Category: cowboy

~ Living the cowboy ways…

On By Jerry BrothertonIn cowboy, PoetryLeave a comment

It was pretty late in September
and I was over the Billings way
I was riding fence for Freddie White
on the west end of Rockin Bar J

Well night time can fall pretty early
come along bout that time of the year
I started me up a little fire
and was cleaning up some of my gear

That’s when I heard a “Whoo-up in camp”
softly floating over the pine trees
At first I thought it was ole Freddie
come a ridin’ out to shoot the breeze

“Come on in” I yelled right back to him
My hand sittin firmly on my gun
When in rides this old bearded cowboy
Looked to be bout a hundred and one

Well he said his name to be Johnson
So with that I passed him my name too
Asked him if he’d like to sit a spell
Maybe share a little of my stew

For I had gauged him up to be a
descent and right honest man you see
Cause he seemed to hold himself just right
and by the soft way he spoke to me

So after we tossed down our bedrolls
and we had hunkered down near the flames
That’s when Johnson pulled his red eye flask
we started toasting old cowboy names

Those names like Billy Brooks, Bose Ikard
Goodnight, Conrad Kohrs and Otto Franc
Olly Loving, John Chisum and more
Each name said, we tipped the flask and drank

As all the old cowboys tend to do
we reminisced bout the olden days
about all the things we used to do
and living the good cowpuncher’s ways

How these here youngsters nowadays ain’t
got no clue bout how things used to be
When a man could go from here to there
live and ride the range completely free

Johnson had seen just fifteen summers
when he started his first cattle drive
sixty more winters have passed him by
he said his luck had kept him alive

For him riding herd out on the range
is the only life he’s ever knowed
He said he would never trade that way
for no diamonds, jewels or gold

Well just about dawn the next morning
After we shook hands and parted ways
I knew that I too would never leave
behind me, these good old cowboy days

This story, Johnson, Freddie Keys and the Rocking Bar J Ranch are all fictitious.

~ The Cattle Don’t Care…

On By Jerry BrothertonIn cowboy, Poetry5 Comments

Cowboys don’t know ‘bout pentameter beat
when their crooning to the cattle at night
As long as the rhythm is soft and slow
makes no difference if it’s sad or light

Don’t make no mind if it goes dum-di-dum
or if instead the rhythm is di-dum-di
Cows sure don’t care what some snooty dude thinks
is the proper way to write poetry

The herd doesn’t know the meaning of words
no use in fancying up what you say
To mean what you say and say what you mean
That has always been the true cowboy’s way

There’s no need for some expensive degree
just to lull all them cows to sleep at night
Cause humming a tune with no words at all
can keep them calm until the morning’s light

So don’t be afraid to write them a song
with whatever rhythm or rhyme you choose
It’s okay if others don’t understand
as long as the tune means something to you

~ A Rancher’s Wife…

On By Jerry BrothertonIn cowboy, Poetry2 Comments

She’s up in the morning
two hours before dawn
has done most of her chores
before the lights come on

Already milked the cows
and gathered up the eggs
even put liniment
on the horse’s sore legs

Bacon and eggs are cooked
the biscuits are baked brown
the gravy has been stirred
and the plates laid down

Once the pans are empty
the last bread’s been buttered
the men tack their horses
while she clears the clutter

Now a fifty mile drive
just to get to the store
to pick up the supplies
they have been waiting for

Time to fry the chicken
and put beef in the beans
cause stomachs on the ranch
are never full it seems

After serving the meal
and cleaning up the mess
she’ll ride out to the range
and work beside the rest

She has to be able
to ride fence, rope and brand
just as good as any
of those other hired hands

When the day is over
tired and hungry as hell
the men wash up and get
set for the supper bell

She’ll be in the kitchen
cooking vittles again
Cause work for a ranch wife
never comes to an end

~ I’ll Rest Here a Spell…

On By Jerry BrothertonIn cowboy, Poetry7 Comments


While I was riding across the sagebrush
I happened upon this soft running creek
My face and neck were burning just a bit
my stomach was getting a little weak

Seemed like a decent place to rest a spell
and from my mare I jumped down to the ground
I pulled the saddle from Jilly Gal’s back
so she could take a drink and graze around

I wet my bandanna in the water
it was as cool as the mountains in snow
So I shucked off my dusty cowboy boots
and let that water run across my toes

While sitting there I started a thinking
when was the last time a bath I had seen
So I stripped right on down to my long john’s
and I decided I would plunge right in

Now my old bones are feeling much better
as I spread across the grass in the sun
If ever a time I’ve been happier
I am not sure I can come up with one

Do your dance across the rocks you ripples
and gurgle for me a jolly old tune
I’m pretty darn sure I won’t be riding
away from this spot anytime too soon

~ Helena, Montana…

On By Jerry BrothertonIn cowboy, PoetryLeave a comment

You’re torn between two identities
Never knowing which way you should go
You dream of being a big city
but you’re afraid to let yourself grow

There’s some folks who want to be country
other folks want a fancier life
Live their life free out on the prairie
yet spend nights with the family and wife

They want cooking like taters and meat
but they need it froo-frooed up a bit
When they’re ready to sit down and eat
They’ll need a bunch of garnish with it

All the hipsters ride their bicycles
drink their micro brewed beer in the bars
Cowboys eat pig’s feet that’s been pickled
but drive over price pickups and cars

Ride a hundred miles to Missoula
to go to them chain restaurants and shops
If they open up in Helena
they won’t go ‘cause it ain’t Mom and Pop’s

If a far off place you want to jet
you know it’s really quite an affair
You must take a plane so you can get
to an airport that can take you there

Lest you have watched fifty winter’s melt
Well you’re still just a foreigner then
Though people that come from somewhere else
numbers ’bout nine out of every ten

Time for winter after just two weeks
of cold springs, hot summers and cold fall
With dry grass valleys, snow covered peaks
creeks that flood or no water at all

No use to keep whining or crying
I know my home is where my heart sits
There just ain’t no way of denying
that Helena, Montana is it