J. D. SEIBERT
Canyon Country, California
About J. D. Seibert
J. D. Seibert's web site
The Bachelor Buckaroo
Some say that I'm a hopeless romantic
A bachelor buckaroo
They say that I'm married to the job
And although that may be true...
I still long to be attached
To something other than my steed
And only female companionship
Can fulfill this basic need
I'm pushing thirty five this year
And my poor Mom is starting to worry
But I don't like to rush right into things
Or to be in to great a hurry
She came to visit me last week
To break the monotony of line shack life
And to point out her lack of grand kids
That would necessitate a wife
"Have you tried those mail order brides", she'd say
"Thats how yer uncle tied the knot"
I told her that I would consider it
If she could fit into the mail box that we've got
Well, we continued to discuss my options
Of courtin and of hitchin
When I noticed her attention being drawn
To a picture in the kitchen
Then the conversation suddenly stopped
And she got up from her chair
She picked the picture up
And then gave it a good long stare
A slow, sweet smile came over her face
Followed by words of adulation
But I must admit that I was a bit confused
At the cause for her celebration
She said that the pretty young gal in the picture
Made her heart swell up with pride
Just to know that the bachelor son of hers
Was going to finally take himself a bride
Then she remarked about the children
That we had yet to have had
And she offered us her congratulations
To the knew Mom and the Dad
But I knew that I had to make up something quick
When she asked me for her name
Cause I didn't have the heart to tell her
That the picture came with the frame
© 2005, J. D. Seibert
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
The Horse Psychic
Elaine, the horse psychic from Sedona
Well, she claimed to be divine
And she claimed to posses great insight
Into the species we call equine
She claimed to have intuition
That the rest of us somehow lack
And she was perfectly willing to divulge it
Or guarantee us our money back
Now, I've always considered myself a skeptic
But my options were running low
And her clinic was coming to town next week
So I concluded that I should go
My horse and I were having problems
That traditional methods couldn't seem to fix
And I was up fer new suggestions
Even hocus pocus trix
It took the better part of three hours
Fer the successful trailer load
Then off my horse and i went to the clinic
Just a bumpin down the road
We arrived a little late
The trailer loading took longer than I thought
And we were asked to pay upfront with cash
Fer the lessons that we'd be taught
Now, four hundred dollars seemed a bit steep
As I paid out with some remorse
But I was willing to pay the substantial fee
For a connection with my horse
Elaine talked about reincarnation
About former lives and the relevance of stars
And about peaceful, tranquil trail rides
When Jupiter aligns with Mars
Then she worked with all our horses
And she gave them all her take
Attributing most of their current problems
To a past mistake
She sure had all of us going
We were eating from the palm of her hand
And this new approach seemed like something
That my horse could understand
But I couldn't keep paying fer enlightenment
At least, not at the price I was
So I took her to dinner after the clinic
Just like a good boyfriend does
I was trying to work myself an angle
So that the price would come on down
And I figured that I could butter her up
With a nice night out on the town
But the trouble with seeing a psychic
That took away most of the fun
Was that she kept on breaking up with me
For things that I had yet to have done
© 2005, J. D. Seibert
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
Ropin' 101
Castin' fer a calf
should be a relatively simple affair
You just take that well formed loop of yers
And ya toss it through the air
And ifn you've aimed it up just right
And if that rope ain't cut
That calf will be wearin' himself a new necklace
Made of braided rawhide gut
And if you know what yer a doing
Now that you've got him caught
You'll dally up on yer saddle horn
Just like it is that you've been taught
Makin' fer darn sure thet that thumb of yers
Isn't in the way
Or you'll have one heck of a time thumb wrestlin'
When it comes to games to play
Now, you'll follow up on yer calf just right
Takin' in all of yer slack
Being ever so careful not to cross over
Yer ponies neck or back
Then you'll holler to yer heeler
To come and rope that calf's hind feet
And the two of you will stretch him out
And haul him to the heat
And as the ground crew works their magic
The scent of burnt skin and hair
Will venture into yer nostrils
And permeate the air
Then they'll hold the brand for a few seconds
While its being applied
And that calf will be sportin' the mark of the outfit
Right there on its searing hide
And a sharp knife will cut them chances
Of yer male calves ever pro-creatin
Now, some folks call this cruel
But a cowboy just calls it, castratin'
Then you'll loosen up yer ropes
Cause now yer job is done
And congratulations folks
Cause ya'll passed ropin' 101
© 2005, J. D. Seibert
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
Heart of the West
Oh, the lay of the land
The spill of the draw
It's those mountainous mesas
That move me to awe
It's the crag laden canyons
With their whispering winds
That compel me to find
Where the journey begins
It's the crisp of the air
Or the sway of the breeze
And the gate of a horse
Between bow-legged knees
The split of the mane
Or the creak of the seat
It's the unfettered freedom
Upon sure footed feet
Oh, bastions abound
Of Lupine and Sage
Flaunting their fragrance
Concealing their age
And I have drank it all in
From the freshest of streams
As I traveled across
This land of mere dreams
Its promises kept
Come rain or come shine
Its glories revealed
Its evidences divine
