OMAR WEST
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Omar West's poetry was the start of the BAR-D. Here are some of his poems that appeared in the early days:
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When I get rich I’m gonna switch
From beer to fancy wine
From cookhouse dregs to steak and eggs
Whenever I might dineWhen I get rich I’m gonna switch
From freights to gravy trains
From rot gut booze I’ll pick and choose
Fine brandy and champagnesWhen I get rich I’m gonna switch
From bunks to huge hotels
From gloom and doom to one great room
I’ll live among the swellsWhen I get rich I’m gonna switch
From workin’…they can stick it
My financial plan is to sit on my can
And purchase a lottery ticketWhen I get rich I’m gonna switch
From worthless friends to you
I’ll treat you right, but for tonight
. . . I need a buck or two© 2000 Omar West
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
When Cowboy Artists paint a scene
It’s Western harmony
It’s grand, and I identify
With everything I seeI went to this museum
To enjoy some modern stuff
Well, that was wrong, it wasn’t long
Before I’d had enoughWhat animal or vegetable
Or mineral was that?
I had no clue, I never knew
What I was lookin’ atWhen Salvadore and Pablo
Were attendin’ art academy
They musta studied hard at
Rearrangin’ man’s anatomyA bronze called "Lonely Maiden"
Had six eyes, but one head only
Much too complex, no shape, no sex
No wonder she was lonelyOne artist spilled and dribbled paint
As if that might delight us
I guess he couldn’t grip his brush
He musta had arthritisAn ordinary painting
Was the focus of a group
The thing was just a billboard
That was advertisin’ soupOne huge white empty canvas
Tries the patience of a saint
A brand new school of paintin’
Where they don’t use any paint?An ugly pile of garbage
Was offensive to the eyes
The clean-up crew had missed it
And the dam thing won a prizeThat night, I had a frightful dream
My head was turned about---
My arms were legs, my navel had
An eyeball peepin’ outWill Cowboys have exhibits
At a modern art museum??
That can’t be true, but if they do
I hope I never see ‘em!© 2000 Omar West
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
From the bar he called at seven
"I’ll be home about eleven"
Then he cussed her when she dared to ask him why
"Listen, girlie, quit yer bitchin’
Get yer fanny in the kitchin’
I’ll have beef and grits and gravy……..and a pie!"Well, the meal fulfilled his wishes
And while she was scrubbin’ dishes
He was yawnin’ and was givin’ her the eye
"Jest ferget to clean the oven
This here cowboy needs some lovin’
Hurry up, get over here and don’t act shy."She said, "That aint likely, Honey
Here’s a secret……..really funny
‘Bout your dinner and, especially, the pie
There was somethin’ special in it
And in just about a minute
You’ll be sleepin’ in that Bunkhouse-in-the-Sky !!"© 2000 Omar West
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
The stagecoach out of Abilene
With mail stops on the way
Takes twenty-four long hours
Til you get to Santa FeThere only were two passengers
This little gal and me
She wasn’t much fer talkin’
She was sad as she could be
We rode along in solitude
Fer maybe fifty miles
And then she loosened up and spoke
With heavyhearted smilesShe told me ‘bout a funeral
That she would soon attend
A lady that she’d known fer years
Her absolute best friend:
“We both grew up in Texas
And, together, learned to ride
Eight years in that old schoolhouse
Where we studied side by side
We both would go to parties
Like young girls we’d be excited
But one would never go
Unless the other was invited
Throughout the years, we’d meet in town
We’d dine, then go out dancin’
That’s when I found the cowboy
That I soon began romancin’
I’ll always miss my closest friend
Although she done me wrong
She upped one day and ran away
And took my man along
Forgiving her is difficult
I’m tryin’ to forget
In spite of what she did to me
I know I’ll miss her yet.”
The stagecoach rumbled through the night.
She nodded and she sighed.
I wondered and I asked her,
Did you know when yer friend died?
“I know exactly when and where
It causes me great sorrow
Our last goodbye ?
When did she die ???
