Rudy's Cowboy Poetry
Before I share this next story, I do not want
to get a lot of negative E-mail from the ladies until they have read it all.
My wife is my working partner and has been since before the day we married.
As a cowboy's wife she has helped me dig fence post holes, stack hay, she
has held lots of horses while I put shoes on them, she has gone on to put a
lot of needed miles on the new colts I was training. All of this she did
along with her other duties as a wife.
When we moved closer to town, I found myself
making more money than our regular cowboy wages. So I set forth to share
with my partner. I went out and bought my wife a new color television set. I
remember when the salesman said. " Now Rudy that's a nice color T.V. you got
there, would you like a remote control?" I answered immediately. "Why shucks
no, . . I've got a wife!"
Now before you get all upset. I would like
you to know that I found out later that I really should have bought that
remote control. 'Cause when I'm setting there in my chair watching that
color T.V. And Rose is outside splitting wood, . . . and I have to yell so
doggone loud for her to come in and turn the channel.
Next I found that town people have some fun
things going on. Like Yard Sales! While visiting one of these Yard Sales on
my way back to the ranch I found the most clever invention. I never knew
that town people had it so good. It was a little bell about three or four
inches tall and the call it a Servant's Bell. Well I got to thinking about
all that money I saved on that remote control. So I bought that little
Servants Bell, and I took it back to the ranch. I put it on the stand next
to my chair where I watch that color T.V. Then I called Rose in and said.
"Honey I want you to get use to this here sound!" Well this is how the
inspiration for this next story came about.
Cowboy Poetry - The Servant's Bell
By, . . Rudy Gonzales Cowboy Poetry
Copyright © 1988
Tho this cowboy's life is a livin' rage,
and his lovely wife he lives to please.
There lurks inside of him a little boy,
Who dearly loves to tease.
Now on a recent trip to town, . . .
the logic of his purchase, I really couldn't tell.
But you could see the devil in his eyes,
when he found this Servants Bell.
Now a Servants Bell is what rich folks use,
when calling their servants to fill their every need.
Why they're suppose to fetch and carry,
or even groom the masters steed.
Well this cowboy bought that tinklin' bell,
and headed for the ranch.
And pondered on the benefits,
if this bell should work perchance.
Now his wife she is a pleasant gal,
and she doesn't mind his tease.
Ya see she loves her scruffy cowboy,
and does her best to please.
Well, . . . The details of this story, . . .
I really don't think I want to tell.
"Cause things didn't work quite out the way they were suppose to,
when he rang his little bell.
But there is one thing that I can tell you,
and that is that we hope that someday doctors may find some cures.
To explain why he jingles when he walks,
'cause he does it without spurs!
NOTE; While sharing this story and poem at a banquet. A
lady seated towards the front was getting very angry. I just knew that she
was about to throw something at me. She didn't, but after the show was over
she came to me and put her hand on my shoulder. She said. "I was so happy
to hear you finally got it in the end!" I'm sure she meant the
conclusion of the story.
"Sometimes You Just Can't Please 'em!"
By, . . . Rudy Gonzales Cowboy Poetry
Eagle, Idaho Copyright © 1996
Now Rose and I are the best of friends,
and that's nice when you're man & wife.
Seems like that's how things aughta be,
when ya married up for life.
To love, honor, and obey,
was what she promised always to do.
Now I think that's the way a wife aughta be,
it's a proven method tried and true.
Now we've got along great for many years,
to me things just couldn't have been much better.
Now you may find this hard to believe,
but there's come a real change in the weather.
She never did complain too much,
but once I did hear her kind of grovel.,
When I surprised her with her anniversary gift,
It was a brand new, . . .
long handled diggin' shovel.
Once I even bought a little servants bell,
so I wouldn't have to strain my voice.
She could have me call, . . . or ring for her,
now that's what I call giving her a choice.
Well then we had us a bad argument,
now that sure wasn't the way.
To see her so angry kinda made me sad,
but her mad seemed to be here to stay.
