COWBOYS 'N INDIANS

 

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SCRAPS OF PAPER

Inside the old pair of saddlebags,

No one knew just what we'd find.

Could have been some fixin's for fags,

Roll-yer-owns, the homemade kind.

Maybe a razor, brush and soap in a kit.

An old photograph of a sweet memory.

Some outdated confederate script,

Long ago demonitized by the treasury.

It's an eerie feeling to venture inside.

Personal items better left alone?

Or just a bunch of pieces of rawhide?

What will be the sum total of a life unknown?

He was a cowboy and he was an artist.

He was a writer and he was a painter.

He was intelligent, if not the smartest.

Some say he was a sort of entertainer.

He knew some fame in this world,

But became better known after.

From the work left behind, unfurled.

Pieces that could bring tears and laughter.

Inside the old saddlebags? Just scraps,

Pieces of paper napkins, matchbook covers,

Old envelopes and the edges of maps.

A lifetime of unfinished lines left to be discovered

Like fabric pieces waiting to be a quilt.

Poetry and stories he didn't think would fit.

An unattended garden going to wilt.

Words without an anchor like a brace without a bit.

What are old saddlebags good for anyway?

Some just hang 'em in the tack shed under the clock

And some think they're just, "Oh so passe!"

In this case, they were a cowboy's safe deposit box.

© 2024 Brian McNeal

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THE ARTIST

One tiny litle seed bead here

And a different color next door

The old cow skull was clear

Soon he'd transform her into new decor

An artist with bone for canvas

Turning plain into flamboyant

Like turning country into bluegrass

He must have been somewhat clairvoyant

Longhorn skulls were his favorite

There's something magical about them

Never in a hurry, allowing time to savor it

Diamonds in the rough are still a gem

Friends all gathered together beaucoup

Anticipation of the moment for the big unveil

He could always see the wider view

But he never wanted to miss the smallest detail

© 2023 Brian McNeal

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NEW CUT ROAD  

The entire tribe, horses, dogs and all

Pulling their lodge poles through the spring mud

One thousand trampling out anything more than ant-tall

Searching for an escape from the white flood

Following close behind was fifty mounted bluecoats

Two hundred foot-soldiers and twenty five supply wagons

Each pulled by six mules feeling their oats

With four Hotchkiss cannons laggin’ in the rear, draggin’

Up the Rosebud in Big Sky Montana they went

Buffalo Calf Road Woman, Crazy Horse and Crook

A native hero woman, a chief and an Ohio gent

The Great Sioux War of 1876. Yellowhair's last look

Thirty five hundred feet pounding mother earth 

Over a hundred wagon wheels pulling heavy loads

Half looking for freedom, the other half the adverse

Those who came after said it looked like a new-cut road

Today, the grasses grow and the spring flowers blossom

No sign of trouble or fear or damage done

Tourists marvel at views gallant and awesome

The battles lost are never forgotten by some

© 2024 Brian McNeal

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THE VIKING COWBOY 

He wandered into the ranch one day

And by the way he sat a horse

One could tell he knew his way

But the odd thing 'bout him - he spoke mostly Norse

At first we thought him mighty strange

The air about him belied his peculiarity

He used funny words as if he'd spent too much time alone on the range

But his manners suggested we give him some charity

He said he could work as hard as any 'cuz he was no TeffelIhelt

Not understanding his words we were somewhat hesitant

But his river-wide smile made us feel the best we ever felt 

And that's how this Viking cowboy became a bunkhouse resident

His lasso was his REIP and his horse was his HESTR

He said he slept on a BEAR and cooked a mighty mean SOD

Most of us had seen a cowboy, wanna-be jester

In spite of his good nature we still thought him odd

What could be worse than sleepin' on a BEAR, we thought

He must'a been the toughest cowboy or the lightest sleeper

Might have come from his habit of eating a meal of SOD

That is until we found out he was a jumper and a leaper

One moring when we was all rolling up our bedrolls

He seemed disturbed and extremely addled

Then he started jumpin' and shoutin' for Jesus to save his soul

Seems an ORMR  had crawled out and was shakin' its rattle

Well, quick as ligtning he was up high in the trees going berserk

Cooky snared that ORMR , skinned it and turned him into a diamondback frittata

How could a feller sleep on a BEAR, we wondered, and still have this quirk

We couldn't get him outta the trees until Cooky got a stick and made like he was a piñata

Once on the ground and after a cup of hot Arbuckles off the fire

He told us, "True Vikings ain't afraid of snakes, that's a common distortion"

"I was jumping up in that tree and climbing higher"

