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 Song of the Hunter
FC 11 L-40
41
Robert L. Laumeyer
The Song of an Old Sinner
Making mistakes has been easy For I can't tell the wrong from the right. I have loved the warm summer days But I have enjoyed myself most at night. I have drunk too much, I have played too hard. I have earned my keep, on the play of a card. I didn't study much, I wasted time school
Confessions of A Cowboy Poet
FC 11 C-52
49
Bob Christensen
The Favor
I first met him in a feed store, we kind of hit it off. He was bent and kind of weathered and had a nagging cough. He seemed to look right through you, he had that kind of stare. His hands were gnarled and twisted like he'd shook hands with a bear.
The Song of the Hunter
FC 11 L-40
41
Robert L. Laumeyer
The Rounder's Prayer
Making mistakes breeds forgiveness, And sinners are often more kind Than those that live by righteousness, And a hell of a lot easier to find. So when I fold my final hand I hope that the pious refrain, And that my judges areThe ones who have played the game.
The Song of the Hunter
FC 11 L-40
42
Robert L. Laumeyer
Epilogue
Making mistakes is so common That all people should be kind. The ones who admit their mistakes Are the ones I had in mind. (end)
The Song of the Hunter
FC 11 L-40
42
Robert L. Laumeyer
Stand Tall
When others say, they can recall That you were tall compared to them. Let it be, because you stood tall, Not that you cut down, other men. (end)\
Confessions of A Cowboy Poet
FC 11 C-52
52
Bob Christensen
Seemed Like a Good Idea At The Time
When they poured me on that morning bus I put my troubles by. I found the bliss of an anguished soul when a man's allowed to die. My aching elbow now at rest, my swelled feet shed their boots. The Gathering's done, it's four a.m.,
The Song of the Hunter
FC 11 L-40
42
Robert L. Laumeyer
Making Mistakes
Much of my life I've gambled Cards and books, have been my toys. All my life I"ve played and written. Dreams and love have been my joys. Sincerity in my verse Is what I always sought.
The Song of the Hunter
FC 11 L-40
43
Robert L. Laumeyer
Books and Poems
Books are worlds Within themselves A universe can be held On wooden Shelves. Poems are music In the air The ageless dreams Of those who care.
The Song of the Hunter
FC 11 L-40
43
Robert L. Laumeyer
Talent
A talent in the body Is like a baby in the womb. For only pain and labor Will bring it forth to bloom. Art must be the master If the fruit's to be the best. For only in perfection Will the talent find a rest.
Confessions of A Cowboy Poet
FC 11 C-52
56
Bob Christensen
The Snowbirds
They flock into the desert in R.V.'s trucks and busses; some in wheelchairs, some in shorts and even some in trusses. From east and north the outfits come from every frozen land, to sweat and swelter in the sun and frolic in the sand.
The Song of the Hunter
FC 11 L-40
44
Robert L. Laumeyer
Epilogue
The greater the talent The less it will accept Given the perfect talent Nothing would be kept. (end)
The Song of the Hunter
FC 11 L-40
44
Robert L. Laumeyer
Potential
The undeveloped potential Grows less valuable every day. The ability to make money Does not the grocery bill pay. (end)
Confessions of A Cowboy Poet
FC 11 C-52
57
Bob Christensen
Old and in the Desert
When you're old and in the desert you haven't many needs. No lawn to mow, no corn to grow, no crabgrass, slugs or weeds. When you're old and in the desert you sit up at night and talk and then just when the sun comes up you take a four mile walk.
The Song of the Hunter
FC 11 L-40
44
Robert L. Laumeyer
Immortality
Whenever a poem I wrote is read, My thoughts live on So I'm not dead. The urge to create Is very strong, Be it a child Or be it a song. Some things must last of what we are made, So that of death We are less afriad
Confessions of A Cowboy Poet
FC 11 C-52
59
Bob Christensen
My Hat
There's a bunch of little buckaroos that hang around our place a scarfin' up the cookies and on a constant chase. They bareback ride the sofa, they belly slide the stairs, they yell and hoop and holler, but no one really cares.
The Song of the Hunter
FC 11 L-40
45
Robert L. Laumeyer
Transcend Time
If after I am dead Some one reads my rhyme, Then if our thoughts agree We have transcended time.
The Song of the Hunter
FC 11 L-40
45
Robert L. Laumeyer
Retirement
I hear the call of freedom, And it's calling clear to me. "Be done with life as a wage slave Let retirement set you free." The only thing you really possess Is your mind and what you think.
Confessions of A Cowboy Poet
FC 11 C-52
59
Bob Christensen
Taking it With You
He was well into the final bend of that long trail we call life and rested now upon the spread he'd built up with his wife. His wordly goods he firmly held, though he knew the end was near and reckoned that he'd cash his chips before another year.
The Song of the Hunter
FC 11 L-40
46
Robert L. Laumeyer
Epilogue
There's a time to start, and a time to quit. Who knows how much time should be between? Theres a time to work, and a time to play; And for the lucky ones, there's time to dream.
The Song of the Hunter
FC 11 L-40
46
Robert L. Laumeyer
Dreams
Our dreams go on forever Infinity is their domain. The pleasure that they give us Are, our life's greatest gain. Successes are so finite Ourl ife's so small a range. The pleasures of our dreams
The Song of the Hunter
FC 11 L-40
46
Robert L. Laumeyer
Age
The blacks and whites of youth Are blended into shades of gray For some we thought the best Have displayed but feet of clay. In youth, the white and black Seemed to stand out so bright;
Confessions of A Cowboy Poet
FC 11 C-52
60
Bob Christensen
The Naturalist
This feller was a naturalist, we would watch him on TV. Each week he'd give a recipe on how to cook a tree; or how to make a grass souffle from clippings from the park. A casserole from leaves and twigs and soup from willow park.
Confessions of A Cowboy Poet
FC 11 C-52
61
Bob Christensen
The Farm Sale
We was headed out to Reno on that trail that's known as Eighty when the radio anouncer gave the word. There was going to be a "farm sale" on some ranch they called the Mustang all the land, equipment, buildings and the herd.
Confessions of A Cowboy Poet
FC 11 C-52
63
Bob Christensen
Ode to Light Barley
Somewhere there must be a valley, though I don't know the place or it's name, where all that they grow is light barley and wild oats as their claim to fame. Now I know a good many farmers who dairy and till with the plow;
The Song of the Hunter
FC 11 O-12
47
Robert L. Laumeyer
Frustration
A painter with arthritic hand sdreaming beautiful scenes. A poety with beautiful thoughts Without words to show what he means. A teacher with wisdom But no students to teach.