Casualties of War

I saddle up in the morning, hang my spurs and hat at night.
Ride the fences all the day, fixin things right!
My hands look and feel like leather, I reckon my face as well.
A mirror is a casualty of war for a cowboy who looks like hell.
Such a thing is a luxury! We wouldn’t spend money on anyhow;
A place to lay my head, coffee, grub, a horse, and work;
That’s what completes a Cowboy’s life.
Trinkets an such, don’t make no sense,
What can I use them for?
There’s no extra time in the day,
To revel in the Casualties of War.

There stood at the cross of Jesus, Mary his mother in tears,
for there on the cross, in anguish, was one she had loved through the years.
Her child, who was born in a stable, concieved by the God above,
who dwelt on the earth in her keeping, who grew in the warmth of her love.

There stood by the cross of Jesus, Mary Magdalelene,
a form more broken with sorrow, on earth could never be seen!
Her eyes were raised to the Savior, and tears coursed swift down her cheek,
as she saw how the nails had pierced Him, how bleeding his body and week.
Her Master was suffering and dying while she could but watch and see'
her body was shaken with sobbing for Christ her Redeemer was he.

There stood at the cross of Jesus, soldiers whose hearts were stone,
watching their victim suffer, his torture to ever condone.
They parted his garments among them, cast lots for His beautiful coat,
they laughed at His bitter anguish, the King of the Jews they smote.

There stood at the cross of Jesus, John by the Lord endeard,
he who had been His favorite, there at the Master peered.
He looked and beheld his companion, The Christ who his sorrows had born,
he gazed at the bleeding body, at the brow, by the briers torn.
He knew he could only help him, this one that his heart adored,
by caring for Mary, Christ's Mother, the closest unto his Lord.
There stood by the cross of Jesus those who had loved him best,
those who had loved Him dearly, mingled among the rest.

And, at the cross of Jesus, I stand and my heart is bowed,
I fix my eyes on the Master and turn from the watching crowd.
I see him not as the Mother, nor John, as John would have seen.
I see him not as the soldier, nor Mary Magdalene.
I see him as I a sinner, there on the cross should have died.
I see him as one who had caused Him, there to be crucified.
I see him there at Golgotha, take Him my Savior to be,
I stand at the cross of Jesus, Jesus who died for me

Lonnie Faubion

'The Joint'

T’was down in central Florida
This joint a bit south of Deland
In Volusia County
Before there’s… Disneyland

Spanish moss hung from the trees
I can see it still
That tin roofed Cracker with a porch
A real ol’ time gin mill

It was run by black folk
In the segregated south
They’d let us white boys in there tho
If we’d watch our manners and our mouth

All of us were ‘underage’
The barmaid knew it too
She had the whole thing figured out
‘n this is what she’d do

We had to buy a coke 'n beer
Those beers came off the bar
Then those cokes would be put up
When they saw the sheriffs car

A little boy out on the porch
Stood watch in case of that
“‘Sheriff comin’” he would holler…
That beer’d be gone ‘like that’

Back behind the bar it’d go
To be kept on ice
Cokes would magically ‘appear’
That system worked out nice

When the Sheriff drove on by
‘Sheriff’s gone’ he’d say
Then the beer would reappear
The cokes would go away

Oh, that kid would make out good
We all tipped him a buck
Whenever we were leavin’
Back to our car or truck

Now the Sheriff knew about it
He let us know it too
“I know what y’all ’er doin’
But I’ll be straight with you…”
　
“Don’t be messin’ with muh nigra’s
Just behave ‘n drink yer beer
If ‘n y’all cause any trouble
I’ll be hard on you; y’heah?”

“‘Sometimes them darkies get het up
‘n then they want’a fight
They mostly carry razors
‘n it happens there at night”

“Don’t be smokin’ any reefer
‘n if a fight breaks out
Don’t get involved with that at all
Just get up ‘n leave out”

“You..” he pointed at me
“Keep that hot rod on the ground
I can hear you half a mile away
So keep that speedin’ down”

“You know yer drinkin’s 'genst the law
But you boys need some release
I don’t care ‘bout all of that
My job’s to keep the peace”

“I was in the service too
When I was young ‘n green
‘Korea‘… ‘guess ya heard of that
As an infantry Marine”

"‘Cause me any problems tho
You boys will be arrested
Let this be your warning, then
My patience’s sorely tested"

Well… we never got arrested
For our undetected crimes
When we wasn’t armin’ Navy airplanes
We were all about good times

We had to sit there at the bar
Not allowed in the back room
Never saw what all went on
At them tables in the gloom

Aside from all the rest of it
Close to culture shock
This swamp joint featured Blues guitar
Instead of Southern Rock

‘Skinny’ ain’t the word
For that man who played guitar
He’d make lyrics up as he went along
For the people in the bar

He wore a yellow pork pie hat
His shirt hung on his frame
Lord that man could play guitar
He’d put Leadbelly to shame

I remember well those cordovan shoes
Each had, three razor slits
I asked him why he did that once
‘n he said: “'So’s they fits”

I dunno what guitar that was
If I did it’s long forgot
Don’t matter none about the brand
Man… that thing was hot

He never used a pick at all
Was all done by fingernail
Sometimes a plastic curler
Slid on them frets to make it wail

I ain’t no musician
But I do know what I like
This was all acoustic too
No pick-ups and no mic

A cigar box was on the floor
Opened up for tips
We’d try to do our best for him
Tho none of us was rich

His foot would start to tappin’
His head would nod in time
When he’d start to playin’
Tunes of a dif’rint kind

He sang about the women
‘n such had done him wrong
He had a poets heart I guess
‘Cause he made up ev’ry song

He sang about the dogs he’d had
Sometimes about a car
Such unrewarded talent
In this backroad Flor’da bar

He drove a jet black ‘50 Buick
It’s grille… a wide-spaced toothy grin
Whenever now I see one
I always think of him

He had this big ol’ hound dog
That laid out in the shade
Then come in ’n lay beside him
When e’re that blues was played

