By Bronco T ( This is a true story )
His name was Coors he told us, mounted on a bay,
Been up on Garcia Flats, how long he didn’t say.
His hair was long and shaggy, but his shirt and pants was clean,
He rode an old Hamley saddle, and the bronc he rode was mean.
Lean and small and wiry, batwing chaps he wore,
A quirt was hangin’ from his wrist, he was cowboy to the core.
Headed into Cimarron, ridin’ broncs in the rodeo,
He’d come to town to party, and maybe win a little dough.
We met ‘im on a little crick, West of Rayado Place,
The little bronc he’s ridin’, was walkin’ a rapid pace.
Well he helped us with our gather, and we pushed them horses home,
He stayed and ate some breakfast, then said to town he’d roam..
We seen ‘im at the rodeo, forkin’ a salty bronc,
He fanned ‘im with his hat a bit, long after the horn did honk.
Then he kicked them Blucher customs, from the stirrup brace,
And somersaulted through the air, landin’ on both feet with grace.
He cocked his silverbelly, to the right with jaunt and style,
And sauntered cross the arena sand, on his face a cocky smile.
He drew the average check that day, and every hand there did concede,
Coors rode like the ol’ bronc twisters, a rare and dyin’ breed.
Well we seen ‘im at the dance that night, kickin’ up his heels,
Dancin’ with the pretty girls, doin shotish, waltz and reels.
In the years that followed, we talked about ‘im some,
Wonderin’ where he headed, and where he might hail from.
No one seemed to know ‘im, least that’s what it did seem,
But we all still marvel, that we saw the twister cream.
And ever since we saw ‘im ride, we rank ‘im with the best,
Like those long ago bronc busters, Legends of the West.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Y2 Triple 000 Compliant
By Bronco T
( Wrote this in December 1999 when all the silliness happened)
You know I find myself wonderin’ what the fuss is all about,
What’s makin’ them computer fellers cuss mumble an shout.
It seems they’s a problem ‘bout timin’ or such,
An’ in year 2 triple aught they say we’ll be sufferin’ much.
Why jest the other day, as I traipsed through the mall,
I heered a young feller, ‘bout ready ta bawl.
He says ta me, “Mister, is your PC compliant,
Are ya prepared fer the fall, are ya computer reliant ?
Well I scratched my head, right under my hat,
Tryin’ ta figure out, why he was talkin’ like that.
I says ta ‘im, “Well I’m not sure what ya mean,
But if yer referin’ ta that confounded, high priced addin’ machine.
“We’ll git along fine, in 2 triple aught,
‘Cause we’re still illiterate, an’ compliant we’re not.”
“‘Cause ya see we don’t care. If y’alls timin’ is bad,
If they all quit ta runnin’, we wouldn’t be sad.”
“For we still remember, how ta grow our own food,
So we just don’t give a darn, and I don’t mean ta be rude.”
“But when you’re still a fussin’, with them infernal addin’ machines,
I’ll be at home eatin’ sow belly and beans.”
“So you try ta remember, them machines won’t fill your belly,
And that wire glass and plastic, is shore nuff tasteless and smelly.”
“You’re askin’ me if, I’m Y 2 triple aught compliant,
Well I’ll tell ya this much, nope I’m technol’gy defiant.”
“And if the power throws a fit, I’ll fire up a candle,
And I’ll raise my water, with a pump with a handle.”
“If my gas guzzler drys up, I can still ride a horse,
And if it’s too far ta town, I’ll stay home with the cattle.”
“‘Cause you’re too young ta remember, but I’ll tell ya this son,
Livin’ without modern convenience shore used ta be fun.”
“Yeh, I’m computer illiterate, not Y2 triple aught compliant,
I’m just an old codger, that’s technol’gy defiant.”
( Wrote this in December 1999 when all the silliness happened)
You know I find myself wonderin’ what the fuss is all about,
What’s makin’ them computer fellers cuss mumble an shout.
It seems they’s a problem ‘bout timin’ or such,
An’ in year 2 triple aught they say we’ll be sufferin’ much.
Why jest the other day, as I traipsed through the mall,
I heered a young feller, ‘bout ready ta bawl.
He says ta me, “Mister, is your PC compliant,
Are ya prepared fer the fall, are ya computer reliant ?
