CowboyPoetry.com    Cowboy Poetry and Music and More at the BAR-D Ranch

NONA KELLEY CARVER
Mesa, Colorado
About
Nona Kelley Carver

 

One of

Lariat Laureate Runner Up

Recognized for her poem, To a Friend

 

 

 

 

 

To a Friend

When the shadows of the canyons
Purple down the lofty steeps,
It is then my heart remembers,
And a quiet feeling creeps
Deep into my lonely being,
Down inside this mortal's breast.
It's a longing for a haven
Where my weary soul finds rest.

When the colors of the sunset
Spread across a golden sky,
And the splendor of the heavens
Is beheld by every eye,
It is then I think of others
I have met along the trail,
And hold on to precious memories
Of a friend who will not fail

To reach out when I am hurting,
And rejoice when I am glad.
Who will comfort me in sorrow.
Who will weep when I am sad.
It is then I see dear faces
In the campfire's leaping flames...
Hear their voices and their laughter
As the wind calls out their names.

When my Maker lights His moonbeams,
And unveils each glowing star,
And I journey in my memory
To those loved ones near and far.
May the path He spreads before me
Lead to peace that will not end.
May you know you are remembered
As my loyal, faithful friend.

© 2002, Nona Kelley Carver
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

We asked Nona what inspired her to write this poem and she told us:

My husband and I were camping down along the Colorado River between Fisher Towers and Moab, Utah, with life-long friends.  As the sun began to set, and the red sandstone walls began to glow with deepened color, the words began to flow. Above us was one of those glorious sunsets that begin in Colorado, and spread over into Utah, Arizona and New Mexico with colors that are truly indescribable.

Family and friends are so important to us.  They share our joys and sorrows. In other words, they CARE.  That is the message I was trying to convey. Hopefully, it also expresses my thanks to our Creator for the beauty of the
earth.

We asked Nona why she writes Cowboy Poetry and she told us:

My father was a storyteller in the days when folks entertained themselves by gathering and sharing the events of their lives.  He loved humor, and could make even a mediocre story leaving you howling and holding your sides.  When I began to write as the result of being laid aside with an injury, writing from my background of ranching seemed the right thing to do.  Loving the sound of laughter, I have tried to create cowboy characters that amuse and mystify my audience.  Cowboys are a varied lot, and contribute much more than a food supply to America and the rest of the world.  Why not share their special brand of folklore and a few facts with my readers?

Cowboy Poetry allows me to share the heritage of the West with fellow poets as well as my audience.  Our Gatherings build friendships that cannot be found in other arenas.

 

Curley

Now Ole' Curley, he was balding quite a bit there on his head,
And he wore a big sombrero for its shade, or so he said.
One day Curley was out ridin' through the oak brush, 'neath the trees
When his mustang up and stumbled on an angry swarm of bees.

Now that mustang came uncoiled, as a fracus did ensue
When the king of all those buzzies just unleashed his stingeroo!
Curley cried and clawed for leather as the hazard did unfold,
While the mustang quit the country in a story yet untold.

As he sailed and snorted skyward, poor Ole' Curley took a dive,
And it is a mighty wonder that the ole' boy's still alive!
Now as luck and fate would have it, nearby was a roaring creek,
And Ole' Curley plunged right in there; drowned those buzzies, so to speak!

But the creek was swift and surly as it ran this way and that,
And to Curley's consternation, down the foamy sailed his hat.
Pony gone and him still sloshin' Curley turned toward his home,
While the sunbeams wrecked their havoc on his now uncovered dome.

Home was far beyond the prairie as he paused to slack his thirst,
His head took shades of ripe tomato with the skin about to burst.
His comrades saw him comin' as he struggled through the brush,
For his head shone like the beacon of Ole' Rudolf in a rush.

As the blisters and the peeling took their time to fade away,
Curley slowly eyed his mirror, and his face did show dismay!
For his last few hair had fallen as his scalp had slowly fried.
He felt much like an orphan calf whose mama had just died.

But his friends had heard of something in a bottle from the store
That was guaranteed like magic!  Curley's hair should curl once more!
So they ordered up a bottle, and they spread it on each night,
Trying hard to help Ole' Curley to escape his awful plight.

'Tho his head stayed smooth and shiny, like a bowling ball in play,
And he's bought a new sombrero just to shade his dome each day,
All the vapors of the mixture were inhaled up Curley's nose.
And, of course, I know you've guessed it!  That is where his new hair grows!

