Folks' Poems

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Ryan Krantz

Featured in "The Big Roundup," an anthology of the best of



Times Change

When I put on my dusty ol' hat, I seem to drift off in time,
To a place where six guns ruled the land, 'round 1859.
Ridin' high, on my pony Ty, we dance across the plains,
Headin' down to a Texas town, words just can't explain.

I feel so proud... Mighty and Loud, to be so Open and Free,
Open Range and Farmlands spread as far as the eye can see.
Outlaws and Indians roam the land, Lawmen and Bounty Hunters too,
A gentle breeze blows through the trees and the Sky is a baby blue.

Things have changed so much since then, but in some ways they never will
I wish I lived when times were simpler, when I could've rode with Wild Bill.
But being a Cowboy, means being Free, workin' hard and workin' good,
And never letting go of that Dream, like no Cowboy ever should.

And though the Twenty-first Century is here,
The Cowboy still lives on,
Living Free, and without Fear,
His Legacy will never be Gone.

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

Barrel Racers

They don't cuss,
And they don't spit,
And in the saddle is where they sit.
Makin' their run,
Is all that they know,
Turnin' them barrels,
Then its get up and go.
Turn and burn,
Is what them pretty girls do,
They make a good showin',
Their horses do too.
And when I say pretty,
That aint no joke,
And them fast horses they ride,
Can leave a trail of smoke.
The most colorful characters,
Are these Rodeo Stars,
A talented group of people,
These gals sure are.
They got these big bright eyes,
That tantalize all the men...
And if you're a little lucky,
They may look back at you again.
True heartbreakers,
Are these Barrel Racers,
Makin' their stand,
As Rodeo Women.

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

The Gumsull

With high intentions, but knowledge he lacks,
The Gumsull cannot bear to face the bitter facts.
He knows his time is near, and knows his ride so short,
And that Eight Second Roller Coaster, Has him sweatin' from every pore.

He knows he probably wont make it, And that his chances are so slim,
But maybe if he grits his teeth,  He may hold on and Win.

Clint gives him a beer, he guzzles it down, and more throughout the night,
Courage in a bottle is what he needs, To help him win this fight.
The time is growin' near and the butterflies are settin' in,
And he turns a pale green when his bull is loaded from the pen.

He asks Ol' Charlie, "What should I do?"  O'l Charlie said, "I just pull the
flank!!!" Then he laughs and says, "Git in an' nod yer head, we'll open up
that gate!"

Now his ride has come and he has settled down on his bull,
And hopes it won't take much more time 'cause his bladder is so full.
With a reluctant nod, he grits his teeth and screams out of the gate,
That High Horned bull has his way with him, and slams him on his Face.

With mud in his eyes, and mud in his teeth, and mud between his ears,
He tries to scramble to his feet before he get caught in his rear.
Not a bullfighter in the world, could've saved this poor guy,
He just crawled around on the arena floor, as if he wanted to die.

You could just see it comin', he's done got hooked,
The bull gave him a chance, gave him a second look,
And the thrashing taking place is oh so mean,
From the cloud of dust,  we hear a scream.

With a little help he clears away and scrambles to, with energy oh so meek,
And we're all pretty darn sure, that he wont be back next week.

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

About Ryan Krantz:

My Name is Ryan Krantz, I'm 19 years old and I live in Florida, the Original Cracker Cowboy State!  There's a lot of tradition here in Florida that a lot
of people don't get a chance to learn or understand. A lot of people think of Florida and they think of Disney World, Miami Vice, and things to that nature. But there's a lot more of Florida than people really see.

I first started writin Cowboy Poetry when I met a man named Carl Sharp, he's from right here in Florida too. He's in the Professional Rodeo Cowboy Hall of Fame because he's got a Calf Roping record that is unbreakable since they added a barrier string to the event.  He's about 85 years old but you wouldn't be able to tell by the way he talks, or acts, or can still put down his nightly glass of Whiskey.  Once he hung up his rope, he picked up his pen and started writing some of the best Cowboy Poetry I've ever heard. He is the "Official" Florida Cracker Cowboy Poet Cowhunter Historian, but he don't let it go to his head any more than the Pro Rodeo Hall of Fame buckle he keeps around his waist. I spent about 4 hours with this man and my life changed forever. He inspired me to write.

I'm also a Bullrider, and I've been ridin Bulls for about 3 years now. I competed in High School competition, and have recently moved up into the
ranks of Pro.  I'm doin alright at it too.  I'm having a blast and write down about 2 to 3 poems every time me and my buddies hop in the truck to head on down to a pitchin. They all like to hear my stuff, but only because after travelin for hours and hours it can get pretty boring, but they are a good crowd, with a lot of "feedback" you might say!  

*Pioneers who settled Florida were called "Florida Crackers," a nickname that probably refers to the cracking sounds their whips made as they herded cattle.



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