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
The Night Ol' Flukie Foundered
FC 11 G-39
4
DW Groethe
Wire
Apparently, somewhere, it's written in stone... when yer lackin' a short piece of wire, for fixin' a line an' yer nowhere near home, you can look till you dang near expire.
The Night Ol' Flukie Foundered
FC 11 G-39
5
DW Groethe
The Night Ol' Flukie Foundered
We'd been quaffin' quarts of beers an' exchangin' Christmas cheers, yeehawin' hoots an' shriekin' filled the hall. 'Cause in honor of the season, an' fer one another reason, it was time fer Smokey's annual oyster ball.
The Night Ol' Flukie Foundered
FC 11 G-39
10
DW Groethe
Lady Luck Takes A Break
He reached to grab his keys, the keys inside his pocket, the pocket that was empty caught him somewhat unawares. He stared in through the window, the window of the pickup, the pickup he'd just driven twenty miles, haulin' pairs.
The Night Ol' Flukie Foundered
FC 11 G-39
11
DW Groethe
Seeding
Bearings and bushings, ready to blow at an imperfect moment's notice. Hoses joyfully popping holes in their hides.
The Night Ol' Flukie Foundered
FC 11 G-39
12
DW Groethe
When the Old Man Left
When the old man left we took his tack an' hung it in the shed. Bridle, saddle, reins an' rope... we left it there for dead.
The Night Ol' Flukie Foundered
FC 11 G-39
13
DW Groethe
Cerberus Rising
I live where blood is steeped dark deep in the holy heart of the field. Whose slumber is broken only when God wakes the latent urge or spring to nod and lets winter's dying throes soft yield to the yearning labors of seed unsealed.
The Night Ol' Flukie Foundered
FC 11 G-39
14
DW Groethe
The Ballad of Murphy's Outhouse
We was workin' mendin' fences 'round the ranch house, way last fall, when Jake commenced to tell us he'd been missin' nature's call. Too many hard cheese san'wiches, an' nothin' else, to speak, had fine'ly done their dirty deed, an' blocked him for a week.
The Night Ol' Flukie Foundered
FC 11 G-39
17
DW Groethe
The Cowboy Look
He sure looked a cowboy atop of the roan, hell, even his horse was impressed. A thousand X Stetson rode square on his head, all that he wore was the best.
The Night Ol' Flukie Foundered
FC 11 G-39
18
DW Groethe
Breakin' a Sweat
They say Buck never broke a sweat at any honest labor. Spent his life a-dodgin' work, although, he had a neighbor, who thought he'd caught him in the act of fixin' up his fence.
The Night Ol' Flukie Foundered
FC 11 G-39
19
DW Groethe
The Homesteader
From day one, he knew that she, a great, gray granite, thrust of a rock, was here to stay. He spent the summer, taking team and stoneboat, plucking her brood, delving every inch of the field till it lay clean as wash.
The Night Ol' Flukie Foundered
FC 11 G-39
20
DW Groethe
Lilacs, Rhubarb, Horseradish
Lilacs clumped lonesome on a grass flat edging the breaks a good three miles from nowhere.
The Night Ol' Flukie Foundered
FC 11 G-39
21
DW Groethe
One Leaf Left
One leaf left. Crowning the cottonwood, lingering defiantly, tenaciously facing any wind curious enough to dare its existence.
The Night Ol' Flukie Foundered
FC 11 G-39
22
DW Groethe
He Ate A Bug
He ate a bug. Not a big one, brown an' hairy, with red fangs to make it scary, nor a long one with a million crawly legs. Still, it had a nasty crunchin' as he bit into his lunch 'n' made him stare in queasy wonder at his eggs.
The Night Ol' Flukie Foundered
FC 11 G-39
23
DW Groethe
Bully Tom Gits His
He strutted 'round the place raisin' hell, just like he owned it. You kept a wary eye when he come near. As far as we were thinkin', he was evil incarnate.
The Night Ol' Flukie Foundered
FC 11 G-39
24
DW Groethe
Amos
Amos' lip was hirsute, had a 'stache as big as God, wanged out in all directions like some unkempt bit of sod. He'd had the thing forever an' was proud as all get out of this Quasimodo haystack gathered up beneath his snout.
The Night Ol' Flukie Foundered
FC 11 G-39
26
DW Groethe
Last Rites
He was buried face down just in case he come to, which we'd heard, on occasion, some dead men will do. A bully, an outlaw, An all-around jerk, never once did he pull up his end of the work.
The Night Ol' Flukie Foundered
FC 11 G-39
27
DW Groethe
Famous Last Words
It sounded simple. "Boys, load the cow into the trailer, take her to the sales ring, pick some parts up for the baler. He left to make a phone call. They backed up to the gate. But the cow had other notions, an' that's what sealed their fate.
The Night Ol' Flukie Foundered
FC 11 G-39
29
DW Groethe
Daydreamin'
Be nice if them calves were all born with tags complete with right number, an' all. 'Least you wouldn't be dodgin' some hotheaded heifer who flies when her calf lets a bawl.
The Night Ol' Flukie Foundered
FC 11 G-39
30
DW Groethe
Bittersweet and Ervin
Santa seen a lineshack in Montana, far below. Tugged a line 'n turned the team, lightin' softly on the snow. He slipped up to the window an' gandered some inside, seen a cowboy playin' cribbage with his young an' purty bride.
The Night Ol' Flukie Foundered
FC 11 G-39
35
DW Groethe
Song in the Night
On the hillside, coyote rested an' eyed the glistenin' light a-beaming 'from the cabin, on the snow. Checkin' out the riders, as they came in twos an' threes an' disappeared into the door below.
The Night Ol' Flukie Foundered
FC 11 G-39
37
DW Groethe
Marita
Fair lies the moon in the western skies and fairer still its light in the eyes of she, whose heart ('mid nestling sighs) belongs, this night, with me.
The Night Ol' Flukie Foundered
FC 11 G-39
38
DW Groethe
When There's Frost Upon the Ponies
When there's frost upon the ponies an' snow drift on the ground, an' that yeller sun comes creepin' through the cedars all around, a feller gets to thinkin' maybe winter ain't so bad, starts shuckin' off the mem'ries of the blizzards that we've had.
The Night Ol' Flukie Foundered
FC 11 G-39
39
DW Groethe
Over Yonder
They're a diff'ernt sorta breed, them that take to horse an' saddle, restless souls that're mighty prone to wander. Tho' they're grateful to be reachin' trails end when day is done, they're always itchin' for what's over yonder.
Cowboy Poetry: Horse Tracks Through The Sage
FC 11 H-47
16
Sunny Hancock
Doggerel Plain & Simple
I don't claim I'm educated, never will and never did. I've used a cow's butt for a compass since I'uz just a little kid. But clear back to the second war, or thereabouts in time, I've had this predilection for both meter and for rhyme.
Cowboy Poetry: Horse Tracks Through The Sage
FC 11 H-47
21
Sunny Hancock
For Diana
I got the word the other day down at the stopping mall; Old Doc had drug you down there for a minor overhaul. I guess I should send some flowers and I figured that I might, And I s'pose I really would have if I weren't so blasted tight.