Cowboy Poetry

Any similarity to a real poet is
purely coincidental.The Last American Cowboy
By Tom Bob
August 2, 1991

In my minds eye I can see it all real plain,
I was standing in front of a picture at the Cowboy Hall of Fame.
Now the old man in the picture had a tired look in his eye,
And his weathered face told stories of an old cowboys life.
His mustache had long ago turned to a snowy white, 
But even in his old age you could tell he wouldn’t  run from a fight.
At the top of the picture and attached to the frame,
Was a plaque with a sentence that seemed quite strange.
“This was placed here in hopes that you would enjoy a picture of the last American Cowboy”.
What does it mean I wondered out loud?
Where you been all your life came a voice from the crowd?
I said Mister, there’s cowboys alive today,
He said son there hadn’t been a cowboy since  that fella passed away.
Years ago the government outlawed rodeo,
And the environmentalist decided the range cows had to go.
They said cows killed the grass and muddied the streams,
And rodeo for the animals was just too blamed mean.
They raise cattle inside buildings now and they never know sunlight or dark, and the range lands were turned  into wilderness or parks.
Then I could see his eyes turning misty as he turned  and walked off,
And I had this overwhelming feeling of a heritage lost.
As he disappeared in the shadows I stared solemnly at his back,
And it was then from the corner of my eye, 
I saw this other plaque.
“The last cowboy alive, Sage Whitlaw, died 2025”.
Now fellows this all was just a dream I had,
But I ain’t slept in a week ‘cause it scared me so bad.
So we better start to sull up and stand for our rights,
And give anybody that wants to take em, one hell of a fight.
Never let it be said that a protest wasn’t heard,
Let’s don’t ever let there be a plaque with these chilling words.
“This picture was placed here in hopes you would enjoy,
A picture of the last American Cowboy”.


 Now Homer was our Chuck Wagon cook and never throw’d nothing away.
And the Boss was tight as the bark on a tree  so he
Really liked him that way.
Sourdough, beans, and coffee was about all we had to eat,
But if another outfits stray came by we’d get to have some beef.
Now cowboys will eat most anything and put up with lots of wrongs,
But they draw the line about their coffee if it ain’t black and strong.
Arbuckles was their brand, the only kind they knew,
And they’d drag up and go to town if Coosie tried something new.
Now the boss rode out to the wagon one day just to check things out,
And headed straight to the coffee pot as quick as he could dismount.
He said Hoover I know I said to save me money, on that we both agree,
But this coffee I just poured taste a lot like horse pee.
Boss, you said to save you money but I can’t help the taste,
You see old Cactus ate the grounds and I COULDN’T LET ‘EM GO TO WASTE !

This isn’t poetry but we hope you enjoy it.

Hello………this is him……..this is who?…… Hey ya’ll be quiet…….Who is it?…You ain’t gonna believe this, its God!  Yes lord I’m really surprised to hear from you, could I ask why you’re calling? …. My language with the Mules yesterday……..Lord I promise you can’t hurt a Mules feelings…..well, yes there were women and children there…….  Yes lord, next time he kicks me I’ll pray for him…… Is that all you wanted?…….Oh, you want us to cook for you? Lord that would be a real privilege, what is it you’d like us to cook?………Fish and bread………ok, when did you want us to be there?……..tonight!…….How many people would we be cooking for?……….a multitude……….Lord I can’t have that much fish and bread by tonight………’ll  take care of it…….What do I charge? Oh, I wouldn’t charge you anything Lord it’ll be free……..but, well, there is one thing, could I ask a couple of small favors?……..knowing me you knew it’d be something……..well lord everytime we cook against that BS wagon from Brownfield, TX. They beat us. And I  think they cheat cause one time I saw a guy who looked just like Emeril Lagasse hiding in their wagon. What I was hoping is that the next time we cook against them you could fix it so we win?……..You will!!…that’ll be great………you say it’ll be the best fish and bread anybody ever ate………….what’s my other favor?…….well lord my wife’s been on all kinds of diets but she just can’t seem to lose weight. Would you have a good diet you could recommend?……….you do?…….what’s it called?………..the John the Baptist diet……….what does she eat?………..locust and honey…………I bet that’ll work!………Is that all lord?………….why wasn’t I at church Sunday?……..well I’m sorry but I just didn’t hear the alarm go off…………you say I wasn’t home yet when it went off ………you’re right Lord, I’ll  do better, I promise. See you tonight, by.


