PAUL BLISS
Utah
About Paul Bliss
Out where we run horses, if you control the Stud horse you control the whole band.
The BustYur ridin' through the cedar's, the wind is in yur face.
Yur hart is beatin' wildly, az ya anticipate the race.
You've tracked the band for miles, az ya wuz up before the dawn.
Und ya finally gottem' spotted now their down on Swasey's pond.
The sun juzt toped the mountains, az the rays sine through the mist.
Ya pull yur pony's cinch up tight, und the latago ya twist.
Then ya slide inta yur saddle, und az yur rope und fingers meet.
ya separate those coils, und ya build that loop up neat.
Then ya ease yur pony down the draw, az ya stay close to the trees.
Ya move yur horse around the rocks, az ya guide him with yur knees.
Now yur almost out of cover, und theirs forty yards to go.
Yur pony's actin' snorty, he's ready for the show.
He's all legged up, un full of grain, he's ready for the bust.
Und soon the rough yur ridin' through, yur horse u'll have ta trust.
Now the mares move off the water, their belly's lookin' tight.
The stud horse comes between ya, az ya ramble in to site.
The lead mare jumps out ta the front, az the Stallion screams his cry.
Und the mares fall in line, one by one, az manes un tails they fly.
Yur in a world, its all yur own, serenity at its best.
Ya close the gap ta fifteen yards, un now yur ready for the test.
Ya taste the dirt their kickin' up az off the ledge ya fly.
The Stallion squeals un bites a mare, az rocks, un brush flash by.
Down the canyon rim the chase goes on, az ya hold yur pony back.
Till ya finally reach the bottom, then ya feed yur horse some slack.
Yur pony's lathered, he's all but spent, az the mare's ya pass them by.
It's that Stallion, that ya wanted, he's the one that's got yur eye.
Yur standin' in yur strips, az ya let that lasso sail.
Und ya watch it float around his head, az the Stallion flags his tail.
Then ya pull yur slack, un take yur wraps, to the left yur pony turns.
Und ya feel the strain up on yur rope, az through yur hand it burns.
But ya bear down on those dallys, till he finally comes around.
Und now he's their a facin' ya, a pawin' up the ground!
He shakes his head, he snorts, he squeals, his eye's ur glowin' red.
His front end up un leaves the earth, his ears pined to his head.
He charges, up the rope he comes, his mouth is opened wide.
Und juzt before he hits ya, ya spur yur horse, he jumps a side.
Well, the Stallion he juzt blows on by, he thinks he's free at last.
Ya lean out of yur saddle, square yur horse up for the crash.
It's a violent jerk when he hit's the end, und it shakes ya to the bone.
He slams down in a pile of dust, the Stallion's now been throne.
Az ya ease off of yur pony, und ya pat his lathered side.
Yur proud that yur a Cowboy, un thank God that yur alive.© Paul Bliss, All Rights Reserved.
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
This poem is a letter to my three year old son telling him where Old Doug is. I was unloading horses after checking permits on the west mountains, and my son Hagen asked Where's Old Doug
Where's Old DougWell, son, I wuz out in the Deep Creek Mountains
just south a that old Hay Stack Peak.
Ya see I spent a cold night wrapped in blankets
under the cover of trees.
Twas about the end a November
just after a blizzardin' snow.
The sky was so clear un the stars wuz so bright
un the temperature about five below.The coyotes were howlin' un singin'
the horses a crunchin' the snow.
A tryin' to get their feed son,
That wuz covered with eight inches of snow.
I wuz wrapped in two old woolen blankets
that were found in the notch of a tree.
Left their by some thoughtful cowboy
un my live saver now they would be.
See I wuz ridden my old faithful pony
twenty years he'd been by ma side.
Through the rough, un the rocks, un the timbers
we'd always come home alive.
Though I'd rode him many a mile
through rough, un steep mountain trails.
Un sometimes we'd get to the top son
with me hangin' on to his tail.
O he'd never quit fer a minute
he was faithful right up till the end.
He wuz quick, he wuz strong, he wuz gallant
he wuz more than just a close friend.
Well, ya see son, he fell with up in those mountains
as we rolled down the steep rocky side.
