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Michael "Coyote" Schroll

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About Michael "Coyote" Schroll
A Few Poems
Book and CD

Contacting Michael "Coyote" Schroll

 

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About Michael "Coyote" Schroll

WYOMING COWBOY POET

Michael "Coyote" Schroll

Michael "Coyote" Schroll is a 4th generation Westerner. He is a graduate of the University of Wyoming, with a degree in Communications and the Performing Arts. Michael is a water color artist painting mostly Western themes and trout flys. "Horse Tucker" is his faithful companion, and if close to Cheyenne, you may spot them riding over the high plains in pursuit of Western Adventure. Michael is a Wrangler-Guide and the "Resident Cowboy Poet" for the Terry Bison Ranch in South East Wyoming. His latest passion is a horse named "Sweet Water" a BLM Mustang he adopted and is now patiently "gentling."

Michael's poems are the words of a Cowboy, they give his audiences a glimpse into how the West was, and how it continues to be. "Cowboy Poetry is an art form that must be heard to fully enjoy its depth and grittiness. The spoken Cowboy word is a living tradition, going back for generations. Cowboys, siting by the campfire, spun "Windies" to entertain and impress each other. The practice would help pass the lonely nights, reminding them of the loves they left behind and the sweet promise of a better tomorrow." The stories Michael tells are are filled with a deep passion for the "Cowboy Way" and the free Western lifestyle he lives. Some of his rhymes are serious, some sad and some will have you rolling on the floor.

Michael is dedicated to his Western Heritage, knowing the long line of family that struggled to help form the West "Is something to be proud of." A business man and Cowboy, Michael "Coyote" Schroll lives the Western life, like a man truly from Wyoming.

From an official bio

A Few Poems

AT THE AIRPORT
THE COWBOY POET
THE COWBOY AND THE COWGIRL
HIGH ON A HILL
SMUDGED GLASS
FRIGHT
A WILD PLACE

 

AT THE AIRPORT

"He's got a bomb!" She yelled out loud.
"It's somewhere in his pants!"
Up against the wall she screams
"We cannot take a chance!"

She probed me with that wand up close
Went off just like a bell.
"It's jail for you and no way out,
You terrorist from hell!"

"It's just them steel shanks in my boots."
I pleaded for my life.
"Take 'em off and walk back through."
Her heart was cold as ice.

Stockin'd foot, a crowd around
I tried it one more time.
Them bells and whistles sang their song,
"My flight I'll miss real fine!"

"Up against the wall," She says
"You no good terrorist!
Get the cuffs, we'll lock him up,
Just slap 'em on his wrists."

I empty out my pockets now,
Coins and keys and such.
Weren't nothin' left I figured now
I never had that much.

That damn machine went off again!
The crowd began to build.
"It's him!" She yells, "Remove that shirt!
That Cowboy hat is filled!"

"There's dynamite or some such thing,
It must be in your pants!
Take 'em off!" She said to me,
"We cannot take the chance!"

The crowd's intense and lookin' on,
My buckle's on the floor.
No shirt, no boots, and now my pants,
Embarrassin' for sure.

I walk back through that cattle chute
My skivvies all I had.
This airport travel ain't much fun
In fact, it's pretty bad.

No bells or whistles screamed this time
Slipped through without no fuss.
I think by Gawd it's easier,
Just to take the bus.

Michael "Coyote" Schroll 6/98
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

THE COWBOY POET

He stood there, shakin' in his boots
That, Cowboy Poet Man.
Three hundred eyeballs starin' back
Not knowin' if he can.

The first ten words out his mouth
Was three full octives high.
"I'd like to tell a story here,
About Wyomin' sky."

His nerves was tangled, tense and stretched
His vocal cords was raw.
Wished he'd used that restroom more
Them folks'es eyes he saw.

He'd done these poems a hundred times,
"Was good ones." Most had said.
He felt his neck a warmin' up
His skin was gettin' red.

"Wyomin' has the finest skies
Won't tell you no dang lies.
I've sat there on my horse at night
And heard them Coyote's cries."

