Whoknows-Musiq Soulchild, WhoknowsMP3下载,歌词下载 - 虾米音乐
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whoknows - musiq
now what we came here to do
it means more to me than just a night
that we'll share so make sure that you're prepared baby
and know that love is not just something to do
it's the moment that transcends our physical
into a more spiritual level of understanding
and who knows somehow,
this night just might lead us into a place
where our emotions can grow if we let them go
who knows what may happen
if we act more on our attractions
and lose ourselves inside a world
made for us and no one else
hey girl just let me love you
ain't no need to be afraid
cuz i'll be as gental as i takes
to provide you with the right
amount of pleasure and pain
and i'll make sure that you feel
alright even if it takes me all night
cuz the joy is all mine
when i know you're satisfied
so let's give it all we got
and who knows somehow
this night just might lead us
into a place where our emotions
can grow if we let them go
cuz who knows what may happen
if we act more on our attractions
and lose ourselves inside a world
made for us and no one else
hey girl just let me love you
listen now i can see it in your eyes yeah
that you want to baby just as bad as i do
and girl i wanna give it to you
and if you can just set aside your fears
and just try to deal with
what's going on with us right now
cuz who knows somehow
this night just might lead us into a place
where our emotions can grow if we let them go
cuz who knows what may happen
if we act more on our attractions
and lose ourselves inside a world
made for us and no one else
hey girl just let me love you
你可能会喜欢的歌单
我也曾是你的全部X
就连在instagram 关注他的人也才几千 不知道为什么那些无思想 没有音乐性的口水歌为什么会得到那么多关注！真希望那些人不要到处说自己喜欢音乐！
好像方大同的感觉
(第1页, 共29条)
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关注虾米：Who Knows?&&&&& Cowboy Poetry at the BAR-D Ranch&&
www.CowboyPoetry.com
Cowboy Life
We get a number of questions from people
seeking cowboy songs and poems. Often, they
know just a line& or just a few of the words, or the story. Sometimes we know the
answers or can find them, and sometimes we hope for help from other
visitors like you.& Many answered and unanswered queries are listed .&
Maybe you can help.
Below you'll find:
We do make mistakes.& We hope you will help us
out and weigh in when you see those.&We're always interested in
adding additional information.& Just .
We get many questions about two
poems, both of which we're pleased to have here at the BAR-D:&&
One is Wallace McRae's Reincarnation.&
We get requests for that poem such as &I once heard on Johnny
Carson about how a cowboy dies and is buried and the horse eats the
grass that grows on his grave and then...&& We're pleased to
have a feature about
and his poem .
The other is Gail Gardner's The
Sierry Petes (or Tying Knots in the Devil's Tail). Questions about
that usually go something like &My dad used to tell me a poem about
tying knots in the devil's tail,& or &Do you know the poem
'Sorry Pete'?&&or &Siren Peaks?& We're pleased to have a feature about
and his poem .& That poem
is also included in ,
our anthology of classic and contemporary poetry from the BAR-D.
Another often-asked about poem is Bill Hirschi's
lists poems and poets in various
collections.
We have some cowboy
poetry and Western music reference books listed ..
If you enjoy features like
Who Knows?, please support the BAR-D.
some of our
visit the ,&
and join in and be a part of it all!
Search WWW
Search cowboypoetry.com
Below you'll find:
This is Page 1.
(with the most recent questions)
& The index below also links to questions and answers on:
(with the next-most recent questions)
of poems mentioned in Who Knows?
alphabetically
Among the found ...
by Baxter Black by Bill Jones
& by Corky Williams&
&& by Harry Noyes Pratt
Stephen Vincent Benet
S. Omar Barker&& by Robert
&Bob& Fletcher
&& by Waddie Mitchell
& by Dale Evans
&& anonymous&
&& by James Barton Adams
by Johnie Schneider&&&
&& by Charles Badger Clark&
&& by Bill Hirschi
&& by Mike Logan
& by S. Omar Barker&
&& John Wallace &Captain Jack& Crawford
&& unanswered&
&& anonymous? unanswered&
&& by Henry Herbert Knibbs
&& by Charley
&& by S. Omar Barker
&& by Bruce Kiskaddon
&& by S. Omar Barker
&& anonymous&
separate page
&& anonymous?
&& by Charles Causley
&& by Baxter Black
& by James Barton Adams
&& by James Barton Adams (?)
&& by Edmond N. Florant
&& by Curly Fletcher
by J. W. Foley
&& by Griff Crawford (?)& unanswered&
&&& anonymous
&& anonymous
by A. W. Erwin
&& by Wallace McRae
& by John Nelson&
&& by Buck Ramsey&&&
&& by Edgar Allen Poe&
&& by S. Omar Barker&&
&& by Joel Nelson
&& by Charles Badger Clark
by by Brian Brannon
unknown& unanswered&
&& by Waddie Mitchell
&& traditional
&&& E. U. Cook (?)
& by James Barton Adams
&& by Charles
&Badger& Clark&&
&&& anonymous&&
&& by Carl
Copeland & Jack Williams
&& by Lloyd M. Gerber&&&
& by Bill Jones
&& by Frank Desprez&&&
&& by John Wesley
&& by Baxter Black (from
&8 Seconds,& the movie about Lane Frost)&&
&& anonymous?
&& by John Hay
& by Bruce Kiskaddon
& by Baxter Black
S. Omar Barker? unanswered
&& by Rod McQueary&
&& by Wallace McRae
& by Red Steagall
&& by Joel Nelson
&& by Jack Scholl
&& (multiple versions)&
&& traditional
&& Long and Gene
&& by Charles
&Badger& Clark&&
&& by Lester Shepard Parker
&& by Will
S. Genaro and W.R. Williams
&& by Mike Burton&&&
by Kathryn and Byron Jackson
& by Elizabeth Ebert& by
Larry Chittenden&& by Harold Sloan (?)& partially answered
&& anonymous
&& anonymous (?)
&& by Arthur
Chapman&&&
&& by Charles
&Badger& Clark& &
&& by Will
&& by Baxter Black
&& by Baxter Black
&& anonymous
&& Dude Sands (?)&
&& Jack Lee (?)
& and other
poems by Jack DeWerff& by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
by S. Omar Barker
&& by S. Omar Barker
&& Eben E.
by Henry Herbert Knibbs& &
&& by Gene O'Quinn& &
&& by Baxter Black
&& by& Francis Humphris Brown
&& anonymous
&& by S. Omar Barker&&
&/& by Charles Badger Clark
&&& ? Roberts
unanswered
&&& E. U. Cook (?)
&& by Gene
&& by Kenneth Pruitt&
&& by Bruce Kiskaddon&&&&
by Murray Hartin
&& by Gary McMahan
&& by Waddie Mitchell
& by S. Omar Barker
&& by Sam Jackson
possible answer
&& unanswered
At-least-half-answered questions
with non-specific topics/titles
answered&&
& possible
answered&&
&&possible
answered&&&
answered&&
& answered, somewhat
Non-specific
topics/titles....mostly from unanswered questions
& possible
(no, they say they aren't lookin' for &Lasca&)&&
& MOST WANTED!
new 9/30/10
Star Saloon
Jan writes:
My father, who died in 1963, recited a poem
to us in our younger years. I can only remember&a line here and there and
have no idea of the
author, name of poem, etc. I'm not sure of words or spelling of those
things I can remember:
Adams, O'Doule and Doone—Malarky and Wright as they stood one night
In the Silver Star Saloon.
When door swung back and a kid in black
Came walking slowly in
With two big gats like baseball bats
Hung at his belt in view
It was _______ sweetheart Nellie.
