DENNIS RUSSELL
Cimarron, New Mexico
About Dennis Russell

 

 

 

 

Just His Life

It's half past four when he kicks the door,
He grabs his boots and his hat and he's gone.
Yesterday's ride left him pretty darn sore,
As he heads for the barn with a yawn.

A cowboy's day, well it starts this way,
And most would say that he's crazed.
'cause the first sunlight is well into his day,
Why does he draw this pay?

And riding herd, he don't think it absurd,
To call the place his own.
He'll whistle a tune, sing in a word,
And blend it with soft cattle moan.

Now this man's life, alone with no wife,
Works everyday with no tear.
'Cept for the death of his "pard" in Blythe,
Well that was some time last year.

When his day is done, and he's lost "not a one,"
He'll talk to to his pony and YELL for fun.
Massage an ear, give him a whack,
Ride home, with the sun at his back.


© 1997, Dennis Russell
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

 

Dennis told us: In this part of ranch country, there has been a lot of tradition set by some tough ol' cowboys. In the last couple of years we had to say goodbye to some long time friends. These men had certainly been a part of our history and had set the standards for all the rest of us to try and live by. This writing only touches the "edge of camp" when it comes to any kind of acknowledgement of their lives.

Is This the Last Gather?

Well, all these years spent, riding this range,
On horse, pushing cows, as the seasons have changed.
To good mountain grass when the spring days warm,
To the valley again as the fall wind warns.

But they keep on trying, tired and cold,
To quit this business, by God it gets old.
But each year that lopes by, just as the last,
This herd they won't sell, again they will pass.

But last September, the bulls were all sold,
The cows were all bred, but they too, grow old.
The blood of this herd is as old as the west,
The hearty Hereford, this country's best!

"Pardners" and friends of this ranch ride the dawn,
The "air" is tense, are the good days all gone?
To gather the herd, well in this last year,
The cattle must go, this time it is clear.

A life of days working and arguing so,
With mad mother cows, but I know that they know.
That they'll all come together, this year in the pens,
The cutting will start, and the end..., it begins.

A new life to live, but talk turns bovine,
Well what would they do with no cows to mind?
Just talk to their horses, remember old times?
Sweep all the floors clean, hang clothes on the line?

It gets in your blood and you can't even quit,
Just keep a few mamas, ride a horse just a bit.
Buy just one more bull; there is one down the way,
They'll quit this next year, or, some other day.

© 2006, Dennis Russell
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

 

Dennis told us: There are many family ranches around Cimarron, NM. These ranches have been worked by families and handed down from generation to generation. Most will continue this tradition until the end of time. Every once in a while there is no family left to pass the place along to. A lot of questions have to be answered and there are "life changing" decisions to be made. I wrote this about some very special friends of mine.

 

That Old Yellow Horse

That old yellow horse ...he still knows the way,
'Cause he hauled that cowboy...day after day.
The man hummed old tunes to hooves kicking dust,
That horse was his friend he allowed him his trust.

They remembered old times as they walked every mile,
Most of them good, just look at them smile.
The cowboy in youth and the ladies so fair,
And that horse still recalls his favorite young mare.

And all the years both good times and bad,
Most of them happy and some of them sad.
Always working for others, watching cattle and land.
Man on horseback, both chewing on sand.

But every Sunday they'd go the same way,
To the church on the hill so the cowboy could pray.
For that which he lost in the "early year,"
The cowboy was sad; to the horse it was clear.

And the horse never knew why he'd kneel to the ground,
At the same stone when they're spread all around?
But tradition was set and they always would go,
Every Sunday morn' through the rain or the snow.

That old yellow horse still stands in the pen,
...Just waiting on his life long friend.
But something was wrong, he remembered that day,
When someone else came to scatter his hay.

Now months had gone by when the gate was a sway,
And on Sunday morning the horse went the way.
To the church on the hill that they always would go,
Though his shoes had grown loose the horse didn't slow.

When he got to the stones it had grown quite cold,
And he found the new...right next to the old.
And as a creature of habit the horse turned away,
He walked back to his pen and just finished his hay.

© 2006, Dennis Russell
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

 

Dennis told us:  With all that time behind the wheel a guy can do a bunch of writing. I spend a lot of time in my truck traveling from northern New Mexico to southern Colorado. I spend a lot of time on farm roads. Often, I see an old horse, in an old pen, behind an old ranch house. Now I know most folks wouldn't give it a second thought. It is just an old horse, in an old pen, behind an old house. But I know there is something more to that horses' life, and also the one that he belongs to. I know that old horse, in the old pen, behind the old ranch house, has a story to tell....

About Dennis Russell:

Dennis lives in Cimarron, New Mexico. He has been a part of that community off and on since 1962 when his family moved there to reopen the saw mill. Dennis has been writing poems and songs since he was quite young. Last year he started doing some recitations and has had a very good response. He gives wagon rides around town in the summer and enjoys getting out his team for weddings and special events. Dennis and his wife Jana, also enjoy packing folks up into the mountains on their horses and mules. At 50 years old Dennis is looking forward to the day when he can just stay home and feed his cows, work with his young stock, recite his stories, and, well, you know the rest. If you ever get the chance to come and see the "Maverick Club Rodeo," every "4th of July" you will sure not regret it.