I’d say, high noon . . . tomorrow!”© 2000 Omar West
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
On the range, communicationdoesn't take much conversation
the exchange of information
is of minimal duration
just a single exclamation
or a plain gesticulation
tells a cowboy the location
of a problem with the herd.
Without verbal explanationIn his chosen occupation
It's the cowboy's obligation
to commence investigation
and with firm determination
he'll resolve the situation
to the foreman's expectation
all of that without a word.
But a campfire recitationis the cowboy's recreation
where verbose elucidation
of a windy dissertation
full of wild exaggeration
with bizarre interpretation
and complete obliteration
of a single word that's true.
Though it's pure prevaricationfilled with factual fabrication
it provides exhilaration
for the campfire aggregation.
There's a Western declaration
that a cowboy shuns oration
but he loves that long narration
when they tell it as they do.
© 2000 Omar West
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
In Elko, there’s a Gathering
For Cowboy Poetry
Around the end of January
That’s the place to be.You think you’ve seen a thing or two
But here is one sure bet
Until you’ve been to Elko, Pard
You aint seen nothin’ yet !The poets and performers
And musicians that appear
Are only just the finest
That you’re ever going to hear.Although some Cowboy shows are great
And some you won’t forget
Until you hear these folks perform
You aint heard nothin’ yet !!You meet with all the poets
And you talk with everyone
And there’s dancin’ and carousin’
If you don’t mind havin’ fun.The Cowboy Poetry Gathering
Is good as good can get
Until you’ve been to Elko, Pard
You aint been nowhere yet !!!© 2000 Omar West
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
The Wrangler is a-wondrin’ why he ever took
employment-in
This dude ranch for safari trips that rich folks find
enjoyment-inI set up camp, it’s cold and damp, that’s where I earn my
wages-at
But these dumb clucks pay lots o’ bucks to sleep out where the
sage-is-atThe outhouse trail is slick and dark, they’re freezin’ while they’re
hikin’ it
They creep back in with a silly grin, purtendin’ that they’re
likin’ itThe breakfast meal means standin’ up and, while they eat, they
roam about
This aint New York, what’s on their fork aint nothin’ to write
home aboutThey ride a horse for fun all day, I can’t believe they’re
choosin’ it
Lunch on the trail and ginger ale without a drop o’
booze-in-itBy campfire light, what I recite aint got no word
uncouth-in-it
‘Bout Wild West days and cowboy’s ways, there also aint no
truth-in-itThat dude brought separate sleeping bags, his wife’s alone---he’s
facin’ ‘er
She’s nice to see, if it was me, I know where I’d be
placin’ ‘erI say hooray, it’s our last day, them dudes can’t wait to
saddle-up
I feel this week, I’m in that creek---the one without a
paddle-upWith any luck, my banged up truck will start---I’ll make my
get-away
While this dumb dude who aint too shrewd will drive his new
Corvette awayIf they’re so dumb, I ask how come they’re rich---aint this a
mystery
I fail to see. Could it be me? I quit this job! I’m
history.© 2000 Omar West
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
This spunky little gal I know
Is driving me insane
I love her more each time I take a breath
Her quiet ways and softness
Can become a hurricane
I’m fearless . . . but she scares me half to death!I’ve made it through adversity
And fought my way in life
Success did not come easily, or free
I wrestle bears on Wall Street
In the woods I use a knife
There’s nothing in the world that frightens me
Just look at her angelic face
And better yet, she’s smart
She quotes from Aristotle and MacBeth
I wonder as I hold her
Will she ever break my heart ?
I’m fearless . . . but she scares me half to death!
© 2000 Omar West
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
If you want to get a dog
Pitch that canine catalog
Just go visit your Humane Society
I went there and had no doubt
That I’d choose and pick one out
When this little mutt jumped up
……….and picked out me !It’s a fact---this dog’s a mutt
So am I, I’m told, so what ?