Have an answer for Jan? &
new 1/26/10
Seeking families of Gil
and Frank Burns
Dee is seeking any relatives of& rodeo
stars/trick riders Gil Traveller and Frank Burns.
Have an answer for Dee? &
answered 2/10/10
new 1/26/10
Cowboys &not allowed in &&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
Ryan writes:
I am looking for a poem that might be
called &Cowboy's Dream.& It is about a cowboy that dreams he is sent to
heaven but when he gets there he can't seem to have any fun until he
finally talks an angel into going along with him. At that point St. Peter
catches on and realizes a mistake has been made and concludes &that's a
cowboy, they&aren't even allowed in hell.&
Denise knew the poem, 's &,& where
he writes:
He's a buckaroo, I know them well,
They don't allow them even in Hell.
The Cow Boy's
A cow boy and his trusty pal
Were camped one ni
They were keeping a line on the boss's steers
And looking for calves with lengthy ears.
The summer work was long since through
And only the winter branding to do.
When he went to rest there was frost on his bed
But he pulled the t
And into his blankets he burrowed deep,
He soon got warm and was fast asleep.
He dreamed he was through with his wayward past
And had landed safe in Heaven at last.
A city was there with its pearly gate
And the golden streets were wide and straight
The marble palaces gleamed and shone
And the choir sang 'round the great white throne.
Outside there were trees and meadows green--
Such a beautiful range he had never seen,
Great rivers of purest waters flowed
Though it never rained nor it never snowed.
He stood aside on the golden street,
There were heavy spurs on his booted feet,
His bat wing chaps were laced with whang,
But he listened and looked while the angels sang.
He noticed he was the only one
With a broad brimmed hat and a big six gun.
So he said to a saint, &I'd shore admire
To be dressed like one of that angel choir,
Instead of these cha
And I reckon as how it could be done.&
So they took him into a room aside
And they fastened wings on his toughened hide.
They fitted him out with a flowing robe,
Like the lady who looks in the crystal glove.
They gave him a crown and a golden harp
And the frost lay thick on the cow boy's tarp.
He twanged his harp and he sang a while,
Then he thought of something that made him smile.
Said he &I reckon these wings would do
To show some mustangs a thing or two.
I'll jump a bunch and I'll yell and whoop,
I'll kick their tails and I'
I'll light a straddle of one of the things,
And I'll flop his flanks with my angel wings.
I'll ride him bare-back, but if I fail,
And he bucks me off, I'll simply sail.&
He hunted wild horses in his dream,
But all he found was the charist team
That Old Elija drove in there,
And to pick on them would hardly be fair.
So he seated himself beneath a tree
And rested his crown upon his knee.
He watched the beautiful angels go
Flying and fluttering to and fro.
At last one landed and started to walk,
She came up close and began to talk.
She had lovely hair of golden brown
And was dressed in a flimsy silken gown.
She had dimpled cheeks, her eyes were blue,
And her fair white skin was beautiful too.
The cow boy gazed at the angel's charms
And attempted to clasp her within his arms.
&Stop!& Stop!& She cried, &Or, I'll make complaints
To the great white throne and the ruling saints.&
So the cow boy halted I must confess
And failed to bestow that fond caress.
Said he, &Miss Angel,& It's shore too bad.
This sort of a country makes me sad.
Where there ain't no night and it's always day,
And the beautiful ladies won't even play.
When there's wonderful houses and golden streets,
But nobody sleeps and nobody eats.
Them beautiful rivers, it's sad to think.
There ain't no hosses or cows to drink.
With all this grass a goin' to seed
And there ain't no critters to eat the feed.
A man can't gamble--There's so much gold
He could pick up more than his clothes would hold.
What's the use of the Judge and the great white throne
Where troubles or fights was never known?
I'm sorry miss but I'll tell you true,
This ain't no place for a buckaroo.&
Then she asked him about his former life
And learned he had never possessed a wife.
But this angel lady so sweet and nice,
Informed him that she had been married twice.
Her husbands had both been quiet men
But if she had it to do again,
She's have to decide between just two.
A sailor boy or a buckaroo.
She seated herself upon his knees
And gave his neck such a hearty squeeze--
Just then they heard an excited call,
'Twas a gray old saint on the city wall.
He flopped his robes and he waved his arm
Till the crowd all gat
And then the cow boy stood alone,
Before the judge and the great white throne.
&What's this?& the Judge of Creation cried.
&How come this fellow to get inside?
Age must be dimming St. Peter's eye
To let a spirit like that get by.
Just look at his face with its desert brown,
And his bandy legs 'neath his angel gown.
He's a buckaroo, I know them well,
They don't allow them even in Hell.
He hasn't been here a half a day
And he started an angel to go astray.
We can't permit him to stay atall.
Just pitch him over the outside wall.&
So the saints and the angels gave him a start
And he went toward the Earth like a falling dart.
He never remembered the time he lit
For he wakened before the tumble quit.
The winter wind blew cold and sharp
And the frost lay thick on the cow boy's tarp.
His beautiful vision had come to grief,
So he baked his biscuits and fried some beef.
And drank some cof
But all that day as he rode along
He thought of the saint who had butted in,
And he said to himself with a wicked grin,
&I wish I had holt of that old saint chap,
I'd grab his whiskers and change his map.
I'd jump on his frame and I'd stomp aroun'
Till I tromped him out of his saintly gown.&
And all of his life as he roamed and toiled,
He thought of his vision so sadly spoiled.
And the meddlesome saint that has caused it all
When he gave the alarm from the Jasper wall.
He didn't repent nor he didn't pray,
But he always wished they had let him stay.
Sometimes we forget what we know. This was
the answer to another question in 2004, .
Have something to add? &
new 1/06/10
Gal who &never said a &
Dennis writes:
A friend gave me some of
the words to a poem he is trying to track down. Author unknown.
The name may be &She never
said a word& or &She never said a solitary word.& Here's the verse he
could remember:
I met a gal out on the prairie
Where the range was mighty wide
I said, miss this range is lonely
would you mind it if we traveled
side by side?
But she never said a word
made out like she hadn't heard
She never said a solitary word...
Have an answer for Dennis? &
new 1/06/10
's &distant hills&
Robert writes:
In 1938 when I was 17
years old I traveled to Colorado and I bought a booklet as a souvenir&
that had several poems about the mountains and the West.
The one poem that I
remember was about a young man asking an old timer what was beyond those
distant hills. This much I remember:
Tell me old timer,
what's beyond those distant hills I see you've lived out here full
many a year, this country's& new to me.
The old man turned and faced the lad, his features never changed,
well son he said at length, beyond those hills are higher hills to
test your nerve and strength.
Beyond those hills are higher hills and peaks you can not view, except
up there on the hills ahead of you.
It is enough for me to see you're on the road today, keep on and on
until at last you reach the great divide,
It's always best to leave un-guessed what's on the other side.
Can anyone help me find
the author or the booklet?
Have an answer for Robert? &
new 1/6/10
Perhaps the
has a ranch...
Rico writes:
I’m looking for a
poem called &The Old Man.& I don’t know who wrote but it was read at
my godfather’s funeral.
I just remember
the last line says “Perhaps the Lord has a ranch and is in need of a
good top hand.”
Have an answer for Rico? &
new 1/6/10
&Knee High& or && Valley poem
Penny writes ...
I am looking for an old
song—I think it would be called a ballad or cowboy song.
My Dad says it was called “Knee High Valley”—maybe it is Nehi? I am not
sure. He said that he remembers it from about 1941 or so.
Have an answer for Penny? &
new 9/22/09
in a restaurant
F.J. is looking for ...
... a poem written by a
woman. It spoke about an older man, a grandpa I think, and a young fellow.
