FOLK COLLECTION 11: The Skaggs Foundation Cowboy Poetry Collection
29769 results found for "No Search Criteria Set"Book Title
Composer
Call #
Pages
Author
Poem Title
First Lines
Keywords
Shrewd Angles & Other Undertones
FC 11 D-16
31
John C. Dofflemyer
Abstraction
Relying on a little boy's eyes looking to fish every likely cutbank & pause for trout along the river.
Shrewd Angles & Other Undertones
FC 11 D-16
32
John C. Dofflemyer
The Color of Trout
I envision wrapping fish with poetry & Gutenberg's genius--fonts reversed & the ink drying on scales.
Shrewd Angles & Other Undertones
FC 11 D-16
33
John C. Dofflemyer
Circles West
Come November we indulge the senses. Learn to cultivate each rich harvest season ripeness to taste.
Shrewd Angles & Other Undertones
FC 11 D16
34
John C. Dofflemyer
Notes for a Rhymer
The magic among men. Language lost to a common knowing a calling of hands to land to hair & hide.
Shrewd Angles & Other Undertones
FC 11 D-16
35
John C. Dofflemyer
For Paul
I had thought by fifty, by God, that life would slow, level out below the Great Divide in meadows waiting.
Shrewd Angles & Other Undertones
FC 11 D-16
36
John C. Dofflemyer
A Double-Eagle & Full Doubloon
The first dawn of 1999 breaks the ridge like a huge gold coin shining through thin fog full of fantasy & promise.
Shrewd Angles & Other Undertones
FC 11 D-16
37
John C. Dofflemyer
What More Could I Ask For?
Whatever we decide to call our ordeals, whatever wild ride we buy into always ends up like bones scattered in the draw.
Shrewd Angles & Other Undertones
FC 11 D-16
38
John C. Dofflemyer
Retreat
& as it should be, I suppose three black robes, three faces sallow with the law, ashen with the weight of phrases.
Shrewd Angles & Other Undertones
FC 11 D-16
40
John C. Dofflemyer
Totem
Everyman needs a totem Something that has survived despite him Some template sure as.
Shrewd Angles & Other Undertones
FC 11 D-16
41
John C. Dofflemyer
In Your Dreams
Always on the cusp of plenty, we pause for a little religion: sign watching & secret dances under sycamores.
Black
FC 11 D-17
1
John C. Dofflemyer
Black Mercedes
The touring black waxed mercedes with beaded dust passes through at eighty.
Black
FC 11 D-17
2
John C. Dofflemyer
Dirt Farmers
I'd trade a dozen Ag-majors for one young dirt farmer, said the head of Tenneco's corporate
Black
FC 11 D-17
3
John C. Dofflemyer
Long Shadow
The aluminum trail of the road hunter the track of desert duelers and waffle stompers
Black
FC 11 D-17
4
J
Black
FC 11 D-17
4
The professor
I'd listen to teh fat man squall in dust cutting timbres screechced like stapled wire
Black
FC 11 D-17
6
John C. Dofflemyer
King of the mountain
Slower tracks matche the stride of yesterday's excitement sneaking from snake-infested rockpile to stack of granite boulders where turkey vultures float along the slope below
Black
FC 11 D-17
8
John C. Dofflemyer
Oh California
Oh California, mother to my mother's great-grandfather our flesh is one
Black
FC 11 D-17
10
John C. Dofflemyer
In 1991
It ain't just the drought and december dust that makes me consider raising only enough beef to feed myself.
Black
FC 11 D-17
11
John C. Dofflemyer
Chemical Dependent
Farming people seems a legitimate occupation and food producers are fair game sitting ducks for recreational full bellies.
Black
FC 11 D-17
12
John C. Dofflemyer
Indigestion
A prime-time advertisement will assail the empty minds sucking T.V. dinners down before the shrine
Black
FC 11 D-17
13
John C. Dofflemyer
Cowboy Politics
Cowboy politics once were ploys to finagle a Saturday afternoon or Sunday off to be veteod anytime by weather or work.
Black
FC 11 D-17
14-15
John C. Dofflemyer
Six Bits
From the back of a vineyard trailer rehitched to an 8N Ford my legs dangled above the furrowed ground
Black
FC 11 D-17
16-17
John C. Dofflemyer
The Squeal
The squeal of asphalt feet track painlessly and distance is but time inhaled in explosions floating on radial air
Black
FC 11 D-17
18
John C. Dofflemyer
Attitude
So accustomed to the natural give and take
Black
FC 11 D-17
19
John C. Dofflemyer
The Spirits
There are certain chunks of ground that own the spirit, an ionic attraction where loose souls opt to congregate, not fit for hell maybe findin' heaven tame.