© 2001, Nona Kelley Carver
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.


Daddy's Hat 

Daddy's hat hangs on the elk horn that he used for a hat rack.
When I see it floods of memories come so softly creeping back.
Like the day I saw him crying, and he said my grandpa died.
My mama stood and held him until all his tears had dried.

I'd always seen my daddy as someone big and strong.
But in his heart, he still felt pain.  I'd known that all along.
He'd grieved the day he sold the ranch.  He knew we could not stay.
Though sweat and toil filled his life, he could not make it pay.

And Mom had worked so hard to help.  She did her very best.
But some lean years had settled in, and now she needed rest.
Yes, Daddy's hat had sheltered him through storm and rain and wind.
Although it had seen better days, he'd known it was his friend.

It's battered brim is soiled and bent. It's lining is quite worn.
He'd bought it new to celebrate the day that I was born.
He'd let me wear it as a child, when I would play "pretend"
That my stick horse was very fast, and I rode like the wind.

I'd seen him use it as a fan to coax the sparks to flame,
When a campfire was our only heat, and my pony had gone lame.
Once, he brought it full of eggs, when he'd found a hidden nest.
Then Mom had baked a special cake.  Mom's cooking was the best!

Sometimes the hat held a store-bought treat, when Dad had been to town.
Sugar cookies or lollipops might be hidden in it's crown.
Sometimes it was a cover for a package or surprise,
For Daddy knew of secret ways to light our childish eyes.

He'd wanted to replace the hat upon my wedding day,
But bought me a new dress instead, as giving was his way
Of letting me know that he cared, as it was time to part.
And, although he gave me as a bride, he kept me in his heart.

He'd done the very best he could, when times were mighty tough.
And gentleness had been his way when others found it rough.
So I will keep my daddy's hat, for the memories that hold
The links that bound us heart to heart, I treasure more than gold.

© 1997, Nona Kelley Carver
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

This poem is included in our collection of 
poems about Cowboy Dads and Granddads

 

Tic Tac Toe

Ole' Joey was a cowpoke who got too stiff and sore
To ride out with the others for the roundup any more.
Quite often he was lonely, sitting in the old bunkhouse,
So he caught and made into a pet, a little brown field mouse.

The mouse would entertain him, and he named him Tic Tac Toe,
And when Joey went out walking, in the pocket, Tic would go.
And one day when the others came from riding on the range,
They asked Joe to go with them to the meeting at the Grange.

Of course, he washed and combed and dressed, as the cowboys knew he would,
And he wore his favorite old coat that he always saved for good.
He forgot that Tic was hidden in the pocket of the thing,
As they started for the meeting house to hear some Madam sing.

Now, the first half of the evening, Tic just had some little naps.
But he woke and thought that iffen, he just maybe or perhaps
Could climb up to Joey's collar, he could get a better view.
As he would find out later, that was not the thing to do!

For as he began his climbing up toward Ole' Joey's hat,
Someone hollered, "There's a mouse!"  And that woke up the cat!
Ole' Tic commenced to running.  He feared greatly for his life!
He was leaping like a piper was there playing on his fife!

Now there was the fancy Madam in a long and silky dress.
He decided he would hide beneath the fabric's folds, I guess.
And you never heard such screaming, or a stomping on the floor.
He thought for sure the lady would just run right out the door!

So he leaped and caught her garter, circled 'round her ample thighs.
When he climbed her lacy undies, oh!  You should have seen her eyes!
First she fluttered, then she fainted, and she landed with a plop,
And Ole' Tic Tac Toe was thankful he was riding on the top!

He got stuck beneath her bosom in his struggle to get free,
And he got soaked up a little where the old gal spilled her tea.
She was gussied to the gullet, and in her awful fright,
She had busted from her corset that she had laced up too tight!

Poor Ole' Ticky made a U-turn, and was heading for her knees,
When she started to reviving and began to cough and sneeze.
In his haste to gain his freedom, Tic forgot about the cat,
Who chased him to the corner where he hid beneath a hat.

It was there that Joe retrieved him, tired and thirsty, scared and sore.
He was riding in the pocket when they headed out the door.
And Ole' Joey doesn't wonder, or even think it strange,
He has not been re-invited to the meetings at the Grange!

