Cowboy Poetry and Music and More at the BAR-D Ranch

About Rebecca Suzanne Sprague


Rodeo Horse

Like thunder sweeping across the plain,
Pounding, rumbling against the ground,
Four hooves strike down on solid earth,
Relentless with calling resound.

Strength and beauty of the power,
Bold with excitement and fearless,
An explosion of anticipation and joy,
Unyielding, unwilling to regress.

Sleek and tough, stunning and sturdy,
A marvel of agility and control,
Like lightning dashing or a top spinning,
Truly a wonder to behold.

Agreeing to pair and be part of a team,
Yet a strong-willed and determined one,
When the time comes and all is set,
The shot’s like a bullet from a gun.

Like thunder sweeping across the plain,
Pounding, rumbling against the ground,
Four hooves strike down on solid earth,
Relentless with calling resound.

© 2014, Rebecca Suzanne Sprague
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without permission.



Bull Rider

The moment still alive, fresh in your head,
Your confidence the taste of victory fed.
Fearlessly conquering the man busting beast,
For best to do well, eight seconds at least.

Tonight it was you, who came out on top,
Your resolve and courage could not be stopped.
A roll of the dice in this deadly game,
Decides your fate, but its direction you aim.

Dancing with thunder in the grandest of show,
All the while conscious of the explosion below.
Each round approached with determination and nerve,
Each night being tested, earning praise you deserve.

Strong-willed and relentless with talent abound,
But the words never needed, your actions resound.
In this journey well done, your deeds tell the story,
Of the blood, sweat, and tears that you shed for glory.

© 2014, Rebecca Suzanne Sprague
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without permission.

Rebecca Suzanne Sprague comments, "You can surround yourself with close friends that strap themselves on the back of bucking bulls, but if you’re not of that breed, there will always be a certain layer of mystery that surrounds their passion. For an 'outsider,' it seems unfathomable to willingly place yourself in harm’s way, but a bull rider is dedicated to their craft through injury, pain, mud, heartache, and triumph. It’s a drive that is hard to ignore and thrilling to witness."





Soil broken here by progress and strife,
Clouded by haste of mundane life.
Where disruption and confusion ever abound,
Nameless depictions fall without sound.

Shackled to motion of a fast-moving train,
Surrounded by harshness of all profane.
A plea to abandon, with open breath,
But staying to suffer a slow, gripping death.

Elope to a land where freedom reveals,
The peaceful presence a herd often wields.
Raw force and wonder endlessly moves,
Carelessly flowing in hard, graceful hooves.

Nature’s chorus enfolds with the strongest of still,
A promise of seclusion, always fulfill.
Yearning to withdraw, drunk on the sun,
To a time this spirit, its essence begun.

For these dwellers remember a costless expanse,
With a longing for beauty in their native dance.
Captive our hearts to these giving solace,
Evermore revered to remain…tameless.

© 2014, Rebecca Suzanne Sprague
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without permission.

Rebecca Suzanne Sprague comments,  "The sight of truly wild horses is something to behold. For some, this might be a natural part of their surroundings, but for others, this may be something they never get to witness. To think of a time when these creatures were more prevalent and unrestricted in their freedom is to long for a day of simplicity where God’s creation was the focus. After camping on the Rio Grande in the San Luis Valley, near the Colorado-New Mexico border, I was in the passenger’s seat with all four windows down, driving through the expansive plain area on the way to visit a friend’s parents spread, when I looked over to see a herd running alongside the truck. I was in awe. I was able to capture a little of what I felt on film (as pictured), but that does not do justice for the beauty that I was able to experience that day. Thinking back on that day, I tried capturing this amazement in 'Tameless.'"

She also included a photograph, taken the day described in the poem.


© 2014, Rebecca Suzanne Sprague


Back Number

Dedication, forced smile,
Down the next lonely mile,
Chasing dreams still as new
As the day they came to.

Nameless faces surround,
No matter where you’re bound,
A prize not worth much
But the pride, close to touch.

Nothing else known,
But this cold, trav’ling home,
Missing love now and then
To gain status in a pen.

A back slapped,
Options tapped,
Saddled to the hope,
Earning pay throwing rope.

All emotions wound tight,
As you still have a fight,
Tuck your shirt with a hunger,
Spoken soft, a back number.

© 2015, Rebecca Suzanne Sprague
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without permission.


Rebecca Suzanne Sprague comments,  "A rodeoing cowboy’s lifestyle is a hard one that requires dedication and desire that’s unrivaled in any other.  To see the drive firsthand and appreciate the sacrifices made to have only the chance to chase that dream, is a humbling experience.  I’ve been fortunate enough to call some of these men and women my friends, and the pride and modesty I’ve witnessed made a lasting impression in my appreciation for these folks.  A back number represents the challenges, costs, and championships given and taken—while not saying not a word, it speaking volumes.  This is dedicated to an individual that taught me about living in the moment and taking chances, for which I’ll be forever grateful."



Call Me Your Only

That line comes in,
Like a shrill, loud knife,
With a flash to that day,
In the most foreign life.

The memory there,
Suspended in time,
When the promise of future
That dream was still mine.

There was never a lull,
Or a shadow of doubt,
To know of your love,
What your heart was about.

But those horses called,
With the temptation of life,
And broncs took the place,
Of a home, steady wife.

Now your love goes on miles,
And bucks 'til it's cold,
Your bones tired and weary,
Grow another year old.

Pulled back by my force,
Known once long ago.
Forgiving you easy,
For my heart’s yours alone.

Long to hear those words,
Call me your only,
And call me forever,
But you only call me lonely.
No, you only call me lonely…

© 2015, Rebecca Suzanne Sprague
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without permission.


Rebecca Suzanne Sprague comments:

I've always appreciated the lyrics of "Mammas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Cowboys," for the simple yet accurate way it depicted the contradictory nature of the brand, but most especially the internal conflict of wanting to settle down with someone they love but still having the need to be free and drift on a rodeo trail. After reading a quote from Charlie Chaplin (of all people to inspire a cowboy poetry piece!), I realized it's those contradictory characteristics of a "cowboy" that makes them so endearing and fascinating.

"A tramp, a gentleman, a poet, a dreamer, a lonely fellow, always hopeful of romance and adventure." —Charlie Chaplin



  About Rebecca Suzanne Sprague
                                      provided 2014

Growing up mostly around Arabian horses, I competed in endurance racing, which challenged my horses’ conditioning over long miles and various landscapes. It was an adrenaline rush words failed to describe to those that wouldn’t experience it for themselves and my faithful mare was an outstanding partner. But there was an itch endurance racing couldn’t quite reach.

Frequent visits to friends’ working ranches in northwestern Colorado gave me the opportunity to experience life as a cowgirl— working and branding cattle, hunting with packhorses, and running chutes during ropings. There were quite a few Quarter and Paint horses that already had a special place in my heart from home, but a girl never forgets the first time of backing into a box aboard a professional roping horse, waiting to nod her head and chase down a steer. The explosion of speed and strength is like nothing else. A midnight black gelding with a bright white blaze, taught me that quietness and gentleness should never be mistaken for lack of determination, spirit, and loyalty. It’s a lesson I will never forget.

Recently, this dependable tough guy was taken home to greener pastures, but it makes me smile thinking of him in this light, reflected in my poem. "Rodeo Horse."




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