Cowboy Poetry and Music and More at the BAR-D Ranch



Featured in "The Big Roundup," an anthology of the best of

The Day of the Cowboy

I was sitting in a cafe down around Cheyenne
when this city slicker came in with a couple of friends.
He walked by my table with a silly grin on his face
and shouted "Hey this here's a cowboy place."

As these fellas sat down, one said, "This is a hoot!"
They stared at us boys in our hats and our boots.
One fella turned to me, smiled and said,
"Don't you know the day of the cowboy has long been dead?"

I sat there quietly and finished my meal,
I knew they was tourists, it was no big deal.
When I got up to leave, they made a few comments of course
like, "Hey cowboy, where'd you park your horse?"

I could see they were starting to cause quite a fuss,
that's when me and my buddy decided to make them hush.
"Young fellar," I said as we stood by their table,
"you should leave this place while you're still good and able,

'cause these here boys think you're quite a joke,
they could rope and brand you in a single stroke.
So if you don't want a brand on your rear
finish your steak and get out of here."

They apologized quickly and fled in the night.
The boys whooped and cheered as they drove out of sight.
I can't believe they ordered steak and said,
the American cowboy has long been dead!

L. M. Larson


Come around boys, and listen to what I say
You're all going to kill yourselves for fifty dollars pay
Ridin' that herd, well, it ain't no joke
It's twelve weeks of misery, do you hear me cowpokes?

It's up before sunrise and hours in a saddle
You'll eat plenty of dirt, trailin' them cattle
You'll sleep on the ground with creepy things that bite
And more likely than not, you'll get into a fight

The food is brown and doesn't taste very well
For Cooky's been known to cook bats from Hell
Take my advice, don't go on the drive
Stay here in town boys, at least you'll stay alive.

I know, I know, I'm wasting my breath
Because you boys think you can outwit death
All I know is, I'll never ride away
With them ol' cattle, for a few dollars pay.

L. M. Larson
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without permission.



I pull up to the rodeo grounds, I'm runnin' really late
"Hurry up partner," I heard calling from the gate
"You drew the pick," shouts a cowboy from the chutes above
The tension burns as I whip out my glove

"The bulls are meaner than a junk yard dog,
Cody found out, He's still in a fog."
I grab my rope and put on my vest
Say a little prayer and hope for the best

The crowd's applaudin' for the last bull ride
As I climb the chutes to find my bull inside
I straddle the critter so big and strong
Surely I can stay for eight, it ain't that long

"Come on, you can do it,'" shout the boys near the gate
"Buckle down on that critter, you'll be good for eight."
I nod my head, the gate busts open
I spur the bull good, I'm still a hopin'

That bull spins me around and jumps in the air
I'm gasping for breath, but that bull don't care
Around and around I spin like an ol' tire
I hope eight seconds goes by before I expire

I can feel the rope start to release from my fist
Six seconds, seven seconds; "Please don't let me miss."
I hit the ground running, gettin' gored ain't no fun
The judges say, "Sorry kid, it's over and done."

Back to the truck and out the gate I go
There's another rodeo tomorrow, I'll give 'em a show
Tomorrow I'll put on my gear and ride
Ain't no bull goin' to take away my pride.

L. M. Larson
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without permission.



My Sweet Beth

You young bucks may think I'm a fool
But listening to you talk, I know it's not true
You speak of loves lost and found
I tell you boys, you ain't been around

I had me a gal, a pretty young thing
With a smile that made my heart sing
We laughed and talked underneath moonlit skies
And vowed to love one another until we died.

Then came that night when my baby was born
The wind was howlin' a frightful mourn
"Chester," she said, "I can't do this alone.
Go for the Doctor, you must leave home."

So out in the blizzard, I took off and rode
Twenty miles to go in the freezing cold.
The Doc grabbed his bag, and in the buggy he jumped
But when we got back to the cabin, my heart skipped a thump.

My sweet angel lay on the bed, so quiet and still
"Beth, my Beth, please answer if you will."
"I'm sorry," said Doc, "She's no longer in pain.
The baby was breech, it was much to sustain."

I kissed her lips for the very last time
"I shouldn't have left, the faults all mine.
My wife and my baby, wouldn't have died
If I would have been here," I shouted and cried.

It's been twenty years since that awful night
My son would've been your age, if I guess that right
You boys talk about cheap women and lust
But real love is everlasting, from dust to dust.

L. M. Larson
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without permission.



The Spooky Ol' Mare

Way down south of San Antone
Lived a cowboy who swore he could never be thrown
People would come from miles around
To watch the "Buster" leap and bound

One day a big, bay mare appeared
Sleek and shiny and full of fear
The cowboy stayed calm and gently talked to the mare
He wasn't worried, he hadn't a care

As he eased in the saddle, the mare stood still
He adjusted his weight, the mare knew the drill
He picked up the reins and gave a little tap
The mare took a step, there's nothing wrong with that

When they were just about a mile from home
That mare decided, he should be thrown
She tossed her head and gave a little hop
The cowboy knew that something was up

She bucked and pitched and did a big belly roll
She stomped and she kicked like the devil had her soul
She let out a snort and with a twist and shout
The cowboy went flying through the doubt

He found himself face down in the dirt
His Stetson was crinkled and he'd ripped his shirt
The mare stood with a sheepish look on her face
She knew she won, she had taken first place

The cowboy got up and adjusted his hat
He grabbed the reins and started to laugh
"You crazy fool" he said to the horse
"You know you're going to take me home, of course"

Once again the cowboy mounted the mare
"Just try that again," he said with a dare
But that spooky ol' mare knew she had won
And away they rode, the day's work was done.

L. M. Larson
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without permission.



In 2003, L. M. (Laura) published a  book called Legend of Prairie Island.  Laura says "Whether you are into scouting, hunting, camping or just like to hear stories around a campfire LEGEND OF PRAIRIE ISLAND is a book for you.  The story takes place during the Great Depression and unfolds as Pa shoots the Enchanted deer of the Plains Indians. The only person that can save Pa is an ancient Medicine Man. This fictional book is full of Indian lore, adventure and mystery.  Even though the book was written for pre-teens, adults find the book fascinating. This book has a 5-star rating on and a 4-star rating on and has been sold out on  You can also find the book on the publisher's page: I hope you will check out the sites and enjoy the book." The book is available in an electronic version as well, and you can read an excerpt on the publisher's site (just search for "Legend of Prairie Island.") 



 What's New | Poems | Search

 Features | Events  

The BAR-D Roundup | Cowboy Poetry Week

Poetry Submissions 

Subscribe | Newsletter | Contact Us

  Join Us!


Authors retain copyright to their work; obtain an author's
permission before using a poem in any form. is a project of the Center for Western and Cowboy Poetry, Inc., a Federal and California tax-exempt non-profit 501 (c) (3) organization.  

Site copyright information