Election 2020

There once was two old feeble white men you see
Mr. President is who they wanted to be
But they were both so old
their brains had turned to mold
and they couldn’t remember for what country

So when they started their election campaign
We could see that they only had half a brain
When we go to the booth
while searching for some truth
we’ll find that both men are exactly the same

So now we are scratching our heads don’t you know
trying to decide which one of them should go
no difference to me
as to which it will be
I guess it’s eenie, meenie, minie or mo

Invasion of the tiniest kind

When I was a lad and turned on the TV
was shows like Creature Feature that frighten me
Vampires, mummies, aliens, werewolfs and ghosts
were the monsters that always scared me the most

But these days it’s the news that keeps me awake
cause sometimes it’s hard to tell the real from fake
My smart phone’s bombarded by these horrific things
monster that used to only live in my dreams

Twenty four hours a day these nightmares grow strong
and with each passing second my newsfeed is on
saying there’s no escape from what’s here today
Each one of us is surely going to pay

Those mutated creatures that we used to see
we laugh at them now for being so cheesy
I long for those days and the movies of old
we killed the monsters by giving them a cold

Today’s monsters are quite another topic
quite hard to see, being so microscopic
We can’t kill them off with an atomic bomb
like they did in all them old movies long gone

I know it’s something we don’t like to discuss
because now it’s the germs that are killing us
so how will we defeat these creature you ask
the answer’s still simple, just wear your damned mask

~ Mary Fields ~

She was born a slave somewhere back east
she said it was Hickman County, Tennessee
Somehow she’d learned to read and write
though she’d spent her childhood in captivity

She traveled to Montana along with a pack of nuns
but quickly learned she was better meant for fight’n
Over six foot tall and more’n two hundred pounds
and a six shooter she could draw as fast as light’n

A ball of fire she was and stood out solid
against most other cowboys out here in the west
She had battering rams for hands and arms
Always a bottle of whisky in the pocket of her vest

She came to fame one day when a green cowpoke
said no black woman was gonna to be his better
She’d already fisted him down when he went for his gun
got a hole in his chest before it’d even cleared leather

In her left hand she could hold the reigns of six
of the orn’riest horses you’d ever knew
while holding a shotgun in the other she
would keep the stagecoach runnin’ smooth

But when it came time for helpin’ out the town
be hard findin’ a better person even in a dream
one who could shoot, fight and out drink most all
but give half her pay to sponsor the local baseball team

She could be mean at times and cantankerous
for sure and yes sir, she could even be a little scary
Specially if you was stupid enough to try to steal
from anything driven by ‘Stagecoach Mary’

~ The Ballad of Ghost and Tex ~

Inspired by the ballad, ‘End of an Age’ by Wade Montgomery which he swore was  a true story. Unlike this ballad which I took several poetic liberties with.

Wade and his son are both gone now and his music will be greatly missed. Check his music out at Click Here. You won’t be sorry.

There’s many a tale that spreads across the night
when the sun o’er the plains yields to campfire light.
Tales about cowboys, who once roamed the plains,
scratching a living using their rope and reins.

A few were happy when it came time to tell,
but many of them were just sadder than hell
Cause most of them ended with some poor old soul
lying all alone in some forgotten hole

There’s a story I recall about a man,
that made his way north from the wide Rio Grande
Arlie he was called by those that new him best.
But folks round the Rockin J just called him Tex

When the punchin’ all played out Tex left his home.
In search of somewhere with enough space to roam
He found Montana where mountains scraped the sky
with enough space where he could live right or die

Tex’d known a few summers and could feel his age
whenever Montana snows covered the sage
He felt time too quickly closing in on him
his hearing was fading and eyesight was dim

Round the bunks they told of a stallion named Ghost
Catchin him would give a man the right to boast
They said that horse can’t be caught by any man
So all through the winter Tex worked on a plan

Tex had studied that hoss and knew he was smart
The cunning of a fox with want in his heart
There wasn’t any horse that could match his pace
Tex knew he won’t beat him in a flat out race

Summer had run long, this one hotter than most
Tex laid his plan to get that horse they called Ghost
With fire in his eyes and his nostrils flared
Ghost come down from the mountain lookin’ for mares

Now Old Tex was ready to play out his plan
he’d strung out three horses across the grassland
Twenty miles apart those geldings stood ready
for an eighty mile stretch Tex could ride steady

Tex spotted Ghost silhouetted ‘gainst the sun
that horse stomped and glared then took off in a run
Ghost was in the lead and Tex brought up the back
but Tex’d studied his foe and knew where he’d track

Towards Rattlesnake Butte that stallion did run
was heading straight into that bright morning sun
‘cross dried grass and sage Ghost never skipped a beat
Fast as a Chinook through that Montana heat

Ghost was fast and Tex saw him pulling ahead
but they’d reached the exchange where Tex mounted Red
Red was sure footed and as fast as the breeze
and he started closing up that gap with ease

But the sun beating down was taking its toll
Red started to fade though he’d given his soul
they reached the exchange both were ragged and sore
Tex jumped on Blackie and was ready for more

Blackie was a young horse so full of spirit
he’d catch up to Ghost or at least damned near it
Behind them the sun met the earth with a glow
casting long shadows as night started to grow

Tex was dead tired and sore and his blisters bled
lips cracked and dry and a spinning in his head
Blackie was lathered, winded and bout to drop
they both had heart and neither was gonna stop

Rattlesnake Butte was coming close into view
that’s when Tex saw Ghost pick up a step or two
He must have thought there was a change in his luck
unaware Tex had saved the last leg for Buck

Now Buck was a good hoss though just a tad slow
could climb like a mule to where Tex had to go
Up the side of that butte they staggered and strained
Tex let Buck pick the way and gave him his reins

They had nearly pulled up to that stallion’s side
Tex saw the defiance in that horse’s eye
and knew if Ghost reached the top this chase’d done
any chance of catching him would be long gone

So Tex took to hope’s chance and let his rope fly
to hell with the odds he knew he had to try
that rope struck its mark and landed true and right
and Tex tied it off to Buck’s saddle horn tight

They were near the crest when the sun left the sky
when Ghost lost his footing and slid down the side
Ghost joined Tex and Buck on that one final ride
Now all three are ridin’ that range in the sky

Tex is now just a note scribbled on life’s page
’bout how him and Ghost were the end of an age
There’s many a tale that spreads across the night
when the sun o’er the plains yields to campfire light.

Tales about Old Tex, who once roamed the plains,
scratching a living using his rope and reins.
Some tales are happy when it comes time to tell,
but the story of Tex is just sadder than hell

What is Cowboy Poetry

~ What is Cowboy Poetry ~
A friend and I had a rousing argument
around the supper table the other day
He said when them old fashioned poet would write
twas hard to understand what they had to say

I told him it wasn’t about what they said
but how their words danced with meter and rhyme
The art of words is like painting a picture
stead of a museum it hangs in your mind

I’ll tell y’all that my friend is a true cowboy
he prefers actions instead of using words
thinks people should tell the true worth of a man
from just watching the way he handles his herd

Says he’s pretty sure that any ole nimrod
can scratch pretty words on some paper with ink
If you’re trying to tell a cowboy something
just get on down to the meat of what you think

Stop prancin’ and dancin’ all your words around
Just come right on out and tell me what you mean
don’t dress it up like it’s going two steppin’
it don’t need to be all gussied up and preened

That was the day I truly understood
how poetry was really meant to be
Words written down simple and straight to the point
is the way to write good Cowboy Poetry