I dunno if it was music
Or the Slims Jims that he’d get
That dog’s gotta be in heaven now
‘n ain’t quit fartin’ yet

The bare wood planks upon the floor
So smooth ‘n worn they shined
Weren’t no whitebread 'Shag' they did
They called this thing the ‘Grind’

That’s the first time I’d ever seen
Any old folks do like that
I thought I’d seen the ‘dirty boogie’
But this was, oh much more than that

‘Bout as close to sex with clothes on
As I’d ever seen before
‘Gettin’ down’ don’t near describe
What was hap’nin’ on that floor

Now we were all in ‘uniform’
White pocket ‘T’s ‘n jeans
Straw cowboy hats of some kind
‘n boots within our means

Nobody knew we’s sailors
‘Cause that was never mentioned
‘Just some hot rod teenage cowboys
Drinkin’ beer ‘n good intentioned

Then one day it happened
This black chick grabbed me by the hand
“‘Cmon out here white boy…
‘See if you can dance like you’re a man”

I noticed eyes upon me
This was my litmus test
Do it like ya mean it
So I gave it my best

No white bread overbite was seen
No squintin’ or closed eyes
I ground ‘er like an oiled machine
With the movement of my thighs

Right there on the dance floor
Of this tin roofed Cracker shack
Some moves I’d learned so long ago
All came flooding back

"Oh yeah!": she started teasin’
But I just moved on in
People started hollerin’
‘n put up quite a din

"Oh yeah baby… you in it now..."
I could hear ‘em shout
I recalled that line from ‘Brother Dave’
‘n ‘let it all hang out’

Oh, they were shoutin’ other things
Which here, I won’t repeat
There was so much noise, that I
Could hardly hear the beat

When the tune was over
I thanked her with a little bow
“Howzat?” I sort’a muttered
She fanned her face ‘n just said: "Wow!"

My posse sittin’ at the bar
Were all wide eyed ‘n dazed
"‘Where’d you learn to dance like that?”
They said while all amazed

"‘Bout time that I’d turned 13"
My mother had a maid
She’d still be there when I’d get home
She’d finished up, but stayed"

"She was only 21
But 21 was ’old’
Hell, that’d been just six years ago
My mom, I never told"

"I recall her name was Mamie
She asked if I could dance
I told ‘er that I couldn’t yet
‘Never had a chance"

Now, I was tall ‘n gangly
13’s a difficult stage
Changes are a happenin’
Your hormones in rage

"I had never held a ‘woman’
But on that polished hardwood floor
She taught this white kid how to dance
She did that ‘n more"

“Don’t be so stiff “ she told me
You gotta let it go
"Don’t be afraid of touchin’"
Is what she let me know

This went on for 'bout a year
My shyness left behind
One afternoon she pulled me close
'n did the 'Bo'hawg Grind'

Mamie had a body
‘n she knew how to make it move
I’d fin’ly learned to let it go
‘Just relax ‘n ‘groove’

My teenage inhibitions
Along with all my fear
Suddenly just went away
When she said: "Put it here"

"You ain't hurtin' nuthin'
Just do me like ya feel"
I took that as a 'green light'
'n we got it on for real

Tho I didn’t know it then
The “Grind’ was what we’s doin’
If my mother found it out
It’d be both our ruin

All of that came floodin' back
In this back road Flor’da bar
In that electric atmosphere
They don't care who you are

If my mom knew I was in this joint
She’d prob’ly have a cow
"You did what…?": She'd holler
I can hear her now

This was all so long ago
Another life ‘cross many miles
But I remember all those Stetson girls
With their Suzy Creemcheez smiles

The Outlaw Tavern locals
Southern to the core
The Cloud Nine bushhog barflies
In Enterprise ‘n more

Sometimes I can hear it still
That sound goes thru my head
Altho the ‘Joint’ is prob’ly gone
‘n many now long dead

That world don’t exist no more
That’s hardly any news
But I still smile when I remember
How that black dude played the blues

© 1/19/2010 Sonora Rebel

THE GHOST OF BLOODY BASIN
We stoped in Bloody Basin, headed south down off the rim.
Taking the herd to winter pasture, there was just Tex and me and Jim.

It was a little spooky sitting in that eerie place.
With the fire casting shadows on each others face.

We never heard his approach, as he rode up in the night.
We looked up and there he sat, he gave us all a fright.

He was rideing a monster mule that stood about 18 hands.
The one he had on a lead rope was just as big, and they both wore a pitchfork brand

He wore a wolf hyde coat and a coon skin hat with a buffalo robe tied on his pack.
We told him to get down, the beans and coffee was hot.
And if he hankerd to spend the night we'd help him with his kack.

He said he'd be obliged for he hadn't ate in a day or two.
Somewhere down around Salome he'd had a bate of rattle snake stew.

When he walked up to the fire, we all took a gasping breath.
For the three of us thought for sure we were looking at waliking death.

He was skinny as a rail and only stood about five feet tall.
He carried an old smooth bore rifle and .44 cap and ball.

It was like keeping company with the walking dead.
The skin on his face looked like it had been streched over his head.

He filled his plate with beans, then went back and cleaned the pot.
The coffee was at a boil, but he drank er down that hot.

We ask him where he was from, he said the last place hed been.
We took that as a sign he really didn't want to be botherd again.

He did loosen up a little and told us something of his past life.
We sat there in awe and spellbound, watching him eat beans off his skinnin knife.

He'd been a wolfer and a hide hunter and even skinned a griz or two.
He said he had almost died in a Montana winter with a bad case of the flue.

He had scouted for Crook here in the Basin during the indian war
He pulled off his hat and showed us where a bullit had left a six inch scar

It was getting late, the moon was was up, and tommorrow ment a long hard ride.
So we three shook out our soogans and he rolled up in that buffalo hyde.

The stars were still out the next morning when we started putting on our tack.
The old man was gone without a trace, those mules never even left a track.

