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Rebel Soul

Early in the morning
High a top a cool sierra mountain,
Song birds sing thier melodies
As a stream rushes by.
It's rainbo trout for breakfast,
Hot coffee and a cool sierra breeze.
It's these simple things
That makes this cowboy's life
As pleasant as his dreams.

But come next friday morning
He knows he'll have to go.
Back down into the valley for the weekend rodeo.
That's how he makes his living,
It's the life that he has chose
And the danger won't persuade him
To miss a single rodeo.

He loves those high sierra's,
Where life is sweet and slow.
But his rebel soul is driven
By his lust for the rodeo.
He'll spend his life in search of
The perfect bull to ride.
Then he'll climb down in the stock chute
And turn the rebel loose "Outside".

Between the high sierras
And his travels on the road.
His dreams become reality with each passing rodeo.
He's headed for the N.F.R.,
The worlds biggest show
He has earned an invitation to the final's rodeo
The best bulls in the world
Are standing in the pens
He'll have to trust his Rebel Soul
To have a chance to win.
As he climbs down into the stock chute,
All his dreams are there with him.
In eight seconds the world will know if he's a champion.

He loves those high sierra's,
Where life is sweet and slow,
But his rebel soul is driven
By his lust for the rodeo
He'll spend his life in search of
The perfect bull to ride,
Then he'll climb down in the stock chute
And turn the rebel loose "Outside."

Palmer's Poetry

Let'er Buck

Let'er buck, came the cowboy's call,
From the chute where he sat on a bull,
As they swung that gate at a blaze'n rate,
Stock and man blew 9 foot tall.
They spun to the left like a whirlwind,
But the cowboy's feet were hammered in.
He kicked loose twice and let spurs fly.
Rage grew in a young bulls eyes.

But this cowboy knows that an eight second ride,
Is what his life's about,
So with all his courage, strength and skill,
He struggles to work it out.
If his luck pulls through he believes it's true,
He could win the world someday.
But for now 6 seconds still remain
Before he'll earn his pay.

They spun back right, hard and tight,
But the rider tracked him well.
This cowboy knew without a doubt,
He had a nightmare by the tail.
Time stood still as these two hearts fought
Each determined to win.
With twist and jumps and the fury of a storm
The bull went left again

But this cowboy knows, that an eight second ride,
Is what his life's about,
So with all his courage, strength and skill,
He struggles to work it out.
If his luck pulls through, he believes it's true,
He could win the world someday.
But for now 2 seconds still remain
Before he'll earn his pay.

All alone in the middle of a crowd,
The cowboy here's a bell.
As he pulls his hand
He steps aside of a job he has done so well
When the clown steps in, he's safe again.
As he proudly walks away,
He tips his hat as he waves to the crowd.
He's won this show today.

But this cowboy knows, that an eight second ride,
Is what his life's about,
So with all his courage, strength and skill,
He struggles to work it out.
If his luck pulls through, he believes it's true,
He could win the world someday.
But for now 8 seconds still remain,
He lives to ride another day.
It's the cowboy's life, it's the cowboy's way,

Palmer's Poetry

The Weather

I woke-up this morning under my warm bedroll,
Staring up at a star filled sky.
Knowing fully well that I'd have to crawl out
And prepare for a full days ride.
So reluctantly I kicked off my blanket
To get a good feel of a cool brisk morn.
I didn't waist hardly any time at all
Getting my shirt, my jacket and boots on.
Then with a few sticks and some brush
I rekindled the embers of last night's fire.
If I had said I wasn't pleased by the new dancing flames,
I would have been a liar.

As the coffee began to boil
While I crouched by the fire pit,
My mouth began to water as I pondered
Over the warm taste of it.
So I wiped out a cup and filled it up,
Wrapping my hands around it's warm touch.
Then I sipped just enough to savor the flavor,
Being careful not to sip to much.
A few corn dodgers and dried beef was my breakfast,
I was eager to start my day.
With my horse under saddle and my reins in hand,
I swung into the seat to get under way.

I headed east into the sunrise,
Pulled my brim down to block the sun's glare.
The warmth of the sun was inviting,
It broke the chill of the cool mountain air.
But soon a west wind blew some clouds in
That blocked the sun's warming rays.
The clouds looked dark and stormy and
Sure enough, soon it started raining.
So I adorned my slicker over my coat,
In an effort to try and stay dry.
With the water running off the brim of my hat,
My slicker turned the moisture away.