Now we’re buddies and I know the reason why
He will always be a pup
Who refuses to grow up
Seems he lives to romp and, frankly
……….so do I !In a flash he learned to know
What is Yes and what is No
And to come at once when I call out his name
He’s supposed to stay at home
But at times he has to roam
Makes me angry, but, in truth
……….I do the same !So I tell him, Here’s a fact
You had best clean up your act
Otherwise yer ottahere---it’s time you knew
He looks up as if to say
I’ll be good and I’ll obey
Are we kidding ?? Question is
……….who’s kidding who ???On the couch and on each chair
There are teeth marks everywhere
I have proper cause to whack him, this is true
He accepts the reprimand
Nuzzles up and licks my hand
All he asks is that I love him
……….and I do !© 2000 Omar West
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
Buffalo Bill was ridin' hard
To meet the actress, Sue
And Sue was pacin' round 'n round
Cause she was anxious, tooAs Bill rode in, his heroine
Said Bill, yer late, of course
But we can get to sparkin' yet
If you'd get off that horseWhile talkin', walkin' toward the couch
Sue said to Bill, perhaps
We'd sure 'nuff be more comf'terble
If you'd take off them chapsWe're due to pitch some woo, said Sue
So let's have no disputes
Among yer clothes that buckle goes
And then take off them bootsAt her request, his vest, the rest
Was piled up on the floor
You prob'ly guessed how he was dressed
But she said, one thing more . . .I love ya Bill, but, Bill, there's still
A problem here . . . What's that?
Before you're kissed I must insist
Now, Bill . . . take off yer hat!Take off my hat? I can't do that
No cowboy ever would
Why that's a sin an' its agin'
The Cowboy BrotherhoodBut Sue won out without a doubt
That hat flew off the couch
And Buffalo Bill was kissed until
He screamed and hollered . . . OUCHYou made demands, you made commands
And I complied with yers
Just one thing, Sue, I ask of you
Take off them gol durn spurs!!!© 2000 Omar West
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
Well, Lady, if that Cowboy
is the Man you wanna keep
The Man who watches over you
each night when yer asleepThat Cowboy who is headstrong
and can prob’ly make you weep
Just remember he’s a Cowboy
and a Cowboy aint a sheepAt times he'll let you lead him
Sure . . . but Lady, use yer brains
Be careful not to grip too tight
when you grab hold the reinsHis word is true, he’ll do for you
despite his aches and pains
And then he might get lost a while
‘cause freedom’s in his veinsHe’ll live with yer misgivin’s
and put up with some abuse
He’ll love you and respect you,
but he don’t need no excuseTo wander out and roustabout ---
don’t change ‘im, its no use
If you wanna hold yer Cowboy,
Lady, hold ‘im mighty loose !© 2000 Omar West
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
I work in your Garden, said Adam to God,
Eden Ranch is delightful to see
I keep the spread nice, but it’s not paradise
I need a companion for me.A soft gentle soul, always pleasant and kind,
Always good…….please create one, I beg
That’s a very tough order, My Man, said God,
It'll cost you an arm and a leg !An arm and a leg ? I could never agree
If I did, I’d be telling a fib
I never would part with an arm or a leg
But……what can I get for a rib ?
© 2000 Omar West
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
It’s time to blow
The Rodeo
They’re stompin’ you to bits
You never were a quitter
But it’s time to call it quitsEight seconds more
A rotten score
You never hurt
Like this beforeYou’re at the stage
Of life when age
Prevents you from
A livin’ wageYour fans admired your courage
As you took those brutal hits
And it was true, they numbered you
Among their favoritesYou made it to the finals
You enjoyed the benefits
You sold the car and in some bar
Your shiny trophy sitsIt’s time to blow
The Rodeo
The wiser man admits
He’ll never be a quitter
But it’s time to call it quitsA busted jaw
A lousy draw
Your nerves are shot
Your bruises rawYou know it’s rough
You know you’re tough
But, know when you
Have had enoughIt’s time to blow
The Rodeo
It’s time you use your wits
It’s a mile between a quitter
And the Man who calls it quits !© 2000 Omar West
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
When a man's been chasin' cows
And stringin' fence and stackin' hay
A week can last a year or so
Before it's SaturdayThere aint no doubt he's plumb wore out
Can hardly lift his head
One sad cowpoke, his back is broke
His boots are filled with leadDespite his woes that cowboy knows
The way to end his grief
He knows fer sure, the only cure
Is honky-tonk reliefIt's hospital care he'll find in there
No cowboy is immune
The prescription reads: This puncher needs
The Honky-Tonk SaloonThe staff on hand is a lively band
The doc is tendin' bar
Those western queens in skin-tight jeans
That's who the nurses areThe man checks in with a mile wide grin
Already, he feels better
That lady there with long brown hair
He's off-- he's gonna get 'erA dance or two, then someone new
To guide around the floor
Perhaps some drinks? Not yet, he thinks
I'd rather dance some moreSome friendly boys are makin' noise
They're laughin', havin' fun
"Come over here and have a beer"
"O.K . . . but, only one"He has a brew . . . in fact, has two
Then says, "So long, you guys . . .