They were in a restaurant, and the poem is written from the point of view
of someone in another booth listening in. ...I'd like to know the name of
the poem and the poet. The older fellow was giving advice to the young
man, who was sort of a mess as I recall.
new 7/7/09
There's an
Cot in the Bunkhouse Tonight&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
Erlynn writes:
I am searching for an old
cowboy song....I think it is called &Old Limpy.& The song starts with &He
was riding the range one Saturday noon when a northerner started to blow.
With his head in his chest, headed into the west, he was stopped by a cry
soft and low. A crazy young calf had strayed from its ma and was lost in
the snow and the storm.&
We told Erlynn that the song
is Gene Autry's &There's an Empty Cot in the Bunkhouse Tonight&:
There's a cot unused in the
There's a pinto's head bending low.
His spurs and chaps hang on the wall,
Limpy's gone where the good cowboys go.
&&&& There's a range for every cowboy
&&&& Where the foreman t
&&&& There'll be an empty saddle tonight,
&&&& But he's happy up there I know.
Gene Autry wrote the words and
music in 1934. You'll find the words and music here:
In his book, ,
Jim Bob Tinsley devotes a chapter to the song. He writes:
A cowboy song written by a
famous movie star in 1934 became so popular with cowboys of successive
generations that it's now considered to be one of their traditional
songs....A typical act of cowboy compassion was displayed by the hero in
the song, the rescue of a maverick lost and helpless in a raging
snowstorm. Alan Lomax compared a cowboy, tenderly carrying a calf across
the pommel of his saddle, to Joseph, the Carpenter of Nazareth, caring for
a child who did not belong to him....
Although it sounds as if it
describes an actual happening, [Autry] had no particular incident in mind
when he wrote the song. It was just one of the many he was writing at the
time, including &Back in the Saddle Again,& &Cowboy's Heaven,& &Little
Pardner,& &There's a Rainbow on the Rio Colorado,& and &You're the Only
Star in My Blue Heaven.&
Have something to add? &
updated 3/17/09
updated 11/16/05
updated 11/15/05
new 10/20/02
Out on an Indian
ation...&&(&Indian Napinee&)&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
Some Answers
Penny in Canada asks:
Can anyone help me find the
complete words to &Buckskin Bow?& I believe that's the title and I
do have most of the words, but would be interested in the author's name:&
&T'was a calm and peaceful
evening in a camp called Buckskin Bow.&The drinks were flowing freely with a bright and gurgly glow.The boys about the layout were feeling pretty gay.&They were packing up their bedding in a reckless sort of way.&Sitting behind the table was a man called Henry Dean........&
My Dad is 84 and has always had
a wonderful memory for reciting long poems such as
and the above. I love to hear him recite poetry especially when the whole
family gets together, especially at Christmas.&
favourite begins with:
&Out on an Indian Reservation, far from civilization,&where few pale face feet had ever trod,&Whiten(?) went a fishin' there one summer......&
In November, 2005, Larry
I thought I would send you what
I learned sometime back as lyrics to a song called, among other things,
&Hanky Dean.&&Some of the initial lines are close enough that I suspect they share a common
origin even if it is not the precise poem thatPenny seeks.& Here goes...
Hanky DeanT'was a calm and peaceful evening in a camp called Arapaho,And the whisky was a runnin with a soft and gentle flow.The music was a ringin' in the dance hall 'cross the way,And the dancers were a swinging just as close as they could sway.
People gathered round the tables a bettin' up their wealth,Nearby stood a stranger who had come there for his health.He was a peaceful stranger, tho he seemed to be un-strong,For just before he'd left his home he'd been parted from one lung.
Nearby at a table, sat a man named Hanky Dean.A tougher man than hanky, buckskin chaps had never seen.Oh, Hanky was a gambler and he sure did hate to lose,But he'd been sep-a-rated from a sun-dried stack of blues.
Hank rose from the table, on the floor his last chip flung,Then cast his fiery glimmers on the man with just one lung.&No wonder I been losin' every bet I bet tonight,A sucker and a tenderfoot was between me and the light!
&Look here, little stranger, do you know who I am?&&Yes, and I don't care -- a copper-colored dam.&The dealers stopped their dealing and the players held their breath,For words like them to Hanky were a sudden flirt with death.
&Listen Little Stranger while I read my pedigree,I am known for handlin' tenderfeet and worser men than ye.The lions on the mountains, I have rode into their lairs,The wildcats are my playmates, and I wrestle Grizzly Bears.
&Why, the centipedes cain't even mar my tough old sunburned hide,And the rattle snakes what bit me, they just crawled right off and died.I'm wilder than the wildest horse what ever roamed the range,The moss grows on my teeth, wild blood flows through my veins.
&I'm wild, and I'm wolly, and I am full of fleas,I've never, ever been -- curried below the knees.And now Little Stranger, if you'll give my your address,How would you like to go? By mailboat or express?&
Well the gentle Little Stranger, who was leanin' against the door,Picked up a hand of playin' cards, that were scattered on the floor.Picking out the four-of-spades, he pinned it to the door,Then stepped 20 paces across that bar room floor.
As he turned, he drew like lightening, four times did his six-gun roar,He blotted out each pip, from the card upon the door.For he had traveled with the circus, and had only quit that day.&I have one more left, Mister, if you wish to call the play.&
Then Hank stepped up to the stranger and this is how he spoke,&Why the lions on the mountains, that was nothin' but a joke.Never mind about the extra, you're a bold, bad, shootin' man,And I'm a meek, little child -- and harmless as a lamb.
That song shares some words with
other songs and poems.& For example, &I'm wild, and I'm woolly, and
I am full of fleas,
I've never, ever been -- curried below the knees& show up in a number of
poems and stories and such. That's how &Powder River, Let'er Buck&
by Jack Lee ends, and in American Ballads and Folk Songs by John A.
Lomax and Alan Lomax (1934) the lines are listed as one of a number of
&cowboy boasts.&
Here's what Penny wrote when we
sent her Larry's words:
Wow! I'd forgotten about my
request for the words to &Buckskin Bow,& and name of the author!
Yes, I was still interested! When I checked the date of my original request
(Sept '02), my heart jumped. I had mentioned that my Dad recited many long
poems from memory, &Lasca&, etc. Shortly before that letter, my Dad
and I had been on a day trip in the truck, poking around the country, and he
had been reciting his favourite poems for a friend. Three months after posting
my request to you, my Dad was diagnosed with cancer and I lost him 6 months
later. What wonderful memories were brought back when I found your e-mail
reply today! It's never too late!
In March, 2009,
Allen wrote with the words to another poem that Penny was seeking,
mentioned :
Many years have passed
since I found this song in a scrapbook which belonged to my mother.
Whatever happened to the book I’ll never know, however, this is how I
remember this song and my mother taught it to me...that was
approximately seventy-three years ago. When my children were small I
always sung it to them and they now want me to record it. I am now
eighty years old and my voice isn’t as it used to be, however, I do plan
to have them record me singing it for them.
I do not know the origin, author, or anything about when it was written.
I have searched the internet and found various versions by singers, who
it seems only remember parts and bits of it.
Way Out On An Indian Reservation
Way out on an Indian reservation,
Far, far away from civilization
Where the foot of paleface seldom trod,
White man went to fish one summer
Met an Indian maid, a hummer,
Daughter of the big chief, Spare-the-Rod.
White man threw some lovin’ glances,
Took the maid to two war dances,
Smoked the pipe of peace, took chances,
Livin’ in a teepee made of fur.
Rode with her on an Indian pony,
Gave her a diamond ring, a phony
As he sang these lovin’ words to her:
Won’t you be my pretty little napinee,
Won’t you take a chance and marry me
Your dad is a chief, it is my belief
To a very merry wedding he’ll agree.
