About Doc
Stovall
Some Poems
Recordings
Contacting Doc Stovall
About Doc Stovall
Where do you find a Cowboy, you know he's a vanishing breed
Cause it's tough to live in modern times and follow the Cowboy Creed
You'll find him on the prairie if there's any prairie left
Or you'll find him somewhere on a horse doing what he does best
from "Cowboys Forever," BMI 1996Doc Stovall hails from the Appalachian Mountains of Southwestern Virginia. His material is entirely musical and for the most part, original. His work consists of trail songs, songs of ranch life, songs of the western range and mountains, as well as humorous looks at the West through parody and satire. Doc is a BMI songwriter and records on the Treetop label.
Doc frequently performs with Jerry Warren. They are the co-founders of COPAS, the Cowboy Performing Arts Society.
Jerry refers to Tennessee's Cumberland foothills as home. He draws on his vast experience as a ranch hand and veteran of the rodeo circuit to support the reality of his writings. Sarcasm and wit along with pure nostalgia are featured in his efforts. Jerry is a BMI songwriter and records on the Treetop label.
A few paragraphs from their combined brochure best conveys the spirit of their art and performances:
Cowboy Poetry is an art form that uses an orally graphic medium which allows one's audience to paint their own mental pictures. It brushes a rainbow of colors creatively across the canvass of the mind, lending shape and character to individual events, people, and animals, almost recognizable in one's own memory. It is presented with such subtle emotions that gently pluck at the heartstrings, often striking both the high and low scale.
It is fueled by a passion which borders on spirituality. It preserves the determination that secured our shorelines, hoisted "Old Glory," then honored its waving. It is entrenched in the creed that men, created equal, should live free, forever. It fights to define a culture that embraces the thinking that most is derived from life when life is most challenged. It is our hope, that somewhere in the line of a rhyme, you find a small part of yourself.
A Few Poems
Mountain Camp
Escape
Reflections of an Irish Cowboy
Epitaph
Mountain Camp
There's nothing like a trail ride through the Rubies or the Rockies
where the air is pure and mountain breezes blow.
You really have to be there to enjoy that special feeling
that takes you back in time to long ago.
The time passes quickly as you ride up through the timber,
mountain meadows lush and green you suddenly see;
You can't believe the sight of a herd of mustang ponies,
just grazing in grass up to their knees.Evening falls painting scenes with muted colors
Mother Nature slowly drops the curtain down.
Another day is ending as you watch the sunlight fading
and you bask in the serenity you have found.
Suddenly, the sky is lighted by a million twinkling stars.
you've never seen the Milky Way so clear;
You just lie back in your bedroll 'neath this glorious canopy,
seems you can almost touch them, they're so near.Dawn breaks slowly as you rise and brush the sleep from your eyes,
the last start fades and the sun begins its climb.
Peeking just across the mountains, bathing peaks in golden hues,
it's time to hit the trail, that's Mother Nature's sign.
It's the same most every morning, the sunlight warms the landscape,
one more time the light has chased the night away.
The whole cycle starts anew as you saddle up again,
you can hardly wait to greet the brand new day.© 1998, Doc Stovall
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
Escape
The congestion of a town I just can't handle
it's cluttered up and I can hardly breath
When I feel it's closing in around me
I find some good excuse and take my leave.
The murmur of the winds through the grasses
beats the noise of people trying to talk as one;
Sometimes one needs the solitude of silence
that's found out on the range when day is done.There's something to be said for the satisfaction
and the tiredness felt at the close of the day
You just lay back against your saddle and contemplate
the reasons why you choose to live this way.
Did you just get tired of the hustle and the bustle
and the politics and attitudes you found?
Did you yearn for the honesty and truth
that you found lacking when you stayed too long in town?You've become a self-styled relic of another time
an old-time cowboy caught in this modern age
Living a past that exists in fading memories
that grow dimmer with the turning of each page.
But you still hold on to the principles
and the rules you leaned to live by long ago
You feel sorry for a misguided civilization
with no direction or choice that goes along with the flow.The gentle sounds of the little tumbling creek
and the rustle of the wind through the trees
The hope of a better day tomorrow
is carried like a promise on the breeze
The moon rises o'er the mountains in the distance
and stars abound with twinkles quiet gleam
As you drift off to sleep you're still wishing
for that better time -- you'll find it in your dreams.© 1998, Doc Stovall
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
Reflections of an Irish Cowboy
It's a road leading nowhere for as far as you can see,
winding its way through an early morning haze
It's a meadow looking greener in the spring and summer rains,
the cattle and some sheep that share the graze
It's the clouds that hand so low you feel you can touch them,
the smell of early morning on the breeze
It's the wind that never stops, it blows for days on end,
wild and raw, but sometimes gentle as the rocking of the sea
The sun peeks through those broken clouds to dry the earth again,
and burns away the mist it's clear and free
It's a sentimental journey I take often in my mind
to a place that's ever home sweet home to me.It's the faces of the children in the schoolyard as they play,
I close my eyes and see it like it was yesterday
I see that little stream still flowing, never changing, cool and clear,
I'm caught up in old memories of a place I still hold dear.
The smoke-blackened chimneys that have warmed hearth and home
of the ageless little cottages built of gray native stone
And I can't forget the music, I hear 'pipes and fiddles play,
"Londonderry Air" still haunts me as I go along my way.
I remember the taste of the whiskey that set my mind awhirl,
'tis said it was invented so the Irish couldn't rule the world.