Well I scratched my head, right under my hat,
Tryin’ ta figure out, why he was talkin’ like that.
I says ta ‘im, “Well I’m not sure what ya mean,
But if yer referin’ ta that confounded, high priced addin’ machine.
“We’ll git along fine, in 2 triple aught,
‘Cause we’re still illiterate, an’ compliant we’re not.”
“‘Cause ya see we don’t care. If y’alls timin’ is bad,
If they all quit ta runnin’, we wouldn’t be sad.”
“For we still remember, how ta grow our own food,
So we just don’t give a darn, and I don’t mean ta be rude.”
“But when you’re still a fussin’, with them infernal addin’ machines,
I’ll be at home eatin’ sow belly and beans.”
“So you try ta remember, them machines won’t fill your belly,
And that wire glass and plastic, is shore nuff tasteless and smelly.”
“You’re askin’ me if, I’m Y 2 triple aught compliant,
Well I’ll tell ya this much, nope I’m technol’gy defiant.”
“And if the power throws a fit, I’ll fire up a candle,
And I’ll raise my water, with a pump with a handle.”
“If my gas guzzler drys up, I can still ride a horse,
And if it’s too far ta town, I’ll stay home with the cattle.”
“‘Cause you’re too young ta remember, but I’ll tell ya this son,
Livin’ without modern convenience shore used ta be fun.”
“Yeh, I’m computer illiterate, not Y2 triple aught compliant,
I’m just an old codger, that’s technol’gy defiant.”
Waggin' Tongue
By Bronco T
Livin’ with a wife, can sometimes be tough,
And I know that she thinks, livin with me’s been real rough.
Love aint the issue, when we have a big fight,
It’s generally about, who’s wrong or who’s right.
Now one day at breakfast, to use an example,
I’d won the argument, ‘cause my wisdom was ample.
Well it soon became apparent, that my wisdom had failed,
So I ducked out the back door, as at my poor head she flailed.
I sulked to the barn, tail draggin’ the ground,
As she burned up the air, with a loud squallin’ sound.
I could still hear her plain, till I closed the barn doors,
And breathed a sigh of relief, as I started my chores.
Today was the day, I took salt to the water,
So I fed my big draft team, a double helpin’ of fodder.
How I love that big team, with all their powerful muscle,
And as I harnessed ‘em up, it kept my mind off that tussle.
I loaded the wagon with blocks of stock salt,
Thinkin’ that fight with my wife, wasn’t my fault.
My team was a good one, Big Ben and Ol’ Pard,
Out of the barn I eased ‘em, and into the yard.
Just as we came to, the back door of the house,
Out came my sweetheart, my true lovin’ spouse.
I was torn between runnin’, or face a mighty tongue lashin’,
When she calls out with a sweet voice, full of love and compassion.
“Honey hold up, don’t drive so fast,
For I’ve found a solution, to our squabblin’ at last.”
Well I pulls to a stop, she jumps up in the seat,
And throws her arms ‘round my neck all feminine an’ sweet.
The she says with a sigh, “Oh, say look at this team,
How they both pull together, aren’t they just a dream.
“And wouldn’t it be nice, if like this team me and thee,
Pulled our life’s load together, what a joy that would be.”
Well I cleared my throat, feelin’ fear in my heart,
I said, “I’ll do my share, and I’ll do my part.
“And we’d pull like this team, if we’d both agree,
That we need one tongue, ‘tween both thee ‘n me.”
Livin’ with a wife, can sometimes be tough,
And I know that she thinks, livin with me’s been real rough.
Love aint the issue, when we have a big fight,
It’s generally about, who’s wrong or who’s right.
Now one day at breakfast, to use an example,
I’d won the argument, ‘cause my wisdom was ample.
Well it soon became apparent, that my wisdom had failed,
So I ducked out the back door, as at my poor head she flailed.
I sulked to the barn, tail draggin’ the ground,
As she burned up the air, with a loud squallin’ sound.
I could still hear her plain, till I closed the barn doors,
And breathed a sigh of relief, as I started my chores.
Today was the day, I took salt to the water,
So I fed my big draft team, a double helpin’ of fodder.
How I love that big team, with all their powerful muscle,
And as I harnessed ‘em up, it kept my mind off that tussle.
I loaded the wagon with blocks of stock salt,
Thinkin’ that fight with my wife, wasn’t my fault.