We came to rest next to a pine tree
With a tree limb stuck deep in his side.
He was hurt, we wuz stuck, he wuz painin'
He was hung by the limb of that tree.
So I pulled from ma side, ma knife son
un cut my old buddy free.
Through the hair, un the hide, un the muscle
I cut till my buddy wuz free.
Then down to the bottom we tumbled
my buddy, my best friend und me.
O I could tell that he never would make it
through the snow un the trail that wuz steep.
But he got up un started towards me
then tumbled un fell at my feet.
So I moved him on in to position
und I hugged him un said my good-bye's
Then holdin' ma gun in my right hand
while the left wiped the tears from ma eyes.
Then I hiked on up out of that canyon
to the colts, left two canyons away
Tied to a tree where I'd left em
early on in the day.
With the day almost gone, un soaked to the bone
I knew that I'd have ta think fast.
For the sun's goin' down, un gettin' dam cold
un I knew that I'd never last.
When I happens to spy, un old lean too
some cowboy had built years ago.
So I hobbled on over ta see it
a trudgin' on through the deep snow.
There in the notch a that tree son
wuz the answer ta one of ma prayers.
Wuz stuffed two green woolen blankets
see God listens, un answers, he cares.
So I pulled off all ma wet clothin'
my boots, un ma socks, un ma pants.
Un I wrapped up tight in those blankets
while the stars were begin' ta dance.
That night I dreamed a wild horses
a runnin' in pastures on high.
Un there in the lead wuz ma buddy
a racin' that herd through the sky.© Paul Bliss, All Rights Reserved.
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
Trailin' 100 head horses up over the Beaver Mountains, down into the Bryce Canyon area I wrote this poem.
Cowboy Poetry in Motion
Well, the mornin' starts at four am, the coosie rings the bell,
Come-on, get up ya cowboys, comes a loud persistent yell!
Come-on, shake out the coffee's hot, don't lay their in yor soogans,
Get'em up, roll'em tight, all bed rolls to the wagon!
Ya can smell the breakfast cookin' , un that chill that's in the air,
As ya gather round that chuck box, with un emotionless stare:
Ya grab biscuits drowned in gravy, un thank the God above,
For givin' ya the piece of mind, to do the things ya love.
The cook calls out for seconds, better get it while it's hot,
While the hoodie loads the bed rolls up, pulls the tarp, down ties the knots.
The jingler brings yer horses in, while the night hawk grabs some chuck,
Und ya ponder bout the last few weeks, how ya'll got by on luck;
The mountains that ya trailed across, the rivers, streams, un swells,
The thunderstorm's, the dust, un sweat, some days it felt like hell;
Und yer muscles, sore, un tender, from a colt that bucked ya down.
Und knowin' to day is the last day, und yu'll arrive in town.
Two hundred un ninety miles, wranglin' horses all the way.
There's un emotion that can't be denied, when ya call positions for the day.
The team is almost harnessed up, the leaders start to paw,
Make a circle boys, start'em slow, head'em up that draw!
In the East the stars they disappear, un blue gray takes its place,
Un the pink cliffs now er standin' out where before there wuz no trace;
The herd busts, un thunders towards the draw, ears alert, un noses flared,
Un cowboys racin' for the pass, with hard determined stares;
They glide through rock un timbers, with a ballerina's grace,
Over logs, un brush, un ledges, like a royal steeple chase.
The dust it starts to foggin' up, ya smell leather, horse, un sweat,
Un horses crashin' through the brush, but still there's no regret;
Manes un tails a flyin', spurs a ringin' out a tune,
It's un elusion watchin' horse un man race towards a fadin' moon.
Down through the pines un cedars, where the scrub oak slaps yer chaps,
Ya memorize this picture boys, for time has seemed to lapse.
With cowboys in position, the herd's now in control,
Un ya watch the horses all line out as single file they go.
The sun it tops a ragged ridge, un the rays come bustin' through,
Un ya watch the herd snake down the trail, in solemn overview.
It's a picture that can't be described by anybody's notion,
'Cause pardner it's a feelin', "Cowboy Poetry in Motion."© Paul Bliss, All Rights Reserved.