‘Tis true you are a dark little Indian maid,
I’ll sunburn to a deeper shade,
I’ll wear feathers on my head,
Paint my face an Indian red,
If you’ll only be my napinee.”
Sorry to say his con talk caught her,
Soon he married the big chief’
Happiest couple that you ever saw.
“Till the light of love had faded,
Nappanee looked old and jaded,
Just about like any other squaw.
Soon papooses came in numbers,
Redskin yells to disturb his slumbers,
White man wonders at his blunders,
How the feathers drooped upon his head.
It’s too late but now he’s a-wishin’
That he had never gone a-fishin’,
Or had ever met this maid and said:
Won’t you be my pretty little napinee,
Won’t you take a chance and marry me,
Your dad is a chief, it is my belief
To a very merry wedding he’ll agree.
‘Tis true you are a dark little Indian maid,
I’ll sunburn to a deeper shade,
I’ll wear feathers on my head,
Paint my face an Indian red,
If you’ll only be my napinee.”
In July, 2009
I learned that song at my
daddy’s knee with just slightly different lyrics. My father told me it
was his mama’s favorite song and he learned it from her as a boy (abt
1920s). Although you appear to have 2 extra lines, I’d love to hear if
the melody we know matches as close as the lyrics. We always called it
&Indian Napinee.&
With Katt's comment, we were
able to find the sheet music for the song
and another version of the song
, where it is called &Napanee&, or, &My Pretty Little Indian
Napanee,& written in 1906 with words by Will S. Genaro and music by W.R.
Have something to add? &
Updated 7/1/09
Updated 6/22/09
Posted 6/9/09
&Cyclone Blues&&
by Griff ?
C. T. writes:
I am looking for the author
of a poem that my father passed on to me. I have never seen it in print,
and neither has he for probably 50 years. The Library of Congress Folk
Archives were able to trace it possibly to Griff Crawford but could not
firmly determine authorship. Included below is the poem as taught by my
father. Below that is the response I received from the Library of
My father set it to music
and recorded it in the 1970's as &Kansas Cyclone.& Any help you can offer
in tracing this back so the hand behind the pen is not forgotten is very
much appreciated.
I used to own the Double-D
but I'm punching steers today.
A twisting cyclone came along and blowed my ranch away.
It struck the first of April and as it was going hence
It took the barn and chicken coop and a mile or two of fence.
It took the wife, took the kids, the cows and horses too.
It never left me nothing but the mortgage which is due.
And that is why I'm punching on the Kansas plains today.
Paying for the cattle that the cyclone blowed away.
This was part of the reply
from the Library of Congress:
The poem appears,
essentially as you have written it, as &Cyclone Blues& in two
publications: Henry, Mellinger E., Songs Sung in the Southern
Appalachians. London: The Mitre Press. 1934. pp. 90-91., Reprinted in:
Lomax, John A. Cowboy Songs and Other Frontier Ballads New York:
Macmillan. 5.
Both cite as their source: &Obtained from Dr. D. S. Gage, Fulton,
Missouri, who had it from Prof. Artus M. Moser, Lincoln Memorial
University, Harrogate, Tennessee, 1932. He received it from Griff
Crawford.&
Griff Crawford published the &Cyclone Blues& in
magazine. Here
is the citation and table of contents found at&
. West [v30 #6,
September 30, 1931] ed. R. de S. Horn (Doubleday, Doran & Co., Inc.,
128pp, pulp) Details taken from photocopy of Table of Contents. [PSP]
Associate Editor: Edmund Collier
* · Try and Take It! · James C. McKell · cv
* 2 · The Bandit of Brazo Buttes · Colt MacDonald · na
* 42 · Breed of the Range · Glenn A. Connor · ss
* 53 · Cyclone Blues · Griff Crawford · pm
* 54 · Lazy Bones Ranch · Walter A. Sinclair · ss
* 63 · The Lally-Cooler · Raymond W. Porter · nv
It does not appear that the Library of Congress holds this title, so I
cannot verify if Crawford claims authorship.
We sent C.T. the words as they
appear in the Lomax book, which begin:
I uster own the Double D;
I'm punchin' steers today,
Because a cyclone comes along
It struck the first of April,
An' as it's goin' hence,
It takes my barns and 'dobes
An' a mile er two of fence.
We told C.T. that we have a
bit of information on Griff Crawford and Fred Lambert here that may offer
some clues:
Update June 22, 2009:&
Griff Crawford published a
small book, in 1928, Wild Horse Charley of the Cross-Bar-Lazy-B,
which includes poems first published in the Kansas City Star. Thanks to
, we now have a copy of the book,
and a feature about Griff Crawford .
Update July 1, 2009:& We
are seeking the West magazine mentioned .
Our library claims that no North American library holds that issue. If you
can help, please .
Have an answer for C.T. add? & .
updated 6/29/09
Updated 6/9/09
Posted 1/2/09
A cowboy named & (&A Cowboy's Message from Home&)&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
Sharon writes:
My Dad—who is 83—is looking
for a &cowboy& song his Dad used to sing to him, and he in turn used to sing
it us &kids.& He thinks it was called &Cowboy Jack.& Here are the lyrics he
can recall, he knows the tune...just can't get all the words. We would like
to find them for him for his birthday:where to start looking ?
Out on the range—here rode a reckless crew—
said one to the other, &Jack, a letter came for you&
It's only a letter from home sweet home
Sweet wife and mother—sister and brother, praying to keep me from harm
There's a well-known cowboy song
called &Cowboy Jack,& recorded by many, including
and the Carter Family, but that's a song about a cowboy who finds
the grave of his sweetheart:
He was just a lonely cowboy,
with a hea
He learned to love a maiden with eyes of heaven's own blue
(from John Lomax'
See an article about that
&Cowboy Jack& song
CowboyPoetry.com.
sent this answer for Sharon:
The song you're looking for
was originally titled &Only a Message From Home, Sweet, Home.& It was
written in 1905 by Edmond N. Florant and
recorded in 1906 by The Edison Quartet. In the original, the main character
is named Jack but he is not identified as a cowboy. The chorus is repeated
twice and there is no second verse. Many folks have recorded this song, my
favorite being . Buck, and the
&cowboy& version, includes a
second verse where Jack returns to his family. I will give you the version I
usually sing which I learned from a cowboy singer in Wyoming. It is very
similar to Buck's version.
A Cowboy's Message from Home
Out on the Western range one
night, I met with a reckless crew
Said one cowboy to another, &Jack, got a letter for you, buckaroo.&
&I'll bet it's from a sweetheart Jack.& said a rough voice from out of the
Some told jokes, the others rolled smokes as he read them the letter out
&It's only a message from home, sweet home, from the family out on the
Wife and mother, sister and brother all praying to keep you from harm.
The baby's saying his prayers each night to protect you wherever you&
We'll welcome you Jack, if you'll only come back, is the message from
home, sweet, home&
&Fare you well, my boys,& said Jack. &I'm going to that land.&
Each and every cowboy stood and shook him by the hand.
&If only we had a home like yours, we all might be better men,
But say, ol' pard, before you go, please read us the letter again.&
Repeat chorus
Buck Ramsey recorded the song
as &Cowboy's Letter from Home& and it is included on
It is included on Don Edwards' .