"'Cause I believe that old Norse saying: 'Uninvited guests bring misfortune'"

"You see, there's a young maiden in town and I'm wanting to wed her"

"So the thing I need the least right now is a disruption of my existence"

"I don't want you fellers to have to tell her of my demise in a letter"

"So I'm thanking you kindly, boys, for coming to my assistance"

She was a beautiful Norse blonde, come to be the new school marm

With that same funny way of talking using words with that Viking sound

At the wedding feast late that Summer, she mesmerized us all with her charm

And we finally learned that BEAR was his bedroll and SOD was stew cooked on the ground

© 2025 Brian McNeal

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THE COWBOY SONGWRITER

He's a cowboy musician

Then he's a cowboy spouse

Soon he's a cowboy father with a family addition

To some he was just a no-good louse

Time and cowboy maturity took care of that

Cowboy songwriting too, I suppose

Anonymous revelations were the caveat

And then there was cowboy music to compose

Behind prison walls he collaberated

Guarding men who'd made a mistake

Words to tell the tales awaited

A country song with a jailbreak

He had the lemons to make the lemonade

He knew the stories wouldn't tell themselves

He had the goose, just waiting for the golden egg

All he had to do was pull the words off the shelves

Tune up that old country guitar

Try it out first in the key of "B"

Modulate it up with a slide bar

Forget about what was learned in theory

Tell the whole saga in a three minute song

Struggle to find just the exact lure

Paint the picture so we can sing along

Like a fish we won't know we're hooked until we're secure

Now he's a songwritin' cowboy grandad

The wisdom of the years behind

Today, a freight car full of glad

Ahead, pure gold waiting to be mined

© 2025 Brian McNeal

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THINGS AIN'T WHAT THEY USED TO BE

No one could match him with wits or a rope

He could put a loop around humor at a lope

Millions loved to watch him or read his notes

He had a way with words that others loved to quote

With Cherokee blood from the territories

He was born in a world full of stories

Electric lights came the same year of his birth

Without him it would have been a much darker earth

With a keen perspective on the events of the day

With humor, rope tricks and horseplay

He lit up the world wth his insight and charm

Poking fun at things without causing any harm

His wanderlust came from reading Mark Twain

The seed was planted to lampoon the mundane

Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn set him on his track

There was nothing his humor could not attack

He said he never met a man he didn't like

But he never knew the leader of the Third Reich

He found some common ground in Mussolini's humor

But he knew he was looking at a cancerous tumor

Oklahoma claimed him but he was America's favorite son

The world loved him and lost him while he was having fun

His plane crashed on the same day that humor went numb

For nevermore would his perceptive wit overcome

What would he think of the way the country is today?

Could he get both parties together on the same page?

What would he think of priests who prey?

Would he still find some good in the good ol' U.S.A.?

"Things ain't what they used to be and never were"

Since he's been gone, no one's come along to concur

"A lot of politicians quote Lincoln but none ever act like him"

We need another Will Rogers to make the world less grim

© 2024 Brian McNeal

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ROAM vs. HOME

A workin' cowboy does the job because it needs done

A rodeo cowboy does it for prize money and fun

Ranch life has it challenges and a cowboy tries to win

Rodeo life has giant thrills and a lot of Motor Inns

On the ranch a cowboy has his family nigh

But a rodeo rider is always saying goodbye

When payday comes, if it comes at all

For either one, it's usually very small

On the road, the cowboy dreams of having his own homestead

Rockin' on the front porch, the rancher wonders what life he could've had instead

But it's the life that each has selected

And come what may, it's usually just what was expected

While some are born to wander and roam

Others do much better by staying at home

Nothing is ever what it seems, looking from the outside

Whatever life you have, make it one hell of a ride.

© 2024 Brian McNeal

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THERE AIN'T NO EXPERT COWBOYS