We told our story when we got to town to anyone who would listen.
No one laughed as we thought they would, they said you've just met the ghost of Bloody Basin.

Lonnie Faubion

Murphy in Action

It was just a photograph
Taken long ago
During some forgotten fight
In Nicaragua, s’all I know

My daddy took the picture
He too was on that ride
At the gallop next to Murphy
Yep, right there at his side

‘Might be the finest photograph
That I had ever seen
That caught the action of the charge
Of an old time Horse Marine

That war horses neck was stuck straight out
It’s ears were laid clean back
With teeth all bared 'n nostrils flared
A young warrior on it’s back

Murphy's leanin’ forward
Standin’ in the saddle
His B.A.R. spittin’ lead ‘n brass
In this long forgotten battle

The brim of his campaign hat
Was flat against the crown
A leather chinstrap from the band
Was all that held it down

Around his chest a bandoleer
That held the magazines
What a poster this would be
For United States Marines

His boots in tapadero’s
The reins held in his teeth
A .45, hung from his belt
A scene beyond belief

T’was ‘gainst Sandino’s bandits
The objective of this ride
No tellin’ how many of ‘em there was
Or how many of ‘em died

“Murphy In Action” was the only note
Penciled on the back
From those final days of Cavalry
Displayed in full attack

So clear you could near smell it
The way that B.A.R. was raised
The thunder of the gallop
'Spent brass flyin' inna haze

A scene of martial beauty
That some won't understand
A warrior combination
Comprised of horse and man

And in that charge beside him
Was my father: Corporal Shaw
Who’d be ridin’ hell for leather
To take that pix at all

I never knew ya Murphy
Or where… now resting, you may be
But accept this poem as my salute
To your name in history

10th Horse Marines are legend
In the annals of the Corps
These fightin’ horseman from the sea
Will not be seen no more

The nut don’t fall ya know
All that far out from the tree
Tho my daddy’s long been gone
What he was... still lives in me

Semper Fi!

© William E. Shaw 19 Sept. 2009
Picture Rocks, Arizona

I've never been a hero, and hope I never have to be.
but I took an oath years ago, to keep our country free.

Yes, I am a veteran, a fact of whitch I'm proud.
I know of many like me, in each and every crowd.

We're from the farms and from the towns, and many other places.
We're black and white, and red , and brown and all the other races.

We've trained, and fought and bled, and died for this country that we love.
We've fought our way through hell and back, with guidence from above.

When we see our country's flag, we give a quiet cheer.
Because OLD GLORY represents the land we love so dear.

We will proudly serve again, if our country makes the call.
So to all my fellow vets I say, "Your heroes one and all"

We listen to hard rock music,
untill our heads start to throb.

We smell diesel and air polution,
untill we sit down and sob.

Theres a woman in a check out line,
with perfume that smells like a whore.

But you can bet your ass on one thing,
theres a NO SMOKING sign on the door.

Was Forced!!!!!!!
Today I was forced to ride a horse.
My mule had no shoes, so I couldn't ride her of course.

After eight miles of torture, I felt I'd never been treated so cruel.
Never again will I be caught without my trusty mule.

My mule is like a Cadillac, and such a pleasure to ride.
Up and down the roughest trails she just seems to glide.

The trails were steep and rocky and this pony preformed quite well.
But every time I move tonight, I feel like I went through hell.

If a time ever comes, when a mule can't be found.
Don't look for me on the trails, because I won't be around.

If you want to find me, I'll be in my rocking chair.
Because with out a mule to ride, your trails I will not share.

By Lonnie Faubion

Mileymore

He started out a beauty, which all the kids adored.
Being ridden was his duty, not one child was ever bored.

He held a special honor, the kids were all so proud.
And the strange way he would canter, at his best when in a crowd.

He'd been around to many years, to let him go like this.
My eyes were full of tears, tips of his ears he did now miss.

When old age came upon him, he was looking pretty bum.
I knew it was really such a sin, something must be done.

So he was put upon a pedestal, and I fixed his broken legs.
Suddenly he looked so tall, his ears started out as pegs.

His mane and tail of real horsehair, and new eyes to make him see.
Some new fur that wouldn't tear, he became a part of me.

Now I have a horse inside my house, he stands so gallantly.
Milemore the Wonder horse for the entire world to see.

Twas the month before Christmas
When all through our land,
Not a Christian was praying
Nor taking a stand.
Why the Politically Correct Police had taken away,
The reason for Christmas - no one could say.
The children were told by their schools not to sing,
About Shepherds and Wise Men and Angels and things.
It might hurt people's feelings, the teachers would say
December 25th is just a "Holiday".
Yet the shoppers were ready with cash, checks and credit
Pushing folks down to the floor just to get it!
CDs from Madonna, an X BOX, an I-pod
Something was changing, something quite odd!
Retailers promoted Ramadan and Kwanzaa
In hopes to sell books by Franken & Fonda.
As Targets were hanging their trees upside down
At Lowe's the word Christmas - was no where to be found.
At K-Mart and Staples and Penny's and Sears
You won't hear the word Christmas; it won't touch your ears.
Inclusive, sensitive, Di-ver-si-ty
Are words that were used to intimidate me.
Now Daschle, Now Darden, Now Sharpton, Wolf Blitzen
On Boxer, on Rather, on Kerry, on Clinton!
At the top of the Senate, there arose such a clatter
To eliminate Jesus, in all public matter.
And we spoke not a word, as they took away our faith
Forbidden to speak of salvation and grace.
The true Gift of Christmas was exchanged and discarded
The reason for the season, stopped before it started.
So as you celebrate "Winter Break" under your "Dream Tree"
Sipping your Starbucks, listen to me.
Choose your words carefully, choose what you say
Shout MERRY CHRISTMAS, not Happy Holiday! AMEN!!