The Folk Music Index lists
several recordings for &A Cowboy's Message from Home&,
Have something to add? & .
updated 2/25/09
Posted 2/11/09
Missing Ranch ...&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
Bill is looking for a poem or story:
...where the rancher was calling his
neighbors to see if they had seen his dog? I remember the neighbor's
name was 'Joe', and at the end of the story the missing dog returns to
the obvious excitement of his owner. The story opens with a telephone
I had an old cassette tape with it on there.& Basically it was a story
of a rancher that called a neighbor, and the caller was asking his
neighbor if the neighbor had seen his dog.& While telling the story the
rancher admitted his dog was not worth much but it seems as though his
wife took a liking to him.& About this time the missing dog wanders in.&
The neighbor then hears in the background the excitement/relief in the
rancher's voice when he sees his missing dog.&I had it probably close to
twenty years ago or so.
Kevin recognized the poem as
's &The Lost Dog,& which is included
in his book, Coyote Cowboy Poetry.
Have something to add? & .
updated 2/25/09
new 3/25/05
Slack&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
Possible answer
Ruth writes:
I have a patron who is trying to
locate a poem, he believes the title is &Breakin' Slack.&& He
heard the poem read on a radio program quite some time ago.& It's about a
cowboy out searching for a lost steer.& When the cowboy stops for a
smoke, he startles the steer that was hiding in brush near his horse.&
The steer takes off, the cowboy ropes it,& it starts to go over a cliff,
and the cowboy &breaks slack.&
Harold writers:
The information that you
describe sounds like Buster McLaury's &The Jerk.& I also heard Buster recite
this poem on 's Cowboy Corner
show a few years ago!
We welcome additional
information, including any printed source for the poem.
Have something to add?&
Posted 2/11/09
the days when Lot and Abraham...&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
Allen wrote:
Can you answer a question for me about a
poem attributed to , of which
some of the lines go:
&Since the days when Lot and Abraham split the Jordan range in half,
Just to fix it so their punchers wouldn't fight,
And ol' Jacob skinned his dad-in-law of six years' crop of calves
And hit the trail for Jordan in the night,
There has been a taste for battle 'mongst the men who follow cattle.&
What is the name of the poem, is it by Barker and where can I find the
rest of it?
We recognized the poem as
s &From Town&:
We're the children of the open and we
hate the haunts o' men,
&& But we had to come to town to get the mail.
And we're ridin' home at daybreak—'cause the air is cooler then—
&& All 'cept one of us that stopped behind in jail.
Shorty's nose won't bear paradin', Bill's off eye is darkly fadin',
&& All our toilets show a touch of disarray,
For we found that city life is a constant round of strife
&& And we ain't the breed for shyin' from a fray.
Chant your warwhoop,
pardners dear, while the east turns pale with fear
And the chaparral is tremblin' all aroun'
we're a mid-night dream of terror
When we're ridin' up the rocky trail from town!
We acquired our hasty
temper from our friend, the centipede,
&& From the rattlesnake we learnt to guard our rights.
We have gathered fightin' pointers from the famous bronco steed
&& And the bobcat teached us reppertee that bites.
So when some high-collared herrin' jeered the garb that I was wearin'
&& 'Twasn't long till we had got where talkin' ends,
And he et his illbred chat, with a sauce of derby hat,
&& While my merry pardners entertained his friends.
Sing 'er out, my
buckeroos! Let the desert hear the news.
Tell the stars the way we rubbed the haughty down.
We're the fiercest wolves a-prowlin' and it's just our night for
When we're ridin' up the rocky trail from town.
Since the days that Lot
and Abram split the Jordan range in halves
&& Just to fix it so their punchers wouldn't fight,
Since old Jacob skinned his dad-in-law for six years' crop of calves
&& And then hit the trail for Canaan in the night,
There has been a taste for battle 'mong the men that followed cattle
&& And a love of doin' things that's wild and strange,
And the warmth of Laban's words when he missed his speckled herds
&& Still is useful in the language of the range.
Singer 'er out, my bold coyotes!
leather fists and leather throats,
For we wear the brand of Ishm'el like a crown.
We're the sons of desolation, we're the outlaws of creation—
Ee—yow! a-ridin' up the rocky trail from town!
The poem is from Badger Clark's Sun
and Saddle Leather. Read more about Badger Clark in our feature
Have something to add? & .
Updated 1/06/09
Posted 1/23/09
Rodeo Poem...&I
from your belt buckle size you
may have won ole Cheyenne&
Ken writes:
Through the years I have on several occasions heard a
rodeo poem about a cowboy who ran into an older cowboy in a bar. I can
remember parts
but can never remember the entire poem. The poem starts
as follows:
In a dingy old bar, not too far from the river in old Kaycee
Stood a mangy old crook with a beer in his hook and
he related this warning to me.
Now son I know you must rodeo, I can tell by the
gleam in your eye
And I surmise from your belt buckle size you may have
won ole Cheyenne.
&POW& wrote:
I know the rodeo trail poem from the poem &In a
dingy old bar not so far from a river in K.C.& The 1st part here is
what I remember of what my dad told me.
In a dingy old bar not so far from a river in K.C
Stood a withered old crook with a beer in his hook who related this
warning to me.
He said son I know you rodeo I can tell by the crease in your hat
Day or night you'll drink or fight to prove your not a cat.
I surmise by your belt buckle size you just won old Cheyenne
And that gleam in your eyes makes me realize you think you are a
ladies man.
Now, once I was young and strong and raised in a righteous way....
Far from home I'd travel alone through jungle, skid row and jail
But try as I might I couldn't fight that glow of the rodeo trail.)
Now some downfalls been the bottle others the black needle of dope,
But for me it was saddle and rope.....
The poem goes on and gets colorful. My dad really
knows this poem well and as I remember he was always coming up with
his own verses.
We found another version on
, titled &The Story of My Life.&
Have something to add? & .
Posted 12/29/08
Kyla is looking for a poem
that was handed out at a funeral some years ago. She writes:
...I can't remember the name
of it or any part of it except one line that has stuck with me. The line I
can remember is this: There's an empty chute at our place, one that can't
be filled&...
Have an answer for Kyla? & .
Posted 12/18/08
Sharon writes:
I have been trying to find a
poem/narrative titled &The Cattle Buyer& which I saw a copy of in a
gallery. It was a humorous description of the profession of a cattle
buyer.& I don't remember the name of the gallery but it was located
in the old stockyards section of Cowtown in North Fort Worth. There was
also a commentary nearby called &Confusion& which had the same look and
feel which might have come from the same person or seller.
Have an answer for Sharon? & .
Updated 12/18/08
Posted 11/18/08
to Ol...&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
Mike F. asks:
I was driving through
Alpine, Texas and heard a very unique cowboy poem on the radio. I don't
exactly remember the name of the poem, however I think it was &Ode to Ol'
---.& The poem started out with the young horses coming through the gate,
jumping and playing, followed by Ol' --- (cannot remember his name). The
gist of the poem was how in his youth, no other horse was as strong or
fast, but age has caught up with him. The writer then knows what has to
happen to put the horse out of his pain and misery, and fetches his gun.
One poignant line says &please hold his head straight as I couldn't bear
for his eyes to meet mine.&
recognized that Mike was looking for &The Pearl of Them
All,& by Will Ogilvie:
The Pearl of Them
Gaily in front of the stockwhip
The horses come galloping home,
Leaping and bucking and playing
With sides
But painfully, slowly behind them,
With head to the crack of the fall,
And trying so gamely to follow
Comes limping the pearl of them all.
He is stumbling and stiff in the shoulder,
And splints from the hoof to the knee,
But never a horse on the station
Give these all the boast of their breeding
These pets of the paddock and stall,
But ten years ago not their proudest
Could live with the pearl of them all.
No journey has ever yet beat him,
No day was too heavy or hard,
He was king of the camp and the muster
And pride of t
But Time is
The best of
And death, with his scythe on his shoulder,
Is dogging the pearl of them all.
