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
Cowboy Poetry: Cloud Watchers
FC 11 F-16
324
Rolf M. Flake
It's A Deal
Many a deal has been made by the shake of the hand Without the formality of signing By cattleman and farmers of days long since gone When their word was considered as binding. "His word is his bond," was considered to be The measure of an honest man. If he said he would do it you could just mark it down It'd be done--just as you planned.
Cowboy Poetry: Cloud Watchers
FC 11 F-16
326
Rolf M. Flake
Come And Get It
When I was a kid we always ate Breakfast, dinner and then supper. And luch was somethin' you put in a sack, Or in a container named "Tupper." We ate pretty good--three squares a day Breakfast was always a treat.
FC 11 F-18
1
Curley W. Fletcher
Saddle Silly
Yuh have heard some feller claimin' that he'd never yet been piled in some several years spent tamin' buckin' brochos that was wild.
Cowboy Poetry: Cloud Watchers
FC 11 F-16
327
Rolf M. Flake
The Big House
The big house stands strong and tall on a corner lot, A remnant from an earlier age. Quiet now, serene, it stands like a queen-- A reminder of my Snowflake heritage. It was built by my grandpa a hundred years ago To shelter his large family. Twenty-fourt children called it home-- And my dad was one of them, you see.
Cowboy Poetry: Cloud Watchers
FC 11 F-16
330
Rolf M. Flake
Jumps or Lumps
I remember once when I was a kid, My dad sent me down to ride, To gather in some cows and calves At the "Pumpjack" windmill site. He drove on in to the county seat While I gathered in the bunch. And after he got his business done He brought us back some lunch.
Cowboy Poetry: Cloud Watchers
FC 11 F-16
332
Rolf M. Flake
Seller's Remorse
We've sold the old ranch, an inevitable thing-- We've tried hard to sell for two years. We looed far and wide for a buyer for sure-- But now that it's sold come the tears. You've heard of buyer's remorse, we've all had our turn At experiencing those feelings, I'm sure-- But SELLER'S remorse is a feeling just as real And every bit as painful, if not more.
Cowboy Poetry: Cloud Watchers
FC 11 F-16
336
Rolf M. Flake
Turkey Day
I was probably fifteen before I tasted TURKEY That traditional Thanksgiving bird. It wasn't that we were just too poor We just ate what my Dad preferred. Because my Dad, he was a rancher He had a good sized cattle herd And he was proud of what he produced-- So why should we eat a BIRD?
Cowboy Poetry: Cloud Watchers
FC 11 F-16
338
Rolf M. Flake
Gone, But Not Forgotten
Took my ol' boots in to the repairman today-- They'd been used for hard work and never for play. The soles were plumb shot--the heels wore off too You c'd see what I mean if I c'd show them to you-- But comfortable--say--let me tell ya about it-- Shore much better'n new ones--I'm here to shout it.
Cowboy Poetry: Cloud Watchers
FC 11 F-16
340
Rolf M. Flake
Our Best To You
From our outfit to yours, Especially this time of year, We send greetings and good wishes And loads of Christmas cheer. We're glad you are our neighbors-- We couldn't ask for any better. We 'preciate your friendship That's why we've sent this letter.
Cowboy Poetry: Cloud Watchers
FC 11 F-16
342
Rolf M. Flake
Family Cows
When my dad was a kid they milked Hereford cows To help feed a big family each day. Good dairy cows hadn't been invented yet-- And "Circle K" wasn't yet "on your way." So they took ol' whiteface cows right offa the range And they brought them to town with their calf-- Pulled the calf off the cow and penned him away, So as to cut the calf's milk down to half.
Cowboy Poetry: Cloud Watchers
FC 11 F-16
344
Rolf M. Flake
The Snowflake Tragedy
I'll tell you a story of days long gone by-- It took place in old Snowflake town. And it turned into a real tragedy-- When an outlaw shot a young sheriff down. He was a family man, Charles Flake by name. He was sworn to uphold the law, And the outlaw was a desperate killer-- A bank-robber with no respect for law.