Somehow there was a diff - er - ence
When talkin' to the mirror.
Havin' "real" folks watchin' now,
Had brought on such a fear.

"They're blue with lots of clouds sometimes.
Pink and orange they be."
(He wished he'd used that restroom more,
He REALLY had to........... )

"Wyomin' has the finest skies
I watch the sun at rise.
It gets real warm and hot to boot
And that brings out them flies."

A tiny laugh he heard from far
A giggle now and then.
Maybe he should do that one
About the "toothless hen."

"Wyomin' has the finest skies
At moon and stars demise.
The sun comes up and heats the land,
Ah,,,, Wyomin' Skies."

His first one done and over with
He started buildin' steam.
Confidence was growin' strong
His poems was good, and clean.

As time went on, relax he did
And told a couple more.
Heard 'em sigh and even laugh
He liked this stuff for sure.

A Cowboy Poet's what he was
Up on that stage so big.
"What nerves"" he says, "I ain't got none,
Now....find me my next gig."

  Michael "Coyote" Schroll 1/99
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

THE COWBOY AND THE COWGIRL

The cowgirl looked into his eyes
He took her breath away.
She knew he rode for X BAR 9
No words that she couldn't say.

His clothes were dusty, hat was stained
The chaps he wore were old.
Said he'd ridden half the day
"You're all alone I'm told."

She smiled at him and answered, "Yes."
Her soft eyes sparkled clear.
Rich hair fell like water falls
Days heat, she felt so near.

He stepped down off that horse he rode
Held his hat in hand.
His face was weathered by the wind
'Bout 6 foot he did stand.

"I'm glad you stopped." she said to him
"Not easy all alone."
Somethin' 'bout this man she saw
And the horse he called, "Old Roan."

He felt a sudden warmth for her
Eyes were bright and clear.
Her lips were soft and moist to touch
He brought her gently near.

Respond she did and held him tight
She looked into his face.
The cowgirl knew her heart would melt
It fluttered and it raced.

He bent on down and kissed her cheek
Took her essence in.
The cowboy knew he'd found his place
Romance could now begin.

Michael "Coyote" Schroll 11/98
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

HIGH ON A HILL

They'd ridden hard for hours now
Had made the highest crest.
She followed close, and watched him climb
They'd work, and then they'd rest.

Their horses lathered, pulling wind
They climbed and made the grade.
Was up the hill and down again
Their strength, would just not fade.

The Cowgirl watched the Cowboy ride
He took control and went.
She followed closely by his side
Their horses almost spent.

She'd take the lead for just a bit
He'd follow right behind.
Was like a game, a dance perhaps
They'd want no other kind.

Were miles 'till they came to rest
That Cowboy and the Girl.
They'd traveled East, then gone south
They made it 'round the world.

Was time to sleep, recuperate
To find a place and rest.
Their journey's pleasent memories
Had found the highest crest.

  Michael "Coyote" Schroll 1/99
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

SMUDGED GLASS

Almost thought I saw unreal,
A moon so bright and clear.
Was in the East and hung so low,
It seemed so very near.

I think on back long years ago,
When you and I were new.
Lookin' through a nose smudged glass,
A moon just seen by two.

That night was calm as I recall,
Was tender and so slow.
The candles burned and music flowed,
Our love we came to know.

I miss the look, deep in your eyes,
That smile you always had.
Not much in this old cowboy's life,
Has turned so very bad.

It's missin' now, that naked truth,
We had it once upon.
The moon we saw and wondered at,
Has darkened, and it's gone.

  Michael "Coyote" Schroll 4/98
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

FRIGHT

MY GOD I HAD A FRIGHT TODAY,
WAS ONE OF THEM YOU FEAR.
THAT'S WHY I'M IN THIS SMOKY BAR,
A SUCKIN' ON THIS BEER.

WAS MIGHTY EARLY WHEN I LEFT,
A HEADIN' TO THE SOUTH.
UP THAT GREAT BIG BLUFFS YA SEE,
A BIT IN HORSES MOUTH.

