Cowboy Poetry


"Romantic Repercussions"


It nears the time of seasoned rhymes:

that day we designate Valentine’s.

Rapt roses grow into money trees

and grown men grin on bended knees.


Although I’d rather spend my day

in stores of fancy lingerie,

I find my fingers clenched instead

on pitchfork, tossing Dobbin’s bed.


     “A rose by any name smells as sweet.”

     Could Shakespeare accomplish words so fleet,

     while standing downwind of soiled peat

     or with manure massed beneath his feet?


I contemplate a gift of candy.

Oh my, a sweet tooth becomes handy!

Chocolates and hearts of cinnamon

pounce upon tongue with savor uncommon.


What flavors now grace these lips of Winter?

Bermuda twigs and Chap-Stick’s linger.

I tend to taste a bit of grain

just to prevent mildew’s pain.


I wonder, How can Cupid’s arrow

take away this old wheel-barrel?

As fingers freeze on frosty morn,

young Dobbin paws his pail of corn.


While pondering why “Dob” prefers dirt

to pan I cleaned  through sleeting spurt,

I recalled 14th ’s of February past

and shoulders shivered, remembering last.


     Miracle of heaven proofed on earth:

     my spouse remains with goof of hers.

     Past years thrice, emergencies

     kept romance bayed through urgencies.


     To make amends with prominence,

     I promised ‘V-Day’ with my princess.

     Just as postman prides his job,

     no prologue would pre-empt or rob.


     Now, my gal knows that duties call.

     She’s quite reasonable, after all.

     But, waiting dressed for longed occasion

     transfers desire into angered frustration…


The water trough is iced three inches

and frozen hose caused hole at pinches.

When thawed by sun at noon minus one,

the leak prevailed over loved-one.


I meant to spend this ‘Trend of Mends’

on lunch with spouse that lavishly lends

more finance toward a barn and field,

than common stock and bonds with yield.


Then came another important matter.

A ‘horsey’ friend began to chatter.

The nag had torn a blanket on snags.

Could I repair that pile of rags?


I could have bought a new turn-out.

But, seems we spent our pay on route

of dually truck and trail-ride trailer.

Now, I laid stitch for checkbook’s failure.


Oh my, the time is passing faster

I still must turn the mares to pasture.

I only need an hour to prep

For “Dear”, I promised ‘Date of Depth’. 


The cell phone rings. I know who’s calling,

just to remind me of my dawdling.

And as I answer sweet and true,

there’s hay to pitch and foals to view.


While reserve awaits at “Rosignerl”,

the favored restaurant of my girl,

I ask my son to contemplate

the pressure of his Daddy’s fate.


Could he help stretch a piece of wire

that somehow dropped from post to mire?

“No, Dad. Don’t you know I can’t come,

I made some plans with my someone.”


If only Valentine’s celebration

came after thaw, in Spring’ s jubilation,

then I could find a small bouquet

along the fence to last gateway.


Alas, I enter at dark past thirty.

with cowboy hat in hand, and dirty.

Waiting alone on stool, sight alluring,

is “Angel” with a glass she’s swirling.


The wine she bought for us to share

had dwindled in sips of mental repair.

She tried to think of reasons why

her life revolved around horseflies.


And as she lifts her smiling face,

and her eyes face hubby of disgrace,

there comes a glow, even I unexpected.

Steven King’s nightmare resurrected!


Among the flailing arms and glass,

Came words t’would torment sailor’s past.

Not cussing, as I so deserved,

but cutting speech, to pulsing nerve.


I knew to shower, dry and dress

while ‘Sweet Thing’ got it off her chest.

As shirt tail tucked and boots pulled on,

I heard her crying on the phone.


Not “Rosignerl” to confirm reservation,

but calling Mother, affirming aversion.

Already hung in shame this day,

this head dreads wrath of my Mom’s way.


I must suppose we find some good.

In every challenge, a lesson’s construed.

Though I must suffer awful fate,

Be sure you’re timely for your date.



C Taylor, Jr.




(Copyright applied for as part of a collection, hopefully coming soon to your bookstore!)

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