Special:  Cowboy Love Poetry

Complete list of cowboy love poetry

 

Arthur Chapman Classic Cowboy Poetry
Valentine Day in Cactus Center

Bruce Kiskaddon
The Midwinter Bath

Susan Parker
Cowboy Kinda Girl 

Ken Whitecotton
A Dyin’ Cowboy’s Love Poem

 

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Valentine Day in Cactus Center

Things is quiet, here in Cactus, and our bullyvards now lack
The brisk, upliftin' infloo'nce of the forty-five's loud crack;
There's three doctors and some nusses, all the way from San Antone,
And they're patchin' up the leavin's of a Valentine cyclone.

It was all because Bear Hawkins, who's some clever with the pen,
Drew a bunch o' comic picters of our foremost fightin' men;
He cartooned Windy Porter as a sheep in cowboy's clothes
And he handed worse to others 'fore he hails the stage and blows.

It was n't many minutes 'fore the post-office was filled
With a seethin' bunch a-thirstin' fer to see an artist killed;
They did n't think o' Hawkins, fer he'd covered up his play,
So they fell to argumentin', in a gin'ral sort o' way.

The wrecked the gov'ment boxes, and they bloodied up the floor--
It was freshly laid with sawdust, and the P. M. ripped and swore--
And they used the doors and shutters and then tore the big sign down
Fer to bear away the wounded when the smoke had left the town.

So we ain't too strong in Catcus on this comic picter bix,
And we're waitin' fer Bear Hawkins jest to tip off where he is,
But he keeps hisself in hidin', though he sent us this one line--
"I still love you, Cactus Center--won't you be my valentine?"

Arthur Chapman

 

You can read more of Arthur Chapman's poetry here.

 

The Midwinter Bath

I'm home plenty early, I reckon--
It's too soon to start cookin' grub,
So before I begin with my bakin'
I'll take me a bath in that tub.

I'll build up a plenty big fire,
And git all the kittles well filled;
If there's one thing that I don't admire,
It's gittin' in water that's chilled.

That wind is some cold and plum nosey--
It's comin' right in through the cracks--
But I'll fix the place up warm and cozy,
And stuff that broke window with sacks.

Wow! Wow! But it sure makes you shiver--
A man wouldn't really suppose
It would chill him plum into the liver,
The minute he takes off his clothes.

Now, there is old Billy McRady--
He's eighty, and got his third wife.
She's quite a respectable lady--
And old Bill never bathed in his life.

When did I bathe last -- I remember,
Although I ain't put the date down--
I had one the first of November,
The last time I went into town.

It's weak'nin', a man can't deny it,
But I'm takin' a chance, anyway;
It won't hurt a feller to try it,
For this here is Volunteen day.

I'll git that new bar of Fels Napthy
And doll myself sweet an' clean,
And come out all purty an' happy--
Like somebody's sweet Volunteen.

Ouch!  Say, but my feet must be tender--
But then a man should understand,
When he feels of the water, remember,
That his feet ain't as tough as his hand.

I don't think it hurts your endurance,
Except when a feller just soaks,
For baths is a common occurrence
Among the society folks.

The men, kids and the women
Put on little short-legged skirts,
And goes in the ocean a swimmin';
They don't reckon as how that it hurts.

I've read about them in "The Tattler,"
Great goodness!  jest look at them heels;
I'm sheddin' my hide like a rattler--
It's turrible how a man peels,

I'v got some clean under-clothes ready,
But the others is still warm for me;
I'll got at this thing sort of steady--
Too much of it mightn't agree.

Les' see, now-November, December--
And this here is Volunteen Day;
I'll mark down the date and remember
I'm good 'till the first of next May.

It may cause a feller to weaken,
It may sort of shorten Life's path;
But I'll tell you right here, plainly speakin',
I sure do enjoy a good bath!

Bruce Kiskaddon

You can read more of Bruce Kiskaddon's poetry here.

 

 

Cowboy Kinda Girl

I like a man in Wranglers 'n boots.                   
They're not for me those Armani suits              
in high-polished wing tips or loafers with tassels,           
'n rings on their pinkies, who live in glass castles.          

I wanna a guy who's rugged 'n tall,                              
speaks words of love with a Tennessee drawl,  
swaggers beside me with a bowlegged stride,               
yet has no fear of his feminine side.       

I need a man that's toughened with muscle,
sports at his navel a PRCA buckle,
a rodeo champ who rides a bare-back bronc,
then dances the two-step at the honky-tonk.     

He smells of old leather 'n fresh mown hay,
rides a fine pony, a quarter horse bay.
Together they work to bring home the herd;
the job gets done with nary a word.

His home's not the city, why he'd go insane;
it's nights under stars on an open plain.             
A well-worn saddle cradles his head                            
as prairie grass becomes his bed.                     

Tequila kisses melt me to the core                                
when jinglin' spurs walk through the door.        
The spark in his eyes ignites me like fire;           
my body quivers with naked desire.
           
A wide-brimmed Stetson sits low on his brow
as he plays his g'itar and tells me how
he'll love me forever, just wait 'n see,
if  a cowboy's girl I'm willin' to be.
           
His fingertips feather my sensitive skin,
send me to heaven again 'n again
as hot passion flows in pure poetry.
Yeah!  A cowboy's girl I'm gonna be!
 
© 2004, Susan Parker
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

 

You can about Susan Parker here.

 


A Dyin’ Cowboy’s Love Poem

Choosin' to be a cowboy,
'Twas easy, the choice was right.
Ridin' and wranglin' all day,
Sleeping under stars at night.

Ridin' 'cross Colorado,
An' most Arizona, too,
Livin' a great life of freedom,
Eatin' beans, bacon and stew.

Star-roweled steel 'pon my boots,
Astride a good, decent horse,
This was truly my life's dream,
Figger'd I'd ne'er change my course.

Was pushin' cows down country,
Ta where thar weren't no snow.
When I got blindsided,
Gol' darn, how was I ta know?

Course, I knew she was a dude,
But she was one darn purdy sight.
An' after she smiled at me,
Love had taken its first bite.

God bless, could she ever cook,
I ne'er 'fore ate grub so fine.
Yep, it wasn't very long,
'Till she owned this heart o' mine.

I could hardly believe it,
I gave up my cowboy days,
Settled down ta married life,
An' enjoyed her lovin' ways.

My reckless youth is now long gone,
An' I'm approachin' my dyin' day.
But 'fore they plant me 'neath the sod,
I've jist this one last thing ta say.

Though I enjoy'd every day
Of my ol' time cowboy life.
I'd trade 'em all 'fore I go,
Fer jist one more day, with my lovin' wife.

© 2004, Ken Whitecotton
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.


You can read more of Ken Whitecotton's poetry here.

 

 

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