Rusty Calhoun
The Photo Album
Where Colorado Mountains Touch the Sky
Bruce
Satta
When You and I Are Old
For My
Valentine
Paul Kern
When the Coyote Calls
Down Moonlit Dreams
Page Eight
Where Colorado Mountains Touch the Sky
My mind takes me to the place of our dreams,
High in the Rockies where cold water springs
From little rock crannies
Where the Columbine grows
Beside a small pool, that nobody knows.
Perfume of the pines, sweet on the air
Alpine meadow flowers, entwined in my hair,
Placed there as gently as an angel’s touch
By the calloused hands I loved so much.
The taste of your lips pressed to my own,
There in the mountains our true love had grown
We’d lie on our backs , staring up at the sky
To watch soft, fluffy clouds meandering by.
Or behold the stars that appeared in the blue,
Close enough to pick, from the heavens for you,
And put them into your gentle blue eyes,
To see them twinkle like the lovely night skies.
As you laid me down on a pallet, so cool,
and placed on my finger a hand plaited jewel
of braided pine needles so strong it held fast.
An unbroken promise that our love would last,
And so it did, from that time to this
And now I must give you my parting kiss.
By God, dear cowboy, our ride was the best!
Now, you’ll lie down for this long final rest.
I’ll join you one day at our spread in the sky,
And we’ll watch His dear angels fluttering by.
But not even heaven could ever compare
to our Colorado home with its clear mountain air.
© 1999 Rusty Calhoun
Rusty noted that another of her Valentine poems, Cowboy Hats was "For Larry, my forever Valentine - the man who held my heart b. 1936 - d. 1993"
She said of this poem, "Same guy, same girl, same ranch."
The Photo Album
A 1940 picture of Daddy
Holding his newborn babe.
Cradled in his strong hands, a daughter.
He cherishes the life that he’s made.
A lady, is how he’ll raise her,
All satin and laces and curls.
Dolls, ruffles, and tea sets,
Nothin’s too fine for his girl.
A 1942 picture of Daddy
Holdin' Miss Scally-Wag.
Little fingers in Daddy’s pocket,
Pullin' on the Bull Durham tag.
A 1946 picture of Daddy
Ridin' his big Walkin’ horse,
And taggin' along right behind him,
His darlin’ daughter, of course.
She’s ridin’ out hell bent for leather
Tall in the saddle like dad.
Old cowboy hat pulled down over her ears.
Best little partner he’s had.
A 1955 picture of Daddy
Watchin’ his little girl
Ridin’ like hell ‘round those barrels.
No satin, no lace and no curls.
He’s prouder than punch of this daughter,
More than he’ll ever say.
Sorry he never had a boy child?
Naw, look at her ridin’ that bay!
A 1960 picture of daughter,
Two years after dad died.
She’s ridin’ his Walker and workin’ the ranch.
She never broke down and cried.
‘Cause she knows her Daddy’s sittin’
On a spirit mount, right by her side.
No, she wasn’t Daddy’s fluffy , prissy girl.
She was his strength, his life and his pride!
Rusty says this poem is "For my Daddy, Doc Emerson 1898 -1958"
Read more of Rusty Calhoun's poetry here.
When You And I Are Old
When you and I are past our prime,
We'll look back on this very time
With what our frail memories hold,
When you and I are old.
I'd lived a hard-luck cowboy's life
With no desire to take a wife.
Settle down? Not a chance!
But oh, the power of a glance:
An eyebrow raised, a crooked smile,
Then, watchin' you walk down the aisle.
A honeymoon would have been nice:
We made a shivaree suffice
And then, your challenges began,
Partnered with the kind of man
Who'd do his best, but often failed
Yet, through your strength, we both prevailed
And raised five kids on what God granted -
Game I shot, or beans you planted.
Never once did you complain,
Though worried eyes revealed your pain.
Those very eyes? Not a chance!
But oh, the power of a glance.
Now, the last of five has grown;
What lies ahead remains unknown
But, if I never made it clear,
You are what my heart holds dear:
More precious than my very breath,
And even so beyond my death.
© 2004, Bruce SattaRead more of Bruce Satta's poetry here.
For My Valentine
When I'm countin' blessin's
You are always first.
You're there with me in good times,
And right there for the worst.
You've stuck with me through thick and thin
Along life's windin' trail.
When I describe my love for you -
Well, words can only fail
For at that fateful moment
I first gazed into your eyes,
I felt my soul aflutter,
Like a thousand butterflies.
I felt my spirit soarin'
As high as any cloud,
And since we've been together,
I couldn't be more proud.
We have our disagreements
As every couple will,
Yet, even when our nostrils flare
We love each other, still,
And when we fight and squabble,
You know I can't stay mad:
Why, you're the best darned saddle horse
A fella ever had.
© 2005, Bruce Satta
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.Read more of Bruce Satta's poetry here.
When the Coyote Calls Down Moonlit Dreams
Sleep comes fast along the trail,
Twilight, moonlight and a coyotes wail,
Echoes along the canyon wall,
It's a haunting cry and a lonesome call.
Calling tonight through the cold and clear,
To the distant past or some future year.
My eyes grow heavy; I nod off to sleep,
On a saddle blanket in the canyon deep.
When the coyote calls down moonlit dreams,
To a boy still bursting at the seams,
Asleep in the canyon 'till the morning dew,
Dreams like this always come true.
Evening cool raised a gentle breeze,
As the horses pawed the roots of the trees,
Of the picket line standing tall and true,
The years to come came into view.
You came to me though you never knew,
We walked a while as warm breezes blew,
A seaside, a riverside, a far off place,
I saw your smile, long hair and face.
As sunrise kissed the morning dew,
I knew that some day I would find you,
And each to the other would belong.
It was all right there in the coyote's song.
We found each other and have lived the dream,
That came beside a mountain stream.
Asleep in the canyon 'till the morning dew,
Dreams like this always come true.
© 2003, Paul R. Kern
Paul told us: "This took place in the summer of 1970 during a pack trip with my father through the Tetons. We made a loop around the range starting from the Idaho side - up Devil's Staircase down through Death Canyon, north along the Wyoming side to Cascade Canyon, then up and around to Alaska Basin and back to Idaho."
Read more of Paul Kern's poetry here.
Page Eight
Authors retain copyright to
their work; obtain an author's
permission before using a poem in any form.
CowboyPoetry.com is a project of the Center for Western and Cowboy Poetry, Inc., a Federal and California tax-exempt non-profit 501 (c) (3) organization.