My team was a good one, Big Ben and Ol’ Pard,
Out of the barn I eased ‘em, and into the yard.
Just as we came to, the back door of the house,
Out came my sweetheart, my true lovin’ spouse.
I was torn between runnin’, or face a mighty tongue lashin’,
When she calls out with a sweet voice, full of love and compassion.
“Honey hold up, don’t drive so fast,
For I’ve found a solution, to our squabblin’ at last.”
Well I pulls to a stop, she jumps up in the seat,
And throws her arms ‘round my neck all feminine an’ sweet.
The she says with a sigh, “Oh, say look at this team,
How they both pull together, aren’t they just a dream.
“And wouldn’t it be nice, if like this team me and thee,
Pulled our life’s load together, what a joy that would be.”
Well I cleared my throat, feelin’ fear in my heart,
I said, “I’ll do my share, and I’ll do my part.
“And we’d pull like this team, if we’d both agree,
That we need one tongue, ‘tween both thee ‘n me.”
Upon Ol' Capitan
By Bronco T
It’s hard to still remember, been so long ago,
I think it was late twenties, give or take a year or so.
High on the Capitan, on land just newly bought,
We came to gather cattle, least that was what we thought.
Mountains steep and brushy, cattle old long horned and wild,
We thought that we was cowboys, not slickers meek and mild.
We found that we could catch ‘em, but on horseflesh and man was rough,
Always had good horses, just never had enough.
Lost ropes and busted riggins, although we caught a few,
Tie ‘em to a scrubby pine, let ‘em set a day or two.
And when we went to lead ‘em, off that mountain named Capitan,
Starvin’ hadn’t slowed ‘em down none, they wrecked us to a man.
Feelin’ low but so much wiser, the boss says, “Cut ‘em loose,
I hate to admit defeat boys, but for devil’s cattle I’ve no use.”
We gathered at the Prather camp, to lick our wounds and heal,
And look upon that lonely mountain, with our failure each to deal.
When ridin’ into camp there came, upon a little grass fed mare,
An old and grizzled Mescalero, with long and braided hair.
He spoke in broken English, but mostly he talked in sign,
We was all a little curious to what he had in mind.
He’d heard about our troubles, upon El Capitan,
And for bringin’ off them cattle, he said he had a plan.
Well we all grinned and laughed a bit, for we thought he was a fool,
We was a lickin’ wounds ya see, to his words we all was cool.
But the boss he says, “Just listen, let him say his piece,
They’s five hundred head of mossy horns, upon that mountain lease.”
“If you can get them cattle, off of that mountain spread,
I will pay you well old man, but you’ll likely end up dead.”
The old man gave a toothless smile, and says, “You do what I say,
Me no bring ‘em cattle, you no gotta pay.”
The boss says, “It’s a deal old man, I’ll go along for sport,
What is it I need to do, for cowboys I’m not short.”
“First you catch’m burros, catch’m burros many,
Then you drive ‘em here to me, ‘cause burros I aint got any.”
We thought the boss would balk at that, but you see he gave his word,
and getting’ him to break it, why that would be….absurd.
He bought up every burro, that we could find for miles,
And I tell ya folks was laughin’, well…..maybe they’s just smiles.
We gathered ‘bout a hundred, and brought ‘em ta our place,
While that Mescalero Apache, was whittlin’ at quite a pace.
He began ta buildin’ ox yokes, least that’s what they looked ta me,
Carvin’ with knife and hatchet, the pinewood beams upon his knee.
While we went ta feedin’ burros, the best of hay and grain,
Why if we was fattenin’ yearlins, they wouldn’t have made the gain.
Them burros was just rollin’, the best they’d ever ‘et,
While the boss he just scratched his head, and over feed bills he did fret.
After ‘bout two weeks of this, the Indian says, “We go,
You move ‘em up mountain, me catch’m wagon go too slow.”
The Mescalero fills the wagon, with the yokes that he had made,
He follows behind the burros we is pushin’, and fellers what a sad parade.
We throwed ‘em in a brush corral, almost near the top of Capitan,
To watch this Indians miracle, the man with the wild cattle plan.
The Mescalero says, “You catch‘m cattle, catch‘m all you can,
Then me fix’m burros, burros lead’m off El Capitan.
