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RICK MARTINEZ
Casper, Wyoming
About Rick Martinez

Rick Martinez

 

 

 

Newborn

The wind it was a blowin'
Snowflakes were fallin'
When somewhere in the distance
There was a newborn calf a bawlin'

For his mom was licking him clean
When she nuzzled him off that bank
Now he was unable to get back to her flank

She looked at me for help
In hopes I would assist
But my hands were so numb with cold
I could  barely  make a fist

I shook out a loop
Tossed it straight and true
I caught that newborn calf
Now what em' I gonna do

His mom's mad as hell
Snortin' and pawin' up dirt
I knew I'd best do something
Or someone was gonna get hurt

I talked to that cow real nice
Told her it would be okay
I'm gonna pull your calf up
Then you can be on your way

I pulled that calf up easy
Then took off my rope
Now you can live another day
For the banker's sake I hope

Now you stay close to mom
Don't fall off any more banks
As I rode away his mom looked at me
And in a cow's way said thanks

  Rick Martinez
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

 

The Storm

The primitive howl of the savage wind
Cut through the coal black night
Drowning the sound of distant thunder
That precedes the flash of blinding light

The exalted power of mother nature
Setting the midnight sky on fire
Filling the air with zealous energy
Like that of a mustang's sire

Five more miles down the ridge
Lies the refuge of my camp
The flashes drawing nearer now
Lighting the Heavens like a flaming lamp.

The lightning's display of awesome power
Filled the air with fear
The booming thunder so close upon me
I was barely able to hear.

The eerie glow on the canyon walls
Shone like a camp fire light
Leading my way down the trail
On this frightful and dismal night.

The ominous sound of the lightning bolt
As it plummeted to the Earth
Sent my gelding down the trail
On a lope for all he was worth.

We crashed down the canyon
Through the rocks and Quaker trees
The lightning popping all around us
Like a hive of angry bees.

Looming in the shadows
I could see the distant shack
The biting pain of hail stones
Now thrashing upon my back.

I made it back to camp
Cold, drenched, and worn
To awaken the next day
To a ravishing mountain morn.

  Rick Martinez
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

Last Prayer

Dear Lord please be gentle
When you take me from this land
Be kind to this old cowboy
Reach down and take my calloused hand

I've made a few mistakes
I'll make them right when I can
But Lord please remember
I am just a mere man

When you delivered me into this world
My fate you had to tie
To roam this earth as a cowboy
Until the very day I die

I've tried to be a worthy man
To live by your creed
Often times leading a-stray
But Lord please take heed

I ne'er was one for church
But I still often pray
For your house of worship to me
Is where the moutains and valley's lay

I know you're there beside me
Where the mountain streams flow
Keeping me safe beside you
As you observe my life below

From the exalted rolling hills
To the high desert plain
You send down your existence
In the form of warm gentle rain

The changing of the seasons
The passing of the years
Brings on the time of aging
And with it all its fears

Was I a righteous man
Did I always treat my horse right
A good father and a husband
A lantern in the night

Will I forever be remembered
For all the good things I have done
Leave an everlasting impression
on my daughter and my son

With these questions all answered
And all the wrong things I've done made right
I will leave this world behind me
Passing quietly in the night

So Dear Lord please be gentle
When you take me from this land
Be kind to this old cowboy
Reach down and take my calloused hand.

2001 Rick Martinez
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

 

About Rick Martinez:

I am a third generation cowboy. I was raised on a ranch and I'm thirty years old. I have a beautiful wife to whom I have been married for eleven years, with a wonderful daughter who is ten, and a wonderful son of eight. I started writing poems about two years ago just for something to pass the time during calving season.

 

 

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