Now shortly before the fussin' was over,
She did come to me on her hands and knees.
I figured she'd say something pleading, . . .
like maybe something that ended up with, please.
But she stated what was on her mind, . . .
and she shouted it as loud as you can.
She said, . . . "Rudy you come out from under
that bed,
and stand up and fight like a man!"
Cowboy Poetry This Cowboy’s Dad
By Rudy Gonzales Jr. © 7/29/2004
I was riding colts in the early morn, on our ranch in
Idaho.
The high desert country was in the throws of spring and this colt had a
long way to go.
He was quick as a rabbit
and light on his feet. As we went thru our routine in the pen.
He learned awful quick what I was asking of him, so we seldom had to do it
again.
There is something
uncertain about these highbred colts. They call them appendix bred.
With the size of thoroughbred, n strength of the quarter horse, sometimes
the worst of both comes out instead.
I caught my shadow as I
worked ‘round the pen. I could see a cowboy a settin this slippery hoss.
Staying easy yet firm, as he worked round and round, but always showing
this colt just who is the boss.
My mind seemed to wander
back to the days of my youth, when my dad was riding rough string.
I was transported in my mind, to the back of the fence, now it was my dad
on this horse in the ring.
He moves with the balance
that is called in the ride, as he checked that hackamore rig to the turn.
He could stop on and dime then set there a while, so the horse could think
some and learn.
I watched him a lot in
the days of my youth; too soon the dream came back to reality now.
It was me once again setting this fast stepping horse, and my dad’s image;
well he just faded some how.
Oh he was still living at
the time of this ride, though he did live far away.
He was hanging his hat on the far side of Oregon. Oh but he was sure with
me in the round pen that day.
Rudy's Handlebar Moustache
Cowboy Poetry
Copyright © 1993 Rudy Gonzales
How long did it take you to grow that moustache?
What do you put on it to keep it in place?
Does it stand out on it's own when you greet the dawn,
or does it hang down in utter disgrace?
Seems I'm always plagued by these questions,
can I touch it, and is it for real?
Is it greasy or slippery perhaps?
How does it stand out like it's made of steel?
Well I answer these questions politely,
I been sport'n this growth thirty years.
I grew it back when, . . . I guess I was ten,
an' to part with it might bring me to tears.
I've never put anything on it,
such a sin might cause me to fall.
It stands out so fine cause whenever I dine,
I don't use a napkin at all.
Amidst all this hair there's biscuits n' gravy in there,
an' some juice from old rabbit stew.
There's of course bacon grease when I cooked me some geese,
and' something weird I ate colored blue.
Oh I use to keep it much longer,
why it once stuck clear out to here.
But while running my horse into the winds mighty force,
it got to snap'n and near took off my ear.
Why you'll be forced to give up romance,
'n kisses you can forget about those.
'Cause it's hard for a lady to kiss you,
with your moustache stuck in her nose.
It can sometimes be quite a bother,
like when shoeing some high spirited mare.
When it's all you can do just to tack on a shoe,
then you tickle her with that long moustache hair.
Why does a cowboy grow such a moustache?
Is being different how he gets by?
You can't even dance close with the one you love most,
without poking her right in the eye.
So why do we sport such a nuisance?
Well the answer is worth more than cash.
Its all worth it that day when someone walks up to say, . . . . . . .
HEY THERE, . . . I SURE LIKE YOUR TASH!"
Cowboy Poetry
Poetic Justice
Rudy Gonzales © 1988
Arizona Artie was a fast man on the draw,
because of his profession,
he was always wanted by the law.
Artie would sell his fast gun,
to the one that paid the most.
When the dust had settled and the smoke had cleared,
his quarry was a ghost!
His shots were oh so accurate,
right between the eyes.
That's how you knew that Artie did it,
you could hear his accusers cries.
But he would have to change his style though,
'cause he really was no dope.
And he knew that fate would find him,
on the short end of a rope.
So Artie laid to rest his six gun,
and the word spread throughout the land.
But what he didn't say, was that now,
he would strangle with his hands.
