Cowboy Poetry: David Kelley
OLD HOSS
© 5/98 All Rights Reserved * David Kelley
The old cowboy talked on almost without
end, and I but wanted more
Of a walking journal in wrangler ways
and true living cowboy lore.
He spoke with authority of one who's
lived and worked the ranching life.
The facts and heritage came forth from a
mind that's free from city strife.
His learn'ed sentences were punctuated
with bright and flashing eyes,
As gentle jestures end thoughts that, though
complete, were all the while concise.
I waited, impatient for every word and
line, like some greenhorn kid.
I lived his story and felt all his feelings,
and was proud that I did.
My hands fairly burned like his, when that
catch rope tore loose from his grip,
When takin' up on the slack, the many
times trying to throw a trip.
The frostbite that took the toes off his
foot, hurt me to the very core,
When he's throwed and walks forty miles,
in dead of winter, back to Camp Gore.
The loss of his pardner to a bronc in
'Fifty, caused my soul to cry,
But knowing he cowboy'd up, gave me
courage and steady cowboy try.
My old thumb hurts, from the thousand times
he pounded his while ridin' fence,
All the while learning those things I never
knew, at his eager expense.
I can hardly rise from my chair, thinkin'
his bones ought to be creakin',
But he leaps quite easily from a crouch
as soon as he's done speakin'.
As he walks away, I know he's bound to
be hurting, but he doesn't know.
There walks the past....and real good brood
stock on which future cowboys can grow.
...AT THE HEIGHT OF THE STORM
© 6/98 All Rights Reserved * David Kelley '97
Ned'd been lookin' for strays in a pass,
overlookin' the river's bend.
When just at dark, a thunderstorm stood
that cowboy's hair right up on end.
The sky blew up ...turnin' the night to day,
Ned's soul was set a'quiver,
Earlier Ned had seen a mammy and her
calf 'longside the river.
Knowin' a wall of water would come tearin'
down, scattern' rocks and mud,
If he rode hard he could bring 'em out
leavin' no dead cows in the flood.
Lookin' for the trail down, suddenly ... it
seemed like the whole world exploded,
The big gelding swallered' his head and,
over the cliff, Ned unloaded.
His life passed before his eyes, fallin' near
to his death, down forty feet.
Beat up'n, clingin' to a cedar root, he
found everything else complete.
Knowin' he was in a jackpot, with no way
up'n, certain death below,
A catch-rope dropped by his side ... and he
thought he heard Hank yell, "..TAKE A'HOLD".
Ned tied the knot off and started headin'
up the side of that steep bluff,
Thinkin' Hank was down south, but askin' dumb
questions would come soon enough.
On top, he found the gelding, rope tied
off hard ... and not a soul in sight.
Confused, and spooked ... storms poppin', Ned
had no pressing need to stay the night.
Down the trail was that mammy and her
calf ... like they's waitin' up for Ned.
He just kicked 'em South, tryin' to figure
things out in his achin' head.
Back at camp, Ned thanked Hank for savin'
his life, askin' from whence he came,
Admonishing, "..why'd you leave 'fore
I got out, I might of come up lame"?
Hank eyed Ned real funny'n said, "Leave?
...Save you? Are you on that loco grass?
I ain't been there in weeks man ... reckon why
they call that place "ANGEL PASS"?"
A COWBOY'S NIGHT
© 6/98 All Rights Reserved * David Kelley
Thankfully ... noisy orange flames of
the juniper fire die,
But, the glowing incandescence of
it seems to belie
The cool of the evening nearly
smothering its' warmth.
Those dying and protesting ashes
around his face swarms.
Infrequent erupting coals send
radiant meteors out,
As encroaching imminent night
grows edgy and stout.
Twilight's moist biting zephyr is
held partially in check
By the cowboy's old tarp and the
silken scarf 'round his neck.
Then, blackened sky comes alive
with numberless orbs of light,
Competing tolerably with swarms
of fire-flies in flight.
Eyes growing heavy with the burden
of the erstwhile day,
Grudgingly, to unerring slumber,
the wrangler gives way.
He remembers wondering as
consciousness fades so deep,
Why the wondrous beauty of God's
night is wasted on sleep.
You can contact David at bardk1@cs.com
Last update: July 1, 1999