WAS COLD YA KNOW, BUT NICE ENOUGH,
OUT RIDIN' ALL ALONE.
I COME UP ON THEM BUFFALER,
MY HORSE LET OUT A MOAN.

THEY LOOKED AT ME AS IF TO SAY,
"YOUR TREADIN' ON OUR TURF!
WE'LL MAKE YOU PAY FOR BEIN' HERE,
AND STOMP YOU IN THE EARTH!"

A COUPLE BULLS, WAS DIGGIN' SOD,
AND TOSSED IT IN THE AIR.
THEIR HORNS WAS SHARP, AND BLACK AS NIGHT,
FOR THAT, WE DIDN'T CARE!

QUICK THEY WAS TO CHARGE AT US,
MY HORSE TURNED TAIL AND RAN.
"YA THINK YOU'RE FAST ENOUGH OLD BOY?
MOVE FASTER IF YOU CAN!!!"

HE JERKED AROUND, MY HAT FELL OFF,
WAS LAYIN' IN THE DIRT.
THEM BUFFALER JUST AN STOMPED ON IT,
MAN THAT SURE DID HURT.

WE KEPT APART, WITH LOTS OF SPACE,
NOT KNOWIN' WHAT TO DO.
THEY WALKED ALL OVER MY NICE HAT,
AND MASHED IT IN THEIR GOO!

A PIECE OF TIME WENT BY REAL SLOW,
US WATCHIN' IN DISTRESS.
SOON IT WAS THEY'D HAD ENOUGH,
MY HAT, WAS JUST A MESS!

THAT'S WHY I'M SITTIN' IN THIS BAR,
SUCKIN' ON THIS BEER.
MY HAT'S ALL SMASHED, AND LOOKIN BAD,
NOW THAT'S MY BIGGEST FEAR.

  Michael "Coyote" Schroll 11/97
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

 

A WILD PLACE

I been there now, a few more times,
Each one was wilder yet.
That place they call Las Vegas see,
Lots of things to bet.

The first time, was with Lefty Brown,
Back in eighty four.
Swore right then 'twould be my last,
"Won't go back no more!"

But Lefty said, "This time we'll play,
At Craps or Twenty One.
Have some drinks and see a show,
"Come on, we'll have some fun."

We drove all night and half the day,
My pickup broke down twice.
We scrambled into town ya see,
And Lefty grabbed them dice.

Not know'n how to play this game,
I stood and watched a bit.
Money here, and money there,
Just weren't no place to sit.

Soon enough there's twenty guys,
A standin' round that ring.
Hundreds flyin' up and down,
And Lefty starts to sing!

"C'mon Baby, we want some help,
Old daddy needs new boots!"
Come out six, and hold that line,
Get hot, while Lefty shoots!"

There's chips, and Tens, and Fiftys too,
Stacked up all around.
Old Lefty turns them red dice loose,
Ya couldn't hear a sound.

Those dice hit green then bounced up high,
A floppin' in the air.
They hit the back and spun around,
That "Pit Boss" didn't care.

The crowd was hushed, their eyes looked on,
Them two cubes rolled and fell.
Not knowin' how to play the game,
Did we win? I couldn't tell.

I knew that somethin' wasn't right,
No cheerin' from the crowd.
Lefty looked at them two dice,
His eyes weren't none too proud.

All them chips and fifties too,
Just disappeared real quick.
Only me and Lefty stood,
That feller, and his stick.

The place they call Las Vegas see,
Is one more lesson learned.
My pickup truck, and Lefty, was
The only thing returned.

Michael "Coyote" Schroll 2/98
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

 

Book and CD

Click to view at Amazon.com  Where the Mustang's Show; From a Cowboy Heart, is the title of Schroll's book and CD of written and recorded verse. Have a visit to his site, sample some of his poetry, and order direct from his General Store at his site.

Contacting Michael "Coyote" Schroll

Michael "Coyote" Schroll has a great web site where you can buy his CD, find a large list of links, more poetry, and his appearance schedule.  You can also contact him at:

MIKSCO Publishing
P.O. Box 3164
Cheyenne,Wyoming
82003-3164
MIKSCO@prodigy.net

 

 

 

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