There are cowboys who are good at some things

And there are those who are good at blowin' rings

Now some, I know, can lasso any critter on earth

But can't keep a woman tied down for all they're worth

Some occupations have tools to measure 

And that's how they rank a man's treasure

A beginner, a journeyman or a bonafide master

Sometimes, slow as you go, but with others, go faster

But cowboy work is about way too much for just one man

No one person can excel at every task in a full lifespan

From bovine anatomy to the study of windmill metallurgy

When a cowboy thinks he's ready to retire, it's still a little early

He learned all about animal psychology and quicksand geophysics

He mastered stampede etiquette but never got barroom civics

For all he's learned in his life, some of it is useless and obsolete

He can't begin to keep pace with the world, technology has him beat

His math skills are down to a science, countin' cows and calfs

And subtracting the poundage lost from a year's bad grass

He's got a vision of the future where he has his own little spread

It comes from skills learned while reading the road ahead

He don't have a big college sheepskin hangin' on the wall

But he knows to get out his sheepskin chaps in the late fall

And he don't have special initials after his name on a business card

But he's figured out how to get done easy, what used to be hard

He knows a lot about a lot but he still don't know it all

No, he's not perfect, but he always has his eye on the ball

A little bit this and a little bit that and a whole lotta hat

Cowboys cover a wide range, ridin' range on a cow's habitat

That means, they gotta be doctors and proctors, curators and locators

They gotta account on the books, be a regulator and a calculator

Whatever it is that must be done, count on a cowboy to know how

But no, he's not an expert, just a guy who learned a lot from a cow

© 2025 Brian McNeal

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CACKLEBERRIES 'N HENFRUIT

Roundup breakfast, three AM, all the hands

Table set like a formal event, talk of daily plans

Every day, we start out from the main house

Every day, breakfast is cooked by the rancher's spouse

A special menu for each and every morning

On cackleberry day, it seemed extra hands came swarming

Too many to fit around the table, we had to eat in shifts

When she made cackleberries, she was giving us all gifts

Now, ol' Bill Stewart always called 'em Henfruit

But that didn't stop him from eatin' the whole loot

We had to make sure Bill always got served last

When it came to eatin' cackleberries, we were all out-classed. 

The problem was that eggs, for Bill, had the same effect as beans

We always had to send him off by himself because of the extra proteins

Barnyard odors are something every cowboy knows

But being downwind of Bill, you needed an extra hand to hold your nose

No good deed goes unpunished, or so they say

To eat that good breakfast meant all day we'd pay

It was the classic love/hate relationship 

We loved the breakfast but hated Bill's companionship

One year on the spring roundup, I believe,

The cook's helper took a last-minute leave

I volunteered to help out with kitchen chores

Looking for my chance to give ol' Bill what for

Instead of sunny-side-up like she normally did

I convinced her that scrambled would be better instead

Then we changed the arrangement from the dining room table 

To buffet style, sit-where-you-please, house, yard or stable

I was in charge of dishing out the eggs onto each plate

As they passed by, I gave each a pound of cackleberry freight

But for ol' Bill, I'd brought along a special treat

Soap shavings mixed into his helping real neat

Well, there was some grumblin' from the hands

Who weren't in on the gag and didn't like my plans

But those who were privy made sure the privy was unoccupied

So Bill had good opportunity to rest his backside

It didn't take long for those soap flakes to work through his gut

And ol' Bill's stomach was rumblin' like thunder in a quonset hut

He could barely trot his britches out to the outhouse in the nick of time

He was a man on a mission with a gastrointestinal mind

All was goin' well when it was time to load up and trailer out 

Expect Bill's horse was still tied to the stakeout

Someone went round to see what the matter was

Bill hollered from the outhouse to leave him be. He was on permanent pause

So, I took Bill's place on the roundup that day 

And ended up with double duty and double pay

Bill survived his ordeal and all our good-natured teasing, but ever since

All we had to do was mention henfruit and watch ol' Bill wince

© 2025 Brian McNeal

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 TWO-STEPPIN' COMES NATURALLY

Cowboys like to two-step, it's a cowboy thing

Band playin' on the stage, let the music ring

Fast or slow, don't matter no way, no how

A cowboy will two-step here and now

There's a rhythm to a two-step for a cowboy that comes naturally

Like the lope of a horse — a western rhapsody

Cowboys love to dance like a hypnotist loves a trance

Like a gambler loves a chance and peacocks love to prance  

Two-steppin with two at a time is multiplication, you bet

More shes than hes means you got to pay your debt

Ain't enough time in an evening to dance with every single girl

Doublin' up gives a cowboy a chance to give 'em all a twirl

Choreographed movement to a beat in a line

Ain't the kind of sashayin' for which a cowboy pines

Real estate hogs is what cowboys always say

Take up the whole floor and still want more, okay

Waltzs are a different kind of fantastic

And cowboys will do it if they're drastic

Three steps with two feet movin' in time

Wonderful to watch, like slapstick pantomime

A cowboy will two-step in three-quarter time.

He'll make it work, 'cause he's got a cowboy mind

He'll look good, doin' it on the floor

The ladies all come back askin' for more

A cowboy band can't go wrong 

If they play two-steps all night long

Fast or slow, a cowboy can give 'em a show

The bigger the dancefloor, the more do-si-do

© 2025 Brian McNeal

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