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The Tenderfoot and Nasty ****


“Well, lookey here !” Bob said with glee

“We’ve got a tenderfoot !

He’s got this brand new gear , you see

He don’t know where to put “


“He says he comes from way Back East

Teach him a thing or two

Let’s put him on that unbroke beast

And see what he can do”


The hoss they gave him don’t look mean

Though Nasty was his name

He did seem sometimes really keen

On makin’ riders lame


It seemed so like an awful match

New guy on this terror

This plot somehow just didn’t hatch

We all judged in error


The greenhorn climbed upon that hoss

A move as slick as rain

He spurred to show him who was boss

And let him have the rein


Now Nasty gave him all he had

He bucked and whirled and screamed

The rider smiled, said “This ain’t bad !

It’s nothin’ like I dreamed.”


That hoss gave up, plum’ tuckered out

The rider just stepped down.

Bob said “The East you lied about!

You’ve rode before this town !”


The new guy said, “Not in the least.

This here’s New Mexico.

The whole of Texas lies Back East

I do believe it’s so !”


They called him tenderfoot no more

He made a real smart hand

He came from Texas that’s for shore

And that ole boy’s got sand



Larry Bradfield










This poem was sent to us by our good friend,
former professional rodeo cowboy and now Baptist Preacher, Brad Curtis. The poem is written  by Bill Jones.

Tom Bob







Cowboy Poetry
by Bill Jones
Jake, the rancher, went one day
to fix a distant fence.
The wind was cold and gusty
and the clouds rolled gray and dense.

As he pounded the last staples in
and gathered tools to go,
The temperature had fallen,
the wind and snow began to blow.

When he finally reached his pickup,
he felt a heavy heart.
From the sound of that ignition,
he knew it wouldn’t start.

So Jake did what most of us
would do if we had been there.
He humbly bowed his balding head
and sent aloft a prayer.

As he turned the key for the last time,
he softly cursed his luck.
They found him three days later,
frozen stiff in that old truck.

Now Jake had been around in life
and done his share of roaming.
But when he saw Heaven, he was shocked —
it looked just like Wyoming!

Of all the saints in Heaven,
his favorite was St. Peter.
(Now, this line ain’t needed
but it helps with rhyme and meter)

So they set and talked a minute or two,
or maybe it was three.
Nobody was keeping’ score —
in Heaven time is free.

“I’ve always heard,” Jake said to Pete,
“that God will answer prayer,
But one time I asked for help,
well, he just plain wasn’t there.”

“Does God answer prayers of some,
and ignore the prayers of others?
That don’t seem exactly square —
I know all men are brothers.”

“Or does he randomly reply,
without good rhyme or reason?
Maybe, it’s the time of day,
the weather or the season.”

“Now I ain’t trying to act smart,
it’s just the way I feel.
And I was wondering’, could you tell me —
what the heck’s the deal?!”

Peter listened very patiently
and when Jake was done,
There were smiles of recognition,
and he said, “So, you’re the one!!”

“That day your truck, it wouldn’t start,
and you sent your prayer a flying,
You gave us all a real bad time,
with hundreds of us trying.”

“A thousand angels rushed,
to check the status of your file,
But you know, Jake, we hadn’t heard
from you in quite a long while.”

“And though all prayers are answered,
and God ain’t got no quota,
He didn’t recognize your voice,
and started a truck in Minnesota.”


Cowboy Poetry
by Bill Hirschi

I ain’t much for shopping,
Nor even goin’ into town –
Except at cattle-shipping time,
I ain’t easily found.

But the day came when I had to go
And I left the kids with ma.
But before I left she asked me,
“Would you pick me up a bra?”

