COWBOY  POETRY

     And  Barn Sour Verse

    

 

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            BARN SOUR

                 When Horses Are Ol' Coots

     By V. June Blevins Collins

                                                                                Page 250                                                                          

Might sound to you like a smelly place

 But your first look, not always facts.

  Yes, most people that like horses

   Don't even resent the smell of tracks.

    Horse smells seem to grow with you

      Wet saddle blankets prove a point.

       It takes scads of them on each horse

       To smooth out gaits, and style anoint.

 

If separated for a time, from ol' Coots,

 That open barn door smells quite good.

   That is, if you really do like horses

     Like most folks working horses, should.

      Today, Ol' Coot pushed my buttons

       Like a few do, this time of year.

        Winter was an especially long one.

          Have not yet, got 'em into gear.

 

To ride him away from his old barn

  That has sheltered him so well,

   Again, has been one up hill battle.

    Shall take a bit of time to tell.

     My legs, they're sure getting tired

      Trying to keep his course straight.

       Legging' right, and left, I'm determined

         Will get him on a past that gate.

 

His head is most like it's on a spring

  And is anchored hard, to yonder barn.

   His mind is one-way, all made up.

     This good horse has lost his charm.

      He, like others, just got renamed

       While name seems to fit and suit.

        Today, he got my favorite old one,

         That danged, old stubborn "Coot.”

 

I've finally got him to the hills,

 Though near pooped, and feel a mess.

  He's still dreaming' of the yonder barn

   Will look good to me too, I confess.

    Today, he's a BARN SOUR old bastard.

      Why, my thoughts could almost kill.

       'Cause I know, when we get started back

         He'll turn eager, like its all down hill.

 

Will then be as hard to hold him back

 As it was  to push him, to ride away.

  Sometimes it almost breaks my spirit.

   But today, old' COOT,  Is not the day!

    I've had a bit of practice, trial, and error.

     It is bound to stick, when live this long.

     Though on some it takes a lot more time.

      Seldom is law of average, all found wrong.

 

       His barn sure will end up a place of work.

     For him, might turn into a joy to leave.

   Ol' Coot, don't know, the practices planned,

  For weaning from barn, I have up  sleeve.

MOM’S HORSE MONTE
Text Box: MONTE Page 7 By V. June Collins (By the way, our family said, “crick,” not creek.) Monte was Mom's old saddle horse. He was her pride, and joy. Monte still had one bad habit. Was disgusting, and did annoy. Wherever you chose to tie him, To a tree or to yonder fence, He was bound to soon test it... Dang, it didn't make much sense. He would then lay back on the rope, And give it a hard one, two, three. Whip neck, and head back, and forth. He knew this often set him free. When the rope finally gave away, Falling backward, he was loose. This aggravated my Dad, for sure. Said, "Needs a kick in his caboose." He never seemed to run away when free. Was just his thought of being tied. But all the ropes that he had ruined... Dad said, "Damn! Old Monte's hide." Text Box: Finally, a day came when out camping Where strong trees near bank, were few. Was about fifteen feet from the crick. Dad's planned idea grew, and grew. He tied Old Monte up to sturdy tree, Between tree, and the water's bank. Threw up his hands, and hollered loud… Monte took the bait, onto haunches sank. He lay back, gave a grand performance. That special gleam shone in his eye. Whipped old rope hard, back ,and forth. It cinched rope tighter. It began to sigh. Dad quickly gave axe a mighty swing, And cut rope with one fell chop. Monte fell backwards in surprise, With fast somersault, and a plop. Text Box: My mom, in tears, loudly cried out, "You've killed him!" above the melee. Dad answered, "Break crazy habit or else," , "He'll be a far better horse, you'll see." Monte landed in water, Kerr--Splash! !!. There his surprise was most great. He floundered back, onto dry ground In a dripping wet, stumbling gait. Yes, old Monte changed his fond habit. Sold it forever, to stand, and stay. When first tied he'd tense, and then give As his water visions, began a replay. Monte, it seems had lost old desires, To pull back, wherever he's tied. He’s became a model kind of old horse, Just wearing his shiny sorrel, hide.

This photo taken during time, early day trail system in Oregon was being surveyed, and built. Photo: by my Grandfather Isaac M. Blevins Those shown are my Grandmother Blevins; me V. June Blevins Collins; Monte, my mom’s horse; My Mother; My Grandmother O’Kelley; My father; and my Sister  Evelyn; ca 1920                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

Stories in book: In large print, 288 pages- 8-1/2 X 11 — of happenings during my life.  More than 80 photos relating to stories within. On your journey with me, you’ll smile, laugh, even shed a tear. “You will read, and reread.” Feel near a 100yrs. of history in its making. See incidents recorded  for posterity, and ranch terms clarified.

         POETRY EXHUMED

       

      By V. June Blevins Collins

 

ADIC'TRY of the west I'm blessed

For with most each, and every day.

See, sip, and taste Cowboy Poetry,

Which far away, does not stray.

 

Don't find one bit of BO'ETRY

In that kind of reading stuff.

It starts from the horses mouth

Though at times, gets a little ruff.

 

Just might need two saddles,

To ride CO'ETRY in fine style.

Cause it takes two to tango,

While traveling twice the mile.

 

DI'ETRY feels like it's divided,

He's that free, disconnected verse.

Which leaves you in a quandary,

Much like waiting for the hearse.