Well Artie had no fears now,
'cause he figured that he would never get the blame.
And it don't matter just how you kill 'em,
'cause they're all dead just the same.
So Artie took a job for a rancher,
who wished to rid himself of some pests.
That just happened to be three sheep men,
who he wished to have laid to rest.
But without his reputation,
his fees had become much smaller.
And all this ol' rancher would pay for this job,
was one lonely single dollar.
So in the night he snuck out,
and he choked them in their sleep.
Then he bravely faced the morning sun,
his new method was now complete.
Now I'm not sure how they found out, . . .
and it's enough to make you hollar.
But when the newspapers hit the street,
There it was, . . .
"Artie chokes three for a dollar!"
OH IT WEREN'T MUTTON!
By.... Rudy Gonzales Cowboy Poetry © Copyright 1988
Big Ben was a serious cowman, but he ran a bunch of sheep.
He did it for the money, cause his ranch he' like to keep.
He kept his cattle to the front, for the whole wide world to see.
But kept the woollies to the rear, it was their place to be.
His cattle brought him respectability, this is the cowman's way.
The sheep they made the money, so they were here to stay.
He had some vicious sheepdogs, so the coyotes wouldn't eat 'em.
when them coyotes came for lunch, those dog's were there to greet 'em
He had a little woolly lamb, who'd bark just like a pup.
It really was the darnd'est thing, how would this lamb grow up?
He took to running with the dogs, he was getting kind a mean.
It really was the darnd'est thing, that I have ever seen.
But Ole Ben he had to shoot him, he went and killed him dead.
He did really hated for to do it, here's the last words that he said.
"The little lamb could bark like a dog, but this one I could not keep.
'Cause that little woolly rascal, took to eatin' up my sheep!"
Cowboy Poetry
Big Jim
By. . . Rudy Gonzales Cowboy Poetry, - Copyright © 1993
Big Jim he was a portly man, almost too round to ride.
He ran his cattle in the breaks, out near the great divide.
It was a fact he loved to eat, most anything would do.
He ate his meals of grandeur, n put the left overs in a stew.
He loved the pastries most of all, he had a real sweet tooth.
He always prized a chocolate cake, since he was in his youth.
Doughnuts fresh were a great treat, sometimes he ate a pie.
There never was much pastry, that Jim would let get by.
But then alas a pretty miss, she came upon the scene.
She said her name was Edith, she came from Abilene.
Big Jim his heart was smitten, he was feeling mighty blue.
Until ole Shorty told him, here's what you'll have to do.
You'll need to face her honestly, and tell her of your love.
Then ask her if she will marry you, and be your turtle dove.
So Jim he went to Edith, and asked to her just that.
But Edith bluntly told him, sorry Jim your just too fat.
He never thought that his great size, would turn her love away.
He even thought to give up cake, Oh but what a price to pay.
Big Jim his heart was broken, so he asked Shorty what to do.
Shorty said, "you need to diet Jim, cause you can't have your cake and Edith
too!"
Cowboy Poetry
FROG
By. . . "Idaho Cowboy Poetry" Rudy Gonzales Copyright © 1987
I'm 'bout to share with you a story,
and I'll swear by gosh it's true.
Tho you might think it a bit gory,
why it still might just happen to you.
This old punchers name was Jessie Best,
and he'd lived life that's for sure.
He'd cowboy'd all around the west,
and of life's adventures did endure.
He'd driven cattle to Abilene,
once fell in love in Tucson town.
Got throw'd in jail when he was eighteen,
an' even rode that Bogus Brown.
He almost met Bill Hickock,
he once shook the Presidents hand.
He preferred to ride instead of walk,
an' all in all his life was pretty grand.
He'd been to town an' seen the ladies fair,
fell in love time and again.
But he always turned to punchin' cows,
where he was in the company of men.
Oh it's true he loved the ladies, they're so soft,
and most of 'em smelled so good.
But soon they'd talk of marriage and babies,
an' good-by to his bachelorhood.