I have longed for such love
As found deep in my breast
For it pulsates on through me
This heart of the west
© 2005, J. D. Seibert
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
An Allergic Reaction
Sam Skeegee was an itchy fella
He always scratched alot
And he usually wore a neckerchief
That was mostly stained with snot
Sam was allergic to everything
From hay to bailing twine
And although he was a cowboy
He was allergic to bovine
He weren't much use at brandin'
Heck, he could hardly gather cattle
And he usually had to ride bare back
'Cause he was allergic to his saddle
He was a fickle kind of eater
When it came to rustlin' chow
And the cookie darn near killed him
When he served him up some cow
Poppin' pills was Sam's hobby
When he was runnin' low on luck
But when his throat would swell
Well, they'd mostly wind up stuck
And this was poor Sam's plight
Call it, his battle with the breeze
It didn't matter what season it was
'Cause he would always sneeze
Now, Sam had to look for leppies
Ever now and then
And he had to doctor the cows
That were in the sick pen
But this weren't a good job for him
And it got proven all to soon
Cause when he'd contact a calf
He swoll up like a darn balloon
And it landed him in the hospital
Cause his allergic reaction was so bad
But when their bed sheets gave him hives
Well, that was really sad
They found that he was allergic to their ice cream
Upon his very first little bite
Cause when he tried to swallow it
He turned a ghastly white
Well, I couldn't stand to see him suffer
So, being the good friend that I am
I took my colt revolver
And I went to go visit Sam
He sure was glad to see me
'Til I plugged him full of holes
But the bullets relieved some of his swelling
So, I guess they served their roles
Then he turned a queerish purple
From his toes up to his head
And the only thing that I could figure
Was that he was allergic to all that lead
Well, there was nothing left for me to do
And so I just got sick of trying
But wouldn't ya know it Ol' Sam pulled through
Cause I guess, he was allergic to dying
© 2006, J. D. Seibert
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
These ol' spurs of mine
Have lost their shine
And the glory that they had
I was ten years old
So the story is told
When I got 'em from my dad
Now, truth be known
I weren't full grown
I was a youngin' shy and coy
But when I heard those rowels ring
I was sure of one thing
I was destined to be a cowboy
I was taught to use care
To mind hide and hair
And to never poke or rake
It didn't need much
Just a slow gentle touch
Was often all it would take
Everywhere that I'd ride
I'd wear 'em with pride
Just a hangin' from my heel
I'd squeeze to collect
To drive and direct
And try to apply them with feel
Now, their sprinkled with dust
And tarnished with rust
And they may have lost their shine
But every cowboy knows
How the old saying goes
Good tack ages like wine.© 2006, J. D. Seibert
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
This poem appeared in the May, 2007 issue of Western Horseman
Danglin' from an old rusty nailAbove my saddle, rope and tapsRests a tool that I use without failGranddad's ol' pair of shot gun chapsThey help me to brave the weatherAnd to protect my legs while I rideMade of four ounce grainy leatherTheir a good lookin' peice of hideThey may smell of brandin' smokeAnd the seams have begun to ripBut with their conchos and stamped yokeThey sure do boast of craftsmanshipPlenty of fellers have made me offersSeekin' to purchase my dearest prizeBut despite the skeptical scoffersI refuse to part or compromiseThey've become a fond memoryMy connection with the pastAnd the legacy that they've left to meIs the one thing that has lastAnd so my progeny awaitThe gift of Ganddad's heirloomAnd I reckon that it's their fateTo hang from a nail in the ol' tack room© 2008, J. D. Seibert
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
Read J. D. Seibert's Galleries of the Heart, written for Joelle Smith
About J. D. Seibert:
J.D. Seibert is one of cowboy poetry's premier youthful talents. His original and witty poems are derived from his first hand experiences with cowboying throughout the West. Steering clear of Western movie clichés and the drug store cowboy image, J.D. strives to deliver his audience a true slice of cowboy life through his performances. His live show appeals to both city slickers and seasoned buckaroos alike, serving up choice poems that go down easily, but sometimes have the tendency to come back up later, like a piece of regurgitated cud.
As a resident of the one-horse town of Agua Dulce California, J.D. attends the numerous local brandings that go on throughout the year and trains horses in his spare time. J.D. has performed at many venues including: The Santa Clarita Cowboy Festival; The Autry National Center's Museum of the American West; The William S. Hart Museum; The Santa Barbara Natural History Museum; Snaffle Bit Futurity and the Santa Clarita Cowboys in the Schools programs. His poems have been published in such magazines as Western Horseman, Cowboy Magazine and CowboyPoetry.com.
Currently, J.D. has three spoken word and instrumental albums, Bend or Break (2005), Rangeland Rhymes and Prairie Poems (2006) and his latest, cleverly titled, Cowboy Poetry (2008). Look for J.D.'s poem "Chaps" in the Western Horseman 2009 calendar.
Contact J.D. Seibert at jdseibertcowboypoet@gmail.com; www.myspace.com/jdseibertcowboypoet; (661) 904-3958
Cowboy Poetry
"15 new, original poems on it accompanied by sound effects and original music."
Available for $15 postpaid from:
J. D. Seibert
35417 Anthony Rd.
Agua Dulce CA 91390
(661) 904-3958Find track samples at www.jdseibertcowboypoet.com
Rangeland Rhymes & Prairie Poems
Available for $15 postpaid from:
J. D. Seibert
35417 Anthony Rd.
Agua Dulce CA 91390
(661) 904-3958
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