Welcome To The Bullpen
Where is Cowboy Heaven?
By Samantha Stollar
When cowboys cross over, where is their heaven?
when all of their lives their engines were revvin.
Do they sit in their rockers, thinking deep heavy thoughts
of the mistakes that they made and the time that they lost?
Not this breed of man, one like no other
they're thinking of cowhide and old saddle leather.
Words of comfort are often hard to come by
when grief gets a chokehold and tears blur the eye.
But his heart is at peace, his body now strong
no more pain in his back, he can ride all day long.
He'll still want to ride, to rope and to gather
and he's got quite a crew, waiting in the hereafter.
I imagine two young men, waiting there with a grin
one looks like Marty, the other looks like Jim.
His old horse is saddled, waiting for him to swing on
the calves are all bawling, a sweet cowboy song.
With a jingle of spurs and a slap of the reins
he heads for the cattle, waiting out on Heaven's plains.
Dark Mornings for a Rancher's Daughter
By Samantha Stollar
I'd waken to the morning sky still in the dark
to throw on my boots and then to embark
on a trek to the barn to awaken my steed
and saddle him loosely for his strong back I did need.
The road to the river where the cows were on grass
was long so we'd sleep or each other harass
After 2 hours packed in a pickup with four
relieved we were to open the horse trailer door.
We'd bridle our mounts and tighten the cinches
and the tails start slapping at the saddle that pinches
We take off at a trot for our horses are ready
to bolt and to buck but we kept them steady.
The fence must be checked every post, every wire
for you never knew when you might find a quagmire
Each and every trip since I was a small girl of eight
my dad would remind me to double check the gate!
Sometimes we'd move them from one side to the other
of the Middle Fork river; me, Mom, Dad, and little brother.
It would take us all day, from before dawn til done
there were times that I'd cry from the heat, dirt and sun.
We'd head back to Long Creek to shower and eat
and try to talk Mom into an ice cream treat
My grandma would make us a bed on the floor
and my brother and I would try not to give in and snore.
We'd head home next 'morn after all were awake
and talk Dad into stopping for a Battle Mountain shake!
The next thing you know we can smell irrigation water
and that's how it was, being this rancher's daughter!
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REVIEW 1
Dark Mornings for a Ranchers Daughter...
I really enjoyed this poem. A lot of thought has gone into the wording.
Review 2
Sam, Sounds like you've been around the ranching world and your poems reflect that. Work on the mechanics. The two things that make for a good poem are the rhyming words and the number of syllables per line, that create the meter. The ending words should be true rhymes, slant words, or words that almost rhyme will throw it off.
The number of syllables per line create the meter and flow. Say the lines over to yourself, they should flow right off the tongue. If you have to add extra words or pauses to make it fit the syllable count is off.
It's okay to change the words to make it all fit and keep reworking it until it rolls like music.
You're on the right track, work on the syllables (meter) and the rhymes and you will be turning out some good poems.
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