The years they kept a travelin' on,
an' it seems his life will never change.
For a time he was punchin cattle down in Tucson,
and wandering on their range.
Now he wanders wooded acres,
he's is workin' for an outfit up Montana way.
When he slipped off to the timbers,
to nap away the day.
Well he set beside a large pine log,
and settled there to hide.
Where set a small green frog,
who bounced up to his side.
The frog approached the wrangler,
and then began to speak.
She said witches cursed her,
and made her green and weak.
Inside she was a gorgeous woman,
who could be freed with just a kiss.
She'd be all to him that a girl can,
who could ask for more than this?
The puncher did not say a word,
as he pondered what this would entail.
Could he give up on the cattle herd?
or would he be better of in jail.
"If you'll give me just a little kiss,"
I'll no longer be a frog said she.
"And your freedom you will never miss,
'cause with you I will always be!"
Finally the cowboy answered her,
as he rested there by that log,
He said, "I'd like to see you're cure,
but fer now I'd satisfied, with just a talking frog!"
Cowboy Poetry
SUPER SEX
By . . . "Idaho Cowboy Poetry " Rudy Gonzales
Copyright © 1993
Ol' Bill knew the cattle business, but he is gettin kinda old.
The cow boss always trusted him, when the cattle must to be sold.
Now Ol' Bill knew the buyers, so it was a not like shootin' dice.
This Ol' cowboy knew the ropes, he could always get the very best price.
When all the bidding was over, and he went to his hotel room.
He was feeling kinda weary, the years had caught up way too soon.
All the years of punching cattle, in the heat and in the cold.
There were days of shoeing horses, n wrecks a plenty to be told.
His years they numbered eighty, and a few more I'm sure.
His thoughts now turned to restin', his mind was always pure.
Although he courted in his youth, he'd been alone most of his life.
His mistress was the cattle, so he never took a wife.
He pulled his boots with a might grunt, and set down in a chair,
To read there by the window, cause the light was better there.
His teeth he placed there on the stand, now to rest his tired bones.
The silence of the hotel room, was laced with grunts and groans.
Then came a knock upon the door, much to the cowboys surprise.
And when he opened up the door, he could not believe his eyes.
There stood a gorgeous lady,...... with hair of fiery red.
He looked her over slowly, "can I help you?", old Bill said.
She answered him quite softly, in words direct and not complex.
The red haired lady told him. "I come to offer you super sex."
The cowboy now in deepest thought, much like his late age group.
answered, "I was getting kinda hungry, . . so I think I'll have the
soup!"
Road Rage
Rudy Gonzales "Idaho Cowboy Poetry & Western Humorist"
Copyright © 1997
Ya used ta' howdy to yer neighbor
as you rode on down the trail.
Why you'd raise a hand, n' briskly wave,
if they could not hear your hail.
Ridin' horseback is faster'n walking,
and we mostly rode to where we went.
Seems then folks took lots more time,
n' mostly friendly was how they was bent.
Be it in the buckboard wagon,
when to get supplies in town.
or be mule or horseback,
seems folks seldom ever wore a frown.
We'd say "Howdy neighbor!"
as we waved a hand to greet.
and we'd lift a hand to everyone,
that we would chance to meet.
Times and ways have changed a lot,
from those days that use to be.
When they invented automobiles,
Oh they was a sight to see.
We traveled so much faster now,
and the dust we raised and churned.
We now roar faster down the road,
as down the lane we burned.
We have pickup trucks and town cars,
n' sports cars for those in a great big hurry.
We got engines with lots of horse power,
so through this life we now can scurry.
Oh folks still raise a hand,
tho' in this day they have no more time to linger.
And instead of waving friendly like,
they can only muster up one finger!
Fall Gather
Cowboy Poetry
By. . . . Rudy Gonzales
Copyright © 1999
Cowboy Poetry Written for Rose Gonzales
The aspens trees have lost their
leaves, they're scattered on the ground.
The cattle have been gathered, 'cept for twenty pair that can't be
found.
We've ridden along the river trail and over the craggy stone.