Then the west wind blew colder,
Turning the rain into slivers of ice.
As the hail fell faster and harder,
It stung my hands like sharp little knives.
My leather gloves ended this torment,
My hands no longer felt the icy cold bite.
Before long the ice turned to snow and
That west wind blew colder than cold.

But then came a big twister, that sucked up the wind,
The clouds and all the bad weather.
Leaving only the sun high in the sky,
Shinning hotter and brighter than ever.
The day turned out incredibly warm,
How would you describe this endeavor?
It was cool, warm, wet, cold and then better,
Somewhat bright, overcast, windy and wetter.
Given some thought, one could say God's been busy,
It was quite a full day of weather!


I'm standing here ready to go,
For when the cowboy says "Outside ",
They'll kick the latch and pull the gate
To start the next bull ride.
As the gate swings open into my arena,
'Cause I'm the only one there.
A ton of muscle with a bad attitude
Starts kick'n and a bust'n air.

I'm a rodeo clown so they say
And there ain't noth'n funny right now,
But as long as nothing goes wrong
We'll all get through it somehow.
There's a cowboy tied to the middle of a bull
Trying to do his best.
He just dosen't know which way to go,
The bull's a give'n this test.
So for now I'm left with noth'n to do
And I hope that it stays that way.
'Cause if the rider comes down and the bull turns around
I'm expected to earn my pay.
As a rodeo clown, when things get ugly,
It's time for me to run in,
When a ton of beef goes to hunting<>I'm there offer my skin.

I'm dressed like a flag,a shinney eye sore
To make sure that he can see.
Besides all the colors, I'm jumping around
I want him to come after me.
If I had any sense I'd head for the fence,
Like the rodeo staff has done
Just not before I've settled the score
I need to feel like I've won
Won What! you say?
Well he was look'n to hook me and
I was able to lead him astray.
So I haven't won much at least noth'n to show,
I just made him see it " My Way ".

Palmer's Poetry

A Youngman

A youngman lays in his bed at night
Dream'n of his strong hand wrapped up tight,
As he sits in the chute on the back of a bull.
As the gateman steps up into place,
The cowboy slides up and nods his face
And they open the gate
And turn him loose to ride.

But in his dreams he can't feel the rush
Or hear the roar of the crowd.
He needs to feel the mighty beast
Twist beneath him as he rides proud,
Twist beneath him as he rides proud.

As a youngman stands tall behind the chutes
He thinks of what he must do.
Beside him stands the mighty beast
Proud, majestic and true.
Soon the gateman will come and take his place
And this cowboy will slide up and nod his face
And they'll open the gate
And turn him loose to ride

But this is not a dream he'll feel the rush,
And he'll hear the roar of the crowd
He'll feel the strength of the mighty beast
Twist beneath him as he rides proud

As a youngman climbs down in the chute
He knows what he must do
Beneath him stands the mighty beast,
proud majestic and true.
Soon the gate man will come and take his place,
And this cowboy will slide up and nod his face,
And they'll open the gate
And turn him loose to ride.

As he lives his dream he feels the rush
He hears the roar of the crowd
He feels the strength of the mighty beast
Twist beneath him as he rides proud,.
Twist beneath him as he rides proud.

As the young man stands tall all alone
He knows well what he can do

Palmer's Poetry

Early Morning Cowboy "WARNING"

Each morning when I wake up
To start a brand new day.
I can compare unknown events
To a bull ride in someways.
So as long as I prepare well before I set my rope.
When I call for them to pull the gate
I've got confidence and hope.

As the day starts out I'll post up,
I'll be spur'n with my feet.
If I charge up and ride the front,
They won't catch me on my seat.
If this day should go to spin'n left
Or maybe too the right.
Makes no difference to me,
As long as my ropes pulled tight.

There's no bull that I can't ride,
It may take a better day.
There's no job that I can't do,
As long as they match my pay.
I'm not here for doing favors
Or trying to be number one
But you can rest assured that all my chores
Are done

I may not be the best you've seen
Or the best you ever will
But I'll do 'til better gets here
Then I'll pass'em in the hills.
If you think you're gonna push me
To see how far I'll go.
just be careful where your push'n,
'Cause this cowboy might explode.

Palmer's Poetry

" Country Western Princess "

He walked into the Rock house,
On a warm sunny weekend afternoon.
He was look'n for a cold drink
A friendly smile and a country western tune.
When a lady seated at the bar,
Sat back to see who'd came to this saloon ?
He could see her emerald eyes of green,
As she glanced at him acrossed an open room.
And the cowboy chanced to wonder,
Could she be the last girl he'd take home.