I watch him go whinnying past me,
And memories come with a whirl
Of reckless, wild rides with a comrade
And laughing, gay rides with a girl -
How she decked him with lilies and love-knots
And plaited his mane at my side,
And once in the grief of a parting
She threw her arms round him and cried.
And I promised - I gave her my promise
The night that we parted in tears,
To keep and be kind to the old horse
Till Time ma
And then for his sake and one woman's...
So, fetch me my gun from the wall!
I have only this kindness to offer
As gift to the pearl of them all.
Here! hold him out there by the yard wing,
And don't let him know by a sign:
Turn his head to you - ever so little!
I can't bear his eyes to meet mine.
Then - stand still, old boy! for a moment& ...
These tears, how they blind as they fall!
Now, God help my hand to be steady ...
Good-bye! - to the pearl of them all!
by William Henry Ogilvie
Find a bit more in a
previous Who Knows? question .&
Have something to add? & .
Posted 12/16/08
Named Jim...
Rev. Gene asks:
My father-in-law used to
quote a western poem that had the line &had a buckskin, name of Jim& also
one &banked a heap on him.& Dad is gone and I would like to locate the
poem for my wife. There was also a part about a cattle stampede and Jim
saving his cowboy.
Have an answer for Jim? & .
Updated 12/16/08
Posted 8/24/05
pitch your tent where the wind won't hit ya ...
Jeff is looking for something his dad used to recite, that includes:
May neither rain, nor sleet,
nor blizzardDisturb the joy juices of your gizzardMay you pitch your tent where the wind won't hit yaThe snakes won't biteAnd the bears won't get'ch ya
has seen this toast in a painting in a diner in Paonia,
Colorado. And, he told us: This web address:
has a picture of the painting. Evidently it was also a
card, turns out the
print was by Bill Hampton. There is no other author listed for the quote,
and I think he did his own quotes.
Have more to add? & .
Updated 12/16/08
Posted 11/18/08
Cowboy's ...&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
&&&Answered!&&&&&&
Mike asks:
I am desperately searching
for a poem about a middle-aged man questioning his marriage, bills, etc.
and considering setting off to find something better. A wiser cowboy
explains that the grass is not always greener somewhere else and convinces
him to invest in his current family, for true happiness.
Tim Jobe recognized
's poem, &Haven't Sold Your
Saddle,& which is in his book,
. The poem
includes these lines:
&Our work and wife
scapegoat real well when we are of that mind...
The grass ain't greener, I see that—....&
Have more to add? & .
Updated 12/18/08
Posted 11/6/08
A favorite
of beef...&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
&&&Answered!&&&&&&
Duncan writes:
I heard a poet on CBC
a few months ago – I believe his name was Don Waddell, and the poem I am
trying to find is about a favorite cut of beef.
and John Nelson both recognized 's poem, &Disputed Epicure,& from his book,
. The poem starts
with these lines:
&What's you
favorite cut of beef?&
&&& the highborn lady queried....
Have more to add?& .
Posted 11/6/08
talking...
Burton asks:
Do you know of the poem
where two hats are talking to each other in a bar? The owners of the hats
can't hear them. Heard it in Lewistown in '03.
Have an answer for Burton? & .
Posted 11/6/08
What cowboys
in a horse...
Kristen asks:
I am trying to find an old
poem, a discussion between two cowboys about what they like in a horse.
The first one talks about all the flashy stuff he wants in a horse and the
second cowboy goes on to describe just how the horse has to have heart. I
know it is an old poem and I used to have a copy of it a long time ago...
Have an answer for Kristen? & .
Posted 8/13/08
and a bay...
Lisa is looking for a song that
There once was a cowboy
without any worries
He rode in the saddle from morning til night
He had some fine horses and a small herd of cattle
Could ride bucking broncos, drink, gamble and fight.
She writes:
It goes on to say he lost
all his horses and cattle &except two fine racers, a black and a bay& He
fell in love with a farmers daughter and they ran away on &the black and
the bay& and she dies, I think. I don't know the title or the artist,
we've always just called it &The Black and the Bay&
Any help will be appreciated!
Have an answer for Lisa? & .
Posted 8/13/08
Cowboy is a &bad
Becky is looking for a poem
&about a Cowboy who is told that there is a 'bad apple' in the family and he
needs to get rid of it. The 'bad apple' turns out to be himself and he can't
ever catch himself.
Have an answer for Becky? & .
Posted 8/12/08
Horse falls into a
Laurie writes:
My dad is looking for an old
cowboy poem. He does not know the name. but it talks about an old cowboy
going for a ride on his horse when they fall into a hole. The old cowboy
finally climbs out but then realizes that he has no way of getting his
faithful old horse out of the hole, so he decides that he should just bury
him right there. He starts shoveling the dirt and when he turns around the
old horse is standing behind him. Any ideas on what poem this might be?
Have an answer for Laurie? & .
Posted 7/29/08
A new-made
parson came to ...
Elsie writes:
I'm looking for an old
cowboy poem that my dad used to recite and it begins like this: &A
new-made parson came to Sage, dressed like a dude divine, with horn-rimmed
specs to give him age, and a frock-coat fittin' fine. Up walked Slim, old
Satan's son....&, and this is about as far as I can get. I'm in hopes that
someone has heard of it and can direct me to it.
Have an answer for Elsie? & .
Posted 7/29/08
&Nancy & by Lester Shepard Parker
Lee is looking for copies of&
Nancy MacIntyre, a Tale of the Prairies, written in 1911 by
Lester Shepard Parker. You can read the entire illustrated book-length poem
It starts with &Billy's Revery&:
No use talking, it's
perplexing,
Everything don'
Never had these curious feelin's
Till those MacIntyres came.
Quit my plowing long 'fore dinner,
Spent the day with these new neighbors,
Getting 'quainted with the men.
Talk about the prairie roses!
Purtiest flow'rs in all the world,
But they look like weeds for beauty
When I think of that new girl.
Strange, she seems so kind of friendly
When I'm awkward, every way,
And my tongue gets hitched and hobbled,
Everything I try to say!
There's one person, that Jim Johnson,
That there man I can'
He's been milling around near Nancy,—
Durn his dirty, yaller hide!
Never really liked that J
Now, each time I hear his name,
Feel this state's too thickly settled,—
That is, since that new girl came.
If this making love to women
Went like breaking in a horse,
I might stand some show of winning,
'Cause I've learned that game,
But this moonshine folks call 'courting,'
I ain't ne
I can't keep from talking foolish
When I'm thinking with my heart.
Now, those women that you read of
In these story picture books,
They can't ride in roping distance
Of that girl in style and looks.
They have waists more like an insect,
Corset shape
Feet just right to make a watch charm,
Small, of course, because they're pinched.
This here Nancy's like God made her,—
She don't wear no saddle girth,
But she's supple as a willow,
And the purtiest thing on earth.
I' let me ask you—
'Cause I want to reason fair—
What durn business has that rope-necked
Johnson sneaking over there?
A December 4, 1909 newspaper
column in the New York Times, called &Boston Gossip of Latest Books&
mentioned the book:
Who is going to buy
[poetry]? &Dwellers on the right bank of the Mississippi have bought 5,00
of &Nancy MacIntryle& by Mr. Lester Shepard Parker of Missouri.
Parker, born in 1860, also
wrote at least four musical scores People Will Talk (1900),
Rag-time Rastus, the Whistler (1900); The Fisher Wife's Lullaby (1905), and
Come back to Missouri (1921). He also wrote The state capitol of
Missouri, with a description of its construction, museum, art features,
mural paintings, sculptures, art windows and& decorations.
