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Cowboy Poetry and Western Verse
Untamed
Douglas Polk
Hills of grass as far as the eye can see,
empty except for the occasional pine,
or cedar tree,
once land of the buffalo,
where the bison roamed free,
now acres measured,
numbered,
and fenced off,
the land tamed,
barbed wire strung,
three or four strands,
on almost every fence,
the buffalo gone,
along with the freedom to roam,
instead cattle dot the range,
cowboys on horseback,
their souls not yet tamed,
longing and needing the openness,
dreaming thoughts of freedom,
keeping the spirit alive,
caretakers of these hills of grass,
endless as far as the eye can see.
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Western Maid
Douglas Polk
her lips chapped by the wind and sun,
an outdoor girl,
unafraid of messing her nails,
she wrestles a calf,
or wears high heels,
with the very same class,
a jack of all trades,
a glorious and lovely maid,
western born and raised.
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The Holdout
Douglas Polk
after chores,
I would sit back against the hayloft door,
praying to hear the windmill pump,
soothing the sound,
methodical, yet melodious,
as water pulled from the dark cool underground,
sustaining life on this arid waste land called the "Sandhills",
a place contemptuous of setters and their descendants,
laughing at our efforts to tame this wild, wild land,
knowing it can outlast us all.
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