She was a country western princess,
with a longing in her eyes he recognized.
She needs someone hold her
She needs someone to make her dreams come true.
And the cowboy chanced to wonder
What can I do to help her dreams come true?

He ordered up a cold drink,
Then he stepped accrossed to set where he might see
And he hoped that she might glance again
As he hoped that his thoughts were clear to read.
And the cowboy's hope's ran straight and true,
As her emerald eyes met his eyes of blue.
And the cowboy chanced to wonder what can I do,
To make this dream come true?

Now she's his country western princess,
And the longing in her eye's is satisfied
She's found some one to hold her,
She's found the one who
Wants to make her dreams come true.
From now on through eternity
They'll both be sharing this country point of view.
It's still possible, to find a love that's true.

She's his country western princess.

Palmer's Poetry

I Saw an Angel !

For once in my life I saw an angel.
As she passed in the night
I saw a gleam in her eyes.
I asked her to dance just so I might hold her,
But when her hand touched mine
Our hearts grew much bolder.

And a vision of love was stirred in my mind,
As the warmth of her touch grew stronger with time.
Until the fire inside me burns out of control,
As my heart is inflamed by a love I can't know!

For she can't be mine because life has out done me.
There's a ring on her hand that I didn't buy.
And her husband I know must cherish and love her,
So this love can't be known, at least not at this time

But this vision of love is still in my mind,
As I long for her touch that I can not find.
As the fire inside me burns out of control
And my heart is consumed by a love I can't know!
But still once in my life I held an angel.
As we danced through the night
We shared a dream with our eyes
But this love can't be known, at least not at this time.
But this vision of love is still in my mind,
as I long for her touch I cannot find.

The fire in me burns out of control,
As my heart is consumed by the love I cannot know.

I've got to let go !!!

Palmer's Poetry

Cowboy's Memory

Well, I started to write a poem today,
But I can't remember what I wanted to say.
I've got too much on my mind.
It's got something to do with my memories,
But when I started to write they all escaped me.
There's just too much on my mind.

Was it, let'er buck and I hope he don't fall?
Or am I just wait'n on a telephone call?
Is there a rodeo on? Am I dressed in red?
I think there's one to many poems in my head.
If I'm stand'n here in somebody's way?
Sure wish I'd remember what I wanted to say?

If I'm standing here ready to go,
Is someone supposed to start this show?
Is it a cowboy or am I just clown'n around?
If he's on a bull, I hope he ain't throw'd down.
I'd better get it figured out,
Or they'll say I'm crazy, without a doubt!

Could it be that I'm fret'n over noth'n at all?
Maybe I'm just waiting for my princess to call?
If I'm get'n excited and there's no body push'n?
I hope the cell they put me in's
Got plenty of cushion.
I heard somewhere, sometimes cowboy's explode!
How can you tell if you're in the explosive mode?

Are my hands both free, or is one wrapped tight?
Am I sit'n on a bull,
Is this the middle of the night?
There's no sense in get'n rattled,
I've done it all before.
If I'm sit'n in a chute,
Pull the gate, give me a score.
Seems I just got excited
About some things in my past.
That's the beauty of a memory,
The thrills just last and last!
The best rides never end

Palmer's Poetry

Pure Bull-sence.

Drop your rigín bag and hang
A braided rope on the fence.
With a brush you can begin
To knock old rosin loose.
As you build a new grip
Start to think but donít be tence.
Then re-rosin everything for your next trip.

As you Get your head straight,
Donít ride him in your mind.
That just leads to a trap,
Thatíll catch a cowboy every time.
You must be ready to rock,
As the bullís main spring unwinds.
But if he beats you out that gate,
Thereís no pay check, just chimes.

Thereís no buzzer heard out loud,
If a bull just rang your bell.
You must stay in the middle of him,
Hang onto your bull rope's tail.
If you can keep your spurs in him
And hold tight to that rope.
Your not guaranteed a win
Just pure rodeo dope, rodeo dope.

Itís just a rush,
Like most will never know.
While your on a bull the adrenaline freely flows.
As your heart rate races 90
While he jumps to and fro
The quickest way there,
Is to drop in that chute and go.
When you set yourself against a ton of irate beef
Bare down, post up, lift and.
Then grit your teeth.

Thereís no bull that canít be rode,
Or cowboy who ain't been thrown.
That trap is always there,
So all bull jockeys best beware.
Some say, I can rideíem
If God's covered him with hair.
Give that cowboy his spurs and bulls beware.