 

DO'ETRY, they call that green stuff

That from some poetry, don't make.

But the fun we have composing,

Surely is, darned hard to shake.

 

FO'ETRY is sparing, and feuding

When have nothing much else to do.

Yet, she has so many children,

Most like, old lady in the shoe

 

GO'ETRY is in great demand,

Super-fine, it gets us into gear.

Lights up our lamp of thinking,

From beaten path, and into clear.

 

Hear HO! HO'ETRY at Christmas,

And it fills most hearts with song.

Hear Bells both ring, and jangle,

In verses, songs sang rather long.

 

 

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Previously. published:1995 Nov/Dec. National Writers Association,  Authorship publication ;  Jan 2003  in Siskiyou Writers Plume.

                      Photo By Gary Marlow

 

 

                                                                                      

1986 awards night recognition along National, "Nee Mee Poo,"

(the peoples) Trail, on the Appaloosa, Chief Joseph Trail Ride. June received a plaque for being the first person to finish the full, 1300 miles distance, on the same rented horse, "Blue."

Owned by

The Bill Schulz family

of

Wayan, Idaho. 

Needless to say, after 15 years

of riding Blue, those many miles, 

June

had the same feeling toward him, as if he

had been 

her

very own

horse.

                                               ALSO

      “COWBOY POETRY AND BARN SOUR VERSE”

                                 IS AVAILABLE AT

                   “APPALOOSA  HORSE MUSEUM”

                                     MOSCOW, ID
Text Box: C OWBOY POETRY AND BARN SOUR VERSE ... AVAILABLE ALSO, AT BALDWIN MUSEUM, PRINEVILLE, OREGON Text Box: “COWBOY POETRY AND BARN SOUR VERSE” FOUND AT OTHER LOCATION Text Box: OTHER PLACES OF SALES: — EVEN DROP BY AND CHECK IT OUT — ON YOUR VACATION Appaloosa Horse Club Museum 5050 Highway 8 West, Moscow, Idaho 83843 www.appaloosahorsemuseum.com Book Stop 1212 SW 6th Grants Pass, Oregon 97526-- Ph 541-479-1578 Book Store 223 Minor St., Yreka, CA 96097 Ph. 530-- 842-2125 Crook County Historical Society 246 N. Main St., Prineville, Oregon 97754 www.bowmuse@netscape.net.com Ph.541-447 3715 GENEALOGICAL SOCIETY OF SISKIYOU COUNTY 912 S. Main St., Yreka, CA 96097 Ph. 530- 842 6018 (All books of ”COWBOY POETRY And BARN SOUR VERSE” sold by the “Genealogical Society of Siskiyou County,” receive these books as a full donation, to the Society). Hulls Car Wash 1270 Main St., Yreka, CA 96097 -- Ph.530-842-7077 Linn County Genealogical Society, P. O. Box 1222 Albany Oregon 97321 http://www.rootsweb.com/~orlinngs/ Ph.5417911618 Linn County Historical Museum 724 Amelia Ave., Brownsville, Oregon 97321-3419 Margie’s Book Nook 3722 Main St., Susanville, CA 96130--Ph530-257-2392 Mosaic Press 12021 Indian Creek Rd., Happy Camp, CA 96039 --Ph.530- 493-2249 Oregon Book Store 937 North E. St., Grants Pass, Oregon 97526--Ph.1-800-290-8365 Scott Valley Pharmacy 511 Main St., Etna CA 96027-- Ph. 530-467-5335 Siskiyou County Museum 910 S. Main St., Yreka, CA 96097--Ph 530-842-3636 IN PROGRESS --a step at a time Ashland OR Klamath Falls, OR Medford OR Museum Elko, NV Redding, CA .Amazon.com

If IG'ETRY is dumb, not so fast,

I guess that's where I came in.

Must of started at the bottom rung,

Some where above, the lower bin.

 

Soon will open up the corrals,

Plus gates, and swinging door.

Climb back on OL’ GO'ETRY,

While you listen still, to more.

 

JO'ETRY is quite jolly, upbeat,

Raises our spirits without trying.

Moods start in to soaring high,

Soon, near to speed of flying.

 

LO'ETRY sure not my cup of tea,

It is one thing I can do without.

Would rather gather up some joys,

Even holler, yell, and shout.

 

Mediocre MO'ETRY abounds,

While others nigh on, next to good.

I pulled off both fuzzy ear muffs,

and a way back, pushed my hood.

 

While SO'ETRY is off seeding,

And planting many a thought.

My marbles keep on rolling,

For my battles must be fought.

 

Writing WO'ETRY, and sadness,

Sure often, will make us cry.

Tears well up into fullness,

Puts some redness in our eye.

 

But, YO'ETRY is the kind of stuff,

Which never does get old.

We can just read, and read again,

While fresh or when plum cold.

 
Text Box: WHEN YOU BUY MY — “COWBOY POETRY AND BARN SOUR VERSE,” YOU ‘LL BE GLAD YOU DID! Text Box: Makes A Great Gift! Even For Those That Have Everything Text Box: LINKS OF INTEREST ABOUT THE AUTHOR THE WRITER GAZETTE SEE THE AMERICAN BUCKSKIN INSIGNIA DESIGNED BY THE AUTHOR WESTERN FOLK LIFE CENTER—STORY BY AUTHOR WOMEN WRITING THE WEST.ORG COWBOY POETRY