To say that I was skeptical, is to put it mild I’d say,
Burros leadin’ wild cattle, now that’ll be the day.
We went ta catchin’ cattle, that part we did real swell,
And set back ta watch the rodeo, when things went clear ta hell.
The Indian took the burro, and hooked ‘im to the yoke,
Then latched ta that wild steers neck, snubbed ta a pine there in a choke.
We took off all the ropes and ties, and when that steer was free, He lit out fer parts unknown, but that burro did not agree.
Fer on his mind was vittles, the best he’d ever saw,
So after flyin’ around fer a while, down that mountain he’d begin ta claw.
That steer would fight and beller, for all that he was worth,
But soon that little burro, down the hill he’d sally forth.
It was surely an amazement, as all were hitched an’ then were freed,
And then we watched them little burros, teach them bovine how ta lead.
In this story lie a lesson, one that I did learn,
Don’t be too hard on burros, and simple wisdom never spurn.
It’s hard to still remember, been so long ago,
I think it was late twenties, give or take a year or so.
High on the Capitan, on land just newly bought,
We came to gather cattle, least that was what we thought.
Mountains steep and brushy, cattle old long horned and wild,
We thought that we was cowboys, not slickers meek and mild.
We found that we could catch ‘em, but on horseflesh and man was rough,
Always had good horses, just never had enough.
Lost ropes and busted riggins, although we caught a few,
Tie ‘em to a scrubby pine, let ‘em set a day or two.
And when we went to lead ‘em, off that mountain named Capitan,
Starvin’ hadn’t slowed ‘em down none, they wrecked us to a man.
Feelin’ low but so much wiser, the boss says, “Cut ‘em loose,
I hate to admit defeat boys, but for devil’s cattle I’ve no use.”
We gathered at the Prather camp, to lick our wounds and heal,
And look upon that lonely mountain, with our failure each to deal.
When ridin’ into camp there came, upon a little grass fed mare,
An old and grizzled Mescalero, with long and braided hair.
He spoke in broken English, but mostly he talked in sign,
We was all a little curious to what he had in mind.
He’d heard about our troubles, upon El Capitan,
And for bringin’ off them cattle, he said he had a plan.
Well we all grinned and laughed a bit, for we thought he was a fool,
We was a lickin’ wounds ya see, to his words we all was cool.
But the boss he says, “Just listen, let him say his piece,
They’s five hundred head of mossy horns, upon that mountain lease.”
“If you can get them cattle, off of that mountain spread,
I will pay you well old man, but you’ll likely end up dead.”
The old man gave a toothless smile, and says, “You do what I say,
Me no bring ‘em cattle, you no gotta pay.”
The boss says, “It’s a deal old man, I’ll go along for sport,
What is it I need to do, for cowboys I’m not short.”
“First you catch’m burros, catch’m burros many,
Then you drive ‘em here to me, ‘cause burros I aint got any.”
We thought the boss would balk at that, but you see he gave his word,
and getting’ him to break it, why that would be….absurd.
He bought up every burro, that we could find for miles,
And I tell ya folks was laughin’, well…..maybe they’s just smiles.
We gathered ‘bout a hundred, and brought ‘em ta our place,
While that Mescalero Apache, was whittlin’ at quite a pace.
He began ta buildin’ ox yokes, least that’s what they looked ta me,
Carvin’ with knife and hatchet, the pinewood beams upon his knee.
While we went ta feedin’ burros, the best of hay and grain,
Why if we was fattenin’ yearlins, they wouldn’t have made the gain.
Them burros was just rollin’, the best they’d ever ‘et,
While the boss he just scratched his head, and over feed bills he did fret.
After ‘bout two weeks of this, the Indian says, “We go,
You move ‘em up mountain, me catch’m wagon go too slow.”
The Mescalero fills the wagon, with the yokes that he had made,
He follows behind the burros we is pushin’, and fellers what a sad parade.
We throwed ‘em in a brush corral, almost near the top of Capitan,
To watch this Indians miracle, the man with the wild cattle plan.
The Mescalero says, “You catch‘m cattle, catch‘m all you can,
Then me fix’m burros, burros lead’m off El Capitan.
To say that I was skeptical, is to put it mild I’d say,
Burros leadin’ wild cattle, now that’ll be the day.
We went ta catchin’ cattle, that part we did real swell,
And set back ta watch the rodeo, when things went clear ta hell.
