photo by Jack Hummel
About Les
Buffham
Poems
Recordings
Contact Information
About Les Buffham:
Les was raised on a family ranch in the remote Northwest corner of Colorado. He kicked around the Western slope of Colorado breaking and trading horses, announcing rodeos, and working as an auctioneer. These experiences along with working ranches and feed lots in California and Colorado not only provided inspiration for his songs and poetry but also allowed him to raise his three kids pretty much "the cowboy way."
Les Buffham is widely recognized as one of the premier cowboy entertainers and considered by many to be the best cowboy poet writing and performing today. His antics onstage combined with his spontaneous humor, his poignant poetry and his a cappella melodies make you appreciate the life of a real cowboy from a different perspective.
Les Buffham is an award winning Cowboy Poet, Storyteller, and Western Music Songwriter. He was presented the Academy of Western Artists prestigious Will Rogers Award for Cowboy Humorist / Storyteller and has shared the Best Song Of The Year Award with co-writer Michael Fleming of New West for "Below the Kinney Rim." The song also received the Western Music Association's Award for Best Song / Songwriter.
Poems and Lyrics
The Belle of the Cowboy's Ball
Below the Kinney Rim separate page
The Belle of the Cowboy's Ball
Well, it was the Cowboy's Ball, the biggest grandest one they'd had,
looked forward to by each and all, 'specially the young, both lass and lad.The band was hot though the night was not, through the snow the folks had drove,
and many'd spend the night around that old pot bellied stove.
The hardwood floor was waxed and slicked to the benches 'long the wall,
and laughter filled the rafters of that country dancin' hall.
There were punchers there and ladies fair from every ranch around,
they'd come to dance and visit friends, some even came from town.
The lads were in their wildest rags and the ladies wore their best,
the talk would be for days to come how each and all were dressed.
The fiddles sang and the guitars rang, to the square dance caller's cry,
and throughout it all, at the cowboys ball, one young girl had my eye.
She was such a thing of beauty, possessed with style and grace,
as she whirled across the floor, a big smile there on her face.
She laughed and clapped and gave a bow, at the end of every song,
and when they played all the old favorites then she would sing along.
With a smile wide as a river she danced with every hand,
that came for miles around across that snowbound land.
When the ball was finally over, and they called out the last dance,
I'd not had my turn with her and feared I'd lost my chance.
When she floated then into my arms, eyes a shinin' like the mornin' dew
and whispered then into my ear, "I'll dance this one with you."
She looked across her shoulder then, at those faces long and sad,
and said, "I'm sorry guys, but I saved this one-- for Dad!"
© 1992, Les Buffham
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
From the album "Rhymes, Wrecks and Rodeos." There are later versions by others of poems with a similar theme, most notably Waddie Mitchell's "Belle of the Ball."
Sayin' Goodbye
The old cowman gets out of the pickup
walks back and slowly closes the gate
rests a weathered old hand on a fencepost there
to sort of minimize the shake
He looks off into the distance
at the mountains far away
no clouds hangin' there this mornin'
looks like it'll be a purty day
Then his gaze falls on the ranch house
the corrals and the blacksmith shop
That old creakin' windmill there
and the barn with the weather vane on top
Then to the hill behind the house
with the weathered picket fence
where long ago he'd laid to rest his folks
and he'd thought a lot about 'em since
Then to that other mound where recently
he'd said goodbye to a faithful and loving wife
who had given him three children
and all the best years of her life
Then to those flowers there strugglin' by the door
he'd tried hard to keep em goin'
but was more of a hand with the four legged things
and not much with those that were growin'
Then he goes to thinkin' about the kids
he'd hoped that one of them would stay
but guessed they'd found their own dreams
each one in their own way
And he really couldn't blame 'em much
cause ranchin' now days just wasn't the same
with all the scratchin' and the clawin'
just to play the bureaucratic game
Wasn't simple anymore
'n hard to find that feeling of a job well done
With all the pressure and the worry
anymore it wasn't as much fun
He's thinkin' how he'd like to stay right here
and just finish out his days
instead of movin' to a smaller place
where he'd have to learn new ways
But the work just keeps on pilin' up
and things are startin' to fall apart
can't afford no help and can't do much
since all that trouble with his heart
Then the old cowman shuffles back
climbs into the truck, starts it and puts it into gear
and as he pulls away, in the corner of each eye
there appears a little tear
He swerves to dodge a pothole
then he straightens out the truck
thinks he'd oughta bout make Denver
by dark with any luck
Then in the mornin' he'd sign all the papers
go back and get the rest of his stuff
say goodbye to the old place once more
and he knew it was gonna be tough
As he pulls out on to the main highway
the dust from his passing lingers there
it hangs for a little then slowly it settles
and fades in the still morning air
and that dust is sort a like that old cowman
seems like it too just wants to hang on
as another page from our history book
and another family outfit is gone.© 1993, Les Buffham
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.This poem is cited in our Favorite Cowboy and Western Poems project.
