Poetry
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."
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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.
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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