Some Cowboy Stuff

[Teresa]

Boston John was a friend of ours.. He passed away in 2006.
He was a great story teller and shooter. 



The Passing of Navajo John

The telegram was waiting when I rode into Cheyenne:
"Navajo John is dying STOP... Come as quick as you can..."
My horse was getting tired but I knew that I could push her,
So immediately we began to trek the hundred miles to Denver.

I passed hours in the saddle by remembering the man
Who'd taught a ragtag orphaned boy the secrets of the land.
Two and a half days later I rode up to the home
Of the old man who'd adopted me, and the family I'd known.

I wasn't prepared for the fellow I saw as Maggie drew me inside...
He looked so small and fragile underneath the buffalo hide;
The image flashed of a brawny man hunting elk and deer and bear,
But disappeared when I met his eyes and the pain reflected there.

I sat with him for hours; his breathing was raspy and labored
As I spoke of times and places we'd been, and people he had favored.
He couldn't speak but squeezed my hand to show that he was listening,
And when I stood at last to leave, his tired eyes were glistening.

I said I'd come the next morning and be with him all day,
But with the light of the early dawn, John's spirit slipped away.
He'd lived among the Indians and been a Mountain Man,
And he welcomed his crossing over as exploring a new land.

To some the world seems poorer with Navajo John's passing on,
But he left us richer for knowing him, so he's never really gone;
The ride back home passed quickly, as mile after mile,
I heard John's laughter in the wind and felt his joyful smile.


©Copyright 2006 BostonJohnDoucette

[Teresa]

Slaughter on Hill Street

The courtroom was packed
and the air hung stale
accusations flew wildly
mostly at Dale

The jury looked left
then they looked right
from the edge of their seat
they followed the fight

"He's guilty as sin" cried the Plaintiff's hired gun
then pointed a bony finger
at the poor mother's son

"He did it, he did it, just sure as Hell"
did the jury believe him? it was hard to tell

Then from the jury came a fearful cry
"Somebody get a rope, and we'll hang 'em high"

The mood had gone ugly, and the talkin' was done
the options were few, it was stay or run

Then above the noise came the sound of two feet
on their way to the door in hasty retreat

Those shoes were a blur, for a block or more
as they carried him far from that courtroom door

He was panting hard, and breathin' fast
it was safe enough now to stop at last

I'ts plain now to see where it all went wrong
he'd had a bad feeling all along

The jury was rigged, the case full of lies
the witnesses were nothing but low-down spies

But all was not lost, he still had his fee
he's sure to win one one day, just wait and see

Lawyers don't care if they succeed or fail
but wasn't it too bad about poor old Dale

[Catwoman]

Love it, Teresa...did you write the second one?  I've always enjoyed cowboy poetry. :-)  Hmmmmmm...wonder who the 'Dale' was...

[Teresa]

No.. I didn't write these. We have so many "cowboy" friends in the Cowboy Action Shooting world..and there is LOTS of talent.
So when one of them shares with the rest of us.. I "steal it" and put it in my poem book. LOL

I don't write cowboy poetry very well. I "see" what I want to say.. but I just can't get that "rhythm' down that they use.

[sixdogsmom]

Like you Teresa, I do enjoy listening to a good cowboy poet. There used to be a great one once in awhile on PBS; he was a veternarian from Colorado I think. I really enjoyed him. Especially the one he wrote about mountain oysters!

[Teresa]

Kjell ( Marshal) interviewed Baxter Black for this weeks Cowboy Radio.
( Just another iron in the fire at our house) and it was so cool to talk to him and hear how he got started.
He also recited one of his poems for the show. He is a heck of a great guy..

Here is the link to the teaser Kjell put up for this weeks Cowboys.( It is only about 4 minutes long)
Gives you a visual of Baxter Black.
http://www.downrange.tv/cowboys/episode69.htm
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Near the end of the movie "8 Seconds",
Lane, Tuff and Cody are flying over the Cheyenne arena,
and Cody reads a poem entitled "Cowboy is His Name."

That poem is really a shortened version of the poem
"Legacy of a Rodeo Man" by Baxter Black.
(Cody's not a poet!)

The long version is printed below,
with the permission of Baxter Black.

And, below that poem is a poem called
"Freckle's Advice"
that Baxter wrote and Lane read
at his friend Freckles' funeral.



They started out like this:

Legacy of the Rodeo Man                           

There's a hundred years of history and a hundred before that
All gathered in the thinkin' goin' on beneath his hat.
And back behind his eyeballs and pumpin' through his veins
Is the ghost of every cowboy that ever held the reins.