The Indian took the burro, and hooked ‘im to the yoke,
Then latched ta that wild steers neck, snubbed ta a pine there in a choke.
We took off all the ropes and ties, and when that steer was free, He lit out fer parts unknown, but that burro did not agree.
Fer on his mind was vittles, the best he’d ever saw,
So after flyin’ around fer a while, down that mountain he’d begin ta claw.
That steer would fight and beller, for all that he was worth,
But soon that little burro, down the hill he’d sally forth.
It was surely an amazement, as all were hitched an’ then were freed,
And then we watched them little burros, teach them bovine how ta lead.
In this story lie a lesson, one that I did learn,
Don’t be too hard on burros, and simple wisdom never spurn.
Trail and Rivers
By Bronco T
All my life I’ve marveled, at the paths that I have trod,
Over lofty mountains, across the prairie sod.
I started life upon the trail, called the Santa Fe,
And in the muddy Canadian, near my grandfather I did play.
I grew to youth upon a road, the King’s Road was its name,
On the mighty Rio Grande, though now subdued and tame.
My manhood found me struggling, across the Arizona trail,
Where the Gila and Colorado, join to form a mighty tail.
Then in the North I found them, the Parting of the Way,
On the Sweetwater and the Sandy, in my heart they’ll always stay.
In reflection now I know these, are the trails and rivers of my life,
Filled with times for growing, scenes of joy and toil and strife.
And in my shadow years I pray, that if in life I have been true,
They’ll bury me near the Santa Fe, the Canadian in my eternal view.
All my life I’ve marveled, at the paths that I have trod,
Over lofty mountains, across the prairie sod.
I started life upon the trail, called the Santa Fe,
And in the muddy Canadian, near my grandfather I did play.
I grew to youth upon a road, the King’s Road was its name,
On the mighty Rio Grande, though now subdued and tame.
My manhood found me struggling, across the Arizona trail,
Where the Gila and Colorado, join to form a mighty tail.
Then in the North I found them, the Parting of the Way,
On the Sweetwater and the Sandy, in my heart they’ll always stay.
In reflection now I know these, are the trails and rivers of my life,
Filled with times for growing, scenes of joy and toil and strife.
And in my shadow years I pray, that if in life I have been true,
They’ll bury me near the Santa Fe, the Canadian in my eternal view.
The Tall and Squat of Things
By Bronco T
Ya know I’ve two fine cowboy friends,
Down Douglas, Arizona way,
And chasin’ smugglers horseback,
Is how they make their pay.
Now both are “puro vaquero”,
As my Mexican friends would say,
But their looks are powerful different,
As different as night and day.
Rick Knuckles is tall and cowboy lean,
While Allan Sperling is short and squat,
Rick looks like the Marlboro man,
Well Allan......he does not.
I was laughin’ and commentin’ on this fact,
While palaverin’ with them one day,
When Allan gets this evil grin,
One that says you’ll pay.
He says, “Ya know,
Ol’ pard it’s true,
My looks aint so great,
And folks won’t gather intent on my beauty to view.”
“But I’m mighty glad you come around,
And Rick he’s grateful too,
Cause ya know I really don’t look all that bad,
Whilst I’m standing here next to you.”
Ya know I’ve two fine cowboy friends,
Down Douglas, Arizona way,
And chasin’ smugglers horseback,
Is how they make their pay.
Now both are “puro vaquero”,
As my Mexican friends would say,
But their looks are powerful different,
As different as night and day.
Rick Knuckles is tall and cowboy lean,
While Allan Sperling is short and squat,
Rick looks like the Marlboro man,
Well Allan......he does not.
I was laughin’ and commentin’ on this fact,
While palaverin’ with them one day,
When Allan gets this evil grin,
One that says you’ll pay.
He says, “Ya know,
Ol’ pard it’s true,
My looks aint so great,
And folks won’t gather intent on my beauty to view.”
“But I’m mighty glad you come around,
And Rick he’s grateful too,
Cause ya know I really don’t look all that bad,
Whilst I’m standing here next to you.”
Sons of Thunder
By Bronco T
Upon the wind so fierce and strong, it came rolling on, on,
Rolling thunder, dreadful sound, his ear it burst upon.
Across the mighty western plain, country loath to tame,
It came fiercely, dust and rain gusting, twisting as it came.