I'm headin' there, to the long brown hair
Just look at them big blue eyes"He leaves the men, he's off again
To ask if she'd like to dance
He holds her tight, and thinks she might
Consent to a brief romance"Well, Romeo, it's Yes and No
I hope you won't be mad
I'd love to dance . . . forget romance
Hey, one out of two? Not bad."He's heard it before, he's back on the floor
He's two-steppin' all night long
Buyin' drinks fer the gals and all of his pals
As they close, he is still goin' strongTwelve hours ago, it was hard to know
If his health could be restored
Too tired to walk, he could hardly talk
One chance . . . the Emergency WardIntensive care at the Hospital there
December, March or June
They know for sure, the miracle cure:
A Honky-Tonk Saloon!
© 2001 Omar West
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
We work the ranch together
There’s a thousand things you do
And, always, you’re so beautiful
I love to look at you.
Sometimes I catch a glimpse or two
When you are doin’ chores
You’re beautiful, my lady
Feedin’ stock or scrubbin’ floors.
Whenever we go dancin’
Or go out to some affair
You dab a little make-up on
And dress and curl your hair.
It always makes you happy
When you’re wearin’ somethin’ new
You’re such a pretty lady
And I love to look at you.
That day when you were workin’
In the barn was quite a scene
As ever, you were lookin’ nice
Your clothes were old, but clean.
You just had swept the stalls and
You were brushin’ out the mare
She reared and kicked her leg and
Sent you flyin’ through the air.
You landed in a puddle
Where the sweepin’s had been swept
Some old manure was there for sure
That’s where a horse had stepped.
Your hair, your jeans were murky
And the mud ran down your face
You were not the perfect tableau
Of Gentility and Grace.
I had to laugh……then you yelled out
To vent your agony
You told the whole world then and there
Just what you thought of me.
Of all the pictures in my mind
There’s one that I prefer
I’m smilin’ yet, I’ll not forget
How beautiful you were!© 2000 Omar West
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
We all knew Billy Lopez
As a neighbor and a friend
He’d be there if you needed help
On that you could depend
With Rosa, he was happy
On their tiny little spread
They farmed and ran some cattle
Maybe forty, fifty head
One Saturday they hitched the mare
And drove out into town
They laughed and sang along the way
As they were ridin’ down
They tied up at the hitchin’ post
He went to get supplies
While Rosa shopped and talked with friends
She loved to socialize
As Billy finished loading up
A nasty scene took place
That rotten bum called “Rattler”
Poked a finger in his face
I don’t like men that look like you
Spat Rattler with a grin
I don’t like names like Lopez
Or the color of yer skin
He was twice the size of Billy
He was meaner than a snake
And many men who’d quarreled with him
Had made their last mistake
But Billy didn’t back away
He said to Rattler, Whoa……
Did I do somethin’ wrong?
‘Cause if I did I’d like to know
Yer a lousy stinkin’ coward, boy
A mighty sorry sight
You hear what I been sayin’?
What’s it take to make you fight?
