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Rodeo Clown
This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:
He ran a gnarled hand
Through silver-streaked hair.
Arthritis caused pain,
Anguish and despair.
This year, he’d quietly
Turned age sixty-two.
His days as a clown
Were long since through.
Memories flooded back,
Playing tag with his mind,
Back through the years
To a much younger time.
Back then, he was the best…
The most agile around.
Someone better with bulls
Just couldn’t be found.
Rubbing his neck idly,
He gave a soft sigh.
Back then, he could rodeo,
Drink and tell lies.
He could jump over a bull’s rump,
Stop him dead in his tracks,
Then turn him aside
With a quick-handed whack.
He’d sure made it look easy.
There was never a school
To teach rodeo clowns
How to handle mean bulls.
Many a hard-riding cowboy
Was thrown high to fall flat.
They owed their health to the clown,
Plus a tip of the hat.
Many of those cowboys,
Rising up from the ground,
Will ride once again,
All thanks to the clown.
He makes it look so easy
While with danger he’ll flirt,
Keeping bull riders
From both injury and hurt.
The next time the rodeo
Comes into your town,
Watch over the action
Of the rodeo clown.
Maybe you’ll see
Another one there,
Running a pain-filled hand
Through his silvery hair.
There’s a twinkle in his eye —
His interest honed keen.
He’s watching the clowns
And the bull riding scene.
He’ll be wearing
An invisible crown
Because once he was king
Of the rodeo clowns.
THE COWBOY’S LAMENT
This comes comes from Autumn Leaves:
His horse had a back like a cast iron grate,
along with a slew-footed, bone-jarring gait.
This greatly agitated the beans he had ate.
As he continued passing gas,
He knew he had to act fast
Before Mother Nature held sway.
Just up ahead was a cluster of trees
Where he could dismount and bend at the knees,
Letting Ole Mother Nature have her way.
Quickly leaping to the ground,
He glanced all around
And dropped his overalls down over his toes.
With instant, easing relief,
Which put an end to his grief,
Slim shouted, “Thar she blows!”
While shouting, he waved his arm,
Causing his horse to alarm.
It took off with a jack rabbit start.
With a stricken look of aghast
At his horse leaving fast,
All he could do was pass gas.
Now early this morning,
He’d left just at dawning
To begin this catastrophic caper.
Slim was overwrought
With a sickening thought…
He had forgotten to bring along paper!
Grabbing a handful of grass,
He made a quick pass
And began to pull his overalls up.
His pants got caught on his spurs,
And he started to fall,
Sprawled out like a three-legged pup.
Slim had been put to the test.
As the sun sunk in the West,
He turned his horse out to pasture to rest.
“Cookie,” said Slim with a wink,
“These troublesome events have a link
Which caused me to ponder and think.”
Slim hooked his thumbs in his overall jeans,
Grinned at the cook with a mischievous look,
And said, “I want to compliment you on your wonderful beans!”
Cowboy’s Prayer
This comes from Autumn Leaves:
Now I lay me down to sleep
In open spaces
Lest I weep.
Saddle for a pillow,
Chaps for a spread,
Starlit canopy overhead.
And should I die
Before dawn’s break,
Thank you, Lord, for your fair shake.
Amen
The Cowboy
This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:
At the age of sixteen,
He was tall, hard and lean
As he began his long-dreamed-of quest.
On an old swayback nag,
He’d push, pull or drag.
He followed the setting sun west.
By a lightning-bolt chance,
He found work on a ranch
Where he grew into a man.
He worked hard every day
For very little pay,
But always he rode for the brand.
He worked for thirty and found,
As he glanced around town,
And strolled into the Lady Luck Saloon.
He ordered Rot-Gut-Red,
You know the fiery kind
That has to be sipped from a spoon.
When he was right,
He wouldn’t back down,
Never a question of budgin’.
If a man disagreed,
He could go for his gun —
Old Sam Colt would do the judgin’!
He learned to live by his word
As he helped round up the herd —
A cowboy’s life is sure tough!
He learned about whiskey,
Women and cards —
Why, he even learned to dip snuff!
On a north-bound trail,
Headed towards Kansas rail,
They sweated and worked without rest.
The deck was stacked
When the redskins attacked,
And he heard their loud, piercing yells.
O’er noise of bawling cattle,
Came sounds of the battle.
He clutched an arrow buried deep in his chest.
They found a six-gun by his hand,
His blood mixed with the land —
His dying words, “Tell ’em I done my best!”
Where the buffalo roam,
The young cowboy makes home,
A cross by a small bubbling stream.
He’s rode his last hoss,
And he’s roped his last steer,
But he’s fulfilled both his quest and dream!
wfosterwelborn 