You must be ready to rock,
As the bullís main spring unwinds.
But if he beats you out that gate,
Thereís no paycheck just chimes.
Thereís no buzzer heard out loud,
If a bull just rang your bell.
Stay in the middle of him and
Hang onto your bull rope's tail!


Palmer's Poetry

Rodeo's Cowboy

The rodeo cowboy is known to get it done.
Heíll ride a kickín twister or rope one on the run.
Slide down and bull dog him or swing off and tie it tight.
What ever he's doing, he'll try and do it right.

If he's head'n or a heal'n, the task is all to clear.
Push your ride after him, throw a rope on that steer.
You can either catch him, then turn him around,
Or catch two and dally, then between you take him down.

He may be working with a hazer, no rope in his hands
That means that the end is between stock and man.
His horse will get him there, but when he comes down
It's just him and a steer, bull-doggers don't get clowns.

If he backs into a ropeín box or climbs into a chute,
His spurs are straped and ready on the heels of his boots.
When he nods for his stock or calls for that gate,
He'll spur his horse to go
or heíll be hangín on for eight.
Heíll spur his horse to go
or he'll be hang'n on for eight.

Palmer's Poetry

Progress's Loss
Author unknown

We called 'em by a host of names,
Each name would memory lend.
Though each had his different traits,
Each was a cherished friend.
Some smart and loyal unafraid,
Some brave sure footed too
And in the breed one sure could see
A spirit strong and true.

For centuries on thier saddled backs
We rode with pride and grace,
Until someone in the human race
Thought they could be replaced.
With faster horses made of steel
Which run on liquid fuel.
As I wonder about the change,
I think we're more the fools.

With want for water, grain and hay,
We cared for horses with ease
And through their lives, their one desire,
Was cowboy's wants to please.
While traveling over a mountain pass
Or a meadow blooming new,
We didn't have to watch the road
We'd just enjoy the view.

But now we travel nerves on edge
And most our way inspect,
We concentrate intensely now
Lifes views recieve neglect.
We feed our new rides gas and oil,
Green water, air and rubber
And as we sit on soft plush seats
Our middles turn to blubber.

Then when they decide to stop and stay
Or cough and give a fuss,
To put them back in working order
Can make a cowboy cuss.
The men who build them in detriot,
It's rumered sit and plan,
Just how next year to make them worse,
To frustrate any man.

As I look back to days gone by
And see where we have come,
I think that progress dims our souls
And makes our senses numb.
I long to perch atop a friend
With leathered riegns in hand.
So he can guide me on the trail
While I enjoy the land.

The Rodeo Cowboy's Hat

Does the cowboy's hat stop all conscious thought?
Can it block his fears and hold
all the courage that he's got.
At rodeos they'll pull them down tight
Just before they proceed.
If the cowboy's hat falls off,
It's the first thing they retrieve!

Do hats provide balance to those
Who ride rough stock events?
Or will it help those young bull riders
Run to and climb the fence?
Can a team roper's hat help guide
The loops they build and throw?
Maybe it reminds calf ropers where
The piggin string goes.

I'm not sure what role the hat plays,
Or if it helps rodeo cowboys at all?
But there's got to be a reason why
They wear them so proud and tall!
In the begining the cowboy's hat protected
Him from the sun and rain.
It helped to keep him dry or blocked the
Hot sun's burning rays.

It started as equipment used,
Providing cover on the open range.
But lately is it a fashion statement,
Or a salute to the early days?
One thing's for sure about the western life
That all cowboys proclaim.
We have a strong sense of pride for work and
For the rodeo's fame.

Back when the west began,
The cowboy's work became his life.
Over time they found ways
To help ease their daily strife.
With pride they'd show the skill they used
To do their daily chores.
It was important to be the very best
That's how the rodeo was born.

An American competition where cowboys
Can show their pride.
You can call it cowboy games,
But to the best it's a way of life.
I think the hat's became a crown
And a salute to how the west began.
It's sound advice not to disrespect
The hats worn by the western man.

Does the cowboy's hat stop all conscious thought?
Show it disrespect and you'll see
What he's thinking.

I think maybe you'd better not!