Pain-Away
A friend of mine was tellin' me
Just the other day
When pain and strain descends on you
How to make it go away
He said the plan was simple
And all you gotta do
Is jog yer memry for a thing
That happened once to you
It could be somethin' pleasant
Like strollin' through the flowers
With your childhood sweetheart
As you whiled away the hours
Or perhaps your wildest deed
That took away your breath
That put your heart to poundin'
And scared you half to death
He said, "You gotta concentrate
To bring back sight and smell and sound
And if you do succeed at these
You'll forget that pain's around"
It wasn't mor'n a week ago
I had the opportunity
To try this helpful friend of mine's
Self serve psychology
My mind began a frantic search
Back for some moment rare
As soon as I reclined into
That good tooth doctor's chair
My mouth he pried open wide
And stared right down the hole
I felt he was a readin'
The blueprint of my soul
He shot me up with numbin' stuff
Like novacain or ace
Sure looked like a bandito
With that mask around his face
I started looking for fond memories
And I tried with all my will
As he put me in a headlock
And fired up that blasted drill
Half my life went flashing by
My dues were bein' paid
'Til I finally got 'er stopped
On a bronc ride I once made
It was at the mountain cow camp
In the basin by the crick
On a black horse I called Bally
That was fat and stout and slick
It was a purty summer mornin'
As we was headed down the trail
When the lead rope to the pack horse
Got beneath old Bally's tail
That dentist's drill was screamin' now
I smelled hot bone and smoke
'Neath that mask he was a grinnin'
Like I'd just told a joke
But my mind was on that feelin'
When your mount's head disappears
Your vision trips from driftin' clouds
To searchin' for his ears
Sight and sound did well abound
The scent of sage whirled round my head
I wondered how that brush would feel
If it soon became my bed
Then when daylight comes before me
Old Bally's bringin up his head
And what I think must be his ears
Is that tooth doctor's instead
He smiles at me and says, "We're done."
And to this day I'll swear
The best bronc ride I ever made
Was in that dentist's chair.© 2002, Les Buffham
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
The Hour Before Dawn
There's a pocket full of mem'ries,
lookin' back and facin' on,
but the ones that linger longest
are from that hour before dawn.
When you're down to your last swaller,
cup hangin' from your fingers,
sittin' quiet without no light
'n the smell of wood smoke lingers.
The clink of spur and bit chain,
a horse's nicker driftin' light,
and the shuffle of the cavvy,
as it waits the lasso's flight.
Those grunts and mumbled curses,
never loud and never clear,
that are a foregone signal
that dawn is almost here.
Then through that early quiet,
the voice of a creakin' gate,
says the boss is 'bout to rope a hoss,
n' if you don't hurry you'll be late.
Then that line of silhouette's,
against an early sky of grey,
as you ride out behind the boys,
to greet the brand new day.
Soon sun will strike the mountains,
then those moments will fly on ---
The ones I most remember,
from that hour before dawn.© 1999, Les Buffham
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
.
A Cowboy Callin'
Have you ever been a-way out yonder
and laid out underneath the stars
and gazed at them in wonder
as the twilight came in bars?
While a coyote sounds its chorus
from a-top some lonely hill
and you snug down in your blankets
to escape the mornin' chill
'Til you hear the cook a stirrin'
then 'fore long comes his shout
"You punchers come and get it
or I'm gonna throw it out!"
