sport of Wild Horse Racing
in the history of the west.
Why, their record was prodigious,
every year they'd won the race
(Except for nineteen sixty-seven
when they came in 14th place).
They earned their daily meat and beans
riding for the Double U.
They were hairy legged, hard and fast
brush-poppers thru and thru.
So on the mighty Colorado River
(or at least the Arizona side),
It was known there wasn't anything
the Two U boys couldn't ride.
Now on the rivers other shore,
three Prune Pickers rolled their beds,
And as they slept at night
sweet dreams of victory filled their heads.
They often dreamed of putting
these uncouth brush-poppers in their place,
For they were disciples of the old vaqueros,
full of dash and grace.
Where the Two U boys always used brawn
with no sign of finesse,
The Californios simply whispered
and their broncs would acquiesce.
They vowed to work their equine wizardry
before the spell-bound crowd
In a way so utterly scientific
it would make Robert Redford proud.
Now the morning of the showdown
both teams were on the run,
Just to perform last minute rituals
before the sounding of the gun.
The Two U's put on clean underwear,
and then they went to Mass.
While the Prunies prayed to Buddha
then they smoked a little grass.
The atmosphere was electrical
as both teams strode into the arena.
The Grand Entry, then the Anthem
sang by some diva named Salena.
The starter slowly raised his pistol,
then fired his gun up in the air,
And was promptly run down where he stood
(a sad start to this affair).
The Two U boys attacked in force
while the Prunies looked serene
As they hummed and lit some incense
they had hidden in their jeans.
One of the Arizona clan cried
"Their cheatin' damnit, stop the watch!"
But then his protest was interrupted
by a hind foot to his crotch.
But his pards were there to help him,
to his rescue now they flew,
Where one was cow kicked in the belly
and promptly swallowed half his chew.
Then the other leaped to throw the saddle
on that bronco's wiley hide,
But he over shot his mark
and crashed into the chute gate, where he died.
Now the advantage went to the Prunies
by the margin of three to two,
And these boys meant to play their hole card
like some wiley buckaroos,
But their mystic equine voodoo
had begun to work its magic spell;
Too much incense and their humming
had blown their strategy to hell.
For their bronco stood there mildly
as the boys screwed down their saddle,
Then simply turned his head and looked around
as the rider lit astraddle.
"Good hell, this horse is stoned"
one of the Buckaroos began to wail.
"I told you not to put our stash
next to them damned alfalfa bales!"
By now one Arizona puncher
had a hairy bronc ear 'tween his teeth,
And his shirt was torn and tattered
like a dried out Christmas wreath.
For the tussle had grown horrific
with that ol' bronco on the buck,
While them boys was turnin' cartwheels
like a gymnast run amuck.Then from the crowd some PETA advocates
dashed into the fray,
To halt this ugly show of equine cruelty
with their slogans on display.
They were here to march in civil protest
with their banners held so proud,
But they were dispersed by two raging broncs
who got a standing ovation from the crowd.
Then from the dust and the confusion
came the sound of passing gas.
The kind of sound made by a jake-brake
on a big rig rolling past.
Then the hair stood up on our necks
as we heard a cowboy cry,
"He's all yours pard;
I'm blinded by this horse s*** in my eyes!"
The boys from California saw
that luck had smiled on them this time.
"We'll just whisper this here pony
plumb across the finish line."
Now the Prunies started humming,
and then began to chant and sway
(While their bronco started looking around
for some more high-octane hay).
They hummed and pushed and pulled and hummed
toward the checkered flag
But at the finish line they were mowed down
by a bucking squealing nag.
"Foul" cried the Prunies.
"They only had one man left by heck,
And he wasn't even in the saddle,
he was just hanging on her neck."
"That's true" the judge replied
as he surveyed the ghastly mess,
"But we have to check your horse for drugs.
We'll do a urinalysis.
Well, the Prunies knew that they'd been beaten
by an old archaic law,
They cried "This horse is sick. That was medicine.
We'll settle for a draw!"