I’m leavin’ now, said Billy
Then he lightly tipped his hat,
You don’t like me, I don’t like you
Let’s leave it right at that
He waved and signaled Rosa
Who was near the hitchin’ post
She was frightened, she was tremblin’
And was paler than a ghost
He calmed her down and kissed her
Then the Rattler yelled, SeeenYor,
Yer wife sure strikes my fancy
She’s a pretty little whore
As Billy whirled and charged
The Rattler drew and shouted, Son,
Before you take another step
You better get a gun
For Billy it was suicide
To challenge and advance
He knew he had to get a gun
Or die without a chance
He’d had a huntin’ rifle
That he got when he was ten
But Billy never owned a gun
Designed for killin’ men
I’ll whip you with my hands, he said
But Rattler laughed and swore
Just shoot me with yer finger, boy
Or use a forty-four
Then Rattler faced a group of men
And said, This aint no boast
Now draw, or hang yer gunbelts up
Around that hitchin’ postAlright, SeeenYor, now take yer pick
Of any belt that’s there
And strap it on, it’s time that we
Get on with this affair
So there stood Billy Lopez
Who had never drawn a gun
And facin’ him was Rattler
Who just sneered and counted….ONE
It’s time to say yer prayers, SeeenYor
Yer breathin’ days are through
With venom in his beady eyes
He slowly counted………………..TWO
A second passed and then
The Rattler’s gun was in his hand
Too quick, a little trick
Was how the Rattler had it planned
Two rapid thunderous shots rang out
The aim was good and true
But Billy still was standin’ up
He never even drew
The Rattler lay there on the ground
And everyone could see
That Rosa held two smokin’ guns
And softly,….counted,..……..THREE© 2000 Omar West
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
When the Marshall asked the town folk
He was told by every one
That Rattler tripped and shot himself
While polishin’ his gunIn my report, the Marshall said
I try to be precise
I guess I’ll always wonder
How he could’ve fired twice© 2000 Omar West
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
We were both in love with Katie
That was many years ago
She seemed to like the two of us
Who best?.…..We didn’t know
We couldn’t ask her for her hand
Since both of us were broke
Me, a driftin’ gamblin’ man
And Jim, a poor cowpoke
With Katie, I would build a ranch
I’d love her all my life
And Jim was wishin’ he could have
This beauty as his wife
One night---a chance for both of us
Til then we’d been unable
My rival, Jim, was facin’ me
Across a poker table
We both had won a lot that night
The stakes kept gettin’ higher
I looked at him, and knew that Jim
Like me, had one desire
The game just then was seven stud
And Jim and I both knew
Whoever won this poker hand
Would ask for Katie’s, too
The other players in that game
Had bet---and dropped---in stages
The money in the pot right then
Exceeded ten months' wages
A stake to start a brand new dream
Life wouldn’t be too hard
But it was clear, the winner here
Would need his seventh card
Now, Jim was showin’ diamonds up
A fifth one was his goal
And me?……I had two sixes up
And deuces in the hole
So……down and dirty came the cards
Jim looked……then smiled……I knew….
That he had filled his diamond flush
And me?……I caught a two
A full house beats a flush for sure
Poor Jim would get a shock
So, understand, I knew my hand
In poker terms……a “lock”!
I only bet the minimum
Enough was in the pot
But Jim, with thoughts of Katie, said
I’ll raise you all I got
He’d bet it all, I had to call
And then, within a wink
Sweet reverie encompassed me
And I began to think
A lovely wife, a better life
My gamblin’ days are done
No more misdeals, or crooked wheels
Although……….it’s sure been fun!!
Now Jim turned up his diamond flush
Nice hand, said I, I’d swear
I thought that you were bluffin’, Jim
I only got two pair.© 2000 Omar West
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
I came here to America
When I was thirty-three
The only job I found was in
A pencil factoryYou pack those little boxes there
With pencils---put in ten
Then as before, you pack ten more
Again……again……againThe foreman checked the work I did
He swore, he was irate
My boxes had eleven
Some had nine and some had eightYou’re fired, you foreign dunce, go home!