Cowboy Poetry: Cloud Watchers
FC 11 F-16
347
Rolf M. Flake
My Cowboy Heritage
I never knew my great-grandpa Flake-- He died the year I was born-- But the cowboy legacy he left to us Still shines as bright as a summer's morn. He lived to the ripe old age of ninety-three And rode horseback to his dyin' day. The proof is here on this printed page-- He was a cowman all the way.
Cowboy Poetry: Cloud Watchers
FC 11 F-16
351
Rolf M. Flake
Pint-Sized Cowpoke!
He's just a pint-sized Mormon cowboy-- But a real cowboy all the way-- Born and raised right here in the West-- And what else can you say. Seven generations of cowboys behind him They date back over one hundred fifty years-- And he is the product of their successes And failures and blood and sweat and tears.
A Cow's Tail For a Compass; Cowboy Poetry and Short Stories
FC 11 F-17
1
Leon Flick
Days
Have you ever seen it rain so hard, it soaked your underwear? Or seen the wind blow so damned hard, you thought your skin would tear? Or been so parched for want of drink, you thought that you might die?
A Cow's Tail For a Compass; Cowboy Poetry and Short Stories
FC 11 F-17
21
Leon Flick
Good Ole Girls
There's some of them good ole cowgirls left. Their long braids hang so fine. And they can pull a snaffle bit, and they're damned good with their twine. They'll tangle with the biggest bull, Either rope him or hlep tail him down. They're not afraid to bump a buckin' horse when you're about to hit the ground.
A Cow's Tail For a Compass; Cowboy Poetry and Short Stories
FC 11 F-17
3
Leon Flick
My Place
A city feller asked me, "How big a place had I?" You see, I'd never owned a place, and I didn't want to lie. So I used this for an answer, and I've given it some thought. "It's pretty big," I told him. "If you'd cross it at a trot, well, it'd take you quite a while. Fod God, He was the maker. You see on my place mister, well it covers lots of acres."
A Cow's Tail For a Compass; Cowboy Poetry and Short Stories
FC 11 F-17
17
Leon Flick
Listen to the Sun Go Down
Upon a warm September's eve, the sun was dipping low. I sat myself upon a rim, from there to watch the show. The shadows were their longest now, as darkness soon would be. I closed my eyes and listened, to the sounds I couldn't see.
A Cow's Tail For a Compass; Cowboy Poetry and Short Stories
FC 11 F-17
7
Leon Flick
First Taste of Liquor
Well, I'd sat there, and I'd melted, in the front seat of that car. While my papa, dear ole Papa, he was "barred-up" in the bar. And I was too young to be by Papa's side. So I sat in that car, till I guess my brain had fried.
A Cow's Tail For a Compass; Cowboy Poetry and Short Stories
FC 11 F-17
9
Leon Flick
The Barkeep's Trap
It was in a lodge-pole thicket, where these steers were runnin' free. And they had been, this would be their seventh year. They were wild as elk and just as fast. I'd seen 'em lead the pck. They could flat out-run a coyote, chasin' deer.
Hung out to dry
John C. Dofflemyer
FC 11 D-22
preface
Rod McQueary
Our Sycamores
They cut them all down. I read his words and somehow touch his aching.
Hung out to dry
FC 11 D-22
1
John C. Dofflemyer
Hung out to dry
Dawn peeks through the screendoor at paper and coffee circled on a raw wood table
Hung out to dry
FC 11 D-22
2
John C. Dofflemyer
April 1-ness
The only sense I can perceive is that the threshold opens vast that some shall enter less naive
Hung out to dry
FC 11 D-22
3
John C. Dofflemyer
Herself
Academic theory clangs in rigid reverberations
Hung out to dry
FC 11 D-22
4
John C. Dofflemyer
An unfaithful lover
She pounds the tin roof to eagerly explain her absence
Hung out to dry
FC 11 D-22
5
John C. Dofflemyer
Elderwood coyote
He orchestrates the cacophonous canine choir of edgy soprano yips,