You get dressed in a hurry
and you roll your bed up tight
drag it with you to the wagon
by the flickerin' firelight
There you snort into the wash pan
and it jars you wide awake
cause there's ice around the edges
and it shore is hard to take
Then you fill your cup and plate up
underneath old cookie's stare
he's waitin' for you to complain
but you know that you don't dare
Even if the bread is burnt and soggy
and the beans come in a chunk
you sure cant beat the coffee
of that old ornery skunk
You drop your plate into the washtub
and go a lookin' for the boss
who when he sees you knows you're ready
for him to rope you out a hoss
You call out for old Curly
knowin' there will be a fight
and he'll surely work the kinks out
that you gathered through the night
Old Curly humps up when you cinch him
and when you swing up on his back
he just stands there all spraddled
like he's frozen in his track
But you are a wooly puncher
you know that's true for sure
so you rare back and poke him
in the belly with your spur
He lets out a mighty beller
and his head does disappear
'til your wonderin' if you saddled him
a facin' to the rear
He sure tears up the sagebrush
then he finally starts to slow
and you start your day a knowin'
that you put on quite a show
The boss gives you the outside circle
and you head out at a trot
mighty glad for cookie's bread and beans
cause you know 'til dark they're all you've got
You make your circle and your gather
and you push 'em all on in
Sun's a settin' over yonder
when you finally see the fire again
Then it's more of cookie's bread and beans
and you crawl into your sack
where you lay a while a thinkin' 'bout your sweetheart
that's waitin' for your comin' back
It aint long until your a snorin'
then once again you're wide awake
and lookin' for your nighthorse
that's tied out on a stake
Two hours ridin' nightherd
the cattle are all bedded down
and you're singin' to 'em gentle
as you circle all aroun'
Then you crawl back into your blankets
and you gaze up at the sky
at those blazin' stars a shinin'
and you have to wonder why
You ever chose to be a Cowboy
then the answer floats in on the wind
There's that old co-yo-tee callin'
from some lonely hill again
© 1994, Les Buffham
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
The Sermon
He'd signed on that spring with our outfit
took a camp on the cow-calf side.
never came in once all summer
just stayed up there where he'd ride
And care for those calves and their mommas
from sunup to sundown each day
showed to be a good hand with his horses
in a firm and yet gentle way
I was in a camp on the steer side
quite a few miles to the West
those steers were somewhat of a challenge
and I liked to ride them the best
The boss got me cornered one evenin'
and he say's to me with a smile
"That old man is gettin' kinda creaky
better ride over there once in a while"
And I did a few times through the summer
when I'd show up he seemed to be glad
and he'd drag out a bottle of spirits
from a private cache that he had
I helped him doctor some sick ones
and he snubbed a young horse for me
and we became as good a friends
as in that short time we could be
Come Fall his cows came out early
and we'd gathered up most of my steers
except a few of the hideout kind
a couple we'd had there for two years
They'd wintered out after the last gather
was smart and wild as a march hare
the boss sure wanted 'em captured
and by what means he didn't much care
He sent the old man up there with me
for us both our wages to earn
I was young but I did know the country
that the old man still needed to learn
It snowed our first night in camp
next mornin' trackin' was easy as pie
we jumped those steers in an open park
he roped one and then so did I
We snubbed em' each to a quakie
and let 'em fight it a spell
then made 'em both a rope halter
drove and drug 'em down to the corral
The tracks told us they were the last ones
inside all the circles we'd been
so we pulled out of there the next mornin'
scared some of gettin' snowed in
We closed up the camp for the winter
headed down for the valley below
our gear all a jingle on two loose pack horses
that trailed us along through the snow
We each drove a steer out in front
and they forged at our lines like a fish
as we kept 'em hard tied or dallied
they bounced like a dog on a leash
We came to the edge of the mountain
where the trail became steep and narrow
straight down I could see that old river windin'
and it chilled my bone to the marrow
The old man was out in the lead
pushin' his now nearly trail broke steer
the pack outfit in between us
while I brought up mine in the rear
He came to a big pine on the outside
with a limb that was spannin' the track
the bank had slid off on the inside