© 1997, Nona Kelley Carver, from Carver Country Cowboys
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

 

Good-Bye, Old Cowboy, Good-bye

I live in a small valley on the North side the Grand Mesa, the largest flat-topped mountain in the world.  The mountain's elevation averages 10,000 ft.  It has many natural lakes, and is covered with blue spruce and aspen.  Ranching is the main industry in our area, and many have grazing permits that allow the cattle to be on the mountain in the summer.  This not only feeds the cattle, but keeps the grass eaten down to help prevent forest fires.  We had lost two old cowboys who had spent much time in the saddle in the year following my own father's death, and the poem was written as the story of their lives.  I wrote a melody for it, so it has the following chorus: "Goodbye, Old Cowboy, Goodbye.  I will meet you someday in the sky.  I am sad, and I weep as we part.  You will always remain in my heart."

Good-Bye, Old Cowboy, Good-bye

Tonight one more lonesome old cowboy has followed Death down the long trail.
He was tired.  He felt wasted and weary.  He had heard his last lone coyote's wail.
So when Death came with soft invitation to go where he never had been,
The old cowboy said, "Sure!  I'll go with you to the sunlight beyond that last bend."

He had ridden long trails on his pony.  He had toiled and struggled and done.
His hands were all gnarled and wrinkled, and his eyes dimmed with each setting sun.
His mind still held savvy and sharpness, but his frame was all wizened and bent,
For his strength crept away like a shadow, and pain followed wherever he went.

He had once been a stalwart young rider, with muscles so supple and lean,
Who sang as he gathered the cattle and pushed then into valleys green.
He'd spent lots of time in the mountains, moving herds through the aspen and spruce
To the parks and the flat, grassy meadows, where cows grazed while their babies ran loose.

He had paused in his early young manhood, and had courted and won a dear wife.
His children had given him pleasure, and brought purpose into his life.
And always, he worked as a cowboy who had deep respect for the land.
Understanding the secrets of nature, he had reigned with a strong, gentle hand.

His throne was a worn leather saddle.  His Kingdom, what he could survey.
His pay, little more than a living, and a smile at the end of the day.
By the world's standards, poor; never wealthy...except in his number of friends,
Who grieve at the news of his passing down the trail to where peace never ends.

I feel sure as he entered the portal that leads on to the last Great Divide,
He caught up with his friends and his loved ones who preceded him on his last ride.
Sweet release from all pain and sad partings.  Only memories of days now gone past.
And there must have been joy on their faces as they welcomed him homeward at last.

© 1999, Nona Kelley Carver
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

 

An Old Cowboy's Prayer

I've been a long time coming, Lord,
But now, I'm riding in.
I see those gates just shining,
Where no pain is felt within.

I heard the angels singing, Lord,
When they came to escort me.
They let me ride my favorite mare
On in to eternity.

I'm thankful for my days on earth,
And my family there below.
They knew quite well my time had come,
But they grieved to see me go.

I ask that you give them comfort, Lord,
For I'm in a better place.
Please let them know that I rest in peace,
Thanks to your matchless grace.

I'm thankful that you blessed me with
A long and eventful life;
For a happy home with my children close,
And a loving and faithful wife.

Please let them know that I love them, Lord,
And all fear has been put aside.
I will wait for a grand reunion,
When they, too, cross the Great Divide.

© 2001, Nona Kelley Carver
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

 

Cowboy Bob's Dream

Cowboy Bob lived way out West, beyond where most folks go,
And trips to town were very few, with travel long and slow.
"What we need here is an air strip and a jaunty little plane.
Think of all the time we'd save and all the speed we'd gain!"

His wife was somewhat doubtful this would ever come to pass,
But listened as he shared his dreams of engines that burn gas.
"I'll clear a lengthy air strip on the ridge up near the sky,
Than go in search of a Cessna.  Next, I'll learn to fly."

Little Matthew heard these plans and vowed to lend some aid.
"I'll make the windsock, Daddy, the best one ever made!"
He'd seen his grandma's bloomers flappin' free upon the line,
And figured with a nail keg hoop and just a bit of twine,

A double-barreled windsock would blow full there on the breeze,
And Daddy's plane could float on down to a landing made with ease.
He'd have to sweet talk Grandma some, but knew that he would try,
And he would be successful.  He was the apple of her eye.

The strip was soon completed through the cedars and the sage,
And Cowboy Bob was countin' on convertin' calves to wage,
When Matthew got his windsock all mounted on a pole,
And sure enough, it billowed out as the post dropped in the hole.