Palmer's Poetry

Spring Roundup

The stock trailer's loaded with horses and tack.
It's hooked to a pickup with two cow dogs in back.
We'll be taking a drive, soon as the cowboys show.
Winter has passed, it's time for round-up you know.
We're headed to the hills where the herds been stay'n.
There's 2000 acres, where they spent the winter graze'n.
Now the time has come to bring them all in again.
1200 cows and hopefully, spring calves to bring in.
It's valleys and hills covered with grass and brush,
The day will be spent finding calves and cows in a rush.
They'll be spread all over the land, hiding in odd places.
If you did this before, expect new moms with mean faces.
When we bring them together, they'll begin to calm down.
As the herd grows in number, cowboys push them around.
Once we've looked in each corner and behind every tree.
Time to start count'n and see, just how close to finished are we?
There will be some lost to weather and that preditors claimed.
But when we've found all the survivers, the herd's bigger again.
For decades this process has been done by cowboys yearly.
As harsh as it sounds, it's a life we cling to so dearly.
Now comes the sort'n and split'n of pairs,
It's time to get ready for when trucks show up here.
The calves can't be hauled alongside mom,
If they ain't weind yet, they'll be rejoined once we're home.
That's Spring Roundup!

Palmer's Poetry

Prime Beef

This years calf crop has become accustomed to pens,.
Just since the spring round-up, when we hauled them all in..
They've been fed daily with feed mixed to their liking..
It's poured into a troff that's close, not to much hiking..
Brought down from the hills where the water was rainfall..
That's been replaced by a tub that stays constantly full..
From a place where they grazed for miles to find feed..
To a pen where they're given initial wants and needs..
But then comes the day they're pushed up an alley..
It's time to try and assure they stay strong and healthy..
Pushed into this alley, they come down single file..
Where they find a squeeze chute to stand in for awhile..
We cut horns off, inject meds and turn bull calves to steers..
On the left we brand hides and punch tags in right ears..
They bawl, squirm and kick a lot, holes in ears and hips red hot..
From hill's to a pen where things got easy, into one heck of a spot..
Heifers sore on the ears and hips, but steers had a regrettable trip..
They're put back in their pens and watched close for .
After they heal for awhile, it becomes easy to forget..
They don't have a clue that when they grow and gain weight,.
They'll be sold on a market, maybe as prime grade meat.

Palmer's Poetry


With over forty tons of steel and living cattle flesh,
We're roll'n down the road at 80 miles per hour, more or less.
Depending on the weather and the shape of the roads we're on.
Not to mention we'll be watch'n for, John-law to make a fuss,
He's out there look'n for outlaws just like us.

Now we're not stone cold criminals, look'n to steel or rob from anyone,
We're just trying to make a dollar after taxes, cost and a little fun.
There's people who believe that we're out here get'n rich.
According to my addition, it pays just enough to live
If I can keep it move'n and stay out of the ditch.

There's cattlemen sell'n steers, that resemble the walking dead
And buyers that'll overlook'em, as they count the fatter head.
Just until you start unload'n, then they'll notice'em and claim
That walking corpes ain't one I bought,
Want'n the driver to account for him.
But if the driver's powder's dry, he'll have had it noted and defined,
That zombie bovine was in the herd when the you signed the dotted line.

Then it's off to another pen, full of fat cows and a crow or two,
Where once again it's up to the driver, to do the best that he can do.
Once he's loaded, it's back out on the road,
To wherever this loads headed, he agreed to pull.
Don't all this sound just like a bunch of bull?

Palmer's Poetry

Palmer's Poetry


He may value the friendship he has with a few men he can count on both hands,
A roof over his head on the ranch, after chasing cattle all over the land.,
I'm sure he appreciates a hot meal, in the morning and each night after work,,
But I doubt he adds any of these things, when he start's count'n his worth.,

He depends on his horse, a good saddle and probably a rope or two,,
A good pair of chaps and a couple of hats, depending on what he plans to do.,
Every cowboy I've known has a pair of work boots and a good pair for dress.,
Same with his spurs, a pair for working cattle and a pair that looks their best.,

On the range he may pack a pistol or a good western rifle of choice,
And if there comes a time for talk'n, you'll hear the confidence in his voice.,
Any thing he says, you'll know he means it, unless it comes as a question.,
He won't claim to know everything, only a fool makes that addmition.,

It's times when he's under a star filled sky, or can hear a river close by,,
Maybe he's look'n across a sea of grass, with a stand of trees close behind.,
Sit'n on his horse in a well shaped seat, with swells to lock down his knees,,
Times like these he counts his wealth, this life to him is quite pleasing.,

It may sound kind of simple to most, just a mere shot at exsistance,,
But if he prays and thanks God for the beauty, that he can see at a glance.,
Then when he's done riding herd and completes his last day,,
Jesus will reach down His hand and gather in one of His strays!,

Palmer's Poetry


He may saddle soap the skirting's, stirrup straps and fenders,
Rawhide wrap a saddle horn to secure his rope next time he dallies.
Rosin his seat and chaps to help hold him tight if a ride gets scary.
He'll be ready for what comes up, should tomorrow's work get hairy.