but it was way to late to turn back
He leaned down low and forward
and passed beneath it all right
then his horse stepped over the rope
that for a second wasn't quite tight
The steer up ahead took the slack out
and it gave that old pony a jolt
then he came apart at the stitchin'
just like a green broke colt
That old man was settin' up purty
not havin' no thoughts for himself
just tryin' to keep the whole thing together
there on that postage stamp shelf
I don't know just how it happened
all I could do was set there and stare
next thing I saw was the horse upside down
with all four feet in the air
As I jumped down and made my way forward
the horse 'rose and quiverin' stood
where mashed 'tween some rocks was the old man
and he sure wasn't lookin' too good
I straightened him some and I listened
to hear a gurgelin' breath
his heart was beatin' but faintly
and I was scared about half to death
I must have started in babblin''
and I might have been bawlin' some too
I'd never seen a man hurt that bad
and I didn't know much what to do
Suddenly his eyes came wide open
his gnarly hand reached out for me
and he whispered, "Don't be frettin' son
cause real soon now I'm gonna be free"
"Go fetch my sack from the pack horse
be careful it don't come unrolled
there's a bottle in there and some blankets
this old ground sure is gettin' cold"
I ran and I stumbled and got it
as I covered him he gave me a look
said, "Somewhere there in that bedroll
there's a little brown leather-bound book"
When I'd dug around and found it
and placed it in his old weathered hand
He whispered, "I knew I'd go someday
but this wasn't just how I'd planned "
He handed it back sort of careful
Said, "Son, I aint seein' too good
there's some things in there I'd like
you read to me if you would"
Shaking, I unstrapped the cover
my fingers half blue from the cold
and was some surprised when I saw
the books of a Bible unfold.
It was old and a little dog-eared
but appeared to have had lots of care
and the many notes in the margins
said a student had once been there
He said, "There's a table in front
that'll help you to find all the books
I know it might seem complicated
but it aint as hard as it looks".
I'd never been much on religion
the Bible never took time to read
told him I thought I should be ridin'
"A Doctor is most what you need"
But he asked me to stay and read to him
and I did both chapter and verse
for deny'n a dyin' mans wish
seemed to me would be much worse
He'd whisper the scriptures he wanted
some awkward I'd find 'em at last
then I began to rush with my reading
for 'twas plain he was fadin' away fast
I read all about the great ransom
of his son that God held so dear
so that one day all of mankind
could live in a world without fear
I read of the prophesies foretold
that are being fulfilled now today
giving us all hope for the future
in our creators kind loving way
I read of the great resurrection
where the graves will give up their dead
He whispered, "I hope to see you there son"
and that was the last thing he said
------------------------
I covered him and rode to headquarters
to ride straight back the boys all agreed
When I told 'em the story they were amazed
no one thought that the old man could read
Now I've pondered a lot on that evenin'
and just lately I've begun to see
The words he had me read for his comfort
weren't as much for him -- as they were for me
* * *
© 2003, Les Buffham
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
Cowboy from the Rockies
He came down from Colorado with his war bag in his hand
Stepped down from that Greyhound to the deep West Texas sand
Called a taxi from the station, got a motel on the row
Did a hundred one armed pushups and he did 'em nice and slow
He was gray around the temples and his back was slightly bowed
From some chute fightin' Brahmer that somewhere he had rode
But when he looked into the mirror what he saw there made him grin
Cause this old cowboy from the Rockies would ride in Texas again
He got up early the next morning, rosined down his bull rope with care
As he thought about the rough stock, he knew Dry Valley would be there
Dry Valley was an old Brahmer that he'd tried one time before
Not a fighter nor a cheater but a cowboys dream and more
He knew if he could draw Dry Valley and just straddle him for eight
The Eagle should fly for him down at the pay gate
He got to the fairgrounds early, feelin' lucky for the game
But was still surprised to see it, Dry Valley's number by his name
And when he got down on him and they pulled his rope up tight
He was talkin' to that Brahmer, tellin' him, "Let's do it right"
Then the rodeo announcer said a few kind words of him,
"This old cowboy from the Rockies will ride in Texas again."