But cowboy dreams and cowboy schemes must face reality,
For the banker man refused the loan with great finality.
So future plans were put on hold, but often we hear rumors
The windsock is still flyin' high Matt made from Grandma's bloomers!

© 2002, Nona Kelley Carver
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

 



Ashes on the Snow

The ranch house that had been home to four generations of Carver families was burned in a training event for the local volunteer fire department in December.  It had been condemned two years ago, as the wiring was no longer safe and the well had gone dry in the drought. The earliest entry in the abstract was a receipt from The U. S. Receiver, dated 1888.  Alfred's grandfather had purchased it in 1911.  It had survived about 25 years of being rented after we moved away.

Ashes on the Snow

 They burned the ranch house down today,
 Left ashes on the snow.
 Inspectors said the wires were bad.
 They said it had to go.
 Oh, we had sold it some time back.
 Sometimes one cannot stay...
 But lots of memories were there.
 They will not not go away.

 The logs were rotting, as logs do
 After many years.
 But they had held when times were tough
 And life was sweat and tears.
 Not that it was a fancy place.
 For style, it won no prize.
 But it was home, and that meant more
 to humble rancher's eyes.

 It had been moved up from the field
 To a place there on the hill.
 The memory of the warmth it held
 Will let me see it still.
 The biggest window faced the lane
 So we could plainly see
 When friends were coming by to talk
 Or share a cup of tea.

 Most entered by the kitchen door
 Where fresh bread might be baking.
 And we might sit out on the step
 When backs were tired and aching.
 The cow dog joined our reverie
 But he is long gone, too.
 He added pleasure to our days,
 And guarded all night through.

 Our sons were raised at that old place.
 We taught them what we could
 Of honesty and dignity,
 And their response was good.
 But times moves on, we can't go back
 To that time long ago.
 They burned the ranch house down today,
 Left ashes on the snow.

© 2003, Nona Kelley Carver
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted 
without the author's written permission.

 

Carver_House1942.jpg (9739 bytes)

Read more about this house and more about the Carver's family history  in our Western Memories Project

 

The Words of Bruce Kiskaddon

Oh, the words of Bruce Kiskaddon,
They were always free of paddin'
They simply told of stories that were true.

They told us of the old days,
Sometimes of the big and bold ways;
Of the cowboy life they still speak out to you.

All his stories were first hand...
Told of ridin' for the brand;
Workin' cattle 'though the day be foul or fair.

And he laid it out real fine;
Pictured scenes in every line...
Made you feel as though you really had been there.

Yes, they told of life worth livin'
On the range when cows were driven
To the markets on long, dusty cattle trails,

And the cowboy's life so free,
While he in humility
Spoke of dreams he shared in quiet campfire tales.

No, we cannot really go
To that time so long ago,
When the West was young, and maybe, so were we.

But we can re-live the tales
Of the dusty cattle trails,
In Kiskaddon's lines of cowboy poetry.

© 1998, Nona Kelley Carver
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted  without the author's written permission.



Daughter of the Prairie

Daughter of the prairie, this is your wedding day.
These thoughts are from your mother as you go on your way.
remember that I love you, as it is time to part.
I give to you my blessing.  Please hold it in your heart.

Daughter of the prairie, where will you lay your head
When the day's long ride is ended, and it's time to go to bed?
Will you lie beside your cowboy, spread a blanket on the sod?
Will you dream of home and family
while you search the stars for God?

Will you see the moon come rising when the night is cool and still?
Hear a lonely coyote howling?  Hear the whirring whippoorwill?
Will you feel the night breeze stirring
through your loose and curling hair?
Will your cowboy dream beside you,
as your life with him you share?

I will miss your cheerful presence, and the happy songs you sang,
For on the day that you were born, the bells of heaven rang.
In my memory, I will always hear your laughter, see your smile.
And I trust your man is worthy, and will go that second mile.

For you filled my life with sunshine,
brought me pleasure as a gift.
And whenever I was weary,
 you would give my soul a lift.
You were magic in my morning, happiness throughout my day.
I will grieve when we have parted, but you must be on your way.

For a new life now awaits you, as you are fully grown.
And I pray you will be happy, and have babies of your own.
Then you will know the treasure that you have been to me.
No, I will not hold you near me, as I want you to be free.