Lonnie ( Desert Rat ) Faubion

'No Sniveling'

I’ve heard the long ‘n windy’s
Bout the wind ‘n rain or drizzle
Or sun so hot ‘n brutal
‘Made a cowboys eyeballs sizzle

But the common thread in all these tales
Is never, ever snivel

“NO SNIVELING” reads the sign
Above the bunkhouse door
Take your whining someplace else
Or you won’t cowboy here no more

Complainin’ may be one thing
That’s just what cowboys do
But to ‘cowboy up’ ‘n do it
Is the stuff that gets you through

The how the where the what ‘n why
Of ‘DO IT’ rests with you

You might be tired and dirty
The ground is ter’ble stuff
Them cows may not cooperate
Bein’ flushed out from the rough

But this is how you earn yer pay
When the doin’ part gets tough

Then you’ll tell your long ‘n windy’s
Back in camp when day is done
‘Tween bites of bacon, beans ‘n biscuit
Of how you ‘got ’er dun’

But there’s never any snivelin’
Just complainin’ for the fun

I reckon tho that’s how it is
When you’re ridin’ for the brand
Carryin’ your own weight ‘n water
Is what makes a man a man

There’s no snivelin’ allowed ‘round here
If you want’a be a hand

“NO SNIVELING” reads the sign
Above the bunkhouse door
Take your whining someplace else
Or you won’t cowboy here no more

(C) 2009 Sonora Rebel

The BAT

I dunno why I did it
‘Just saw it on TV
This fella ridin’ on his horse
With a duster floatin’ free

Doggone sez I
That sure looks cool
A’wavin’ in the breeze
So that very day I checked e-Bay
To get me one of these

Oh, this duster was the real thing
‘Came in midnight black
With a cape around the shoulders
And a split straight up the back

When the package came, I opened it
‘n quickly put it on
Looked into the mirror
It was down to ankle long

Such a vision I would be
Gallopin’ along
This duster flowin’ like a cape
What could possibly go wrong?

I drank a cup of coffee
Then went out to the stable
I saddled up my horse
Then got my duster off the table

I went out to the hitchin’ rail
The duster opened and all slack
My pony only rolled his eyes
As I climbed on his back

As we trotted out into the road
I spread the skirt far down
My pony gave a notice
And turned his head around

I didn’t think much of it
We broke into a canter
The wind had not yet bloomed my coat
It really didn’t matter

So off into the desert
A gallop would sure do it
It surely did as I would find
And soon would come to rue it

So I cinched my hat down tight
‘n gave a little spur
T’was nuthin’ out in front of us
In the desert where we were

So, I’m standin in the stirrups
That black duster caught the wind
‘n that ol’ hoss looked back again
Like there was somethin’ after him

He broke into a gallop
Such as, he’d never moved that fast
Tryin’ to outrun that thing
That had him by the ass

He stuck his neck out, ears laid back
‘n began to buck ‘n jump
To get quit of this big bat-like thing
That’s a’flappin’ on his rump

Well pards I ain’t no Casey Tibbs
Tho I can ride for fair
But wasn’t any time at all
That I was catchin’ air

He bucked straight up ‘n caught some sky
And I must’ve gone a-flyin’
‘Landed on my butt so hard
T’was hard to keep from cryin’

That ol’ horse kept a’runnin’
Fast as he could sail
Still buckin’ and a kickin’
To keep that bat thing off his tail

Took me near two hours pards
To catch that crazy beast
He’d thought that big black flappy thing
Done had me for a feast

I had that duster rolled up tight
‘n tucked beneath my arm
I didn’t want him spooked again
By what he perceived as harm

His ears just perked ‘n he dropped his head
‘Came to me at a walk
I took him by the bridle then...
We had a little talk

I told him I was sorry
The blame was all on me
‘Tryin’ to copy them damn cowboys
That I seen on TV

(c) 2008 Sonora Rebel

SR thanks for your contrabutions. I don't know how old you are but some of your work brought back a lot of memories to this old man. For instance where Sun City West is today used to be the Circle One Cattle Co (Lizzard Acres it was known by. Surprise was just a wide spot off a frontage road. I was punching cows for the Circle One back in the early 60s. The other Sun City had barely gotten started. LOL We would go up their for coffee in the winter. Those old yuppie coots would really turn their noses up when 6 cowboys came dragging into their restuant spurs, cow s___t and all. Keep the good stuff comming. When I started this group I never dreamed it would get so popular.

PS. If ya ever get to Holbrook stop at the old cemetary and check uot he memorial marker for the boys who Commodor Owens shot in the Blevins shoot out. Holbrook made Tucson look like a sunday school picnick. My pome Blood on the Mogollon Rim was done from reserch on the Blevins shoot out and the one called Holbrook was mostly on the Hashknife Ranch.

'Dressin Western'

Pards, I wasn’t born here; I was once a newbie too
‘Came here forty years ago, in a Navy Ordnance crew
But one thing I made sure of, to this I must confess
When I adopted Arizona, I adopted western dress

For me it wasn’t all that much
‘Grew up wearin’ boots ‘n jeans ‘n such
In this desert sun I realized that
All I needed was ‘the hat’.

There was a time, the way people dressed
You could tell right off, they were from the west
In cowboy hats ‘n western boots
No useless ties, or flannel suits
They had a sort’a border flair
For the work ‘n climate, way out there

Cowboys are mostly long ‘n lean
Big buckles on their belts ‘n jeans
No buttons on their western shirt
Just metal snaps that always work
‘Might find a pistol on their waist
But never, ever used in haste

But now I see this less ‘n less,
In the way that these newcomers dress
In floppy sandals, they slouch about
With paunchy bellies, hangin’ out

In a logo’d t-shirt, for some vicarious sports
They’ve never played, in those baggy shorts
With skinny legs below that gut
Some funky ball cap on their nut
Most times backward on scruffy hair
If there’s even any there

‘Looks like they just go walkin’ out the door
In whatever’s been a’layin’ on the floor

Their kids are even more a mess
In Ghetto garb or Gothic dress
All androgenous ‘n neutered
From endless hours on their computer
Their punked out hair’s so queer to see
‘Must get that look from MTV