He made me feel depressed
That factory life was not for me
I left and headed WestI worked odd jobs, I labored hard
I cleaned, I carried trash
I settled down right here in town
And saved a little cashI opened up a tiny store
With tools and ropes and feeds
I bought and sold most anything
To fill the rancher’s needsMy store is so successful now
And I don’t mean to brag
Each night I grab a pile of cash
And stuff it in a bagJust yesterday, I took one bag
To buy a fancy car
This snooty salesman held the bag
And mumbled, How bizarreHe handed back my paper bag
And said, Count out the price
Again I gave the bag to him
And said, This should sufficeJust take out what you need, I said
Whatever the amount
I’d still be in that factory . . .
If I knew how to count !© 2000 Omar West
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
"East is East and West is West
And never the twain shall meet"
You’re wrong there, Mr Kipling
That phase is obsoleteThe rodeo in Medicine Bow
Is where we twain first met
This Lady was from Boston --
How Eastern can you get?And me, a lonesome rancher who
Rode in to get some laughs
A little break from tendin’ my
Twain thousand cows and calfsWe met, we had a dance or twain
And it was clear to me
That I had best lasso this gal
As quick as one twain threeWe tied the knot in ninety-twain
And I continued ranchin’
Her Eastern flair and lovin’ care
Made our small home a mansionWhen East meets West and West meets East
A baby they’ll soon add
And that night while I paced the floor
Not one, but twain, she hadThe East, the West, the twain has met
This family maintains
The Cowboy and the Lady and
Our twain-year-old twain twains!© 2000 Omar West
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
As we near the Christmas season
Every year I have a reason
To complain about my lot in life because
I'm unhappy as can be
No one ever thinks of me
It's not easy being Mrs. Santa ClausWho is always doing chores?
Who does sewing and restores
That old tacky crimson suit with worn-out furs?
For a century, each year
I've been letting out the rear
To accommodate the bulge that now occursWhen my absent-minded spouse
Lets the reindeer in the house
Through that broken door the elves forgot to fix
Muddy hooves -- there's quite a few
If you're counting -- thirty two
Unless Rudolph shows and then there's thirty-sixAnd speaking of those elves
They do not behave themselves
All their noise while making toys compounds my woes
I am always mending frocks
And forever darning sox
That they puncture with those awful pointy toesSince the nearest grocery store
Is a thousand miles or more
All I ever get to eat is frozen dinner
Although Santa thinks it's fine
When he sneaks a glass of wine
That's why he gets fat while I keep getting thinnerSanta Claus is too darn jolly
And I think he's off his trolley
When his cheerfulness becomes a bit extreme
I attempt a conversation
But it ends with my frustration
If I hear another "Ho-Ho-Ho" -- I'll scream"Santa: On this Christmas Eve
I'll mount up with you and leave
Because Anna Claus deserves some holidays
Tell those elves that you released her
And she won't be back 'til Easter
Even later if they don't amend their waysYou get all the World's applause
Rightly so . . . you're Santa Claus
Every child appreciates the good you do
Good is good -- while I agree
Save a little good for me
And you'd better if you know what's good for you!© 2000 Omar West
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.Read by Mrs. Claus on National Public Radio December 21, 2000 on the Larry Meiller Show, hosted that day by Jim Packard of Wisconsin Public Radio
I can’t say, this New Years Day,
that I’ve been pious
Fair to good I’ve understood to be my best
It’s the truth that half my days I’ve acted poorly
And I sure don’t want to talk about the rest
So I’m thinkin’ I’ll
quit drinkin’ and carousin’
Yes, I own I must atone for years of sin
I resolve to seek a life of deprivation
But I’ve yet to find the path where I begin
From the Bible I’m not liable to
be quotin’
I’d be squirmin’ at the Sermon-On-The-Mount
How much time do I require for absolution?
I’m not startin’ ‘til I get an honest count
Wait…….I HEAR IT!…….it’s the spirit of salvation
Got the feelin' I’ll be healin' mighty soon
Now’s the time for me to test my resolution
So I’m headin’ out to Mollie Belle’s Saloon!