Without thinkin’ I said “Sure,”
How tough could that job be?
I bent down and kissed her
And said, “I’ll be back by three”

Well, when I done the things I needed,
I started to regret
Ever offering to buy that thing,
I was working up a sweat.

I crossed the street to the ladies shop
With my hat pulled over my eyes,
I wasn’t takin’ any chances
On bein’ recognized.

I walked up to the sales clerk –
I didn’t hem or haw –
I told the lady right straight out,
“Ma’am, I’m here to buy a bra.”

From behind I heard some snickers,
So I turned around to see
At least fifteen women in the store
And they’s all gawkin’ at me!

“What kind would you be looking for?”
“Well,” I just scratched my head.
I’d only seen one kind before
“Thought bras was bras,” I said.

She gives me a disgusted look,
“Well sir, that’s where you’re wrong.
Come with me,” I heard her say,
And like a dog, I tagged along.

She took me down this alley
Where bras was on display.
Well, I thought my jaw’d hit the floor
When I seen that lingerie.

They had all these different styles
That I’d not seen before
I thought that I’d go crazy
‘fore I left that women’s store.

They had bras you wear for eighteen hours
And bras that cross your heart.
There was bras that lift and separate,
And that was just the start.

They had bras that made you feel
Like you weren’t wearing one at all,
And bras that you can train in
When you start off when you’re small.

Well, I finally make my mind up –
Picked a black and lacy one –
I told the lady,
“Bag it up,” And figured I was done

But then she asked me for the size.
I didn’t hesitate.
I knew them measurements by heart,
” A six-and-seven-eighths.”

“Six and seven eighths, well sir,
That really isn’t right.”
“Oh, yes ma’am! Yeah, I’m positive,
I just measured them last night.”

I thought that she’d go into shock,
Musta took her by surprise
When I told her that my wife’s bust
Was the same as my hat size.

“That’s what I used to measure with,
I figured it was fair,
But if I’m wrong, I’m sorry ma’am.”
This drew another stare.

By now a crowd had gathered
And they’s all crackin’ up
When the lady asked to see my hat,
To measure for the cup.

When she finally had it figured,
I gave the gal her pay.
Then I turned to leave the store,
Tipped my hat and said, “Good day.”

My wife heard the whole story
‘fore I ever made it home.
She’d talked to fifteen women
Who’d called her on the phone.

She was still a-laughin’
But by then I didn’t care.
Now she don’t ask and I don’t shop
For no more women’s underwear.

An Old Man’s Thunder
by Larry Bradfield
Union County Georgia


I stopped at a roadside bar with a big neon Lone Star
And looked for seat in the crowd.
I saw a grizzled old gent who looked like his days were spent.
He sat alone at a table looking proud.

I said “Pardon me ,sir, this place is a blur,
Do you mind if I pull up a chair?”
He said “Join me , friend, an elbow we’ll bend
And talk about things we may share.”

I judged him four score, but he could have been more
And he’d cowboyed all over the West.
His face was like leather from the sun and the weather
And there was a poets heart under that vest.

Just as he was telling of a time that stood out in his mind,
A huge cowboy walked in through the door.
He was broad shouldered and lean, looked kinda mean
And was looking for a table on the floor.

When he spotted our place he put a smirk on his face
And dragged up a chair and sat down.
He said.”As you can see, this place belongs to me.
Go sit someplace else in this town!”

Well, the old man broke a grin while he scratched at his chin
Just like he’d seen this movie before.
He just sort of rose and broke the cowboy’s nose
With a left that came up from the floor.

Then he hit him with a bottle that was going full throttle
And left him sprawled out under the table.
He kinda sat with a sigh and wondered just why
Folks would take on more than they were able.

Well I left there that night with a different insight
On just what might be true of Old Men.
Look beyond what is pale and seems ever so frail
And ask yourself just where that old man has been !


Larry Bradfield……..Biography:

I was born and raised in the Eastern New Mexico / Western Texas oil fields.
We lived in an oil camp that was prt of a large ranch in West Texas.
My dad was involved in extracting the oil from the ranches around the area.
Although we were oil folks, the area culture was decidedly Texas ranching.
Although I’ve lived in many states since my school days, my roots remain in West Texas.