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Salina, Utah
About Skylar Harwood


Papered Pete

Papered Pete was an old horse trader
real well known throughout the land
If you were shopping around for bloodlines
just check at ol Pete's stand

He didn't really care too much
on breed or riding style
As long as it had papers
he'd ride it with a smile

Last fall when we all met up again
to head the cow herd home
Pete was on this palomino paint
and I was on my old blue roan

He told me all about this filly
and her Doc Bar pedigree
Said she's the best cow horse
upon this range even though she's only three

This old horse of mine ain't papered
but he fits my saddle and me just fine
That's good for you old Pete did say
cause he's nothing next to mine

I just shook my head and smiled
as I mounted old Blue's back
And Pete pulled on the latigo
to tighten up the slack

Pete's prized papered pinto
got all fours clear in the sky
And turned and ran right over Pete
and just kept on running by

The other boys were at Pete's aid
so I went to catch his ride
And I know if he'd seen me laughing!
He'd a sure tried to tan my hide

He was up again and moving
when I rode back into camp
And right up on his Carhartt vest
was a perfect horseshoe stamp

Are you alright I asked him
and he just turned and looked at me
Don't judge my horse from that of course
keep in mind she's only three

Well he mounted up and we headed out
and rode up a couple draws
And I'll admit there for a while
his little horse was free of flaws

Then we come across a good size bunch
and started them on their way
When a pair right out in front of Pete
turned and begun to stray

Pete said watch this little filly go
She'll turn em back just right
I turned and looked in time to see
Pete taking into flight

Now what had happened was a rabbit
had been hiding in the brush
and as he rode on through it
like a hound dog made it flush

The rabbit took off running
and the horse went the other way
and when Pete come back to earth again
he turned back that pair that had gone astray

I said Pete she's quite a dandy
I like how she tries to strategize
and how she uses you to cut em back
You can see the intelligence in her eyes

As he got up to his feet again
he cursed that papered horse
Then grabbed a rein to lead her out
And I was feeling great remorse

I said here Pete give old Blue a try
and I'll ride your horse for a while
And to my surprise he said okay
and he said it with a smile

We finished out the day's work
and that Doc Bar horse was good to ride
And Pete he really liked old Blue
and he put his papered attitude aside
Yah he really changed his point of view
now he cross breeds like a fool
but I'd say he's overdone it
Last week he put a stud in with his mule

2006, Skylar Harwood 
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.



Job Security

Most folks think I'm crazy
shoveling manure for my pay
But there's more in my job description,
I feed them ponies twice a day

But I don't worry about job security
or things like that and such
If I start to running out of work,
I just feed 'em twice as much

2006, Skylar Harwood 
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.


The All Around

Joe he was an all around
He could do most anything,
from cookin meals to makin deals
Heck, he could even sing

A saddlemaker, mean colt breaker
poet and bronc rider
Rawhide braider, great horse trader
and a rodeo bullfighter

Pistol spinner, buckle winner,
an all out buckaroo
There ain't a thing I know of
that this cowboy couldn't do

Coffee brewer and horse shoer
He team roped on the side
Your eyes would be as wide as cowpies
if you'd seen this cowboy ride

Pole fence builder, stud colt guilder
and he could dog a steer
You'd bid up yourself a lifelong debt
if you'd heard him auctioneer

No doubt he was an all around
clear until his final breath
But that poor ole Joe, hey wouldn't ya know
He worked himself to death

2007, Skylar Harwood 
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.



A Good Ride Gone
I was breakin colts to make some dough
and things were goin good
These babies now were comin round
and doin what they should
So I start to trust em more each day
and none could really buck
But my disguise somehow had failed me
and I was seen by Lady Luck
So of course, she had to change some things
and try to make us square
But I know somehow she stacked the deck
and wasn't playing fair
Cause this gentle little filly,
when I took her on a ride
Out and back she just went perfect
Then she tried to tan my hide
We had three hundred yards to go
and the corral was in plain sight
I was gockin from the saddle
When we both took into flight
Well I'm sure that nothin spooked her
It was just her time to try
Boy, she got all fours clear in the air
and we were really high
She was squealin and a fartin
with her head between her feet
Blowin fast and choppy
as I sat tall in the seat
When I finally got her head pulled up
and she was all unwound
I thought I might be hurtin less
If I would've hit the ground
Then thinkin of my bronc skills
I felt a saddened pride
As I looked around, and there i'd found
No one had seen my ride

2007, Skylar Harwood 
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.



New Shoes
Dang, Tgo's thrown a shoe
and he needs em all reset
But I won't be the one to do it
On that you're safe to bet
So I go and call the shoein man
He says right now he's full
I guess it won't be too hard
to get the other three all pulled
So I pull them shoes and call her quits
and swear right then and there
That's all the work with feet I'll do
I'd rather fight a bear,
Than to hunch over and trim him up
and tack some new shoes on
When this chore usually comes around
I'm usually always gone
Then dad called and informed me
we're moving cows in just three days
I said, " Ya know I'll be there,
but I won't ride that ol Blaze"
"Then bring ol Tgo with ya,
he'll be better anyhow
That Blaze has never been too good
when it comes to workin cows"
I get up the next morning
just a cussin this new day
I don't wanna shoe this pony
I'd rather go haul hay
But cussin and whinin
don't make the job anymore fun
I pick up a foot and start to work
I just want this task all done
I got his feet trimmed up real nice
and my backs a goin out
All in all things really aren't too bad
I haven't had to shout
Then I tack shoes on and clinch em down
just glad to be all done
I don't know who ever said
that shoin horses was much fun
And the best part is he's set to go
and I don't have to ride Blaze
I'm ready to go help my dad
and ride with him for a couple days
But the day I went to load him
and towards home we would ride
Ol Tgo started colicin 
and wound up that he died 
First of all he was my pal
and the first colt that I broke
And his timing was sure awful
it wasn't much a funny joke
This meant I'd have to ride ol Blaze
cause Tgo was now gone
But the thing that most perturbed me
was I'd just put new shoes on

2007, Skylar Harwood 
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.