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
"The Ranch" is my little peace of heaven, it speaks for itself.The Ranch
Out in this western desert, wuz this little rundown ranch,
most cowboys und the cattle men, wouldn't give it half a chance.
What fences that's were standing, wuz in bad need of repair,
The barns un outer buildin's sure would leave one in despair.
The water in the ditches wouldn't travel very fast,
With what the russian olives over took, along with all the grass.
Their wasn't any money in it, it wuz all just dream und hope,
Und lots of hard work dallied up to sixty feet of rope.
Why the pastures ain't seen fertilizer in forty-seven years.
Just the looks a this old beat up place would bring a man to tears.
Well, We worked out the arrangements, und we bought the ranch in tow,
Along with all equipment from a hundred years ago.
A standin' their a ponderin', 'bout all the work there wuz to do.
I realized that some cowboys dreams really do come true.
© Paul Bliss, All Rights Reserved.
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
This is my first shot at a love poem. But you'll have to look real hard to find it. We wuz up in the Unita Mountains at the base of Kings peak 13,528, the flowers up that high have heads as big as snuff can lids. But the stems are only about a inch an a half tall. Our flowers are about four an a half feet
tall now.
Where Love Flowers Grow
Up above the timber line, on lonely mountain rim,
One hundred miles form any town, where the oxygen gets thin;
Where the white, un' yeller daisies, und the edelweiss's bloom,
Where the brush, un' wild flowers make nature's own perfume.
The grass is green, un' thick, un' lush, but it ain't very tall,
Where their only is three seasons pard, its winter, spring, un' fall.
Snow never melts, nor sees the sun on the northern rocky side,
Where if a man ain't always careful, he's apt to lose his hide.
See, I wuz up there with a pack string, in July one after noon,
With ma' new bride their beside me, ya know, a cowgirls honeymoon.
Had the herd pig'ed tailed together, all cept the bell mare nag,
So's ma bride stayed plenty busy, back there ridin' drag.
The wind wuz kinda shiftin', dark clouds were on their way,
I new ew'd better make camp quick, un' finish out the day.
So, In a little cove of clustered pines, we throwed' er soogans down,
Then striped the saddles, gear, un' packs, un' staked the horse's to
the ground.
We'd just 'bout finished up 'er chores, un' grabbed a bite to eat,
When the rain it started pourin' down, in big ol' thunderin' sheets;
Well, We dove in to those soogans, un' braced against the storm,
To body's snuggled tightly, tryin' to keep each other warm.
Now, The storm wuz pickin' up sum, und the temperature wuz chill,
If it wasn't fer the lightin', we'd camped higher on the hill.
The wind got whipin' fiercely, apt to bare the mountain side,
Und that rain came horizontal, in those soogans we did hide.
After a while the ground turned soggy, un' the wet wuz soakin' in,
We had to rub each other, to keep the coldness off 'er skin.
Then the ground turned to a river, un' the wind would make a wave,
That would crash against 'er soogans, through that storm we'd try un'
brave.
Like a boat out in the ocean bein' tossed upon the sea,
The crashin' swells, un' drivin' rain, wuz cover comin' me;
Und the waves kept gettin' higher, un they tried to pull me down,
But I had to over come it, I had to either swim 'er drowned.
Und I fought to keep us up right, un' I tried with all my might,
But ma body's gettin' weaker, un' I just might lose this fight.
Und the storm kept gettin' stronger, un' the lightin' flashin' round,
Und then the waves of passion, nearly swept us of the ground.
Und just at that last moment, yes just beyond despair,
She kissed the wet from off ma lips, un' run her fingers through ma
hair.
Then just like that, the rain quit fallin', un' the wind wuz almost still,
Un' the clouds a started partin', showed the moon above the hill:
Und I laid there semi concious, takin' in the sites, un' smells, un' sounds,
A wrapped up their in nature, in ar' soogans, on the ground.
Un' the mornin' came so quickly, un' the night had thus depart,
Un' the stillness of the mornin', canceled by a meadowlark.
The sun rose up real early, bringin' hope to all of life,
Az' I laid there plum exhausted, in the arms there of my wife.
