HOWARD D. MALLISON 
Virginia 
About Howard D. Mallison
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A Glance Back

There's something sad about a paddock gate and a fence that's falling down
No life, no noise, no activity, just silence all around
The rotting boards that formed the fence are naked in the sun
Their paintless face, and rusting nails, attest their day is done.

The run-in shed is standing bare, and sagging here and there
A lonely reminder of other times when there were some to care
And give it spirit, a will to live, a reason to hold out rain
A place in time to focus thoughts that come now and again.

If I could close my weary eyes and think down deep inside
Would I recall the yesterdays and a horse we kept to ride?
And if I listened carefully for sounds that once were there
Would I hear the melody of laughter in the air?

Could I resurrect the dreams that once were dreamed so free
And could I live again the scenes of life that used to be?
Or should I find a quiet place where I could search my soul
And wonder at the course of life, its riches, and its toll?

Would it be nice to go again back to a place in time
When things, and life, and family, were in a closer clime?
Before the years had come and gone and split us all apart
And caused some dreams to run and hide, as secrets in our heart?

But time is kind, and time is cruel, it never stays the same
It moves along with strident steps, no matter what the name
It takes us each on varied paths, life's wonders to embrace
And maybe, just in memory, a glance back at this place. . . . .

Page  12 of "A Third Collection of Poems I Wrote" 
© 1998, Howard D. Mallison

Ode To An Eastern Cowboy

Payton was a Cowboy, as fine as you'd want to see
He lived and loved his cows and his horse and all of his family
The fact that his spread was so tiny, compared with many out West
Never bothered his mind, never made him unkind, he just kept doing his best.

He never had a name for his cows, but he'd whistle and they would come
Out of the brush and across the fields, to where the call came from
They always trusted this weathered man, who stood so straight and tall
And he knew them by sight, even in the night, and they came when he would call.

His face was wrinkled with living, his statue was always trim
His eyes would hold you steady peering out from under his brim
The jeans that he wore showed wear, and his boots had rode many a mile
In his colorful shirt, (reflecting some dirt), he was always ready to smile.

He raised the hay for his cow-feed, and other things off on the side
And bred some horses occasionally, and kept a few for to ride
An Eastern Cowboy with Western ways, an accident in time
Had set him down, on Virginia ground, to live in the Eastern clime.

Now cowboys back east on the rangeland, don't really have far to go
To see to their cows, or fix up a fence, that's easy enough to know
But Payton was ready for either, though missing a part of one hand
He guided his life, through joy and strife, and still was a hell of a man!

His wife and his daughter found heaven, at the hands of a drunken man
When Payton was told of their passing, in grief he could hardly stand
With tears that flowed like the rivers, he laid them both to rest
And harmed not the thief, that brought him grief, and put his character to test.

For thirty long years thereafter, he worked his cows and his land
And often thought what could have been, if not for a drunken man
But his hand never raised in anger, his words never once asked why
He awaited the day, he'd be called away, to that Big Ranch up in the Sky.

Now Payton has long since departed from, his Eastern Cowboy life
And nothing worldly can hurt him, or add to his earthly strife
I'm sure his wife and daughter there, were waiting by the gate
For him on his horse, duded up, of course, feeling sorry for being so late.

Ride on, my friend, ride on I say!  Throughout the heavenly day
And chase the dogies through the sky, or toss 'em a little hay
And when it's time to settle in and rest your bones for the while
Hold them near, your family so dear, and give 'em a really big smile!

© 2001 Howard D. Mallison

Howard told us a bit more about the story behind this poem:

Payton was real.

He was about as close to the proverbial Cowboy as any Easterner may ever be.  He was an expert carpenter and cabinet maker.  He made many structural enhancements in all of his houses, as well as having built at least one.  He had the patience and wisdom born of living, and of a lifetime of associating with man and beast, and the innate common sense and deductive reasoning necessary for his lifestyle.  He loved his venison, and would prepare and freeze much of it, as well as various kinds of wild game and game birds that
lived on and around his acreage.  He fished in his own pond which he had stocked.

(Howard added recently:  It seems that Payton really didn't start out whistling for his cows, per se - he was actually whistling for Indigo, his favorite working horse.  It sort of developed that when Indigo heard Payton's whistle she'd automatically start working whatever cows there were within eyesight toward his whistle.  Then Payton and Indigo
would go out and get the rest of them.  It eventually worked out that all the cows, upon hearing that special whistle Payton had, would automatically start moving toward the sound.  And sometimes they call animals "dumb"!)

