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LAURA FINLAY BROWN
Elysian Fields, Texas
About Laura Finlay Brown

 

 

Run

When your soul cries out
And your spirit's spent
And those mountains start callin' your name,
Strap on your spurs
And cock your hat low,
Just grab on to her mane.
You ride that horse like you stole it.

When dust on your saddle
Has gathered, old girl
And your boots itch to dance 'cross that floor,
Starch up those jeans
And snap up that shirt
And don't take your eyes off the door.
You ride that horse like you stole it.

When you look in the mirror
And that cowgirl ain't there
And you can't seem to find her at all,
You saddle on up
And spur that mare out,
Sit back in that  saddle, sit tall
And ride that horse like you stole it.

Now don't you look back
On shame and regret,
You're racin' t'ward that brand new day.
Go light on the reins,
Keep her nose pointed west,
You know that it's too late to stay.
Girl, ride that horse like you stole it.
You ride that horse like you stole it.

© 2003, Laura Finlay Brown
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

 

 

Cowboy Lies

Callin' all honky tonk cowgirls
Come on, gather 'round.
'Cause I've got some words of wisdom
From this old trail I've been down.

Those boys that claim to rope and ride
Spurs janglin' at their heels,
Ain't all they always claim to be
The truth they don't reveal.

Beware the cowboy lies, my dears.
He'll wink and slowly smile.
He'll tip his hat with subtle grace
Just to show you he's got style.

"Yes, ma'am, I won this buckle.
Rode the hair off that old bull.
That truck outside, it's mine all mine,
The note, it's paid in full.

You can reach me at this number, hon.
Why sure, I live alone.
But sugar, don't you worry none
When Mama answers the phone."

© 2003, Laura Finlay Brown
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.


This poem was published in The Wyoming Companion in their June 8, 2003 coverage of the College National Finals Rodeo 

 

The Cowboy I Can't Forget

He haunts the lonesome shadows
Of my heart from time to time.
I can see him on that pony,
A blue roan in his prime.

He stops to light a Camel
And tug his hat brim low,
Pull his collar up around his neck
Those north winds, how they blow.

He looks out west t'ward sunset
His thoughts of days gone by,
Of perfume on his pillow,
A twinkle in his eye.

He whispers my name softly
As he sits, a silhouette,
And darkness falls around him,
The cowboy I can't forget.

© 2004, Laura Finlay Brown
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

 

Cowboy Angel

He rides the herd at sunrise,
Checks fence and looks for strays,
Keeps watch o'er every single head,
It's how he spends his days.

He stops just long enough to gaze
Across those painted hills,
Bluebonnets flood the pastures,
The spring wind brings a chill.

The gelding gives a whinny
To ask about the pause,
The task at hand, it beckons
And he lifts the reins and draws

A deep breath while he hesitates,
The beauty keeps him still,
He exhales oh, so softly,
A duty to fulfill.

She ducks off t'ward the river,
He gives old Buck the word,
They cut her off and send her back,
She's safe and with the herd.

Thank God for guardian cowboys
That tend the wild and free,
I know I won't get lost too long,
My angel watches me.

© 2005, Laura Finlay Brown
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

Mollie

Mollie, the speckled mule
She’s a helluva lot like me
Set in her ways, she’s stubborn
As loyal as can be.

Spontaneous, she’s adaptable
Spotted gypsy, no ordinary roan
Prefers the company of others
Predestined to go it alone.

A spark in her eye, it’s hopeless
To tame her, come on…don’t you see?
Love her, that’s fine, but fence her
She’ll break down that gate, trust me.

She’ll respect you if you prove worthy
Of speakin’ the truth, no lies
Don’t grin in her face with all your cool grace
She’ll kick in your teeth, I surmise.

Now Mollie, she don’t seem to cotton
To folks with an arrogant air
She’s free and she’s wild, all guts and no style
Oh, yeah…yeeha, we’re a pair!

© 2010, Laura Finlay Brown
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

 

 

 

About Laura Finlay Brown:

I was born in Springhill, Louisiana and spent my formative years in the backwoods and byways of Mississippi, Texas, and Louisiana.  I currently hang my hat in the piney woods of deep east Texas.  My writing reflects my affection for all things western. "Run" evolved from a need to escape that all cowgirls feel from time to time.  "Run" is one in a collection of cowgirl poems which includes other titles such as "Cowboy Lies" and "Dance Hall Doctor."  

 

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