With the warmth from that ol' sunshine, un the earth now all a mist,
I leaned over to my sweet hart, und her sleepin' cheek I kissed.
Now, I look about ar' children, watch 'em grow with lovin' care,
Und I think about that stormy night, in the mountains way up there.
So when I smell's the fragrant beauty, of nature all in tune,
I remember it's those summer storms, that make love flowers bloom.© Paul Bliss, All Rights Reserved.
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
About Paul Bliss:
Paul Bliss heads up the Utah Western Heritage Foundation, which "exists to preserve the unique Western culture of this intermountain area." They are known especially for the fall Western Legends trail ride, a two-week event: 100 Head Remuda and 20 Wagons, Wagon Train that departs from Spanish Fork, Utah to Western Town Resort (Panquitch), Utah (in 2001). Along the way small towns welcome the wagon train with food entertainment. The 2001 wagon train ride coincides with the Utah Western Heritage Festival, held the following week end after Labor Day.
A friend of Paul's wrote this bio for him in 2001:
Paul Ferron Bliss
Born in 1957 to Ferron & Julia Bliss, Paul spent the first years of his life on one of the largest cattle feed lot operations in Utah, where his dad was foreman for the Moody Ranch's. Paul says "I got horse s*** on my feet when I was a kid, and never been able to wipe 'em clean"
Paul now lives in Salem, Utah head quarters for Bliss Cattle Co. with the help of his wife Stacy (no age available), son Hagen (7) and daughter Swasey (5).
When Paul's not busy working horses, running pack strings, checking the West desert permits, doing chores, or just generally horsing around. You will find him lecturing at the local universities, high schools and performing cowboy poetry in the oral tradition.
Paul has performed at the Elko Poetry Gathering and Festival of the American West, to name two. Paul won honors at the National Cowboy Poetry Finals, was featured in the Las Vegas and Der Speigle magazines. He has shared the stage with Michael Martin Murphey, Stephanie Davis, Don Edwards and many other great western performers.
Not only is he exciting on stage but off stage too. In January one winter Paul packed up the horses and traveled 330 miles in the dead of winter to perform at the Elko Poetry Gathering in Nevada. Another time, with the help of this wife and a few close friends they drove 100 head of horses 290 miles to Kanab, Utah.
Caught up with western heritage? You bet. he founded the Utah Western Heritage Foundation and Festival, which helps provide scholarships for students who will seek the western arts.
But his greatest accomplishments other than his kids, is finding where those "dam cows are holed up!" Paul Bliss? "Just a Cowboy."And we can't resist adding this from correspondence with Paul:
When I was in high school I had this English teacher, fresh out of college, he was going to set the world on fire. He was a Sixties hippie, and I was going to make dam sure he didn't teach me anything (I won). I had three things on my mind, Girls, Football, and Rodeo, in that order. I was captain of the football team (all reign linebacker), three times high school rodeo finalist (bare backs & bulls). But I was a little shy of the girls, although I was in love with about twenty of them. I was going to fail his class if I didn't turn an assignment, so I turned in a short story about a bull rider and a rodeo clown. My spelling was terrible (still is). Well, to make a long story short, and after correcting my spelling, he gave me an A+ on that assignment. Which let me graduate from high school. However he had my short story published in the high school magazine. All my friends, and enemies, starting teasing me about this story. Boy did I take a lot of guff. It wasn't cool, it wasn't macho, for a big tuff cowboy to be writing poems and short cute stories. So I never let anybody see my work after that. I just keep it to my self. Until I marred Stacy, she seen one of my poems one day, and told me how good it was. Well, I didn't believe her, I just spent 20 years telling myself that they weren't. She kept on encouraging me, until one day she put me on the spot in public to do one of my poems. I got this sick feeling, my legs were shaky, and so was my voice. If someone would have said boo, I would have been gone, done, and out of there. But people related to my poems, and stories. So I've kinda opened up and let it flow. When I lecture at the schools, I tell them this story. And I've got letters from students who were just like me back then. I tell them it's your story you tell it how you want, there will be somebody out there, somewhere that will relate to It. It doesn't have to be western, it just has to be you.
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