That old bull must have been listenin' cause when they opened up the gate
He came out like a mighty twister and that cowboy wasn't late
He came a hookin' with his toes out, pullin' himself up on his hand
And you could see beneath that brahmer the folks a sittin' in the stand
That bull was droppin' both his shoulders, they were inches from the ground
He was jumpin' high and slingin' that big old head of his around
That cowboy's mind was in the middle of what he was doin'to say the least
In his battle now to straddle this mighty humped backed beast
That old bull he was a bowin' so low his belly drug the sand
And he made the whole earth tremble every time that he would land
They finally blew the whistle, he threw his wraps and he stepped down
Tipped his hat to old Dry Valley and when he turned around----
There was a fightin' bull in the arena, where he came from we don't know
But he was right there and upon him and he had no place to go
When the dust began to settle and the boys all rushed around
The blood from that old cowboy was flowing to the ground
He whispered to the chute boss, reached up and pulled him near
And said, "I've got some words that I want you to hear"
"Send my winning's to Colorado, I've a little grandson there,
He's laid up in Denver General, down in intensive care
He needs an operation then they say that he'll be fine
But the kids don't have the money, so please just send them mine"
Then as the pallor came upon him several of those cowboys cried
As he took a deep breath and quietly he died
Then that rodeo announcer, with tears streamin' to his chin
Said, "This old cowboy from the Rockies just rode in Texas again"© 1992, Les Buffham
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
Driftin' with a Song
Guess I'll always be a drifter
And as I ride along
Over each new ridgeline
I'll find another song
It was so pretty in Montana
My leavin' it was slow
That's why I found a flower
There bloomin' in the snow
I heard a whistle blowin'
That made me want to roam
That night train down the Yellowstone
Take'n a lonesome lover home
Learned of a lady down in Idaho
That's now in their hall of fame
She was the Queen of Diamonds
Kitty Wilkins was her name
I drifted through Wyoming
On trails that have grown dim
There in the blue shadows
Below that old Kinney rim
Then I heard a dyin' cowman
With the boys all gathered round
Asking them to put him down
Way up on the high ground
In the Uncompahgre valley
There's a legend to this day
Where the locals are still searching
For the bones of Benny Gray
My pack string close behind me
Enchanted land ahead
I rode Jornada del Muerto
The journey of the dead
On that well known Gray Ranch
In an unforgiving land
I saw reflections in the eyes
Of a lonely windmill man
Heard a story of a dreamer
Who rode here long ago
Like him I am now only
Ten miles from Mexico
Over there in the lone Star
Where the music leans to swing
There the flower of South Texas
Is the rose that blooms in spring
On down to Matamoros
Sleepy little town I know
There's a silver buckle shining
by the Gulf of Mexico
Then somewhere in my driftin'
The trail it took a bend
Wound up in Arizona
Where I listened to the wind
Out in California
Seen the sun set in the sea
And my friend Mike Hernandez
Spin his pony once for me
With those Santana's blowin'
'Til the late spring when they end
I heard someone a singin'
About the woman of the wind
I rode up a wide valley
Where the hills were lush and green
There were echo's of a love song
All along the San Jouquin
Now as I am a ridin' along
The memories they all call
And one that will not leave me
Is Belle of the Cowboy's Ball
Guess I'll always be a drifter
And as I ride along
Over each new ridgeline
I'll find another song
© 2007, Les Buffham
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
Wet 'n Wishin'
The wind blows your fire around
'Til it won't keep nothin' hot
You're eatin' beans that's full of grit
Cause they're all that you've got
It's rained on you the last three days
And you're bacon's turnin' green
Your water tastes like sulphur
And your horses are all mean
Your teepee's been a leakin'
Since the hard rain first begin
You find a dry spot for your bed
Then have to move again
Your flour's full of weevils
And your canned goods nearly gone
Your blankets are all damp
So you shiver dark 'til dawn
Then your dogs both go to lookin'
Down across the foggy swail
Thru the gloom a pack string's comin'
Up that steep and rocky trail
The sight of another human being's
Near enough to make you weep
And you're wishin' you were punchin' cows
Instead of herdin' sheep.© 2006, Les Buffham
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
When we asked Les about the inspiration for this poem, he told us, "I was settin' by my morning fire sipping on my first cup of the day waiting to watch the sun come up. The wind came up and started to blow the fire around. That little feller up there under my hat started scratchin' on his chalkboard..."