At my gambling occupation
It was afternoon that Sunday
When he said, "I’ll bet it’s Monday"
He was wrong -- I knew it wasn’t midnight yet
So, of course, I made the wager
The amount was more than major
Then he said, "My boy, it’s Monday in Tibet"
My success began that Sunday
I’ll remember, it was one day
That I learned a lesson no one should forget
When you’re sure you’re gonna win it
Stop . . . and think . . . for just a minute . .
Throw it in, old Pard, -- you're gonna lose that bet!
Now, listen up, you Cowboys there
The night before the big event
the town was in full swing
Wine, women, song, a happy throng
that place had everything
The dancehall was the place for me
a band . . . and merriment
I asked this pretty gal to dance
she smiled, and off we went
Those hand-tooled boots, her leather skirt
that kerchief in her hair
Could I resist those lovely eyes?
I never had a prayer
Between each dance, I had a chance
to chat and be so clever
Then came a jolt, a lightning bolt
my heart was gone…….forever
"Tomorrow, let’s go out," I said
and started making plans
She said, "You know, I’d love to go,
but, I’ll be chasin’ cans"
"You’re chasin’ what ????? I heard
you, but
I hope you’re kidding me
A simple "no" or just say "go"
and I’ll be history"
I’ve been rejected lots of times
by ladies back out East
I’ve been brushed off a thousand ways
to say the very least
Like "Grandma’s sick" or
"I’m in court"
or "next time" or "I pass"
"I’ve things to do in Timbuktu"
or "I teach bible class"
Poor, lame excuses I have heard
when some gal turns me down
But, "I’ll be chasin’ cans" is one
that sure deserves the crown
A can -- back East -- is slanguage
for that room way down the hall
Are you pursuing outhouse thieves
who made a recent haul ???
Will you be trailing robbers who
cleaned out a grocery store ???
Or driving some recycle truck
collecting door-to-door ???"
I never thought my style was worse
than any other man’s
Compared with me, it seemed that she
would rather chase some cans.
I left, dejected, hurt and sad
I pondered all night long
I’d thought that she seemed sweet on me
did I do something wrong ?
Next day, as I meandered out
I sure was feeling low
But, I had come two thousand miles
to see the rodeo
I soon got so excited
watching cowboys do their stuff
On Brahma bulls and bucking broncs
eight seconds……that was rough
Remember, I’m a city guy
all this was new to me
I stood and cheered for each event
and then……what did I see ?
My former love was mounted up
I simply gazed……perplexed
A loud announcement bellowed out
"The barrel race is next"
The flag went up, she broke out fast
three metal barrels were there
She cut around, just missing them
as close as she could dare
She finished in a blaze of speed
her time would win first prize
And while she held her trophy up
she searched, and found…..my eyes
_____
Back East, she meets the city folks
Cool Cats and Fancy Dans
All conversation stops when she says
"I miss chasin’ cans !"
© 2001 Omar West
My gal and I
Personify
Togetherness in life
We care, we jest
We share the best
And — sure — a touch of strife
It’s never wise
To compromise
The truths we’ve come to know
But, we learned this
We’d better kiss
And let the quarrel go
To realize
Those flashing eyes
Are planning an attack
My plan is this
I’ll try a kiss
And hope she’ll kiss me back
We’ve thought it through
We know it’s true
Our differences are there
Should we debate?
Or osculate?
When angry tempers flare
It seems to me
Undoubtedly
We’re kissing all the time
It helps prevent
An argument
So what . . . is that a crime?
Cowboys are rough
And tough enough
We take hard times in stride
For my morale
I kiss my gal
Until she’s pacified
When we’re entwined
Our lips we find
Keep one another quiet
For when we’re mute
We can’t dispute
It works — you ought to try it !
you ought to try it !
Omar West
Was red so very, very red
And white so very white . . .
As the Indians and the Settlers
Shared a constant common plight?
The land was unforgiving
The conveniences were slight
There were months of cold and hunger
When their future wasn't bright
The droughts, the floods, the wildfires
That they faced with common dread
And then the joy of sunshine
Building nature's lavish spread
When Indians and Settlers
Were contented and well fed....
