ReaderOfSouls Poetry (137)

Well, I read the evening paper
And it scared me near in two,
With its column-long palaver
About the world to do.

Seems there's little wars all over,
And crimes and violence--
And you know I got to thinking
That it surely makes no sense.

Why should neighbor shoot at neighbor
And countries rattle swords?
I'm sure they've all forgotten
That this whole big world's the Lord's.

Why, HE made the sun to warm us,
And the evenings just for rest,
And the mountains filled with grandeur,
And mankind filled with zest.

And HE made a horse to ride on,
And hills to ride him through;
A star-filled night to dream on,
And a wealth of things to do!

Well, I'd just like to tell the generals
And Presidents and such,
That if they'd just cut out the haggling
And get back into touch

With the things that God intended...
Like the beauty of the day,
Or the murmur of the forest
Or the smell of new mown hay.

If they'd just look at all the wonder
Of nature all around,
And perhaps they'd stop all their feudin'
And we'd all have peaceful ground.

Blessing and curse to be a restless one
Knowing where to bed down with the setting sun;
Tumbleweed keeps rolling, and cowgirl does same,
Drifter doesn't take roots just by changing of his name.

Long days stretch 'ta longer nights with just lonesome breeze
Stirs dust in faded tracks, ripples through trees;
Line shack stands beacon, distant memories roam,
Cowgirl's restless slumber takes her back to home.

Grandma, patient smile, greets her wayward roy
Aching heart, still claims her greatest joy;
Knowing her rambling granddaughter's running strong and free,
That's what my gentle grandmother gave to me.

Strength and pluck to face the trials that make a girl a woman
Pride I've known from never quitting any race I ran;
Grit and gravel in my craw when luck is hard to find,
Grace, heart, and charity towards all humankind.

In the ovens of the Persian Gulf where the Devil bakes his prey
I've stood the test and took his best and never backed away;
Tied hard to the bad ones, I've rode the hurricane,
On pitching beasts no man would ride if he had half a brain.

I've stood upon the bowsprit, and I've braved the Arctic gales
And tripped the long eared outlaw bull on rocky canyon trails;
Where a stumble is a lifetime flashing swift before your eyes,
Where the brave men and the foolish know the truth and tell their lies.

I've trod this whole world over, and I've sailed the bounding main
Broke my bread with strong and true, in desert sun and rain;
And every grand adventure, born of Bible or of sword,
Is a tribute to my grandmother, who lies sleeping with the Lord.

Tomboy's more at home in jeans than a skirt
Worked beside her daddy in that red West Texas dirt;
True born native daughter of hardy Texas line
Helped to build this rugged state;I'm proud to call'em mine.

Heard the stories of my grandmother's sassy ways
'Tis said she was a beauty in her young and fancy days;
Tantalized the schoolboys with her crinolines and lace,
Remained a lady, walking hand in arm with grace.



Raised a son and daughter, sacrificed her dreams
Hopes of grand adventure gave way to common themes;
Home, church, school and toil with every breaking dawn,
Husband who was always there, but just as quickly gone.

Never broke her stride; ran the worthy race
Years of work and worry, kept a steady pace;
Sweat and prayed and cried to keep family fed
Nearly pawned the heirloom silverware to buy milk and bread.

Paid the fiddler when he played, and gave 'em every chance
When her heart had sung it's tune, too quickly left the dance;
Left no strife or enemy upon this mortal sod,
I am sure she's resting in the tender arms of God.

Cowgirl's a lonesome critter, born and bred to roam
A cowgirl with a loving grandmother always has a home;
It's a long trail and a hard one, it's sweet and bitter story,
Cowgirl keeps on riding.. and grandmother's gone to glory.

Friend is a word that I don't throw around
Though it's used and abused, I still like the sound
I save it for folks who've done right by me
And I know I can count on, if ever need be.

Some of my friends drive big limousines
Own ranches and banks and visit with queens
And some of my friends are up to their neck
In overdue notes and can't write a check.

They're singers and ropers and writers of prose
And others, God help them, can't blow their own nose!
I guess being friends has nothing to do
With talent or money or knowing who's who.