C’mon you women, get a clue
Those pants ‘n shorts don’t work for you
It’s really hard upon my eyes
Accosted by your thunder thighs
Like your menfolk, you’re a copy
Outta shape; all fat ‘n sloppy

Sometimes they’ll wear a wide brimmed hat
Cowboy style? Oh, never that
Some leather thing, with a long chin strap
Or a floppy straw, from a tourist trap

Them sandals ain’t the way to go
‘Til somethin’ bites ‘em on the toe
Or the Cholla’s, tiny needles
Not to mention, big ol’ beetles

A scorpion or spider bite
Might wake ‘em up to facts alright
Out here the cowboys all wear boots
Not for fashion, or cuz they’re cute
It’s so you can walk where yer feet will let’cha
Not to worry, what mite get’cha

They only know, this climate’s hot
Like Miami, but it’s not
I see ‘em in Aloha shirts
‘Californians, they’re the worst

Nor’Easterners with that Yankee twang
Cain’t unnerstan’ Southwestern slang
None of ‘em look all that spiffy
But their attitudes are cold ‘n sniffy

Bless y’alls heart this is still The South
I do decl’ah ‘n shut my mouth

Cowboys have manners; they’re polite
But these damn Yankees are all uptight
If they ever had manners, they’re long forgot
‘Leavin’ shoppin’ carts scattered in the parkin’ lot
They never say ‘howdy’ or look ya straight in the eye
They’re in their own little bubble as they go passin’ by.

It’s a wonder some have lived this long
Doin’ ninety miles an hour while on the phone

The Southwest scene sure ain’t no mystery
Steeped as it is, in lore and hist’ry
So try ‘n remember where yer at
‘Least get some boots ‘n a cowboy hat

Also while yer at it Pard
Clean up yer act ‘n lose that lard

Toss those baggy pants ‘your kids all wear
And while yer at it, fix their goofy hair
Forget that body piercin’ crap
Turn on some country music
‘n turn off that ‘rap’

So cowboy up, this IS the west
I’m tired of lookin’ at yer mess

Cowboy Attitude

I wasn’t raised on a ranch or a farm
A fact that may give some a pause or alarm
But I know my way ‘round a stable or barn
I’ve lived a strange life as they say
　
The place I was born was in Baltimore City
A strange sort’a town that can be rough and gritty
Ain't much about it interestin' or pretty
No wonder I didn’t stay there
　
When I was a kid I could never relate
To my family and neighbors who thought it so great
I had to get out, before it’s too late
I’d hate to become one of ‘them’
　
I joined the Navy, soon as I turned seventeen
To go out in the world ‘n see what all’s to be seen
I cut the cord early, if ya know what I mean
‘Cause I never belonged with that bunch
　
In central Flor’da, I was introduced
To cowboy’n one day, while out gettin’ juiced
Easy money I thought, to give me a boost
We didn’t get paid much back then

This fella asked me... "Can you ride a horse?"
Without thinkin' 'bout it... I said "Of course"
He said "We'll be needin' some drovers in force"
So I asked him 'bout what I would do

"Just ride the horse ‘n follow the dogs
Look out for the snakes ‘n maybe wild hogs
Try not to drown or get stuck in the bogs
‘n get them cows outta the bush"
　
Ropin’ ‘n such., I didn’t know how
But they gimme a quirt that they called a romal
It’ll make a loud noise when you smack a cow
That’s what bein’ a ‘Cracker’s about

Two dollars and hour and found was my pay
To round up these steers to wherever they’d say
I'd meet up with a drover who'd take ‘em away
'Load ‘em up inna truck off the road

They were good ol’ boys… mostly, Seminole
We’d meet at the time ’n the place I’d been tol’
They’d unload the trailers ‘n we’d mount up ‘n go
Spendin’ all day in the scrub

When the sun started fadin’ they’d call us all in
Lead the horses to trailers ‘n the dogs to their pen
In back of the pick-ups they all arrived in
Then settle up with my pay
　
A sandwich ‘n coffee with a candy bar snack
Was near like a feast when I’d fin’ly get back
Along with a beer ’n a stiff shot of Jack
Life’s simple when you’re just eighteen
　
As to who actually owned ‘em, I never did ask
They always paid cash for my time at the task
Some carried guns, but no black hats or a mask
They was rustlers for all that I know
　
In pre-Disney Flor’da along the St John
Where the tourists don’t go
You could have you some fun
In some dive with a tin roof to shade from the sun
‘n listen to Blues deftly played
　
Good ol’ boys, from back in the swamp
‘n teenaged sailors always out for a romp
Juke box blarin’ Hank Williams, or the Ubangi Stomp
‘n there weren’t no shortage of girls
　
Then came 1963
We hadda deploy ‘n go out to sea
That flight deck at nite’d be the sure death of me
But it wasn’t
　
I’d sailed ‘round the world when I was 21
As a Third Class Aviation Ordnanceman
While the guys ‘back home’ ideas for fun
Was still the drive-in on Saturday night
　
At 22, I’d been off to war
‘Came home on leave to ol’ Baltimore
Oh… I didn’t belong ‘there’ for sure
I might as well have come from the Moon
　
I said g’bye ‘n didn’t look back
Drove out to my post in an Ordnance Shack
TAD out to Yuma, for Fighter Attack
Where the desert just blew me away
　
By this time I was 23
A cowboy is what I was wantin’ to be
Even rode in a rodeo for people to see
But I’d never go do that again (Ow!)
　
But this cowboy stuff hadda be put on hold
Went back to Vietnam at 27 years old
‘Lotta stuff in between is left to be told
But I reckon that’d take quite awhile
　
I was a blue water sailor ‘n an aircrewman too
‘Was not much at all, that I didn’t do
When I was 40, I retired from that too
That’s when I made the mistake
　
I should have moved west , but thought I'd a debt
To some fam’ly in Maryland I wasn’t quit of just yet
Then, my wife to be had the best idea I’d heard yet
“Arizona?”
　
She never knew, that I’d been here before
Or much of my past life back durin’ the war
The grin on my face must’a scared her for sure
We’d packed up ‘n left inna year
　
Not to, some overpriced HOA tract
Where they all look alike ‘n all jammed in a pack
But out in the desert, with a pool in the back
Surrounded by mountains 'n cactus ‘n trees
　
Picture Rocks ain’t a town, it’s a place on the map
Where we live a life free of that citified crap
I can relax, with a cat on my lap
And damn near just do as I please
　
How can I be a cowboy, if I don’t own a cow
Or have my own horses out in the corral
I reckon it’s 'attitude'; ‘had that for awhile
That’s all there is, that’s left to say
　
It all comes down to money, cause there’s never enough
With any to spare… the economy’s tough
We’ll have a corral ’n tack shed soon enough
‘Cause out here, it’s all ‘Open Range’
　
A couple of horses ‘n a mule in the pen
Would satisfy me ‘n the wife to no end
We'd go ridin' out in this desert again
Where the west is still wild and free