Lee wrote looking for a
particular edition of the book:
I am looking for copies of
Nancy MacIntyre, a Tale of the Prairies by Lester Shepard Parker,
but only those published by Felix Harris of Dallas in the 1950s. That may
seem odd when the book was originally published from 1911 to about 1920.
You see Felix Harris was my grandfather and he was in love with “Nancy,”
with the strong approval of my grandmother, Hallie.
In 1917 as a young lieutenant Felix Harris took a copy of Nancy
MacIntyre to France when he was shipped over as a doughboy. Over the
next two years of war and occupation in Germany he and his entire regiment
read the book and fell in love with “Nancy.” After returning to Dallas and
getting on with life. Felix Harris was only able to pick up additional
copies of the original editions when he stumbled on them in used book
stores, being pre Internet. He was able to recite the entire poem and
always said it should be read aloud.
I am not sure of the circumstances, but in the 1950s he either bought or
reproduced the original plates and published four editions of 500 each of
Nancy MacIntyre, a Tale of the Prairies, giving them to family and
friends around the country and the world. He put a plate inside the front
cover where he wrote the name of the recipient and the date. He was very
excited when he went to see the first Cinerama movie to see a copy of
Nancy MacIntyre on Lowell Thomas’ desk. He died in 1960 in London.
With the advent of the Internet, I have been buying back copies from my
grandfather’s editions of Nancy MacIntyre, giving the first one to
my grandson, signed “From your grandfather and your great-great
grandfather” It is really special to receive another copy in the mail and
know that Felix Harris held the same book over 50 years ago. One book
still had a letter in it signed by him when he sent a book to a lady. I
had one book store quote me $300 for a copy because it was signed by my
grandfather. I told the man that he should know that I am the only person
in the world looking for that book. I passed on that one.
Have information for Lee? & .
Posted 7/29/08
Bear hunter and
Kathy writes:
I am looking for a
particular poem...It's about a cowboy who lives in a cabin with his wife
and one morning sets out to shoot a bear. He has some trials and
tribulations, of course, in hunting the bear but at some point comes eye
to eye with one. At which point, he takes off in a run back to his cabin
and jumps the fence and rushes in the door. The poem ends with him
replying to his chastising wife that &Yeah, but I brought the bear home
alive.& Or something to that affect.
Have an answer for Kathy? & .
updated 6/8/09
Updated 3/14/07
Posted 9/5/05
Planters&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&& &&&&Answered!&&&&&&&&&&&
Our Utah friend
recited && at the 2005 Sevier Valley Roundup. It's a fine old
poem, whose author was often cited as &anonymous.&& Al found the poem in , by Pearl Baker, published by Utah State
University Press. The author tells that her mother had clipped the poem from
the pages of a magazine.& In 1996, it was set to music by
and called &Them Stars.& She found it in the Ben Gray
Lumpkin Collection of Colorado Folklore at the University of Colorado.&&
We recently
stumbled on the rightful author: Arthur Guiterman. The poem is included
in his 1921 book, A Ballad-Maker's Pack. Arthur Guiterman () was
the co-founder of the Poetry Society of America, and served as its President
1925-26. He was a prolific and popular writer who also wrote reviews in verse
for Life Magazine.&&
We've long had a
parody he wrote of 's
&Out Where the West Begins& posted
Our interest in Guiterman was rekindled when we heard top reciter
(who also recites &The Star-Planters&) recite his poem, &Damming
the Missouri& at the 2007 . That poem is included in his 1927 book, Wildwood
recited another
Guiterman poem at the
Allen Clark recites &The Star
Planters& on .
Here is the poem as it appears
in A Ballad-Maker's
Pack, followed by the version attributed to &Anonymous&:
The Star-Planters
Them stars! Oh, how often I've
laid on the prairie
&& And watched them go sweeping around,
My bronco a-dozing beside me, and nary
&& A breeze nor a whisper of sound!
I've learnt the main bunch in the heavenly ranches
&& There's Jupiter, Venus, and Mars—
Religion? He don't know its primary branches
&& What ain't been alone with the stars.
Some clusters are branded.— the Dipper, the Lion,
&& The Eagle, the Sarpent, the Bear
The Horns of the Bull and the Belt of Orion,
&& And Cassy O' Whats-her-name's C
But most of them's mavericks, roaming the ranges,
&& Unclaimed in the herds in the sky,
No part of the big panorama that changes,
&& F— and why?
Well, maybe it's gospel, or maybe he sold me,
&& But here is the yard that the Priest,
Chitola, who bosses the Navajos told me
&& The night of the corn-plantin' feast:
When all of the mountains were set in their& places
&& And threaded with ca?ons and rills,
The star-worlds, the last of the mighty creations
&& Were laying in heaps on the hills
In masses of silver, of gold and of copper,
&& All polished and shining and new,
Poured out on the granite like corn from the hopper
&& Awaiting their place in the Blue.
Now, first came the Bear of the Mountains, who faces
&& The North, from hi
He lifted his paws to the heavenly spaces
&& And laid out his picture in stars.
Then over the peaks of his western dominions
&& The Eagle who battles the storm,
Flew up to the heavens with star-dusted pinions
&& And printed the lines of his form.
And next, that the tribes and the nations might wonder
&& The Buffa
That shag-headed Bison whose beller is thunder,
&& Emblazoned his image on high.
But now came the Coyote, so crafty and clever,
&& A scallywag all the way through,
The yap-throated, critical varmint, who never
&& Is pleased with what other folks do.
Sez he, &These here stars were intended to brighten
&& The uttermost reaches of Night,
But you fellers waste them in pictures to heighten
and that isn't right!
&Jest watch me!! I'll show you how stars should be
planted&—
&& He jumped in the glittering piles,
He kicked and he gamboled, he danced and he ranted,
&& He scattered them millions of miles!
So that's why they glimmer at sixes and sevens,
&& Stampeded all over the vault
A shame and disgrace to the orderly H—
&& It's all that coyote chap's fault.
And still you can hear him, the yelping Coyote,
&& A-mocking the stars in the dim
Of night on the Barrens, with yammerings throaty,
&& While they look reproachful at him.
From A Ballad-Makers Pack by
Arthur Guiterman, 1921
This is the
version that was previously known, and attributed to &Anonymous&:
The Star Planters
Them Stars! How often I've laid on the prairie
An' watched 'em go sweepin' around
My bronco a-dozin' beside me an' nary
A breeze nor a whisper of sound!
I've learned the main bunch of the heavenly ranches
There's Jupiter, Venus and Mars
Religion? He don't know its primary branches
What ain't been alone with the stars
Some clusters is branded-- the Dipper, the Lion,
The Eagle, the Sarpint, the Bear
The Horns o' the Bull and the Belt of Orion,
And Cassia O' Whats her-name's Chair
But lots of 'ems mavricks, roamin' the ranges,
Unclaimed by the herds in the sky,
No part of the big panorama that changes,
From Winter to Summer-- and why?
Well, mebbe it's gospel and maybe he sold me
But here's the whole story at least
That Big Chief Citola, the Navajo, told me
The night of the Corn-plantin' feast
When all of the mountains was set in their stations
An' threaded with canyons and rills
The Star worlds, the last of the mighty creations
Was layin' in heaps on the hills
In masses of silver, of gold and of copper,
All polished and shinin' and new,
Poured out on the granite like corn from the hopper
Awaitin' their place in the blue
Now, first come the Bear o' the Mountains, who faces
The North, from hi
He lifted his paws to the Heavenly spaces
An' laid out his picture in stars.
Then over the peaks of the western dominions,
The Eagle who battles the storm,
Flew up to the heavens with star-dusted pinions
An' printed the lines of his form.