It's a comfortable feeling when you don't have to care
About choosing your words or being quite fair
Because friends'll listen and just go on by
Those words you don't mean and not bat an eye

It makes a friend happy to see your success
They're proud of your good side and forgive all the rest
That isn't so easy, all of the time
Those times they get crazy and seem to go blind!

Your friend might have to just take you on home
Or remind you sometimes, that you're not alone
Or ever so gently pull you back to the ground
When you think you can fly with no one around.

A hug, or a shake, whichever seems right
Is the high point of giving, I'll tell you this night
All wordly riches and tributes of men
Can't hold a candle to the worth of a friend.

Broken bones, broken hearts
Stripped down and torn apart
A little rust, I'm still runnin'
Countin' miles, countin' tears
Twisted road, shifting gears
Year after year it's all or nothing

But I'm not home, I'm not lost
Still holdin' on to what I've got
Ain't much left Lord there's so much that's been stolen
I guess I've lost everything I had
But I'm not dead at least not yet
Still alone, still alive, I'm still unbroken

Never captured, never tamed
Wild horses on the plains
You can call me lost, I call it freedom
I feel the spirit in my soul
There's something Lord, I can't control
I'm never givin' up while I'm still breathin'

Like the wind, like the rain
It's all runnin' through my veins
Like a river pourin' down into the ocean
I'm out here on the street
But I'm standin' on my feet
Still alive, still alone, still unbroken

I was just a little cowgirl of maybe two or three
And tired of riding horses upon my daddy's knee;
So I was given this old stick horse and for hours I would ride,
Chasing imaginary dogies with my heeler dog a'side.

I toddled out behind my dad 'cause I thought I was a hand
Just a regular 'ol cowpuncher riding for his brand;
Dad was awful excited, he had something for me to see,
Saddled up there in the barn was this good Paint mare for me.

The saddle we had was way too big, for I was pretty small
Daddy told me not to fret, there was no problem at all;
He took two worn old stirrups and laced them to a girt;
And tied them to the saddle horn and I sat there pretty pert.

He tied the old split reins into a hard fast knot
Just so that I wouldn't lose them when we began to trot;
I began that day to tag along wherever Dad would go,
I was finally a cowgirl and my heart was all aglow.

Well I grew to fit that saddle and to rein without the knot
I even got a faster horse,'cause Paint would only trot;
We'd ride up in the mountains, rounding up the cows and sheep,
We'd ride all day from dawn to dusk, then unsaddle feed and sleep.

And now I am much older and I still run the ranch
My dad will come to help me out when he has the chance;
I gather the cows in the pickup truck, with modern pens at hand,
And sometimes my love of ranching is hard to understand.

Then I gaze at my first stirrups hanging on the wall
And they remind me of that time when I was very small;
The life of a cowgirl is what I chose to lead,
And all cowgirls in Texas are of a very special breed.

We are everywhere in the state from the Red to the Rio Grande
So please, when you see us, come over and shake our hand;
You'll find a very tender lady underneath our skins of brown,
And on our heads a well worn hat that we wear just like a crown.

We are the real heart of Texas with a will you can't deny
Our hearts and souls belong to God, until the day we die;
So when you speak of Texas do not leave this thought unsaid,
And remember all us cowgirls we're Texas born and bred.

May the ghosts that rise to meet you
Just be the kids from down the street
May all the monsters at your door
Be there to trick-or-treat
May the eerie glow
You see at night
Be jack-o'-lanterns grinning

And, above all,
Hope the day is happy-
Right from the beginning!

It takes a lot of cowboy tough to step out of a chute
Competing for a buckle and a chance to win some loot;
You scan the crowd with wary eyes, because deep down you know
Because every word and every rhyme could cost you the short-go.

Five judges watch with pen in hand and timers sit close by
It's time to start reciting, but your mouth is awful dry!
Your words spill forth to fill the room with hearty tears of laughter
While you're going for the perfect ride, to get the score you're after.