Three Days and Forty Fires
In the spring of thirty seven
I was but a young buckarooRidin’ for Able and Coltner
was part of a top notch crew
We’d gathered up the Humboldt range
all the way down to the Calico
Bunched our cuts and started them
each way that they should goOne cowboy there by the name of Jack
who was some older than the restWhen it came to punchin’ cattle
I would have guessed he was the bestThrew rawhide like an old vaquero
brought the bovine down from the rocky rimRode two rein in a silver spade
and we boys all looked up to himHe’d packed his roll and headed West
as he was always on the roamOn to the town of Paradise
which sometimes he called sweet homeHis pack horse was a snorty sort
had learned a few bad manners wellWe rode with him ‘til he’d lined out
just a ways from the guard corralIt was the very next morning
more by his own design than chanceJack’s saddle horse turned up alone
by the gate at the old home ranchCaught up by an Indian boy
Joe Bob, who really meant no harmTurned him loose with the remuda
and hung the saddle in the barnTwelve days later the cow boss
who happened to pass byWalked into the saddle room
and Jack’s old kak there caught his eyeThe Indian boy was questioned then
and when the word was quickly spreadWe gathered at the old home ranch
with our young hearts all filled with dreadThe spring rains had been a fallin’
and the ground all around was wetWe back tracked Jack’s horse real easy
to a scene I’d not soon forgetSix miles out from the guard corral
he must have stopped to set his packsAnd somehow there his hip was broke
we figured that out from the tracksHe dragged himself for eight long miles
about three nights and three long daysAnd built forty fires of sagebrush
as he crawled ‘long the rocky waysWe found him near the guard corral
where he’d taken his final restHis hat pulled down to shade his eyes
and his hands folded ‘crost his chestThat day was branded on my mind
how hard he fought and how he triedThree days and nights and forty fires
until at last he finally diedNo shelter from the nights wet cold
or from the daytime’s scorching heatDrank water from an old cow track
that came with the rain and the sleetWhile his life passed before his eyes
one time his courage did not failThe story told, with signs so bold
and ashes cold, along the trailThree days and nights
—and forty firesThree days and nights
—and forty fires© 2001, Les Buffham
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
Les told us that the poem's inspiration "...came when a friend of mine, Dave Cattour, who is one of the prime contractors to the BLM to gather wild horses, told me parts of the story and gave me a name of one of the cowboys who was there. The fellow's name was Buck Tipton, and I was able to locate and interview him over the phone. I taped the conversation and it became one of my greatest treasures. This poem is his story."
Writes & Co-Writes
Volume 1
Les Buffham and Friends
Fourteen songs written and co-written by Les Buffham, tracks from CDs as noted
includes:
Nobody Kisses Their Horse Anymore, Riders of the Purple Sage, Best of the West CD (Ley/Buffham)
Below the Kinney Rim, New West, Wild Places (Fleming/Buffham)
Hour Before Dawn, Riders of the Purple Sage, Living the Cowboy Dream (Ley/Buffham)
Queen of Diamonds, Jean Prescott, Prairie Flowers (Buffham)
Chow's On, New West, Buckaroo Dream (Fleming/Buffham)
Flower of South Texas, Riders of the Purple Sage, Living the Cowboy Dream (Ley/Buffham)
Ain't it Amazin' What a Little Tequila Can Do, Buckaroo Balladeers, Tehachapi (Martinez, Buffham)
Amigo, Belinda Gail, Lass of the San Joaquin (Fleming/Buffham)
Spin That Pony, Dave Stamey, If I Had a Horse (Stamey/Buffham)
Eyes of a Windmill Man, Kip Calahan, Dust Devil Angel (Calahan/Buffham)
Montana Lullaby, Les Buffham, Below the Kinney Rim (Buffham)
Woman of the Wind, Paul Hendel, Woman of the Wind (Ley/Buffham)
San Joaquin Love Song, George Dickey, Keeping the Dream Alive (Dickey/Buffham)
Cowboy Blessing, Dave Stamey and Les Buffham, Below the Kinney Rim (Fleming/Buffham)CD $17.00 postpaid
Send check or money order to:
Les Buffham
28278 Alaminos Dr.
Saugus CA 91350
Below the Kinney Rim
Includes:
Below the Kinney Rim
The Little Hand
Fascination
A Cowboy Callin'
Montana Lullaby
The Marshall
Sermon on the Mountain
Equine Inclinations
The Auction Fly
We Rode Away
Twin Opposites
Lonesome
Mother Oh Dear Mother
Ballad of Little Joe Carr
Flowers in the Snow
Good Enuff
Dad's Old Cowhorse
Just an Old Cowboy (The Poem)
Cowboy Blessing - Most Important Thing (Song Poem)Read the liner notes at Chuckwagons Best.
CD $14.00 postpaid
Cassette $12.00 postpaidSend check or money order to:
Les Buffham
28278 Alaminos Dr.
Saugus CA 91350or order online from the General Store at Chuckwagon's Best
Just an Old Cowboy
Includes:
Letter to God
Listen'n
How the Cowboy Wears His Hat
Cowcamp Serenade
Ragged Mountain School
Ode to the Cowman
Concert on the Mount
Old Whitey
Invitation to Tea
The Clone
The Secret
What I Use to Do
Uncle Henry and the Fox
High Sierra
A Day in the Life of a Cowboy
Strawberry Roan
Figures of Confusion
Curse of the Poet
Sayin' Goodbye
Just an Old Cowboy"Strawberry Roan" (traditional) Curley Fletcher, Mike Fleming, guitar
"Sayin' Goodbye" melody and guitar by Mike Fleming
"Cowcamp Serenade" melody and guitar, Rick Cunha
All other material written and composed by Les Buffham 1994
Read the liner notes at Chuckwagon's Best.
Cassette only
$12.00 postpaidSend check or money order to:
Les Buffham
28278 Alaminos Dr.
Saugus CA 91350or order online from the General Store at Chuckwagon's Best
Cowboys 'Round the Campfire
Les Buffham is a part of this CD, along with Larry Maurice, Dave Stamey, and Sourdough Slim. Selections by Les are:
Below the Kinney Rim
The Belle of the Cowboy's Ball
Fascination
The Auction Fly
Flowers in the Snow
Montana Lullaby
Cowboy BlessingRead our review of the CD here and visit Chuckwagon's Best for more information, audio samples, and to purchase the CD.
About Les Buffham (continued from above):
Buffham's album Just an Old Cowboy was nominated for AWA Best Cowboy Poetry Album while he was concurrently nominated for Cowboy Poet of the Year. He recently was again among the finalists for the Storyteller / Humorist Award.
Les has been frequently published by American Cowboy Magazine, The Fence Post, Cowboy Magazine and Rope Burns, among many others. His songs have been recorded by top performers in Western Music including Jean Prescott, New West, Belinda Gail, The Gillette Brothers, Butch Falk, Dave Stamey, Riders of the Purple Sage, and Curly Musgrave.
Performing throughout the West, Les has opened for Don Edwards and Waddie Mitchell, the Sons of the San Joaquin and the Riders in the Sky. For several summer seasons he appeared as an integral part of the daily show at the Lazy H Chuckwagon in Golden, Colorado. Les has a TV commercial that has run for three years and he is featured in Waddie Mitchell's video production, Poets and Pards.
Thanks to Chuckwagon's Best and thanks to Sandra Herl and WorkingCowboy.com for some of the photos and
information on this page, shared from their page featuring Les Buffham.
Contact Information
Les Buffham
28278 Alaminos Dr.
Saugus CA 91350
661 713 2011
The BAR-D Roundup | Cowboy Poetry Week
Authors retain copyright to their work; obtain an author's
permission before using a poem in any form.
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