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God must have a sense of humor, or they'd be no excuse, for creating some oddball herbivores, "exhibit A," -- the Moose! But we need not stray to foreign lands for some exotic breed, To show His sense of humor, - a cow's all that we need.
"Just how did He get the concept," I've often asked myself.
"I kinda see it in my head," says Jim, "before I ever strike an arc."
Was it a sky-wide competition, or was it just a prank?
Folks trying for the contract tossed out a bucket load of hype.
"We'll build 'er on a Bison chassis, about three quarter scale,"
"Four milk dispensers," the dairymen shouted, without a reason given.
"We've got to put on some top grade siding to stand up to the weather."
Then come the day, the model was about to be displayed.
"Cus da boss hat a grup ov mens, dat didn't vont a "nine to five"," |  |
© Paul D. Hatch
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
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That foal that's born and reared in ease, in sterile barns without disease. Never harnessed to a plow, nor saddled up to chase a cow.
Taught only where to drink and eat, soft stall straw beneath his feet.
Or if he's trained by fear and whip, beaten when he makes a slip,
Then when the sharpened rowel is gone, no longer bound by bit and brawn.
As with the mount, so too his master, if either would learn to avoid disaster.
For choices in either's mortality, make of them what they will be.
Although the horse has little say to whom he belongs or must obey, --
Men have that gift of agency, to make the choice of what they'll be.
As much as what we learn on earth, the method taught is of equal worth.
The bit is needed to be sure, to steer away from false allure.
Man can aspire to noble height, he has that chance, he has that right.
But he can sell away his chance, then like a puppet forced to dance.
So men, judge well to whom you heed. You have a choice unlike the steed.
Or worse, - the path of serf and master, which leads to doom and sure disaster. | 
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© Paul D. Hatch
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
© Paul D. Hatch
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
|
They'ze within a nickel, they'd finish I think soon. At dawn is when they started, now it was well past noon.
The object was an' ol' milk cow that Virgil had for sale.
But Virg' was stuck on thirty, so a deal may not be made.
They sat there in the milkin' shed, the heat was real intense.
Vern spoke of her defects an' Virg' sang her acclaim.
Them two old boys at loggerheads, they both wuz holdin' firm.
The sun had sunk behind the peaks' when Vern stood up to leave.
"Tell me Vern, Virg' queried when she'ze weighed an' paid.
Vern put away his checkbook, grinned an' then he said.
The answer failed to ring a bell. "But why'd you wait all day?"
"I glanced in yer water trough, that ol' hide had naught to drink."
I used to enjoy watching my dad trade cattle with the local folks. One guy he bought from at times was Virgil Bushman, a local melon farmer and dairyman. (Dad always said Virgil hated the thought of leaving any profit in a cow.) (This one won runner-up in a world wide "Poet Lauriete" contest on "cowboypoetry.com".) |  |
© Paul D. Hatch
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
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At first it sounded far away like a stampede in the making. Then slowly raised in tempo, the ground commenced to shaking.
Like that sucking sound the plunger makes when cleaning out the drain.
A sulfur scent was on the breeze, it killed my neighbors lawn.
Norad went into Defcon four, the alert was raised to RED.
Birds were falling from the sky, the leaves dropped from the trees.
Folks checked out the book of Daniel as their fears began to grow.
Was this the promised "end times"? The signs all seemed to jive.
Church going folks were confessing to anyone who'd lend an ear.
And still the sound continued, like some grand demonic derge.
Great waves of smell crashed on shore, it smelled like Farley's goat.
Or could it be Al Qaeda, we've been told they're pretty rank.
Well I figgered I should tell them, but then why mess up the show?
"Calm down folks, no need to worry, nor to call in the Marines". |  |
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"You got to plant a garden Pa, the grocery bill is just too high"! All in all I'd rather have a sharp stick poked into my eye. Or have a flock of elephant tiptoe up and down my spine, than partake of horticulture, - I'm a cowboy by design.
"It ain't a gonna happen Ma.." Then she threatened a divorce.
Some bug bait for the hoppers, and some nasty Green Light spray.
I plowed and tilled and planted, then come the irrigation turn.
"I ain't gonna work no graveyard shift!" I'ze purt near to explode.
I nursed my babies through the doldrums, with super human power.
And then with summer ending it was time to tally up the take.
If I figgered right, - and I'ze real careful to add, subtract and such.
Corn, - ten bucks a dozen, turnips each cost a dollar bill.
Well, it's spring again, the buds appear, the wife's nagging had begun. |  |
I doubt you'll find much in the way of cowboy poetry that is any better than the stuff that a friend of mine from Snowflake, Arizona puts together. His name is Rolf Flake and he has been writing good rhymes for half a century. Rolf is a real honest to goodness cowman and his stuff comes from real life as well as the occasional fantasy. I'd recommend his new book to anyone wanting to read some good stuff that will help get the taste of mine out of your mouth. His new book is called "Cloud Watchers", and if you are interested, drop me a line and I'll put you onto it. "Keep astride of the tree, both feet in the stirrups, and far enough back of the horn to maintain your masculinity"... (You cowgirls figger it out yourselves)
 They were kind enough to include me on their pages! MR. BAXTER BLACK !!  His stuff ain't free, but it's worth the price. If you ever have a chance to catch him in person, I'll guarantee some of the best entertainment you've ever enjoyed! Baxter is also a nice feller who'll take a minute out of his busy schedule to visit and encourage. He's kinda the "poet hero" of most of us wanna be's..
Tell him you found them from my website if you think of it. |