As judge's scores are tallied,you forget about your fate
Because friends are saddled up and riding through the gate
Though some may win a buckle, or take home some well earned pay
We all go home much richer in the friendships forged that day.

Lord, you cared so much for the shepherds
You sent the good news first to them;
Before the kings and the Wise Men,
So you might just speak again.

To some other humble herdsman
Out there on the range abiding;
A brilliant star, and angel choir,
Proclaiming "Peace!" "Glad Tidings!"

The shepherds were common people
Who slept in the fields near their flocks;
Their clothes may be dirty and ragged,
And rugged and rough their talk.

So Lord, I needn't apologize
For my appearance or my words;
I know you're right here beside me,
And it seems that I've just heard..

The shepherds hastening, excited
Extolling the star they had seen;
A baby born in a manger,
Not to some great king or a queen.

But to people who do the menial tasks
That housewives and carpenters do;
And farmers and desk clerks and waitresses,
Just people like me and you.

But famous rich men brought presents
Which should prove what I know to be true;
Christ came for shepherds and Wise Men
And kings and cowgirls too.

Gleaming Four wheel drive catches at my heart
Sparking, revving, how I long to never part
Strip down to gears, I learn what makes you go
To the town and back, riding to and fro.

Paint glitters in sun's rays, catching all the mens' eye
Four by four the powerhorse, not a day passes by
A long,low whistle of appreciation that you bring
A quick ride for groceries, the treasures inside makes 'em swing.

Around to take another look, quick questions that are asked
Waiting at the stoplight, loaded up with cattle and grass.
New buyer wants his cattle,no time to stop and talk.
I promise to chat again,when I slow down again to walk.

Loud screech, then bellers, piercing scream tears from my lips
It goes quite suddenly dark.
I awaken to a good Samaritan prodding me awake.
He said he was afeared, that I wouldn't be on the make.

"What happened?" asked I, afraid of the need
"A semi just ran into the rear of your truck, now you know the deed".
"How bad?" "Ma'am" you really need to rest".
Anger welling up inside.

"How bad?" I asked,"Your trailer is beat to Puyallup, the cattle are bruised"
It can't be that bad I reason, I have a buyer to meet up.
"The bed of your truck is crumpled like a tin can and the trailer hitch has moved forward six inches."
"Six inches?!" I shriek before passing to the dark.

Of trailer hitches and semis
Sprained knees and blood clots too
The simple life of a rancher
This life is not moot.

So all the cavemen were European,continental
If you get the drift;
Painting caves, these men of leisure,
Modern man is just the second shift.

Now we do it with computers
Camera work and sleight of hand;
But we're all still cavemen
When it comes to taking a stand.

My heart filled with grief, and my heart filled with pain
For all our Fallen Heroes and the Heroes that remain;
For all the battles near and far,
For all our Stripes and all of our Stars.

May we always remember The Fallen were brave
On Memorial Day by decorating their grave;
May we join our hands to pay tribute as one,
For every Mother,Father,Daughter and Son.

ReaderOfSouls

"Peace to each manly soul that sleepeth
Rest to each faithful eye that weepeth
Long may the fair and and brave
Sigh o'er the hero's grave.

Thomas Moore

As our walk upon the fells began
A cool morning, gathering and overcast
A stately gentleman and a lady with a dog
We walked to the vale of Grasmere.

Trollers Hill and Simon's Seat
Dale's Way to the River Wharf
Beacons on high hills roused Ancient Britons once
The walks of early man

The fells of Lancashire and the Peak
The way of Haw Cray;
The walks of early man,
Now go down in history.

To the poet, the philosopher and the saint he writes
All things friendly and sacred,yet precious of their make;
Days of holiness, nights written of deep desire,
Self-reliance, the height and perfection of man.

His companion a loyal dog
He speaks of his own mind, man of the fells.
Telling stories of the ancients in the poems that he writes.

I find him standing firm in his own shoes
He values what he has in himself;
Not perfect, but just a man with a soul,
The walk has now become a journey of sorts.


Angels have whispered to him
On the walk that he now goes;
This is the Fellsman,
The Fellsman that I know.