At least once a week I'll borrow a horse
Go out in the desert 'n pick my own course
Ride where there's no trails 'n no water source
With pistol, a compass and canteen

The land is the same when no people were here
'Cept for the Apache, which added some fear
To find your own way, when the course is not clear
And try not to get in the thorns

I watch the hawks and eagles soar
Where coyote's sing, least twice a day or more
I might'a been born in ol' Baltimore
But this desert is where I belong

© 2010 William E. Shaw

'Stampede!'

Back in the days of the great trail herds
In 1875
A great calamity occurred
Few barely did survive

I was ridin’ for the brand
Known as the Lazy K
The whole dang outfit hadda wreck
It happened this a’way

We was comin’ outta Texas
Bound for Abilene
Near three thousand head of longhorns
‘Biggest herd I’d ever seen

‘Gettin’ all these steers to market
Will be a big relief
Feedin’ all them Yankee bellies
Hungry now, for Texas beef

Had thirteen seasoned drovers
A trail boss among the best
We figured that our coosie too
Was the finest in the west

Juan Chavez had just rode out
‘Took up post as my relief
‘Told him there seemed nuthin’ ‘round
To cause him any grief

The flankers were all movin’ in
To get the herd up tight
Then nighthawks like Chavez ‘n them
Would circle ‘round all nite

I’d finished up eight hours
Ridin’ point ahead
Doubled up with Tommy Lane on swing
Won’drin what all we’d be fed

Just ridin’ in to get some grub
Then curl up in my roll
We could smell the coffee
As we passed the picket pole

Then both of us dismounted
Tied the lead line to the chain
Nodded to the wrangler there
‘n Tommy did the same

I saw them dark clouds early on
Didn’t pay ‘em any mind
We never saw the static lightnin’
That’d bring the thunder in short time

“That don’t look good…” I said to Tom
Those words had barely left my mouth
Of a sudden, this black cloud formed up
‘n came in from the south

‘Bout time we heard a muffled boom
A bolt came from that cloud
A double fork that split the air
Like a cannon shot was loud

“Oh Gawd!” we said in unison
Not ten feet from my steed
When the ground began to tremble
I heard ‘em yell “Stampede”

I turned around in mid-stride
I wer’nt the only one
To my pony on the picket line
Somebody hollered: “RUN!”

Them storm clouds over yonder
Just moved in mighty fast
Only took one clap a’thunder
Now them cows was comin’ fast

‘Saw two cowboys at the gallop
Tried’ to haze with hat ‘n gun
‘Just disappeared before my eyes
As they were overrun

‘Trail Boss hollered “Save yourselves…”
That was his dyin’ word…
This wasn’t just a section spooked
It was the whole damn herd

‘Never did untie my pony
‘Cut the lead rope with my knife
Then swung into the saddle
‘n was ridin’ for my life

The whole remuda just took off
I saw a wrangler fall
Just a kid about fifteen
‘Went down, horse and all

Horses on the picket
Pulled stakes where they was tied
Got tangled up, no time at all
Then stumbled, fell ‘n died

I reckoned if I flanked ‘em
‘n not ride straight ahead
That I’d have a better chance
Of livin’, than be dead

I put them spurs into my horse
Tho there may not been a need
She knew her own predicament
‘n put on extra speed

I lost sight of Tommy
When it began to rain
Chavez was spurrin’ straight ahead
I knew that was in vain

I could see the wagons canvas
Then I saw it shake ‘n fall
Anybody, still around it now
Stood no damn chance at all

Them cows was like a livin’ river
Flowin’ fast upon the ground
Overunnin’ everything
God help any who went down

An awful sound came from the herd
Like the Devil had a voice
No force on earth could turn ‘em now
Escape’s my only choice

The pounding of twelve thousand hooves
Was transferred up my spine
A maddened, snortin’ monster now
Was closin’ fast behind

Appearin’ just ahead a’ways
Was this little hump of hill
I think the Lord just put it there for me
I think I always will

Standin’ in the stirrups
I galloped to the crest
Reinin’ in my pony then
‘n prayin’ for the best

Them cattle split around it
I was firin’ off my gun
The only thing that I could do
There was no place else to run

Then suddenly it’s over
I set my saddle just the same
As a few more strays came runnin’ by
I tried to see what all remained

I could hear some horses screamin’
A few cows were mooin’ round
Lookin’ for lost calves I’d guess
Upon this trampled ground

I never saw where Chavez went
When he ran on ahead
I didn’t see him ridin’ back
So I reckoned he was dead

I rode back thru the carnage
Of trampled men ‘n horse
Used my rifle twice in passin’
Endin’ screams to my remorse

The hoodlum was shattered
The chuck wagon on its side
Surrounded there by cowboys
Some, in their bedrolls where they died

I could only see their sad remains
All pounded in the mud
Not makin’ out their features
In dark water mixed with blood

My pony was all nervous
Her eyes wide in her head
As we rode slowly thru the wreckage
And the carnage of the dead

My “Hallooo’s” went all unanswered
Was I the only one?
T’was then I tried to signal
By firin’ off my gun

The last shot I fired was answered
Tho, from very far away
Was it just an echo
Or had some survived this fray?