An' next, that the tribes an' the nations should wonder
The buffalo leaped into the sky
That shag-headed Bison whose beller is thunder,
Emblazoned his image on high.
But now came the Coyote so crafty and clever,
A scalawag
The yap-throated, critical varmint who never
Is pleased with what other folks do.
Says he, &These stars was intended to brighten
The uttermost reaches of Night,
But YOU go and use 'em in pictures to heighten
Y and that isn't right.
Jest WATCH ME! I'll show you how stars should be planted&
An' he jumped in the glitterin' piles,
He kicked and he gamboled, he danced and he rambled
An' he scattered 'em millions of miles!
So that's why they glimmer at sixes and sevens,
Stampeded all over the Vault
A lasting disgrace to the orderly Heavens,
An' it's all that coyote chap's fault.
An' still you can hear him, the yelpin' Coyote,
A-mockin' the stars in the dim
Of night on the Barrens, with yammerings throaty
While they look reproachful at him.
Well, mebbe it's gospel and mebbe he sold me,
But that's the whole story, at least,
That Big Chief Citola, the Navajo, told me,
The night of the corn-plantin' feast.
Have something to add? & .
new 3/16/07
In March, 2007,
Leone wrote to us:
I met Fred
Lambert two or three times in Cimarron, New Mexico and in 1970 I purchased a
book from him that had 487 pages and was published by Western Heritage Press
in Fort Worth. The pages are 81/2& by 11& and it is full of his
poetry. It is also full of Fred's pen and ink illustrations... Can you tell
me anything about it? Are any other copies available? Does Fred's poetry
have any following in Cowboy Poet circles? It is autographed twice by the
author, one looks like he had put in every book he sold and the other one is
personalized to me. His dad was a pioneer from the middle 1850's in New
Mexico and built and ran the Hotel and bar in Cimarron.
We answered:
mention the name of the book, but a search of the used book market can turn
up several of his books, including these with high values.
Bunkhouse Tales of Wild Horse Charley
Bygone Days of the Old West
As you may know, Fred Lambert's papers are at the University of New Mexico:
and there is quite a bit about him here:
We don't find him included in many of the contemporary anthologies searched,
and his work is not recited frequently, as far as we know. We& have a
vague recollection of there being a question of another poet, Griff
Crawford having poetry quite similar to Lambert's verse.&
Tim Jobe of
has done some research on Lambert, and we'll ask
Tim responded
with the following:
Fred Lambert
Fred Lambert was a true westerner. He was born in 1887 in Cimarron, New
Mexico, to Henri and Mary Lambert. Henri Lambert started Lambert's Inn in
Cimarron which later became the St James Hotel. Fred was born in
room #31. Henri had been a personal chef of President Abraham Lincoln. He
built Lambert's Inn in 1872 and it became a notorious place during the
heyday of the Old West.
At the age of 16, Fred Lambert was sworn in as a Territorial Marshall from
New Mexico.& He served as a law officer his entire life, in many
capacities.& He was also an active rancher and was chiefly responsible
for the restoration of many historic landmarks in and around Cimarron. He
was also an accomplished writer and artist.& He published two books of
poems and pen and ink drawings.&The first was titled Wild Hoss
Charley, Bunkhouse Tales.& It was published in 1931 by Lambert
& Brown, Cimarron, New Mexico and illustrated by the author. This is a
paperback book and is hard to find today. The Lambert Collection was left to
the University of New Mexico.&I called them to try to get more
information about this book but they had no record that it exists. However,
they do have his second book published in 1948.&It is titled Bygone
Days of The Old West
He contributed
to other books but these are the only two I have found that contain his
poetry. Both books are pretty hard to find in a first edition.
Bygone Days was republished and released in 1970 and that
edition is not quite so hard to find. I have yet to find in any of the
biographies about Fred Lambert, any mention of the Wild Hoss Charley
book. Fred Lambert died in 1971.
From what I have been able to uncover, Some of the poems that are in Fred
Lambert's two books were written by other people.&He published his
first book, Wild Hoss Charley Bunkhouse Tales, in 1931.&It
is a paperback and has several Wild Hoss Charlie poems in it.&These
same poems are also in an earlier book published by Griff Crawford. One of
the other poems in this book is &Jog On Jehosaphat.& That poem is
in a catalog of songs belonging to the Library at York, Nebraska. It was
copyrighted to Griff Crawford. However, in Lambert's first book he states
that it is one of his earlier writings and has been published in several
newspapers without his permission. All of the poems in this book are
reprinted in Lambert's second book, Bygone Days of the Old West
along with a lot of other poems. This book, in the Acknowledgements, thanks,
among other people, Griff Crawford for interest and co-operation in making
the book possible. There are 151 poems in this second book.
One is titled &Annie Lowery On The Guard.& This is actually the
written by .
I do not recognize any of the other poems in the book as being anything I
have seen published elsewhere.&&
Dougless of Cal Farley's Boys Ranch recited &Horse Sense,& one of
the Wild Hoss Charley poems at the Elko Gathering in 2006.
2009, Fred Lambert's great-niece wrote to say that his correct name is
&Charles Frederick Lambert, not William Fred.&
another Griff Crawford-related question .
Have something to add?&&
updated 3/16/07
more 11/28/06
new 10/27/04
Poem: Bull Stuck in Tree / One Day as I Rode Out ...
Tim Jobe points out that the
first item below was about the same poem mentioned in a 2004 entry. We've
combined the two below.
Tim wrote, &I heard Glenn
Ohrlin sing this song once at Elko but I don’t know the name or the
author.& We're following up on that.
In November, 2006, Barbara wrote:
I'd like to find the words to
one poem--I think it's an old poem but I don't know who recited it. It tells
of a guy who got chased one day by a big bull, and the bull's horns got stuck
in a tree.& The guy says &Here's my chance to ride that bull&
so he puts a rope around it and climbs on board.& Then he takes the
bull's horns out of the tree and away they go, &past Jupiter and around
Mars, gosh they saw a lot of stars.&
In October, 2004, Jana wrote:
was going through my mother's things, she was born in 1905 and lived from
Kansas, Colorado, Texas, New Mexico and Arizona back to Texas, then
California, always involved with horses and I believe this is her handwriting.&
However, my father was the poet in the family, so she may have copied it...
The words I found, as best I could read them:
One day as I rode out upon the
high and rolling range,
&&&& I met a likely looking brute, whose countenance was
He was a long eyed three year old, this handsome roving bull.
&&&& He had no writing on his hide and both his ears were
No passport on his wall, I thought, no claim to any home,
&&&& He'll have to stay out here alone, and roam, and roam
When winter comes and this here range is buried deep in snow,
&&&& There'll be no ranch for him to claim, no place for
him to go.
The sight of that poor Maverick bull out there upon the green,
&&&& Went straight to my tobacco heart and pierced the
I'll lay him gently down, I said, and upon his hairy hide,
&&&& I'll write the full direction of a place he can
We were drifting right along as this ran through my head,
&&&& And must have gone a mile or two before it all was
I lent a loop around his hump and twined him 'round the toes,
&&&& Then we headed north to visit friends among the
That bull turned over twenty times before he hit the ground,
&&&& I felt the saddle riggin' go, it busted clear around.
With saddle gone and also me, my measly old cayouse
&&&& Just naturally concluded that I'd meant to turn him
He done some tall old runnin' then across those barren flats,
&&&& And left me with that spike horned bull, just a
reachin' for my slats.
About a hundred yards from there, I saw the nicest tree,
&&&& whose branches reached far up and just seemed to
beckon me.
The bull, he must have spied it too, or else he read my mind,
&&&& for he followed me all the way, about one-inch
They say that cowboys legs are stiff, they can't get