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KENDRA MINGER
Hillsboro, Oregon
About Kendra Minger
Being a CowboyMany people I meet
Don't seem to understand
Why a person in their senses
Would want to be a cowhand.
It's hard to explain in words
The deeper reasons why
But I feel brave today
So I'll just give it a try.
It's has to do with nature
The good and also bad
The challenge of elements
The happy moods and sad
Money isn't the object
Though all must make a living
The animals aren't a dollar bill
When help to them you're going
Many a cowboy mean and tough
When seeing a snow bound calf
Melts and turns his heart to butter
To act on its behalf
It has to do with horses
A very common affection
Not just a passing fancy
More like a drug addiction.
A natural love for horses
To ride and be in a saddle
Just leads a person by the hand
To want to be with cattle
It has to do with living
And doing what you please
Concering occupation choice
One's mind is all at ease
Competing isn't the issue
When riding on the range
Doing the job for the love of it
To some this all sounds strange
It has to do with trying
With blood and guts and sweat
Determination like the ones
Upon whose back you set
Not a life for faint of heart
With a dreams awry and game
If you've never been bucked off
Meant you've never gotten on
I guess it was the other day
My only day off of the week
I should have stayed indoors
And quiet there to seek
But it was nice and warm that day
So something I couldn't hide
Was that growing feeling
'Ole Mouse I needed to ride
So then I just decided
As long as I was doing this now
I might as well help the neighbor
And put Mouse behind a cow
So to some it's all a mystery
But it's very clear to me
If I wasn't cowboying for a living
I'd still cowboy for free.
Kendra Minger
A poem about my Grandfather
A Cowboy's Good-bye
The time has come for me to say
Good-bye to cowboy friends,
Though our trails may be miles apart.
May our friendships never end.
This gather's going to be my last
For soon I'm headin' South
When spring brandin' smoke is in the air
I'll shed a tear, no doubt
You all have meant so much to me
Of my life you're now a part
Each one has got a bunkhouse space
That's deep here in my heart.
Good-bye to you and Oregon
For you see I'm Prineville bound
No more my pony's feet on rocks
They'll tread a softer ground.
And though I'll never ride again
Up here where eagles scream
I'll ride forever with each one of you
Through these mountains in my dreams.
© 1999, Kendra Minger
I wrote this poem November 27, 1999, to my Grandfather Bert J, Williams. He
was an old time cowboy. Who passed away on that date. He was a bareback Champion in 1920s. He did his time in W.W.II as a Parachuter. He worked on a Ranch in Prineville, Oregon after the war, where he broke horses and herded cattle along the Ochco Mountains, where he is laid to rest.
I wrote this poem the day of his funeral. Family and friends all talked
about him with great pride and I was one of them. I will always carry his
pride within my heart.
He Never Said He Loved Her
He took off the saddle from his horse
And laid it on the ground
Grabbed some coffee limped to the fire
Where the boys had gathered round
The talk was of women, cowboys
And deeds they had done
But when it comes to women
Hell, there was only one.
She was born in East Montana
And her name was Ida Mae
He saddle up and rode away
Felt the west a callin'
From somewhere in his soul
Never really talked much about it
But she knew one day he'd go
Of all the people that he'd known of
She was the very best
And if they'd met at a different time
His wanderin' heart would rest
But wanderin' is what a cowboy does
It is his way of life
It's hard to make a woman
And the west both his wife
It's sad he couldn't remember
If they're blue or if they're green
But damn, she had the sweetest eyes
He had ever seen.
Her eyes were like the spring time,
Her lips were like the dew
Her hair was like the Aspen leaves
In the fall with the sun a shinnin' through
The night got kind a of quiet
And no one made a sound
The boys were pounderin' their cowboy lives
Just starin' and toein' the ground
He never said he loved her
And kinda wondered why
He sipped his coffee, stared at the fire
And a tear formed in his eye.
© 2002, Kendra Minger
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
Nuts And Bolts
I remember it was years ago,
Back when I was green.
A driftin' about from place to place,
Young hungry and lean.
I hired on a horse ranch,
Up the Colorado way.
Breaking colts which suited me fine,
So I decided I would stay.
There was an old cowboy by the name of Ben,
Who worked this outfit.
And when it comes to taming horses,
I've seen nobody better yet.
He could take a wild white-eyed nag,
And in an hour or two.
The horse would do just about anything,
Old Ben asked him to do.
His voice was low and smooth,
His hands had a velvet tough.
And I figgered there must be a trick to it all.
So I asked him if there was such,
He sat there kinder thinking.
A scratching on his chin,
Spit out a string of tobacco.
And looked up at me and grinned,
"Well, when it comes to horses
There ain't no formula or key,
They all pretty much want to be man's friend."
But if you're asking me,
For some wise words of some sort.
That you could put down in some quote,
Well, when it comes down to horses
It's just all about Nuts and Bolts.
And he must've caught my puzzled look
For he continued to explain,
"It's really pretty simple
And it works just the same,
For studs, mares, fillies.
Or even a feisty colts.
"If the rider is a little Nuts
The horses is sure to Bolt!"
© 2003, Kendra Minger
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
About Kendra Minger
I live on a small farm. I have two horses and three dogs. I have ridden horses since I was knee high to a grasshopper. I first started riding English, Then I went straight to 4-H. Then I Peeweed rodeo. Highschool Rodeo. And then I pretty much finished off with Pony Express (old fashioned horse racing). Now I just mess around with my horses. I show horses for other people. I have been writing poetry since I was about 13 years old. It helped me with the hard times of my life. I have two poems published in The International Poetry Library. They are both about some special people in my family. My Grandfather was a cowboy. He rodeoed too. He rode bareback. He never made it to the big times. But he did his best. And I guess you can say he is my hero. I followed in his footsteps. He passed away three years ago. I wrote him a poem and read it at his funeral. And I wrote one for my grandma's funeral, too.
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