Free to love your handsome cowboy.
Free to help him build a home.
Free to ride into the sunset, free to see the ocean's foam.
But a part of me goes with you, as you ride out today,
For your father was a cowboy, and  we started out that way.

© 1997,  Nona Kelley Carver
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted  without the author's written permission.



Nona Kelley Carver comments:

Many young couples left on their wedding day to pursue their dreams of making their home in the West and this poem is written by the mother of the bride.  It may sound familiar to you as I wrote a melody for it and Jean Prescott sings it on her album Range Romance.

This poem was written from my mother's point of view when I married at 16, and left with my cowboy for Western Colorado where we had lived before.  I was born on the plains in Eastern CO, and my parents had moved a lot.  I had just graduated from high school, and Alfred (age 20) had come to Arkansas where I was living.  We were married there.  My mother felt I was mature enough to take this step as I had carried a lot of responsibility since I was young.  More than 50 years later, Alfred is still "my cowboy" and we continue to have adventures together!  We had a lot to learn, and for any young person reading this, we would advise you to grow up a bit more before taking such a serious commitment.

Loan Insurance

In days of old if you needed some gold,
and you went to the bank for a loan…
You'd better be sure
of how much to secure
and how much you could say that you own.

When the cow men were king,
and they wanted to swing,
the banker could tell by the smell…
For they put on their boots,
walked down past the chutes,
and stomped around in the corral.

And they would get money
that flowed sweet as honey.
They'd work hard then they'd have a ball.
For the banker, he knew
despite trouble or flu,
that he'd be repaid in the fall.

For those were the days when cattle could graze
on the range without fees that skyrocket.
And we'd not shed a tear
at the end of the year,
for we still had some change in our pocket.

But those days are past,
and if you want to last
and convince the good banker you toil…
Don't dress up too neat
if you want to compete,
you'd better go smelling of OIL!

© 2008,  Nona Kelley Carver
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted  without the author's written permission.

 

Nona told us, "Our little valley in Western Colorado has experienced a boom time of drilling for oil and natural gas. As ranching gets more difficult for many to make ends meet, this poem came to me."
 

The Wild Horses

There’s a place beyond the Book Cliffs
where wild horses still run free.
With manes and tails just flying,
they’re quite a sight to see!

Blacks and bays and pintos
go streaming through the sage…
With colts beside their mothers,
despite their younger age.

In spring when grass is lush and green,
oh, how they love their range.
They guard and keep a watchful eye,
for some things never change.

The little foals lie in the grass
and warm in summer sun.
They play and chase on spindly legs,
as they, too, learn to run.

They nibble on the tender plants
and drink their mother’s milk.
So long and glossy grow their manes;
their coats as soft as silk.

Freedom is their heritage,
like those of long ago.
They do not want to be penned in.
Their speed is never slow.

Swift as the wind they disappear
beyond a rocky ledge,
to see the river far below,
smooth water at its edge.

Such a pleasure do I feel
to see them wild and free.
I hope their home beneath the clouds
lasts through eternity.

And may their spirits always lift
wherever they should roam.
May their place of higher ground
forever be their home.

© 2008,  Nona Kelley Carver
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted  without the author's written permission.


Nona comments
: I live in a small valley in Western Colorado about fifty miles from the Little Book Cliffs Wild Horse Range. Approximately 130 to 150 horses live in the rugged canyons and sagebrush flats. The herd is closely monitored and kept from getting too big by darting some of the mares with PZP for birth control. Sometimes, horses are rounded up and put up for adoption.

We use our four wheel drive vehicle to get into the area, but travel beyond the road is by foot or horseback only. We take our binoculars and camera and wait. We have seen over thirty of these beautiful horses in a day.

This photo and poem was featured in Picture the West.
 

Photos and collage presentation by Alfred Carver

 

Georgie

How many miles on horseback?
Only angels know.
She rode them in the summer heat
And in the winter snow.

She rode them in the coolness
Of the dawning of the day.
She always went on horseback.
As we know, that was her way.

She rode them in the mountains
And on the desert dry.
She liked to go on horseback,
And she could tell you why.

To her, it was the best way
To see the great outdoors,
Then ride on home at sunset
To do her evening chores.

She rode them chasing mustangs,
And for calves she had to brand.
She broke them and she trained them,
Became a great top hand.

She worked real hard, she earned
Her keep. She was a driving force.
She could do any job that a man
Could do, all done
From the back of a horse.

