Soul Wrangler

by Deb Meyer

I found him in the old line shack,
Stretched back upon his cot.
A hundred pounds of wit and will,
And whiskey, like as not.

 

Hard Candy Cowboy

Debra G. Meyer

He wasn’t large in stature,
Couldn’t tell it by his walk.
His bobwire eyes could cut you,
Had no nonsense in his talk.

Some folks, they’d shy around him,
Cause he came off sorta gruff,
Made no bones ‘bout right ‘n wrong,
And he’d tell it to you rough.

His body bore the traces,
Of the trade he’d made his own,
He took up bronco bustin’,
When he wasn’t quite full-grown.

 

The Patch

Debra Meyer

This trail that I ride runs on ahead,
Though I can’t quite see round the bend.
I once thought this trail everlastin’,
But now I’m aware there’s an end.

I pause to reflect and look backward,
At the course I've already run,
It’s littered with heartbreak and laughter,
Things ‘complished and things left undone.

That stretch yet to ride’s a might shorter,
Than the miles that I've left behind,
But I tote some dreams in my pocket,
There’s a place I’m longin’ to find.

 

Horse Sense

Debra G. Meyer

“She’s strong,” the cowboy offered,
With a twinkle in his eye.
“I’ll wager she’s got bottom,
With no quit and lots of try.”

I glanced in the direction
That his nod bid me to go.
“Purty head, a real nice neck,
She looks fine enough to show.”

“I betcha she ain’t cold-backed,
Like some others I have knowed.
She’s fit and not too fleshy.”
Words of praise pert nearly flowed.

 

Wooin’ the Mule

Debra G. Meyer

I’s up to Ed’s one Sunday,
We was plannin’ on a ride.
I hollered at his barn door,
Then I moseyed on inside.

My eyes just took a smidgeon
To adjust to dimmer light.
I found that I was peerin’’
At a most engagin’ sight.

Dappled gray with great long ears,
Pickin’ hay there in a stall.
One quick glance he cast my way,
Then the mule turned t’ward the wall.

 

Heartache and Pards

Deb Meyer

His words were plain and to the point,
“Sometimes this life just sucks.
She does her best to throw ya down,
She boogers and she bucks.”

The cowboy knew the trail I rode,
The steep and rocky way.
I came for lies and platitudes,
But truth was all he’d say.

“You’re gonna hurt a good long time,
Ain’t nothin’ can be done.
You’ll ride awhile in blackest night,
Before ya see the sun.

 

The Quest

Deb Meyer

I watch the mare rattle the gate.
She’s stocky, gray, and strong.
Alert, keen determination,
Her task won’t take her long.

Contemptible, stubborn, and mean,
With these words she’s branded.
She scorns the rule of haughty man,
Balks at what’s commanded.

I watch the mare rattle the gate.
The feral land has called.
Her spirit cannot be tethered,
Nor shall her soul be stalled.