A shiver walked across his spine and made his skin to crawl,
The voice it came, so soft, still, incessantly the call.
“Oh son of man, son of man look well and you will see,
Sons of Thunder riding hard, who would have words with thee.”
Upon the storm tossed sky he spied, men upon their steed,
Hooves a’slashin’ through the air, coming hard with speed.
And to his gaze they did appear, to thunder to the ground,
Upon each horse’s hoof he saw shoes of gold was found.
They flashed with brilliance as they came along the sunlit way,
If finer horses he’d ever seen, he really couldn’t say.
A blood red bay the leade’rs horse, behind him was a dun,
Brilliant copper color glowing, bronze there in the sun.
Running smoothly was a black, so black he glistened blue,
And charging neck and neck with him a grulla’ came to view.
Taking up the rear he saw, bounding from the air,
Sunlight glistenin’ in her hair, a mighty steel gray mare.
Thunder rollin’ as they came, him shaken to the core,
Terror mirrored in his eyes, for what there was in store.
Who were these men, with horses fine who bolted from the sky,
And what was that the voice had said and what did it imply ?
He waited there to face his doom, for that it seemed to be,
In his heart a prayer he thought, and on his lips a plea.
Oh, good Lord, who are these men who come here with the thunder,
Are they here to take my life, and my immortal soul to plunder ?
On they came relentlessly, they did not spur or whip,
Effortlessly they seemed to glide, across the country slip.
With their mounts a comin’ hard, across a wash did vault,
Until into the yard they thundered, a slidin’ to a halt.
The men upon the mighty backs of each of these great mounts,
Were ridin’ punchy saddles with all the gear that counts.
Canvas dusters white from desert sunshine, wrapped around their back,
And perched above each weathered brow, a wide felt hat of black.
Leggins made of the finest hide, all well used and oiled,
Told him that these men were hands, with cattle they had toiled.
Upon their feet he noticed then, the ridin’ boots they wore,
Were custom made and spurs of silver each shinin’ boot heel bore.
Each man who sat his horse, was cowboy through and through, But what they wanted here with him, he had not a clue.
The leader of the group then spoke, a mounted on the bay,
As with a silken handkerchief, he wiped the sweat away.
“Son now don’t be frightened, you’ll see I’m your pard,
We’ve come to ask a favor, one that won’t be hard.”
“A brother that you know so well, on hard times has fallen,
It’s because of him you see, that we’ve come a callin’.”
“We know that he’s a rounder, with a love for drink and play,
And that he wore his welcome out, at your house the other day.”
“But we’re askin’ that you help ‘im, in his locoed state,
So put away your arrogance, and smother all your hate.”
“Only you and you alone, can touch his jaded heart,
And lead him back into the fold, where he can then take part.”
“Through the blood of Christ he can, have his soul restored,
And then true joy and happiness, into his life be poured.”
“So you see it’s for this reason, that we’ve come to call,
For you see he is our brother too, and in sadness we saw him fall.”
“So do not fail your brother, in his earthly plight,
Go and lift him by the hand, and struggle with your might.”
“For God has said in Heaven, the worth of souls is great,
Make sure your work starts quickly now, and do not hesitate.”
“The time is short on earth you see, and you don’t have long,
So work well while you can ol’ pard, and sing a happy song.”
“And please don’t judge your brother, judgin’ is a lofty role,
But by the grace of God go thee, don’t jeopardize your soul.”
With this his words were ended, he turned his horse away,
And each touched his hat brim, as if he would say.
“We’re with you pard so do not fail, this brother that we love,
And we’ll see you in a better land, there in our home above.”
Suddenly I came awake, upon my sweat soaked sheet,
A listenin’ to the rain drops, hit the roof with lively beat.
I leaped upon my feet and tore, curtains from window sill,
And looked upon the rainy view with which my eyes did fill.
For there on the horizon, my wondrous eyes did spy,
Five well mounted heavenly cowboys, as horses leapt into the sky.
This is an unusual poem in that I woke up at 2:00 a.m. , and began writing on it until it was done five hours later. My only brother and I had experienced a falling out and had no contact with each other for a while and I think this poem was given to me to soften my heart towards him.
Upon the wind so fierce and strong, it came rolling on, on,
Rolling thunder, dreadful sound, his ear it burst upon.
