"Here are some poems that I like from a couple friends of mine,
I hope you enjoy them too!" - Brad
by Del Cameron
Cowboy Coffee comes only one way,
Strong enough to float a mule shoe that will hold you all day.
Don't know why anyone would add sugar and cream,
That just spoils the taste and ruins the dream.
It always helps to have a friend around,
Even if it's a horse, a mule or a hound.
Cowboy coffee comes only one way,
Boiled over a fire is best, they say.
It's always good on a frosty morn or a rainy afternoon,
And even at night under a bright old moon.
So whether it's in a cabin or camp no matter what time of day,
Cowboy coffee comes only one way.
by Connie Rossignol
I'm ashamed to admit but I always thought that
They were, well, kinda silly -- them strings on yer hat.
Almost none of us rides all that hard nowdays
"Ceptin' maybe the ones what still rides for their pay.
Besides, if a hat fits ya, it shouldn't come off.
It should take a twister to launch it aloft.
I saw stampede strings as a small affectation
Used mostly for looks to maintain reputation.
So I never wore 'em, me bein' a cynic,
Then one day while ridin' a mulemanship clinic
Somethin' just happened that turned me around
A friend of mine's hat left his head and flew down
Til it lit 'neath the nose of a big molly mule.
She snorted, set back and quite proptly left school.
Her ears went to twitchen her eyes rolled around
When she bowed up her back all four feet left the ground
Right down the arena she bucked and crow hopped
On into the chutes where she finally got stopped
But not before leavin' my friend in the dirt
Where his pride and backside was both quite rightly hurt.
That set me to thinkin', and I figured out that
I might not bet my neck on the fit of my hat!
And I guess I got company cause next thing I seen
Was most a my friends sportin' new stampede strings.
by Mary S. Corning
Sitting tall in his wade
He rides the proud mule
Showing refinement and grace
With balance and softness
He sets the example
Of all that can take place
When patience meets wisdom
And feel replaces force
Partnership becomes the tool
Unity becomes the course
Like a master he teaches
This disciplined art
Of learning to learn
Of listening with heart
Of giving to get
That light response
And not settling for less
Not even once
When the man rides away
At the end of the day
There's a spirit that's left behind
For the lessons he's taught
Will forever remain
Evolving within our minds.
by Connie Rossignol
There's quite an assortment of trainers out there
With all kinds of methods and knowledge to share.
They'll train all your equines, your spouse and your kids.
They'll train minis and mammoths and zebra hy-brids!
They make tapes and write books!
They do clinics in person!
Some shout out their message and some are whisperin'.
There's them toutin' "savy" and talking in rhymes,
There's high-tech, new fangled, and just like old times.
Some show by example and some are good teachers.
While some are soft spoken, some sound more like preachers.
They reason from roundpens, they claim no resistance,
They reach out and
Touch or join up from a distance.
There's young whipper snappers and seasoned old timers,
There's mom an' pop outfits and corporate climbers.
Whatever you think about all this collection,
You have to admit that there's quite a selection.
So learn all about 'em, then sort out the hype,
And you'll find at least one that is just the right type
To give you the skills and the knowledge you need.
But one word of caution before you proceed--
There's one more instructor that can't be discounted,
And that's the "professor" on which you are mounted!
Slicker Break a Bronco
When you’re bustin’ out a bronco,
Better get him slicker broke.
For you’ll have to do it sometime,
When it isn’t any joke.
When the wind begins to howl and it snaps his mane and tail,
And a big dark cloud is comin’ full of lightning, rain, and hail.
You know if you step off him he will quickly pull away,
So you try it in the saddle and you’re hopin’ that you stay.
Now your horse goes to buckin’ when you get it halfway on,
Then your arms and sleeves are tangled and he throws you and he’s gone.
Now your slicker’s tore and busted and the wind has took your hat,
And you see your horse and saddle go driftin’ down the flat.
About that time you get an idea, and you don’t forget it pal,
Better slicker break your bronco in a mighty good corral!