Then I heard another shot
I rode in that direction
There surely must be others
With whom I’d make connection

I holler’d out one more “Hallooo..”
T’ward the direction that it came
“Sweet Jesus, help me…” came a voice
‘T’was my pardner, Tommy Lane

I found him then under his horse
Where that animal went down
Tryin’ hard to raise his head
From the mud where he could drown

I dallied up my gut line
Snaked a hoof with a fast loop
I’d have to drag that horse off him
‘Fore he drowned in that mud soup

“I don’t think nuthin’s broken
Nuthin’s busted but my pride”
As I helped him up there from the mud
Then we both stood there ‘n cried

“Lord God, are we the only ones…?”
I said I thought we were
“I need my roll ‘n saddle bags…” he said
“Help me get ‘em off’a her”

It was black as pitch ‘n rainin’
Thru lightin’ flashes we could see
There were just some cows still millin’ ‘round
Of the hands… ‘Just him ‘n me

He shook his fish out in the rain
We used it for a tent
No tellin’ where that herd was now
‘n didn’t care much where it went

Our outfit ‘been run over
There’s nuthin’ left at all
I lit a pipe that we both shared
‘n hardly talked at all

“Hallooo” we heard a holler
“Can anybody hear?”
“Yeah we hear ya… come on in”
I fired a shot into the air

A yellow shadow then appeared
To hover in the rain
A drover with his slicker on
It was Elijah Paine

“I was ridin’ drag, just comin’ in…
Never it seen it go that fast
I been ridin’ for an hour now
For some sign of life at last”

“I got a horse behind me here
‘Looks like your’n is done
I think it’s Charlie Tanner’s
It was loose ‘n on the run”

The rain was runnin’ off his hat
‘n drippin off his beard
T’was then I told him of the worst
Which he most likely feared

I found another slicker
In Tanners saddle roll
Tho I couldn’t get much wetter
I was gettin’ kind’a cold

Lane got up on Tanner’s horse
“Which way?” came out his mouth
We’d passed a ranch a day ago
“I reckon we’ll head south”

We had to scavenge thru the camp
For things that we would need
Without committin’ robbery
To that we were agreed

“‘Too many here to bury
We’ll haf’ta let ‘em be
We gotta ride ‘n get some help
First opportunity”

We never had a morning sun
Just a dismal, foggy light
To a scene most like a battlefield
A most disturbing sight

All of us were vet’rans tho
We’d seen such sights before
‘n hoped to never see again
Since back then in the war

‘Found some paper and a pencil
‘Thought best to leave a note
“3 survivors heading south”
“Stampede” Is all I wrote

Worth The Pain

He tore down all the fences,
That took so long to rise,
Picked himself up off the ground,
And whipped the dust from his eyes.

When he opened them again,
What he saw was clear,
An angel was sent from up above,
In all her beauty for that Cowboy to hold near.

He stepped out of the stirrups,
Hung his spurs on the wall,
His need to ride on,
Was no longer a need at all.

He gave her his heart,
His mind and his soul,
To hold in her wings,
Till they both grew old.

She sent him soaring,
High above,
With every gaze,
He fell more in love.

But now his perfect,
World has changed,
As for their love,
He’s lost the reins.

Those precious things,
He gave her to keep,
Are laying dirty,
At her feet.

She stomped his soul,
Like an angry bull,
His mind she fried,
In a greasy pool.

His heart she kept,
Grasped in her palm,
Crushing ad squeezing,
So he can’t ride on.

With every passing day,
She’ll hurt it more,
But she was worth the pain,
Of that he’s sure.

If he had the chance,
To change his mind,
He’d mount his pony,
And race back in time.

He’d stop his horse,
And reach his hand down,
Swing her up,
And ride out of town.

The once again,
Her love will fade,
And he’ll ride on back,
And have to choose his fate.

And every time,
He’ll choose the same,
For one moment of her love,
Is worth a lifetime of pain.

©Lance Balzer 2007

Death of Johnny Ringo

Johnny Ringo was an outlaw
‘Leader of a cowboy gang
His death is still a mys’try
‘Never shot ‘n didn’t hang

No, the hist’ry books all tell us
That wasn’t how he died
The ‘official’ cause of death ‘presumed’
Was one of suicide

‘Shot himself with his Colt pistol
Serial number, 722
I think that there’s another cause
Frank Leslie might’a too

Y’see these two’d been drinkin’
And... in some backstreet Chinese den
They might’a been been both smokin’ dope
Opium, was legal then

They’d both been seen together
Onna binge for ‘bout a week
‘Fore they found Ringo’s body
Down ‘roun’ Turkey Creek

I figure they was camped out
Near where his corpse was found
‘Cause Ringo had his boots off
His foot, a rag was wrapped around

‘There’s a two inch hole in Ringo’s skull
Goin’ in ‘n comin’ out
Not half inch, like a .45 would do
That’s what this poems about

A piece of scalp was missin’ too
I reckon that’s a clue
That fatal wound was near to what
A miner’s hammer, ought’a do

An ore hammer’s kind’a like a pick
The hammer face is on one side
But the pointy end is on the other
That’s how he must’a died

The pick end on them hammers
Was ‘bout two inches square
I figure that’s what made the hole
‘n the hammer took the hair

Now, Ringo was a gunman
That was, a given fact
The killer had to use surprise
To carry out this act

‘Could’a been some kind’a argument
Maybe neither one was heeled
‘Could be, he’s passed out on the ground
At the time his fate was sealed

Maybe it was Buckskin Frank
Who made that fatal whack
A glancin’ blow took a chunk o’scalp
Then used the pick, in that attack