Well, that night, one beaten, battered cowboy
and his pard (who now is blind),
Dug a grave next to the river bank
and left their ol' friend there behind.
And the Prunies? Well, they left for a clinic
to hone up on their whispering obsession.
Oh, and their poor ol' bronc?
Well sir, he got six-months for possession.
© 2002, Chris Isaacs
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
Read Chris Isaacs' poem for Larry McWhorter, The Minstrel, with other tributes.
On October 11, 2007, we posted news about a Louise Serpa exhibit:
The National Cowboy & Western Heritage Museum will exhibit the rodeo photography of Louise Serpa, "the first woman to be allowed to enter the rodeo arena to record the exciting and unpredictable action shots on film."
The Museum comments, "At 82, with hundreds of rodeos to her credit, Serpa is a living legend. In 1992 a magazine article in The New Yorker said about Serpa's evocative black-and-white photographs, 'It's hard to believe your eyes when you first see how wild in form her pictures are—both the horses and the cowboys take on shapes so free from gravity that if you didn't know better you'd think they were made of rubber or were products of trick photography.'....Serpa holds the honor of being rodeo's best woman photographer and ranks among the top PRCA sanctioned shooters. She also was the first woman allowed on the courses of the Grand National in England, and the first to cover the Dublin Horse Show. Clem McSpadden (1989 Rodeo Hall of Fame inductee, 1998 Ben Johnson Memorial Award recipient, and 2008 Chester A. Reynolds Memorial Award recipient at the National Cowboy Museum) called Serpa the "Ansel Adams of Rodeo."
Louise Serpa not only broke through the barriers of a male dominated rodeo photography fraternity 30 years ago, she also shocked members in Manhattan's high society where in 1943 she revealed her "inner-cowgirl" when she rode sidesaddle down the banister of the Waldorf-Astoria and ripped the back out of her floor-length dress at her debutante ball..."
Read the official media release here, which tells, "The exhibit (February 9, 2008 through May 5, 2008) will include 50 silver gelatin photographic prints; a documentary titled "When the Dust Settles"; and a 2004 interview with Serpa conducted by the Museum's research center director, Chuck Rand.
[Photo: Bill Benton, High School Finals, Douglas, AZ, 1962; Serpa's first magazine cover; photo courtesy National Cowboy & Western Heritage Museum]
Chris commented, "Your article on Louise Serpa brought back a lot of memories from a long time ago. Louise and I were at a lot of the same rodeos in the 60's and I'm proud to say she was a friend although I haven't seen her in years. I'm glad to hear that she is being remembered and honored for her work. She's a great Lady. Here's a photo that Louise took of me in about 1963 or 1964. If you look close in the bottom right hand corner you can see her Walking S brand that she signed her photos with [see the detail below the photo]."
Chris adds, "As a side note, the photo you posted with the article was taken at the Arizona High School Finals in 1962. My dear friend Fred Eaves whom I wrote about in the poem 'Fred' in my book [Rhymes, Reasons and Pack Saddle Proverbs] was the calf roping Champion at that Rodeo so that article stirred lots of memories."
Books and Recordings
Chris Isaac's humor and humanity come through his work, and his timeless messages make for treasures that readers and listeners will enjoy for a long time to come.
Books
Bringing it Home
With a foreword by Waddie Mitchell, this book includes more than 30 of Chris Isaac's most popular poems, including The Flying Horse and Mutual Respect.
Paperback, 68 Pages, $10.00 + $2.00 S&H order from Chris Isaacs 502 N Harless, Eagar AZ 85925 or from his web site
Rhymes, Reasons and Pack Saddle Proverbs
This book, with a foreword by Larry McWhorter, is a favorite here at the BAR-D. You can get an autographed copy directly from Chris Isaacs or order from the publisher, the fine folks at Cowboy Miner.This book was awarded the AWA Will Rogers Medallion Award.
