About Margo Imes
The Good Mother
It was time to fetch the cattle home
From off the Flint Hills grass,
We strung up a panel catch pen
And hoped that it would pass,
We saddled up the ponies,
All day we rode 'em hard
To gather all the cattle in
And pen 'em in that yard.
Amid the blowing and bawling
We sorted big from small,
And loaded up according,
'Till we thought we had 'em all.
Back home on winter pasture
We turned the trailers out;
One little heifer stuck around,
Couldn't budge her with a shout.
She watched as little babies
Hopped out and paired with mom,
Then eyed the empty trailer
And promptly lost her calm.
All night she stood and bawled
Her grief 'till it would break your heart:
It didn't take a genius
To know we'd torn a pair apart.
The only place the babe could be
Was back there in the Hills,
So we loaded up and headed back,
Me and Danny Wills.
We rode that pasture half a day
'Til Danny sighed and said,
"If she left a calf behind her here,
It's more than likely dead."
We'd sat ourselves to rest a spell
In the shadow of the truck
When of a sudden Dan sat up,
Said, "Can you believe the luck?"
He pointed to a clump of grass
That sported two red ears;
Said, "That's just the darndest thing
That I have seen in years!
He's stayed right where she put him,
He never made a sound;
But thanks to her persistence
Her baby has been found!"
© 2001 by Margo U. Imes. All rights reserved. May be reproduced or performed by written permission, with the provision that the author is credited.
(Posted also in the collection of poems about
Cowboy Moms and Grandmoms)
The Life of a Cowboy
Barbed wire cuts,
Holes in your boots,
Troubles and woes;
Mud in the cow lot
Up to your knees,
Noses that run
And fingers that freeze--
Such is the life of a cowboy.
Horses that eat up
A fortune in feed,
Then won't come to your call
When a horse is your need;
The bank's sending overdrafts,
The crop's underpriced,
And the budget won't stretch
However it's sliced--
Such is the life of a cowboy.
Old truck that won't start,
And the phone line is down,
If I had any sense
I'd move into town;
But anyone thinking I'll go
Is plumb out of his gourd--
Why, without all these "troubles"
I'd be out-and-out bored:
I'm living the life of a cowboy!
© Copyright 1998 by Margo U. Imes. All rights reserved. May be reproduced or performed by written permission, with the provision that the author is credited.
Amigo's not a big horse,
He stands just fourteen-two;
His body's nicely rounded out,
His hide a buckskin hue.
But mighty is as mighty does,
It's not tied in with size;
You know Amigo's quite a horse
When you look him in the eyes.
There's just no way to catch him
When he wants not to be caught;
But he'll stand his ground and let you
When your lesson you've been taught.
He will nicely mind his manners
Once the halter's on his head,
And politely follow after,
Wherever he is led.
Then when you've got the saddle on
And swing up expectantly,
There's just no way to move him;
He's planted like a tree.
When you finally give up trying
And slump down in your seat,
He'll step right out so quick and smart
Because he knows he had you beat.
At end of day, with the halter off,
He runs laughing at his joke;
For when it comes to spirit,
Amigo never has been broke!
© Copyright 1998 by Margo U. Imes. All rights reserved. May be reproduced or
performed by written permission, with the provision that the author is credited.
Country Road Rage
There's a mile or so of country road
that runs right by our place,
I wish that I could tell you
that its travelers leave no trace;
But some folks think the great outdoors
is one big garbage pile,
And give their trash a careless fling
while cruising down our mile.
So twice a year, in spring and fall,
we pull on leather gloves
And go out to pick up ditch debris,
a job that no one loves.
You'd be amazed if you could see
the stuff we find out there:
The paper trash from fast food meals,
tires and tapes, and underwear,
Empty packs for cigarettes,
soda bottles, pieces of tin,
Cartons, cassettes, coolers and caps,
Bottles for beer and whiskey and gin,
Bags of leaves, unwanted mail,
Discarded chairs, a video,
And some things best not mentioned
on this family-rated show.
So, if you're someone who's tossed your trash
beside a country road,
I hope that reincarnation's for real;
and you come back as a toad!
© Copyright 2001 by Margo U. Imes. All rights reserved. May be reproduced or performed by written permission, with the provision that the author is credited.
I don't like wearing brand new jeans,
stiff and blue,
It takes a heap 'o washing
to achieve that softer hue;
And finding that new cowboy hat
sure isn't fun,
You've got to try on near a hundred
to find the perfect one.
You've a thousand miles to go
Before they'll break just right
'round the ankle and the toe;
But the worst--the very worst--
you'll agree with me, of course,
Is the trouble that you'll go through
breaking in a brand new horse!
© Copyright July, 2002 by Margo U. Imes. All rights reserved. May be reproduced or performed by written permission, with the provision that the author is credited.
About Margo Imes:
I've been a poet all my life, taught some school along the way, raised kids, colts, and calves while living in the country, and since retirement am enjoying trail riding, quilting, and performing at cowboy poetry gatherings.
My book, PonyTales, can be ordered through my website, www.margoimes.com. I would be happy to hear from folks who love poetry.
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