He had served in the Armed Forces in WW II which may have cost him several fingers on one hand.  His wife and eight year old daughter were killed by a drunken driver within a mile of their home and thus was a thief in stealing away a large part of Payton's future -- as well as two precious lives.

Later, he gave our daughter a foal, out of his best mare, which I am sure he had mentally earmarked for his own daughter -- because we and the daughters had been close.

One of his last wishes was that he be laid out in a coffin wearing his Western finery, his best boots, and with one of his better hats.  And that a spray of flowers, in the shape of a horse head, should be among the flowers at his graveside -- this was done.

I sincerely hope that Payton is now at rest - with his loved ones.

Brown Mule
                

        Brown Mule really had a kick, as best I can recall,
        But I am thinking back in time, when I was not so tall
        And things I thought I saw back then may not have come to pass
        Scenes of then are hazy now, like Alice through her glass
        And what was once so crystalline grows dimmer with each year
        While sometimes when I think of things I often shed a tear
        Not because the time has passed, for that will surely be
        But all because my years can't find a lot of history

        'Twas in a field that once grew hay, now fallow in late Fall
        With browning grasses all around, and Winter birds in call
        That spoke of cold days yet to come in just a week or so
        'Twas in this field that cooling day, Brown Mule I came to know
        Now, old Brown Mule was tobacco made for chewing now and then
        It came in little plugs of brown, not so wide, but thin
        And wrapped around with cellophane to hold its flavor there
        With colored letters printed on to add a little flair

        My friend and I had bought the plug from a store we knew
        And wandered off into the field to do what we would do
        We chewed some Mule for just a while, and spat at things we saw
        A cheek puffed out along the side, tobacco in our jaw
        Somewhere along the way, I guess, I forgot to spit
        And swallowed some of Brown Mule juice, it was time to quit
        My stomach growled in protest and I threw the chew away
        Brown Mule had really kicked me on that cooling, late fall day.

        © 2000 Howard D. Mallison

Granny's Crochet Hook

        I wasn't there when Grandma died, but I visited her that day
        I knew that after we'd talked awhile, she'd soon be going away
        But still it came as quite a shock, when I answered the telephone
        At three a.m., in a sleepy haze, and heard that she'd gone home.

        I listened to the preacher man, before they lowered her down
        How she had gone to a better life, and soon would wear a crown
        But in my heart I already knew, that through her personal strife
        She had worn a crown for years, for helping others in life.

        We looked around her little place, as we broke it down
        Mementos of another life, and things she had around
        A table cloth I'd sent to her, from far across the sea
        She'd never used, packed away, a note to give it to me.

        And many things from family, she'd placed about with pride
        Or packed in drawers most carefully, with little notes inside
        I never knew how deep she thought, until I went that day
        To help my Aunt and Uncle, put her place away.

        We tried to give her modest wealth, to those we thought would care
        To friends and neighbors, and family, alike, her worldly things to share
        An item here, an item there, that brought memories to mind
        Of this smiling, whitehaired lady,  - of the dearest Grandma kind.

        But it was in her kitchen drawer, in a small compartment nook
        I found the item I love most -  Granny's crochet hook
        Made out of metal, or stainless steel, it seemed to call from there
        And so I took it home with me, to live with my silverware.

        She must have used it all around, for this and that, you see
        A tool so versatile and plain, a real surprise to me
        For with its little end so hooked, it can reach in anywhere
        And grab whatever it is that's needed, to be moved from there.

        But what I really love the most, each time I use this thing
        Is when I hold it in my hand, it always seems to sing
        And I can hear her laughing voice, and I'm so glad I took
        This little metal thing-a-ma-bob, Granny's crochet hook.


        © 1998 Howard D. Mallison

(This poem is also posted with our special collection of poems about
Cowboy Moms and Grandmoms)

 

 

 

About Howard D. Mallison: 

I was born in North Carolina.  I am retired from the Federal Civil Service.  My wife and I have two grown children, and one grandson.  We live in Central Virginia, not far from Charlottesville.

I served in Korea during the Korean War.  I have visited many places in the
Far East, South America, Europe, and about 46 States.  My wife and I
particularly like the Carson City, NV area.  We have friends and acquaintances in Lemmon Valley, Reno, and Va. City, NV, as well as relatives
in California, Texas, Louisiana, Colorado, and North Carolina.

I started writing poetry in High School for extra credit in English class.
I once tried my hand at song poems but Nashville didn't seem to like them.
One of my poems, "Winds," was published in an anthology entitled "From
Silver Fountains," by the International Library of Poetry.

We sure do like havin' folks' poems.  

Plenty poems here are entered in our Lariat Laureate Competition.  If you're a poet and not entered, well, how come not?