|
High Lonesome — Original Cowboy Poetry A look at life through the eyes of a cowboy. Much of the worlds problems today could be solved with a good dose of cowboy logic. An artist with words, much of Bill's poetry paints a picture of life and times long past. Poems ranging from those depicting the tests and trials of cowboy life to the humorous, Bill's poetry will leave you wanting "just one more."
$11.95 Plus Shipping
|
high Lonesome
|
He talked of what he called the High Lonesome
Where a man could ride all day alone And the power poles stopped five miles away And so did the telephone The road was just ruts ‘cross the prairie Dropped down to the canyon below Too muddy when it rained in the summer Too deep when blown full of snow He told me how he hated man’s progress He never fit in though he’d tried Now even though he’s punchin’ another man’s cattle He has the High Lonesome to ride I asked about the lonely on the Lonesome He said he wouldn’t want it any other way ‘Cause if you want the freedom of ridin’ the Lonesome Then lonely is the price you must pay He told of the house in the canyon More than likely it was just a line shack Of the wife he had met in the city Who had left and hadn’t come back And he told me how she had left him And I listened to what he said How she’d fell in love with the cowboy And the romance of the lifestyle he’d led But the life starts loosin’ it’s romance When you’re calvin’ at twenty below And you ain’t got your mail in over a month ‘Cause the trails drifted in the snow |
And there’s no one at all to talk to Just your man and he don’t have much to say You see he’s use to ridin’ the Lonesome And he’s grown to like it that way A woman can find herself a talkin’ To the chickens in the yard ‘Cause life for a woman on the Lonesome Can sometimes be mighty hard So, if you’re thinkin’ of the High Lonesome As a place you’d like to ride Few men have been able to do Though many there’s been who have tried You’ve got to be at peace with your maker And be at peace with yourself as well Then maybe you can ride the Lonesome It’s only time that will tell But, if you’re thinkin’ of bringin’ a woman on the Lonesome I not sure it’s ever been done And you’re thinkin’ this one is different That she’ll be the very first one Well, make sure she’s in love with the Lonesome Where a woman spends all day alone And the power poles stop five miles away And so does the telephone © Bill (Three Feathers) Bunting
|
|
Cowboys, Coyotes & Christ - Cowboy Poetry - By: Bill (Three Feathers) Bunting Bill's message through his poetry was burned into his soul through the fiery trials of life, proving beyond a shadow of a doubt he is a TRUE cowboy at heart. Whether you partake of Bill's work little at a time or all in one sitting, it will be time well spent as your spirit recognizes the truth of the word God flavored with the aroma of sage, saddle leather, and gun smoke. $15.00 Plus Shipping
|
Riding For The brand
|
An old cowboy and a preacher
Met on the prairie one day One ridin’ a buckskin The other a bay They squatted in the shade Of a lone cedar tree Scratchin’ the dirt with a stick Contemplatin’ you see Comparing their lives The old cowboy he spoke Of the brands he’d rid for And the horses he’d broke Of the herds he had gathered And held at all cost Of hours spent ridin’ When a few head were lost You’d give up your life When you rode for the brand ‘Cause of this we buried Many a good hand But as you can see I’m well past my prime Boss says soon I’ll have to draw up my time What can I do I’m too tough to cry But I’m too old to work And too young to die © Bill (Three Feathers) Bunting
|
Well the preacher stirred the dirt With his stick for a while Then he looked the old cowboy In the eye with a smile He said, I too Ride for the brand The scars are the nail holes In the palms of his hands I’ve gathered a herd And hold for my boss I’m always out lookin’ For those who are lost And many have died Who rode for this brand We all may be called on To take up a stand But you’re never too old To ride with my crew When you sign on here You’re made as if new Well, the old cowboy that day Hired on for a new boss And his foreman’s the one Who died on the cross And he can ride happy To the end of his days “Cause there’s no end to the gather Of the lost and the strays |