Chasing strays he could find one that really likes it's hiding spot.
It might take a loop and a tug to convince a stray that it's been caught.
He could come across a cow trying to protect a new born calf.
He'll be ready for most anything, chances are he'll get no help.

He could be day dream'n about a dance, scheduled in a week or two,
Think'n about clean'n up dress boots, a new layer of polish might do.
Might need to clean and press a shirt, or his best pair of pants.
He'll want to look his very best, even at an old barn dance.

He could need to clean a gun, to be sure it'll fire if he needs it.
A coyote, wolf or wild cat, might need kill'n just a tad-bit.
These predators can take down calves, or cattle out on their own.
It's up to each cowboy to give, the herd a good safe home.

So most of his spare time's spent in preparation for the next day.
Kind of sounds like he's always work'n,
But then that's the cowboy's way.

Palmer's Poetry

Palmer's Poetry


The Devil went up to Idaho, look'n for a cowboy to roust.
Sure enough on a bright sunny morning,
He finds one coming out of his house.
Satan extended his foot causing him to trip,
After falling on his face and splitting his lip.
He gets up and says, thank you Lord,
That fall just smarted a tad-bit.
Old Satan's grin leaves his face, he bellows what the heck.
I trip this dude, he hits the deck
And thanks the Lord 'cause it's no big wreck.

Satan says, o.k. tough guy, I'll play your game.
I'm gonna mess with you until you curse God's name.
I'm gonna pick at and pester you until you're ashamed,
When you yourself finally cuss and give God the blame.
So the cowboy heads out to the barn,
With old Lucifer right close behind.
Unknown to the cowboy that Satan's right there,
Just for the sole purpose of messing with him.
He brings out his pony and begins to prepare
For a long typical day in the saddle again.

With the saddle cinched tight and the bridal in place,
The cowboy starts off with a smile on his face.
Not knowing that Lucifer's tagging along,
Just waiting to see how big of a pest he can be?
This ranch-hands supposed to be rounding up strays.
That's what he had planned on doing today.
Sitting there on his sure footed steed,
The cowboy's looking for cows as he rides through the trees.
He starts hunting for places where strays could be.
When Satan spots his first mischievous chance,
There's a low hanging branch that this cowboy can't see.

Needless to say that limb catches him,
With a solid thud just above his hat brim.
Causing this rider to loose his seat
And without any chance that he might land on his feet.
As he gets up off the ground a rubbing his crown,
He cast a glance towards the Heavens to proclaim.
Thank you Lord for letting me find a small limb,
A bigger branch could have damaged my brain.

Old Lucifer spins around and swears just a-bit,
Says now I split his lip and knocked him out of his saddle,
Hope this cowboy don't think that I'll lose this battle.
With the snap of his fingers and the whip of his tail,
He drops a big rattler right there on the trail.
All coiled and ready to strike as Satan grins with shear delight.
When a crack from a Navy Colt 45, interrupts the snakes last bite,
Lying there headless the poor rattler dies.
From the Heavens a voice says, I think that's enough,
You've tried my cowboy, now quit before I take it up.

With out any quarrel the Devil makes tracks,
He knows the voice, he don't even look back.
As he leaves the Heavenly voice says to him,
Be sure not to pick on a good Christian,
If you ever go roust'n Idaho cowboys again.

Palmer's Poetry

Wild Times

If it involves a rope, a bull and someone giving the rope a pull?
Maybe it's a rig'n handle and a horse, a-bit on the wild side of course.

Now the rope's been pulled tight and someone opened the gate,
Will you just sit there hang'n on, or will you spur this bull for eight?
Was the bareback handle tight, Did the horse jump with all it's might?
Or did you just lay back and rake it, spurs flying high and wide?

Maybe it's just a young calf standing in a roping chute.
You say to turn it loose, then spur your horse and throw a loop.
If your rope catches him, swing off fast, throw it to the ground,
Tie three legs, re-mount, slack'n the rope and hope it stays down.

It could possibly be a steer and a hazer waiting over there,
For you to nod your head and set this next event in gear.
When you do, he keeps him straight while you have to wait
For the barrier to clear, now catch, grab and throw that steer.