Every coil in his lasso's been thrown a million times
His quiet concentration's been distilled through ancient minds.
It's evolution workin' when the silver scratches hide
And a ghostly cowboy chorus fills his head and says, "Let's ride."

The famous and the rowdy, the savage and the sane
the bluebloods and the hotbloods and the corriente strain
All knew his mother's mothers or was it his daddy's kin
'Til he's nearly purely cowboy, born to ride and bred to win.

He's got Buffalo Bill Cody and Goodnight's jigger boss
And all of the brave blue soldiers that General Custer lost
The ghost of Pancho Villa, Sittin' Bull and Jessie James
All gathered by his campfire keepin' score and takin' names.

There's every Royal Mountie that ever got his man
And every day-work cowboy that ever made a hand
Each man that's rode before him, yup every mother's son
Is in his corner, rootin', when he nods to make his run.

Freckles Brown might pull his bull rope,
Casey Tibbs might jerk the flank,
Bill Pickett might be hazin' when he starts to turn the crank.
Plus Remington and Russell lookin' down his buckhorn sight
All watchin' through the window of this cowboy's eyes tonight.

And standin' in the catch pen or in chute number nine
Is the offspring of a mountain that's come down from olden time
A volcano waitin' quiet, 'til they climb upon his back
Rumblin' like the engine of a freight train on the track.

A cross between a she bear and a bad four wheel drive
With the fury of an eagle when it makes a power dive.
A snake who's lost its caution or a badger gone berserk
He's a screamin', stompin', clawin', rabid, mad dog piece o' work.

From the rollers in his nostrils to the foam upon his lips
From the hooves as hard as granite to the horns with dagger tips
From the flat black starin' shark's eye that's the mirror of his soul
Shines the challenge to each cowboy like the devil callin' roll.

In the seconds that tick slowly 'til he climbs upon his back
Each rider faces down the fear that makes his mouth go slack
And cuts his guts to ribbons and gives his tongue a coat
He swallows back the panic gorge that's risin' in his throat.

The smell of hot blue copper fills the air around his head
Then a single, solid shiver shakes away the doubt and dread
The cold flame burns within him 'til his skin's as cold as ice
And the dues he paid to get here are worth every sacrifice.

All the miles spent sleepy drivin', all the money down the drain
All the "if I's" and the "nearly's", all the bandages and the pain
All the female tears left dryin', all the fever and the fight
Are just a small downpayment on the ride he makes tonight.

And his pardner in this madness that the cowboy's call a game
Is a ton of buckin' thunder bent on provin' why he came
But the cowboy never wavers he intends to do his best
And of that widow maker, he expects of him no less.

There's a solemn silent moment that every rider knows
When the time stops on a heartbeat like the earth itself was froze
Then all the ancient instinct fills the space between his ears
Til the whispers of his phantoms are the only thing he hears.

When you get down to the cuttin' and the leather touches hide
And there's nothin' left to think about, he nods and says, "Outside!"
Then frozen for an instant against the open gate
Is hist'ry turned to flesh and blood, a warrior incarnate.

And while they pose like statues in that flicker of an eye
There's somethin' almost sacred, you can see it if you try.
It's guts and love and glory-one mortal's chance at fame
His legacy is rodeo and cowboy is his name.

"Turn 'im out"
                                         © Baxter Black



Below is the poem called
"Freckles Advice"
which Lane read at Freckles funeral.

                                     Freckles Advice                                   

Though Freckles is an angel now, he ain't forgot his friends.
He drops to earth and hangs around behind the buckin' pens.
He pulls a rope or just makes sure a rider gets bucked free.
So I took it as an honor,  the day he spoke to me...

"I saw you ride your bull today. You sure did yourself proud.
You had him by the short hairs, I could feel it in the crowd!"

"I really should be thankful that I even stayed aboard.
You could'a done it better, Freckles...I'm lucky that I scored!"

"Hey don't be puttin' yourself down! You know you did okay.
The time will come when you look back and hunger for today
When everything was workin' right and judges liked your style,
Your joints were smooth, your belly flat and girls liked your smile.

"Cause in between the best you rode and the last one that you'll try
You'll face your own mortality and look it in the eye.
There ain't no shame admittin' you ain't what you used to be,
The shame is blamin' Lady Luck when Father Time's the key!

So if they know you came to ride and always did your best
Then hang your ol' spurs up with pride, 'cause that's the acid test
And, say some gunsel offers you a 'Geritol on Ice,'
Just grin 'im down, 'cause you don't have to ride Tornado twice!"
©Baxter Black

[Catwoman]

Oh, I do so love Baxter Black!