COWPOKIN' FUN
© 1989 by Carol Tallman Jones
I've heard these dadgum poets
who like to write in rhyme
spout all their cowboy knowledge
for the hundred-millionth time.
They brag upon their mustaches
and say that one must grow it
or one can't be considered
what they call a cowBOY poet.
If BOY is in the buckaroo
then am I a buckarette?
If deleted from cow-boy poet
am I then a cow-poette?
Since I haven't any whiskers
and I'm sure that I will not,
I must be the only cow-poette
standin' in this spot!
While they wax their handlebars
and spout their tales so wise,
are these cowboys poets--
or cow-poettes in disguise?
Old Ben Aitken over there
who changes hats each line,
looks mighty like a cow-poette
wearin' a bonnet half the time.
Howard and Art from Caldwell
who do dress a little funny,
could be borderline cow-poettes.
Did you hear him call Art Honey?
Now, if is a cow-poette
his wife would never tell.
She's much too much the lady
but did call him "Tinkerbell."
That pretty boy who flaunts the scarf
of silk around his neck
and wears those skin-tight Levis...
is he a cow-poette?
And all these whiskered other boys
who wear these pointed toes...
Don't it make you wonder some
about their underclothes?
So if you are a cowboy-girl
and want to be a poet,
remember:
some are Cow-Poettes
...and some
Cow-Pattys and don't know it!
:) cj
I received an email request from Dianne Hayduk for a poem in my collection about a wedding between a farm girl and a rancher. It seems that her father is to emcee the reception and is looking for humorous material. I rummaged through every thing I could find, typed material, my cowboy poetry books, what I'd written on napkins and in the margins of old newspapers found in the bathroom. I found a few about "the farmer's daughter", but (heh, heh!) none suitable and appropriate for such a joyous and blissful occasion. I was so embarrassed by this void in my repertoire, that I wrote one especially for the happy couple soon to wed. Hopefully, Dianne, this little ditty will fit the bill. Give the bride and groom all my best wishes for a long and happy life together!
cj
From Alter to Halter
© 1997 by Carol Tallman JonesThe bride and groom walk up the aisle,
a rancher and farmer's daughter.
She thinks he's cute as a tater;
he swears she's sweet as fodder.
He's scraped the manure off his boots,
spit-polished, slicked and shined 'em.
She's donned spike-heels and left her Brogan's
where matrons and maids won't find 'em.
Up the aisle this farm gal strolls,
as straight as furrowed rows;
While the rancher's hat band soaks with sweat
till it drips on his pointed toes.
The waddie thinks this heifer will wear his brand
till all the cows come home.
She figgers the north pasture on his ranch
right for Russets -- it's sandy loam.
She could rush to the store for a hackamore,
he thinks in his ole country brain.
That eighty near the well she knows will work swell
for rotation -- sugarbeets n' grain.
The wary farmer gives his daughter's hand
to this wrangler with sun-freckled nose
And thinks all the while (with a sly little smile)
just how little this cowboy knows.
This dear gorgeous girl, her hair all a'curl,
decked in ribbons borrowed and blue,
Has been coached from the start by a farm wife real smart,
who knows how t' wrangle men, too.
So while the poor lad accepts that hand from this Dad
and kneels before the altar...
The wise papa knows the farm gal he rose
ain't no rancher...but wields a meanhalter!
Miss Measurement
1990 © by Carol Tallman Jones
Joe Young could shoe a horse in forty minutes flat.
But the day he met Miss Measurement ol' Joe forgot all that.
Wearin' high-top boots, and a tiny leather skirt,
she bent and raised a stockinged leg, feigning coy about her flirt.
"They say that you're the best of all horseshoers in the nation.
I'd be honored, Joe, to learn from you," she drawled her first quotation.
His chapped lips curled into a grin. "I've been known to be all right."
"You're much too modest," says she while his grin and ego grew a might.
"Suppose a legend like yourself, if I shod that horse today,
could tell me what I'm doing wrong for twenty dollars pay?"
Joe always hid two Double Eagles in the heel of each Dan Post,
so reckoned he could spare just one, now that his fame was coast to coast.
He says, "I'm mighty busy, ma'am...but for YOU I'll make the time."
"You're as gallant as you are handsome," she dangled her second line.
Inch by inch Joe's ego grew as she flattered and she praised
till the circulation to his brain cut off and left Joe dazed.
"Is this the way you hold this rasp?" the female farrier drawled.
Joe grabbed the rasp and did the job, now feeling ten feet tall.
Joe explained his every move as she giggled and she teased
until at last four feet were shod with flattery and expertise.
By now Joe's Stetson was so tight no sweat could dot his brow.
His brain absorbed the praise and sweat and was downright spongy now.
But ol' Joe never brags a'tall when he shows her photograph.
To Dearest Joe, The Best Teacher -- that farrier's autograph.
It was that small Miss Measurement broke his bootheels to the root
when Joe Young shod his own damn horse, yet paid HER twenty bucks a foot!
cj