And then you woke up, what a bubble you just popped.
You were the best at each event in this rodeo dream.
So just roll up on your side and go back to sleep.
Who knows, maybe you might still win everything?

Palmer's Poetry

Headed West

Go west young man, were the words my Great Grandfather heard,
So He loaded His wagon and found a trail that headed westward.
These words must have been told too the whole east coast,
He saw wagons with supplies and house wares, things needed the most.

They were all in a row, must have looked like a train, so He fell in behind.
There was this wagon master, he was in charge and the first one in line.
He was gonna show them the way, they thought he was supposed to know.
Set'n there in a real nice straight line, they were all ready to go.

Head'em out, came a commanding call, gotta make California by fall.
Near 3 thousand miles between here and there, no hill for a climber at all.
Until they came to the Rockies, from the plains they looked like a wall.
Dropped there in the middle of nowhere, must have looked 3 miles tall.

Up, up and up, they began to climb, one rotation of the wheel at a time.
Up into the clouds and above they went, three levels above the sky line.
Just to find that by reaching the top, it's as steep going down the up side.
Had to figure how to keep a wagon, behind the horses on the down hill ride.

They stuck logs under each wagon, stick'n out past the back wheel spokes.
Then asked their teams of horses to drag their feet, of course that's a joke.
They slid down hill for miles, 'til finding the bottom of the western slopes.
Back on flat ground their spirits up, the wagon train had renewed hopes.

The wagon master had hired a hunter, to keep the train supplied with meat.
He'd pack in deer, buffalo, mountain goat and elk, they'd cook it up and eat.
It took longer to get this far, because of the trouble the mountains brewed.
Rockies behind, their faith in bloom, axles greased and horses shod.

With smiles they traveled for miles, until a new wall they managed to find.
It was the grand Sierras, it seemed not as high as the mountains behind.
But fall was upon them and winter called, to say that it just might get cold.
Sure enough, while in the sierras, old man winter brought down the snow.

The hunter had trouble finding game, so they had to eat a horse or two.
But they always had hot tea or coffee, melted snow made it easy to brew.
They lost a few women, children and occasionaly good men to the cold.
This trip started for a better life in the west, had certainly taken it's toll.

Progress slowed to a crawl, slick mountains to climb then slide down.
It was quite a relief beneath the snow line, easier traveling was found.
Then down through the hills much to their delight, a great valley was seen.
All of the hardships and troubles, had lead them to the great San Jouquin.

It was waiting there free for the taking, just stake a claim and register it.
With ground's so fertile, you sprinkled seeds and crops grew up in a bit.
This valley was the land of milk and honey, or so at least it had seemed.
In much less than two hundred years, progress has destroyed this dream.

The continents richest soil, is covered with housing, cement and asphalt.
It's ability to grow things seems true, construction continues without a halt.
They have piped the vallie's water to the states desert deep in the south.
What they added to the sand for crops, is going in peoples mouths?

From the land of milk and honey, to a resort for people with money.
It seems that they've covered rich soil with an arrogance that isn't funny.
So I packed up my things and moved once again, going north to Idaho.
Where the weather's nice and I can't figure out, why'd I wait so long to go?

Go north not west, I assure you, arrogance is much colder than snow.
With a lack of snoots and snobs, there's a whole lot less noses to poke.
This poem started sounding like history, then shaped up like a fairy tale.
But if you've seen California lately, you'd know this story's for real!

Go west young man, what a joke.

Palmer's Poetry

Cattle Drive

He'll slip out of his bed roll, pull on a shirt and boots to go.
Roll up his gear, saddle his horse and hang a bridal on it's nose.
Then he'll stroll by the cooks wagon, grab some bacon on a biscuit
And a quick cup of this mornings, fresh hot country jo.

Can't linger long, suns rising fast, burning daylight is undesired.
He might kick dirt into last nights embers of a dieing camp fire,
Then swing into the saddle to get a herd move'n, got to cover 12 miles.
Any more would burn stored fat and cause the boss to loose his smile.

They gotta move'em 1200 miles, from Texas to the Kansa rail head,
To load them into cars and ship them east to a buyers market instead
Of head'n west to peddle them where the newest progress has began.
Head'n herds west came later, these herds covered much more land,

When herds headed west, they traveled hostile Indian home grounds.
Wasn't any cowards mounted when the drive started out west bound.
In fact, extra ammo and rifles were packed and expected to be used,
Fighting to keep the cattle, it become expected there'd be bad news.