© 2004,  Nona Kelley Carver
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted  without the author's written permission.

 

This poem was written for Georgie Sicking.

 

Read Nona Kelley Carver's In Memory of a Prairie Rose, written in tribute to her friend 

 

Read Nona Kelley Carver's When The Cowboys Came For Christmas posted in the 2002 Holiday collection.

 

 


About Nona Kelley Carver:

Nona was born in Colorado, and still lives there.  During part of her early years, she lived well beyond the electric lines in a cabin built of logs. She learned to read by the light of a kerosene lamp and rode horseback to school.

She married Alfred Carver in 1953.  They began ranching at Mesa, Colorado, purchasing land that had been in the Carver family for three generations. They operated a dairy, and also raised beef cattle.  It was here that their two sons were raised.

Nona's ranching experience shows in her work that she refers to as "fiction with a few facts thrown in."  Her work has been published in magazines, newspapers and anthologies, and has spread from Australia to Amsterdam. Her major books in print are: Carter Country Christmas, Spoken Songs from My Soul, Cowboys, Cookstoves, and Catastrophes and Carver Country Cowboys. They can be ordered through any bookstore in the US and Canada (see more information below). Her most recent accomplishment has been recording two CDs of poetry. The first is titled Reflective Moods, and features her most serious work. The second, titled Carver Country Poetry contains the funniest poetry she has written.  She also publishes CarverCards, a line of greeting cards for family and friends.

 


2009

Nona Kelley Carver has completed a booklet of thirty of her Christmas poems and stories. It is in magazine format with one of her paintings in color on the front and a few black and white photos inside. Each poem and story tells of the true meaning of Christmas. Some of the titles are "When the Cowboys Came for Christmas," "Christmas on the Oregon Trail," "Christmas Memories," and "The Christmas Angel."

Carter Country Christmas is available for $12 postpaid from Nona Kelley Carver, P.O. Box 115, Mesa, CO 81643

 

Spoken Songs from My Soul is a collection that includes poems such as "The Little Country Church," "Grandma's Bible," "An Old Cowboy's Prayer," and "Daddy's Rose."  There are 142 pages of poetry." The cover art is from one of her own oil paintings. Spoken Songs from My Soul is available for $16.00 postpaid from Carver Country Poetry, P.O. Box 115, Mesa, CO 81643. 

 

An inspirational Christmas CD, When the Cowboys Came for Christmas, has 17 poems of faith, including “A Soldier’s Christmas” and “Christmas on the Oregon Trail.” When the Cowboys Came for Christmas is available for $16 postpaid from Carver Country Poetry, P.O. Box 115, Mesa, CO 81643.

 

The Potbellied Pete & Luley Belle CD is a series of 17 poems about the bunk house cook and the local school marm. Nona reports, "This series got rave reviews when it was printed as a serial story in the Plateau Valley Times. Only then, the folks had to wait for the next paper to read the next poem!" Potbellied Pete & Luley Belle (46 minutes) is available for $16 postpaid from Carver Country Poetry, P.O. Box 115, Mesa, CO 81643.

 

Believing that reciting makes an authors work come alive for the audience, Nona gives her best whether it is to a small group or at the The National Cowboy Symposium and Celebration where she is a repeat performer.  She and Alfred treasure friendships they made as part of Cowboy Gatherings.

Her most recent performances were on opening night at
Cheyenne Cowboy Symposium and Celebration, and Saturday sessions in the Diamond Circle Theater of the Historic Strater Hotel at Durango's Cowboy Gathering, and the Cochise Cowboy Poetry and Music Gathering in Sierra Vista, Arizona.

Nona has performed in schools in both Colorado and Arizona, and presents some poetry written especially for children.  Her work is published weekly in The Plateau Valley Times, her local newspaper, and often in The San Juan Silver Stage. Current projects include work on a Christmas album on CD, and drawing the illustrations for another book of cowboy poetry.  She received a nomination for the best female poet in 2000 from The Academy of Western Artists.

You can order Nona Kelley Carver's books, CDs, and cards by calling her or writing: 970-268-5429.  Carver Country Poetry, P.O. Box 115, Mesa, CO 81643

You can order by Visa & MasterCard from The Treasure House Gifts & Souvenirs at 970-268-5642.  It is open 10:00 to 6:00 MST every day but Tuesday.  


 

 

 

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