Across the mighty western plain, country loath to tame,
It came fiercely, dust and rain gusting, twisting as it came.
A shiver walked across his spine and made his skin to crawl,
The voice it came, so soft, still, incessantly the call.
“Oh son of man, son of man look well and you will see,
Sons of Thunder riding hard, who would have words with thee.”
Upon the storm tossed sky he spied, men upon their steed,
Hooves a’slashin’ through the air, coming hard with speed.
And to his gaze they did appear, to thunder to the ground,
Upon each horse’s hoof he saw shoes of gold was found.
They flashed with brilliance as they came along the sunlit way,
If finer horses he’d ever seen, he really couldn’t say.
A blood red bay the leade’rs horse, behind him was a dun,
Brilliant copper color glowing, bronze there in the sun.
Running smoothly was a black, so black he glistened blue,
And charging neck and neck with him a grulla’ came to view.
Taking up the rear he saw, bounding from the air,
Sunlight glistenin’ in her hair, a mighty steel gray mare.
Thunder rollin’ as they came, him shaken to the core,
Terror mirrored in his eyes, for what there was in store.
Who were these men, with horses fine who bolted from the sky,
And what was that the voice had said and what did it imply ?
He waited there to face his doom, for that it seemed to be,
In his heart a prayer he thought, and on his lips a plea.
Oh, good Lord, who are these men who come here with the thunder,
Are they here to take my life, and my immortal soul to plunder ?
On they came relentlessly, they did not spur or whip,
Effortlessly they seemed to glide, across the country slip.
With their mounts a comin’ hard, across a wash did vault,
Until into the yard they thundered, a slidin’ to a halt.
The men upon the mighty backs of each of these great mounts,
Were ridin’ punchy saddles with all the gear that counts.
Canvas dusters white from desert sunshine, wrapped around their back,
And perched above each weathered brow, a wide felt hat of black.
Leggins made of the finest hide, all well used and oiled,
Told him that these men were hands, with cattle they had toiled.
Upon their feet he noticed then, the ridin’ boots they wore,
Were custom made and spurs of silver each shinin’ boot heel bore.
Each man who sat his horse, was cowboy through and through, But what they wanted here with him, he had not a clue.
The leader of the group then spoke, a mounted on the bay,
As with a silken handkerchief, he wiped the sweat away.
“Son now don’t be frightened, you’ll see I’m your pard,
We’ve come to ask a favor, one that won’t be hard.”
“A brother that you know so well, on hard times has fallen,
It’s because of him you see, that we’ve come a callin’.”
“We know that he’s a rounder, with a love for drink and play,
And that he wore his welcome out, at your house the other day.”
“But we’re askin’ that you help ‘im, in his locoed state,
So put away your arrogance, and smother all your hate.”
“Only you and you alone, can touch his jaded heart,
And lead him back into the fold, where he can then take part.”
“Through the blood of Christ he can, have his soul restored,
And then true joy and happiness, into his life be poured.”
“So you see it’s for this reason, that we’ve come to call,
For you see he is our brother too, and in sadness we saw him fall.”
“So do not fail your brother, in his earthly plight,
Go and lift him by the hand, and struggle with your might.”
“For God has said in Heaven, the worth of souls is great,
Make sure your work starts quickly now, and do not hesitate.”
“The time is short on earth you see, and you don’t have long,
So work well while you can ol’ pard, and sing a happy song.”
“And please don’t judge your brother, judgin’ is a lofty role,
But by the grace of God go thee, don’t jeopardize your soul.”
With this his words were ended, he turned his horse away,
And each touched his hat brim, as if he would say.
“We’re with you pard so do not fail, this brother that we love,
And we’ll see you in a better land, there in our home above.”
Suddenly I came awake, upon my sweat soaked sheet,
A listenin’ to the rain drops, hit the roof with lively beat.
I leaped upon my feet and tore, curtains from window sill,
And looked upon the rainy view with which my eyes did fill.
For there on the horizon, my wondrous eyes did spy,
Five well mounted heavenly cowboys, as horses leapt into the sky.
This is an unusual poem in that I woke up at 2:00 a.m. , and began writing on it until it was done five hours later. My only brother and I had experienced a falling out and had no contact with each other for a while and I think this poem was given to me to soften my heart towards him.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