The ram rods quickly learned which cowboys could be trusted
To stand and fight when things turned bad, their guns were never rusted.
The cow hand learned to keep one eye on the herd, other on the skyline.
He'd keep one eye look'n ahead and yet another watched his behind.

He started out chasing cows for a wage, but evolved into settling rages.
Becoming a breed known to handle trouble by force in all kinds of stages.
He'd out fight any soldier or throw hands to make his point clear.
Out in wide open spaces, some cowboys would tangle with grizzly bears.

Men like these built this country, not the thinkers or inventers out there.
With out the men who would conquer the challenge,
America wouldn't have gone anywhere.
So was it the cattle or the drive?

Palmer's Poetry

Competive Chances

He may saddle soap the skirting's, stirrup straps and fenders,
Rawhide wrap a saddle horn to secure a rope next time he dallies.
Rosin his seat and chaps to help hold him tight if his draw gets scary.
He'll be ready for what comes up, should tomorrow's bronk ride get hairy.
Riding horse's he could find one that really likes to kick alot.
Taking the perfect measure and flying spurs to hold that seat he's got.
He could come across a bareback trying to throw his rider away.
He'll be ready for most anything, at least that's what he is praying.

At each rodeo he'll take bigger risk and hope things turn out O.K.
If luck rides on his shoulder, he gets a check and thanks God for the day,

He may day dream about the rankest bull and a bell before he hits dirt,
If he thinks to long, he'll hit the ground and hope he don't get hurt.
He'll wish he was elsewhere, if the clown ain't there if he needs one.
He could get kicked, stomped, gord or worse with each bull that he gets on.
If he bulldogs he could take a dive that might score him a perfect zero,
Or grab horns and twist, giving him the new arena record you know.
There are all the same chances everytime he pays an entry fee,
Every rodeo it's each cowboy's job to be the very best you see.

At each rodeo he'll take bigger risk and hope things turn out O.K.
If luck rides on his shoulder, he gets a check and thanks God for the day,
A check and thanks, for his better days!

Palmer's Poetry

The Cowboy's Prayer

I was ...... born and raised to be half-crazed,
To live my life as a cowboy, just ride'n trailways.
Now there ain't noth'n known that can tie me down,
Not the touch of a woman or the compfort of town.
Gold couldn't hold me and luck wouldn't stay,
I'm on a trail that seems to go just one way.

There ain't no detours, there's no turning back.
There's just one destination and Heaven's where that's at?
Some tried to warn me when it all first began,
I saddled up, measured my stirrups and took the reins in my hands.
It's been my destiny since day number one,
To spend the rest of my life on just another cattle run.

But I was born to it and raised to do it,
I'll keep hang'n in there, I'm work'n my way through it.
There's no job too big or a hill too tall,
I take pride in my work and I'm always on call.
I can work all day and ride all night,
Burning the midnight oil until the predawn light.
Some say I'm crazy, others have no doubt.
But I'm just a cowhand, day in and day out.

So when I make my last drive and collect that final pay
And join the other wranglers, that ride your golden trailways.
I ask but one thing and I know I ask in vain.
But Lord I hope the herds up there don't stampeed or stray!
Give'em knee high grass to graze in and cool ponds to drink.
Tame those honery bulls and don't let their tails stink.
Let us cowboy's ride the range in your golden skies.
Give us all good mounts beneath us as eternity passes by.

Because we're born and raised to ride Heavenly trails on high!

Free Spirited

Except for cows and fences, his mind is at ease,
Most of his time is spent just gazing at the mountains and trees.,
Riding herd he'll watch for strays or steers sneaking out,,
He knows his job and does it well with out a doubt.

He'll set on a horse that's aware of what they are doing,,
Between the two of them, the horse does most of the working.,
The horse is cattle wise and knows the cows belong together,,
They pack the cowboy around through all types of weather.

But the horse is worthless with out a rider on his back,,
They'd rather graze and not worry if the herd stays in tact.,
The cowboy's in charge of his horse and makes it pay attention,,
He gets credit for the horse performing, lost cow prevention.

With a well trained horse beneath him,,
He'll see the land and nature around them.,
This is the life he loves, for his character it's well fitted,,
Every cowboy I've known, loves living free spirited.

To say that he has no responsibility at all,,
Isn't true, he has to see that his horse stays on the ball.,
If a stray breaks out, he'll go along to see that it comes back,,
Then he'll rep remand the horse for nearly loosing track.

Palmer's Poetry

Palmer's Poetry

Christian Poetry
Redneck Poetry