Hardcover, 216 pages, $20.00 + $4.00 S&H, autographed, from Chris Isaacs 502 N Harless, Eagar AZ 85925 or directly from the publisher, Cowboy Miner or from Chris Isaac's web site:
CDs
A Pair of Aces, honors the memory and celebrates the talents of Chris Isaacs' friends, Cowboy Poetry greats Sunny Hancock and Larry McWhorter. Accompanied by Rich O'Brien's exceptional background tunes, the CD features Hancock and McWhorter favorites, along with an interesting few selections of lesser known poems.
Aside from the considerable entertainment value, there is much to be learned from these sorely-missed masters and Chris Isaacs captures that wisdom in his recitations. Our review is here.
Included are:
Sunny Hancock's
"The Bear Tale"
"Doggerel, Plain and Simple"
"The High Steppin' Kind"
"The Horse Trade"
"Change on the Range"
"The Difference"
"Ode to My Lady, My Wife"and
Larry McWhorter's
Advice to the Traveler
The Retirement of Ashtola
Gate Session
He Rode for the Brand
The Red Cow
The Real Thing
Open Gate
© 2004, Packsaddle Productions
Recorded November thru December 2004 at Eagle Sounds, Durango, Colorado and Casey Jones Studio, Burelson. Texas
Produced and arranged by Rich O'Brien & Chris and Helen Isaacs
Executive producer, Dennis Flynn
Recording Engineers, Doug Eagle & Aarom Meador
Pencil drawings of Larry & Sunny by Tom Baker
CD cover design by Chris Isaacs
Music by Rich O'Brien
A Pair of Aces is available for $17.95 postpaid from Chris Isaacs, 502 N Harless, Eagar AZ 85925 and from his web site.
Most Requested
This CD includes the most popular poems that Chris has written and/or performed over the past few years, including The Flying Horse, Mutual Respect, Michael Bia, and more.
$15.00 + $2.00 S&H from Chris Isaacs 502 N Harless, Eagar AZ 85925 or from his web site
Out With the Crew
This CD includes poetry performed by Chris and written by some of the best poets alive.The experience of this fine CD -- winner of the Will Rogers 2002 Best Cowboy Poetry Album Award from the Academy of Western Artists -- is like a gathering of top poets. Chris Isaac's great idea to record poems of the top contemporary poets (and one classic by Bruce Kiskaddon) says quite a bit about him, his respect for other poets, and for what he contributes to the world of Cowboy Poetry.
Chris, in his engaging style, recites poems by Wallace McRae, Joel Nelson, Bob Bird, RW Hampton & Phil Martin, Jesse Smith, Larry McWhorter, Rolf Flake, Leon Autrey, Rod McQueary, JB Allen, Sunny Hancock, Bruce Kiskaddon, and Randy Rieman, and one of his own. There are vocals by RW Hampton, Lisa Isaacs, and Leon Autrey, guitar work by Leon Autrey, RW Hampton & Pat Dressen, and violin by JoAnn Isaacs Brookover.
The CD includes some of the best modern poems ever written: "One More Shippin' Day" by Wallace McRae; "For Woody" by Rod McQueary; "The Horse Trade" by Sunny Hancock; "Johnny Clare" by Larry McWhorter....see what we're sayin'?
$15.00 + $2.00 S&H from Chris Isaacs 502 N Harless, Eagar AZ 85925 or from his web site
Winner of the Will Rogers 2002 Best Cowboy Poetry Album Award
Tapes
All Out and Other Poems
Includes: Mutual Respect and All Out
$10.00 + $2.00 S&H from Chris Isaacs 502 N Harless, Eagar AZ 85925 or from his web site
Both Sides
Voted the Best Cowboy Poetry Album of 1997 by The Academy of Western Artists.
Includes: Michael Bia and The Stampede at Jenny's Cafe
$10.00 + $2.00 S&H from Chris Isaacs 502 N Harless, Eagar AZ 85925 or from his web site
Contacting Chris Isaacs
Chris has a great web site designed by H. JoAnn Brookover at:
with his schedule, poetry, books and recordings, and more.
Chris Isaacs
502 N Harless
Eagar AZ 85925
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