Was white so very, very white
And red so very red?
A tepee or a house of sod
Upon a chosen site
A fireplace or a campfire
Spreading comfort, warmth and
light
A safe place for each family
To spend a peaceful night . . .
Was red so very, very red
And white so very white?
The Indians sought freedom
To preserve the life they'd led
The Settlers, too, sought
freedom
From the life that they had
fled
They could not share the land they loved
A war broke out instead . . .
Was white so very, very white
And red so very red?
The land belonged to both of them
The tribes -- by birth -- their right
The Settlers who had cleared
the land
With sweat, strong will and
might
They both were much too stubborn
To give in without a fight . . .
Was red so very, very red
And white so very white?
The wounds that were inflicted
And the blood that they would shed
Blood that was identical
In color when they bled
Their heartbreak, pain and sorrow
As they lived to mourn their dead . . .
Was white so very, very white
And red so very red?
Their cultures so divergent
That they never could unite
Proud independent spirit
Each believing they were right
Although we know the stories
That historians will cite . . .
Was red so very, very red
And white so very white?
© 2001 Omar West
My son, they say you're just like me
© 2001 Omar West
The old man held the letter
that was written long ago
A letter left, "fer Gramper
from your grandson, Davy Joe"
"I always called ya, Gramper
since the day ya took me in
Ya shared your home and raised me up
ya been my only kin
I'm leavin', Gramper--headin' west
to find my destiny
Out there I aim to make a name
and make ya proud o' me
I love ya, Gramper, I'll be back"
is what the letter said
But after waiting lonely years
the old man bowed his head
So many years...so many tears
his grandson never came
He couldn't know that Davy Joe
had made himself a name
And Davy Joe remembered
in that letter he had vowed
To come home to his Gramper
and to make the old man proud
The old man's sight was failing
but he saw enough to know
Two riders were a-comin' on
and one...was...Davy Joe
The old man's heart was pounding
as the riders reached his gate
The man was slouching on a mule
but Davy Joe sat straight
He rode up and dismounted
they just stood there side by side
Then years dissolved in minutes
as the two men hugged and cried
"Ah, Davy Joe, I missed ya so
jes' let me look at you
A Marshal's badge there on yer chest
you're totin' six-guns, too"
"These guns have helped me, Gramper
sometimes problems have arisen
You see the feller on that mule?
I'm takin' him to prison
Ya mighta heard about that man
and of the things he did
The toughest man I ever caught
he's called, The Pecos Kid!
I tied his hands behind his back
he can't hurt anyone
I even threw his boots away
in case he'd try to run"
The old man's weathered face showed pride
his old eyes were aglow
To think this man was captured
by his grandson, Davy Joe
The old man smiled and whispered
"I'm as proud as I can be
Be keerful with that Pecos Kid
he shor looks mean t' me"
The prisoner never said a word
throughout the afternoon
He reckoned as the sun went down
that they'd be leavin' soon
The man who sat there on that mule
was hardened to the core
He calmly gripped in one free hand
a loaded forty-four
"I had to see ya, Gramper"
said a saddened Davy Joe
"But Marshals have a job to do
so, now, I hafta go
I'm glad I got ta hug ya
and I wish that I could stay
I'll always love ya, Gramper"
....then the two men rode away
At length, the man astride the mule
said, "Kid, let's not use force
I think we've gone 'bout far enough
now climb down off my horse
You know this forty-four I hold
is loaded and it shoots
So hand me back my Marshal's badge
and, Kid, take off my boots!
N' jes' unstrap them empty guns
n' lay 'em on the dirt
N' git up on that lop-eared mule
n' nobody gits hurt!"
"I gave my word" said Davy Joe
"that I'd come peaceably
You let me see my Gramper
and I made 'im proud o' me"
_________________
That proud old man was happy
but his health and strength had slid
He passed away the very day
They hung The Pecos Kid
© 2001 Omar West
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The BAR-D Roundup | Cowboy Poetry Week
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