My folks they shoulda named me Don
So I could be the very best
at the things that all the cowboys do
like my heroes of the west
Don Edwards sings them cowboy songs
like the "Pecos River Queen"
Don Kings made some of the prettiest saddles
that a cowboys ever seen
And when it comes to making saddles
Don Butler's one to keep in mind
A saddle that compares to his
is one that's hard to find
And when it comes to cowboy poets
Ain't none better who could live it
Than my favorite himself, Don Kennington
who tells of shoein that ol Rivet
Though not everybody's favorite
none could argue anyway
about world champion bullrider
His fans call him Don Gay
And so I blame it on my parents
now my hopes and dreams are gone
I could have been a darn good cowboy,
If they would've only named me Don!

2007, Skylar Harwood 
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.


Skylar told us, "A couple years ago at the Rocky Mountain Leather Trade Show up in Sheridan, Wyoming,  Don Butler was an instructor for a class I was in. While up there I also had the opportunity to meet Don King at King's Saddle Museum. Thinking of other known Don's and their cowboy images, I thought I'd have some fun and write myself a poem."



Wranglin dudes has its own dangers
Heck, Keith had almost died
And I'm sure it'll take a couple years
to heal up his pride
Cause this gal bout only four feet tall
and dang near six feet wide
Couldn't climb up on her horse alone
No matter how she tried
So Keith, he give the count of three
and told that gal to jump
And grabbed himself to handfulls
of spandex full of rump
He started pushing with his shoulder
This now was life or death
Then her foot slipped from the stirrup
and Keith took in one last big breath
He tried to scream, but it was muffled
We couldn't see his head
But I'd have bet my weeks tips
it was more blue now than red
His hat pushed down so tightly
the brim almost touched his shoulders
He looked like a sapling willow
tryin to hold up two huge boulders
Then with one final effort
of super human power
He shoved her right up on that horse
And his face it sure looked sour
Pull the plunger from a syringe
and the pop noise that you get
If multiplied a dozen times
would probably be your safest bet
To the sound it made when she come off
of Keith with that much force
Not only would she tip the scales
She purt near tipped the horse
Now Keith's recovery's goin fine
He says therapy is swell,
But, I'll never forget the old man
stuck in the blowhole of a whale  

2007, Skylar Harwood 
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.


Skylar told us: While wrangling for a trail ride outfit I rode with an old man named Keith.  He told me this story himself, only in a more colorful version, and claimed that it really happened to him.  I cleaned it up as best I could and just put it to rhyme.



Shoeing School

I paid five thousand dollars
to go and learn the shoein trade
I've always shod a little
but with school I'd have it made
So when I'd shoe for other people
I could charge a big ol' fee
Just six weeks in this little course
and I'd soon have my degree
The first day at this school
things seemed to be quite swell
But little did I know
I was kiddy korner right with hell
I got my first horse all shod
with an instructor right by me
And that's the first time that I'd realized
I just shoed him up for free
Then they had a bunch more horses
they had tied right in a line
And all of us, who paid them money,
nailed steel on all equine
And they just kept a coming
Boy, this school had it made
Cause for every horse us students shod
the school then got paid
Yeah, I paid five thousand dollars
so I could get the upper hand
But instead I just shod horses
and made that school ten more grand

2008, Skylar Harwood 
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

Skylar told us, "A couple years ago my dad taught me how to shoe horses. I mainly had been shoeing my own until last year when I got the opportunity to work on quite a few horses at Ruby's Inn, where I guided trail rides. I got just as comfortable under a horse as on a horse and decided to further my education in this field. This past winter I attended Oklahoma State Horseshoeing School. Though every penny was well spent, I thought the experience was deserving of a poem."


Tales Never Told

Recall the stories you enjoy
pertaining to the west
The ones in song and rhythmic form
Are those remembered best

And there's probably a couple
that you've heard from folks of old
But have you heard the stories
and the tales that ne'er were told

Well if you haven't heard these tales
then know you're missing out
Cause they're from lives your kinfolk lived
that no one talks about

Sure, you might know a few things
from a journal that they kept
Granddad might have told of times
of when he laughed or wept

But that old saddle in his shed
petrifying in the dust
has stories that you won't believe
just underneath the crust

Just look at every little scratch
from seat, to skirts, to swells
And hear the silent narration
of the things this old kak tells

And that abandoned little homestead
just miles from your place
With a rundown old wood shanty
Its dwellers gone without a trace

It'll tell you of the hard times
though not much there remains
And there's the ghost town in the canyon
flooded out by heavy rains

Each of these now tells a story
of all of those gone long ago
It's a journal without writing
from all the ones we didn't know

And I look now at my parents' house
at the foot of these small hills
Where ninety years ago had sat
Salina Roller Mills

Great Grandma knew the roller mills
there on the edge of town
It's there where she was growing up
til German soldiers burnt it down

Yeah, that's a story that's been told,
but now you'd never know
As the past it slowly fades away
with the melting of each snow

And there's stories everywhere you go
worth more than that of gold
So get yourself some treasure
of the tales never told

2008, Skylar Harwood 
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.




 About Skylar Harwood:


I'm 20 years old from Salina, Utah, and have been writing cowboy poetry for seven years. I struck a deep interest from reading cowboy poetry books of my dad's, and like many poets, found it a great way to tell a story.  




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