What is "Cowboy Poetry"? Cowboy poetry is not necessarily 'true literary poetry'. Cowboy poetry came about in the 1800s when cowboys traveled from ranch to ranch and followed the cattle trails. They told their stories of the West, and told it in rhyme and rhythm so it was easier to remember. Because most cowboys were not too well educated literary poetry went out the window. By rhyming it became easier to remember Cowboy Poetry did rhyme and have rhythm. Mine is definitely not literary poetry it is written for fun and that is the way it should be taken.
January 2010
I wrote this in the mid forties when I was working at a logging camp and this actually happened and I wrote it shortly after, then drew the sketch just prior to publishing my first book.
*ROPIN’ A MOOSE*
At a loggin' camp in the Highwood Range.
Where I worked as a kid; there I tried to arrange.
My thoughts on loggin', & cowboyin' and such.
I worked at loggin', while keeping in touch,
With the cowboyin' aspects; as using my rope.
On anythin' movin' with ever a hope.
Of catchin' a critter, a dog, or a cat.
A chicken, a mouse, or even a bat.
One mornin' while ridin' along on my horse.
I heard a slight noise, and I spotted the source.
A big cow moose came close into view.
I flipped out my rope, and I caught her too.
Now! If ever there happened a time in my past.
To ponder the wisdom of “tied hard and fast”.
I think of the time I took that lesson to heart.
Of the quickness of hand while the lack of the smart.
The hand was ready, but the brain was relaxed.
When the moose hit the end it was like gettin’ “poll axed”.
My horse was jerked ‘round like a cork on a string.
While my lariat stretched and started to sing.
Then off through the brush with a lumberin' gait.
Went that moose haulin' me at a fast movin' pace.
We were crashin' through trees with my saddle intact.
‘Till we hit a large tree and I heard a loud “crack’.
The horn popped off'n my saddle, of course.
While the saddle was still attached to my horse.
Saddle, horse and I were much worse for wear.
Next time I go ropin’; I just won’t go there.
I’ll stick to the critters I can jerk around.
Like anythin' movin', but close to the ground.
While I’ve started to dally my rope on the horn.
Case I rope somethin' too big to handle on some early morn’.