Until we find those ornery hides, we never will see home.
The wind is blowing clouds around,
the sky is getting black.
I dream of stew a cooking and the wood fire in my shack.
I can smell them biscuits cookin'. I can feel that soft warm fire.
But they're only in my mind right now, it's just a fond desire.
We've hunted all the brushy
spots and the leeward side of the hill.
We've rode the deepest canyons and we haven't found them still.
Where can they hide those big red cows with their bellies so round
and fat?
All the places that I've looked, . . . is just not where they are
at!
I've got to find them
critters, this seems to happen every fall.
I long to fill my view with cows, and hear that old cow bawl.
What's that I see drifting down, from the heavens far above.
It's floating like an angel's wing and it's white like a heaven's
dove.
I seen it floating in the
sky, drifting down toward the ground.
It flutters like it is alive and it lights without a sound.
Soon others follow the trail it's made, though they've scatter far
and
wide.
They cover the ground with a blanket of white and the lonely mountainside.
Now I hear the cattle bawling
they're trailing down on there own.
They long for the taste of new baled- hay, they're ready to go home.
I mount again my pony, I'll soon meet them at the gate.
It's time for us to trail on home, no need for us to wait.
I don't know where they come
from, right now I can't say I even care.
I'm glad to see them fill the count, we have them, each and every
pair.
When I open up that old wire gate, I best mount my horse and move
aside.
There will be no need to push them, all we need to do is ride.
They'll trail on down to the
home corral, that lead cow knows the way.
With the wind a pushin’ at my back, who could ask for a better day.
Some think this life is crazy, yet it’s a life I hold so dear..
I know I can look
for this same lost bunch, at gatherin’ time next year.
What does a real cowboy look like?
By, . . . Rudy Gonzales "Idaho Cowboy Poetry &
Western Humorist"
Copyright © 1997
Some think a cowboy is suppose to be tall and lean,
good lookin' of course with tight fittn' jeans,
A thin wiry frame with legs slightly bowed,
with his pants tucked inside for his boots to be showed.
He rides a fancy pony if he rides for the cattle,
and atop his steed sets mighty a fancy saddle.
His hat is a Stetson that's creased to his style,
he's got a big silver buckle you can see for a mile.
Oh he struts like a peacock with a bit of a swagger,
talk about ropin' n ridin', he's a bit of a bragger.
Why he could rope the wind if given half a chance,
and steal any lady heart with one handsome glance.
Now I've know some good cowboys who were tall & lean,
but most I have known were not cut to be mean.
Most know the work and are caring endowed,
this leaves little time to strut around proud.
But purdy of course don't make a buckaroo,
and it don't help a bit if yer horse lost a shoe.
And that buckle he bought can't doctor a cow,
and workin' stock, . . . well ya gotta know how.
I know a passel of cowboys and most ain't even cute,
but I sure want them with me when I'm loading the chute.
When workin the stock they don't need to brag,
they're always first to join in when ridin' the drag.
Some are short and stout and some right down fat,
but when it comes to the job that's right where they're at.
Truth is most cowboys don't fit a physical description,
To think they're all tall and good lookin,' is just plain down right
fiction.
Now I'm a cowboy who is not real tall or even good lookin',
And most of this round comes from my wife's down home cookin'.
I'm no different from most and I know who I'am, . . .
I'm that cowboy from Idaho who looks like Yosemite Sam!
Circle Flies
By Rudy Gonzales
Copyright © October 2000
Hauling a big load of my best
horses from the ranch on to the sale.
Wanting to get there early. I was traveling like a bat out
of well, . . .
Oh sure I knew I was speeding; I like to sit there close
by the rail.
Sometime you wait to get unloaded, I wanted to watch my
horses sell.
Glancing back in my mirror, there were lights a flashing
blue and red
That police siren crying like an ol’ coyote’, and I knew
that I was dead.
This trooper took out his ticket book and right away began
to write,
He took my license and registration; he was going to
ticket me up right.
I tried to tell him about my situation, Hoping he might
understand.