But with a heart as heavy as the famine on the land
I left behind that little island to ne'er return again.And knowing I was leaving everything I loved behind,
I faced a storm-tossed ocean not knowing what I'd find.
Watched the green fields fade behind me and I boldly looked away
to face the first part of the journey that brought me where I am today.
This new life on the prairie, this place they call "the West,"
God knows, it's strange and different, but I think it's for the best.
The days pass by so swiftly, it's the nights that move so slow,
I think back to bonnie Ireland and wish I hadn't had to go.
But I had to make some choices so I told them all goodbye
I think of that sad parting and a tear dimes in my eye.
It's those memories I carry through the years that turn me old
even out here on this prairie, it's always Ireland in my soul.© 2001, Doc Stovall
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
The words were sadly noticed, obituaries usually are,
it gave the dates of birth and death and spoke of family scattered far.
It spoke of the interment site and where the remains could be viewed;
two column inches was the tribute to this old friend we all knew.
It really didn't seem like much as we sat and reminisced,
we recounted what we knew of him before he tasted death's kiss.
You see, he was a simple man who lived a simple life,
he took pride in a job well-done, in his children and his wife.
He had good friends and everyone's respect, he lived life by the Book,
and to his fellow men he always gave more than he took.
Everyone who knew him seemed to look at him in awe,
there was a whole more to him than what little we saw.
His weather-beaten, wrinkled face, his hands, all twisted and gnarled;
his frame, once strong, was bent with age, a monument to life's scars.
That old ten-gallon Stetson and the shiny cowboy boots
always bore witness to his deep-reaching Western roots.
He spoke of days gone by with sadness and with pride
and I think of all the history he took with him when he died.
I clipped the notice from the paper to later file away -
an epitaph that should have read, a cowboy died today...
© 1999, Doc Stovall
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.(This is dedicated to the memory of Dick Edwards, a great horseman and a great human being who died as a result of a horse wreck in 1999. This piece was delivered at the funeral service by the writer.)
See A Cowboy Knows, by Doc Stovall and Charles Williams
from the Academy of Western Artists 1st Annual Cowboy Poetry/Songwriting Team Roping Challenge
and
All Trails Lead Home - Texas Version, by Doc Stovall and Charles Williams
which tied for first place in the 2005 Academy of Western Artists 2nd Annual Cowboy Poetry/Songwriting Team Penning Challenge
Recordings from Doc Stovall
Passing it Down
The Songs of the West and Westward Expansion
includes:
If They Only Knew a Cowboy by Dan Roberts
Clementine traditional
Get Along Little Dogies traditional
She'll be Coming Round the Mountain traditional
Home on the Range traditional
Rodeo Joe by Doc Stovall
Red River Valley traditional
Ghost Chickens by Doc Stovall and Jerry Warren
A Cowboy's Dream traditional
Tumbling Tumbleweeds by Bob Nolan
Got to Sleep, My little Buckaroo by M. K. Jerome and Jack SchollAvailable for $17 postpaid from:
Doc Stovall
PO Box 3070
Cartersville, GA 30120
Recordings from Doc Stovall and Jerry Warren
Doc Stovall and Jerry Warren often perform together at festivals and gatherings. Jerry was the first poet east of the Mississippi to perform at Elko. They say they " . . . look at the West as our forefathers knew it from every perspective. The serious side depicts life as it was in the early days up 'til and including the present. The humorous side pokes fun at any and everything with nothing (particularly politics) off limits."
Their most recent recording is Georgia Cowboys: Live at the Booth Western Art Museum, 78 minutes of music and poetry recorded in December 2003 before a live audience:
Contents:
Roundup in the Spring, traditional
Reflections, by Jerry Warren
Never Leave Texas, by Doc Stovall
Yellow Rose of Texas, traditional
No Yellow Rose in Texas, by Jerry Warren
Two Texans, by Jack DeWerff
Oh Texas, by Jerry Warren
Stampede, by Jerry Warren
Ghost Chickens, author unknown
Chicken Ranch, by Rod McQueary
First Baptist Bar and Grill, by Tim Wilson
Diving From a Horse, by Doc Stovall
The Painting, by Jerry Warren
When the Roundup's Over, by Jerry Warren and Doc Stovall
Price of Change, by Jerry Warren
Last Ride, by Doc Stovall
I'll Just Ride West, by Jerry Warren
I Miss John Wayne, by Brian Kennedy/Dan Roberts
Patriotic Close, by Katherine Bates, Jerry Warren/Francis S. KeyThe CD is $20 postpaid from:
Doc Stovall
PO Box 574
Lithia Springs, GA 30122The Georgia Cowboy Poetry Gathering is co-sponsored by and held at the Booth Museum. See our feature on that event here.
You can contact Doc and Jerry for performance information and their other recordings, including Doc's Cowboys Forever, Back to the Campfire, and Western Journeys and Jerry's Riding the Rimrock. See the tracks listings for Cowboys Forever, Back to the Campfire, and Riding the Rimrock at the COPAS site. Tapes are $12, CDs are $17, postpaid.
Another favorite here at the BAR-D is Back to the Campfire, which includes Doc's original works and beautiful renditions of "Streets of Laredo" and "Annie Laurie."
Contacting Doc Stovall
Doc Stovall
PO Box 574
Lithia Springs, GA 30122
770/948-5570
copas@bellsouth.net
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