‘Could be, that it was wildly swung
‘n might’a cracked his skull
‘Course that effect we’ll never know
There was no exam of that, at all

Then the coup de gras delivered
Struck with force, delib’ratly
Leavin’ there a two inch hole
As those findin’ him would see

Now Ringo had some vi’lent friends
From whom, Frank Leslie couldn’t hide
This can’t look like a murder
So he faked a suicide

Prob’ly murdered in the dark
‘Cause when Ringo’s body’s ‘found
The one odd thing they noticed
Was his gun belt upside down

I reckon that the killer
Buckled that gun rig on, in haste
Reversin’ there the buckle
That was fastened at his waist

Oh, Ringo had been shot alright
There was brains stuck in that tree
But that shot was thru the same damn hole
That was made there prev’iously

Whoever done it, propped him up
Then shot him thru that hole
The motive wasn’t robbery
There wasn’t nuthin’ stole

His body posed there with the gun
Hung up in his watch chain
His finger on the trigger
With that big hole thru his brain

Them .45’s recoil is harsh
In his lap it’d never land
‘Spec’ly if he shot himself
It’d kicked clear of his hand

By the time they found the body
It’d turned black ‘n thick with flies
No coroner was summoned
It’s hot in mid-July

But this was Johnny Ringo
No doubt they’re glad he’s dead
Didn’t matter much he’s ‘murdered
Or how that hole got in his head

Not far from the tree they found him in
They dug a shallow hole
Dragged what’s left down into it
‘n “God have mercy on his soul”

This here’s my own theory
Not one I’ve heard around
T’was a miners pick, not suicide
That struck John Ringo down

‘Commodore Perry Owen’

Tall ‘n lean with long hair flowin’
To the Blevins house he’s a’goin’
With a Warrant paper ‘n badge a’showin’
Rides the Sheriff Perry Owen
Arizona lawman

At a livery stable ‘cross the way
He left his horse
And walked away
Hist’ry would be made that day
He had no way to know

The Blevins house had two front doors
He knocked on one as a matter of course
Who’d know that knock’d be met by force
He didn’t hesitate

Perry Owen backed away
His Winchester came into play
He blew the gunman in the door away
There’d be three more to go

Women screamed and babies cried
A whole family of ‘em lived inside
A shooter from a window tried
(That was .... Blevins ‘n he darn near died)
Shot thru the wall where he tried to hide
From Sheriff Perry Owen

A figure jumped thru the kitchen window glass
Gun in hand ‘n runnin’ fast
A horse was felled by an errant blast
Then Owen fired ‘n killed his ass
Dropped him like a stone

The Blevin’s boy grabbed his daddy’s gun
Out the front door, he made his run
To avenge what Perry Owen done
His momma screamed “Don’t do it son…”
He ran past her anyway

Didn’t matter ‘he’s 15 or not
Owen fired a single shot
Killed him dead there on the spot
That was the finish of the lot
For Sheriff Perry Owen

His mind drifts off,
To the places he’s known,
To the sweet smell of sage,
And the mountains he’s rode.

The bronco’s he’s busted,
And those damn bucking bulls,
While his heart sneaks on over,
To keep loving you.

Heavy tanned chaps,
The jingling of spurs,
The creek of his saddle,
The winds unspoken words.

A dusty battle rages,
Deep down inside,
He tries to fight it,
But the feeling won’t subside.

It’s the balling of cattle,
The swish of his rope,
The whinny of the mustang,
And the smell of branding smoke.

It’s in the corner,
Of every Cowboy’s heart,
There’s a tiny piece,
An adulteress part.

And in that piece,
Lies his second love,
A hundred year old legacy,
A gift from god above.

The love he feels,
Is for the Cowboy way,
For the code and the fight,
And it causes him to stray.

He’ll ride on out,
Every now and then,
Weather just in his mind,
Or on the back of his closest friend.

He’ll saddle up,
He’ll pond some ground,
But if you give him time,
He’ll come back around.

With his dirty worn down wranglers,
His scuffed up slug heel boots,
His dusty wide brim hat,
And that chunk of his heart that belongs to you.

©Lance Balzer 2010

Some people say,
He don’t exist anymore,
No place for a Cowboy,
In this modern day world.

His boots and his chaps,
His wide Cowboy hats,
Are all just,
Things of the past.

Well its all a lie,
I’m hear to testify,
The Cowboy,
He’s livin and free.

So put on your suits,
Cinch down your ties,
Climb in your cube,
And watch your life pass you by.

He’ll be ridin the range,
He’ll rope for low pay,
But he’s out there,
He’s livin his dream.

Six-guns and saddles,
Ropes and rawhide,
Women and whiskey,
And the mountains he rides.

He’ll follow that trail,
Morning till night,
He’ll sip a warm cup of coffee,
Under gods starry sky.

So here’s to the Cowboy,
The lost and the lonely,
The brazen and bold,
And the restless at heart.

His name has lived on,
Or a hundred year,
And for a thousand more,
The wind will whisper his legacy into Americas ear.

©Lance Balzer 2009

Abreast The End
(One Sunset Remains)

The moons soft silver shadows,
Give way to glistening drops of dew,
Shining in the reborn light,
Of the mornings reddish hew.

He stares into the burning east,
Harnessing the glowing embers of the sun,
Fueling the fight inside the man,
To forget the reasoning behind what must be done.

The mournful day which stands before him,
Brings forth a flood of internal tears,
For when the diamond stars shine bright again,
They will mark the end of his wild and freedom filled years.

He’ll hang up his scared leather armor,
And the tarnished silver he proudly wears,
Then dawning a drab cloak of indifference,
He’ll solemnly enter the realm that all society shares.

His possessions will stand true testament,
To the power and greatness he posses within,
And the ambient tick of the almighty clock,
Will forever control the new world he resides in.

One last time he thinks back to the trails,
To his adventures and the stories he’ll have to tell,
As the burning globe of churning orange gasses,
Slowly descends to its western tomb in Hell.

©Lance Balzer 2009