Sometimes a fella means no harm when he’s a hurrying
across the land.
This trooper had no give in him; said he was the long arm
of the law.
He said he’d make an example of me, as he boldly he jutted
out his jaw.
I told him I was just a poor ol’ cowboy, trying hard to
make ends meet.
Needing to sell them horses, I only wanted to get there to
claim my seat.
He said this here ticket would take five hundred bucks to
make my bail.
“And if I hear another word from you, I think I’ll just
haul you off to jail.”
I noticed his hand a waving some pesky flies away from his
head,
I said, “I thought them “Circle Flies” by now would all be
dead.”
He said he never heard of Circle
Flies, I told him they are common on the ranch.
They buzz around and pester the horse’s butts, . . . when
ever they get the chance.”
He raised his head and loudly said, For sure this ticket I
won’t pass.
Now I’m gonna throw the book at you for calling me a
horses ass.
Oh no officer! Not me, I have too much respect for the
law. It would certain be my demise.
It’s just not my way to call you names, . . . but I guess
you just can’t fool them Circle flies!
Country Wedding
By
Rudy Gonzales
Cowboy Poetry © Copyright 2001
You might call this family hillbillies, cause they live
so far from town.
They always seemed to be so very happy, no one ever wore a
frown.
Where they lived the air was clean, fresh water, and wild
critters still abound
They are wise to ways of nature, and of all those
creatures running ‘round.
Now a city cousin wrote them, a pretty young lass by the name
of Teri.
She wanted for all her relatives to be present, ’cause she
did intend to marry.
She asked that little Jacob, her country cousin to be part
in this blessed ceremony.
She always liked the little tyke and knew this would all
work in perfect harmony.
As Jacob two-stepped down the aisle, He’d stop and turn
and fiercely growl.
With little fingers clenched and his arms raised high, all
soon began to howl.
The guests were all laughing now, at his antics as he
sashayed down the aisle.
As he raised his little arms to growl, even more laughter
erupted from the smiles.
Finally the preacher asked him why he was growling when
his hand he did raise.
For it certainly was distracting, what he thought would
only bring him praise.
He was only trying hard to do his job, and was saddened
they did not understand or care.
But he took his job most seriously, when he was asked to be “The
Honored Ring Bear.”
Cowboy Poetry
A Bronc's Lesson
By, . . . Rudy Gonzales (c) Copyright 1998
I guess I've heard as many bronc tales as any feller my age.
Stories and poems of wild horses, a tearing up the sage.
Oh they buck, they snort, they jump so high, they hit the
ground hard.
I'm here to tell you one and all, I've been there myself Ol'
pard.
Now tales like this have but two ways to go, so I'll turn the
choices loose.
One gets throw'ed an hurts his pride, while the other rides
that ole cayuse.
But my tale is different don't you see, I taught a moral
lesson to that steed.
And when you find out just what I did, I'll be sure that you
would have agreed.
Now I'd been ridin' that there colt, for just about a month
or so.
This day I had a lot of fence to mend, and quite away's to
go.
Well the morning was a cool one, and he was feeling kinda
light.
But with a long day of riding fence line, I really did not
expect a fight.
I dismount and mounted through out the whole day long.
I twisted, cut and stapled, and I even sang a happy cowboy
song.
As we rode back towards my camp, a rabbit jumped from neath
his feet.
He spun and whirled and gave a jump, then bogged his head, to
make this fight complete.
I lost the off side stirrup, and with the next jump I hit
that rocky ground.
It took me several minutes 'fore I could sit up, and
recognize that sound.
No it weren't the choir of angels singing, or birds singing
away the day.
It was that sound of horseshoe hitting stones, as that colt
there run away.
Now what is the moral, that that colt learned, when he run
and left me there?
Did he fall and break his leg, or was he eaten by a wandering
grizzly bear?
I thought and chuckled to myself, on that long walk back I
even kicked a stone.
"I sure fixed
that ornery hoss, 'cause I made him walk back to camp all alone!"
|
