March 5th, 2008
Late winter Montana morning
momentarily silent
when the distant line of semis
headed for ‘90
break for coffee.
Chickadees silently rioting
around the new feeder,
swooping to trees and back,
tirelessly sorting
sunflower seeds from millet,
sample suet and
decorate the deck
with cross-hatched bird foot designs
on a pure white canvas.
On north slopes,
icy snow skeletons brace themselves
for another forty-five-degree day,
their frozen fingers reaching
down to the fence corner flat spot
where horses, standing on three feet,
absorb sun and shed tufts
of Sorrel, Paint, Gray and Bay
into nests with baling twine foundations.
Alfalfa leaves, impossibly green,
florescent against gray sage,
are left for a mid-morning snack
as dogs sniff
with Spring in their step
fragrances released
from frozen stasis
into obsessive noses,
impairing their hearing
as I holler,
"Leave it alone!"
constantly.
>© John Michael Reedy, Twisted Cowboy Music (ASCAP). All rights reserved. These words may not be reprinted or reposted without the author’s written permission.
Posted in Poems | 3 Comments »
September 26th, 2007
Thank you to Margo for inviting me to be an honored guest on CowboyPoetry.com, an exceptional, comprehensive and relevant web site that tirelessly chronicles the Cowboy poetry and Western music scene. Sharing the same cyberspace as Paul Zarzyski, Wally McRae, Baxter Black et al (even if I’m just crashing on the couch) is a great honor. CowboyPoetry.com receives 1.8 million hits a month — so I figure that if only 10% of those guests visit my site, and half of them purchase a book or CD, and if two trains leave Chicago at the same time, the square root of the hypotenuse may prove that…I should just keep writing and forget the math (again).
Reading folks’ memories of the much-loved cowboy poet, Colen Sweeten, on Cowboypoetry.com put me in mind of a quote from Samuel Johnson: “The true measure of a man is how he treats someone who can do him absolutely no good.” I met Colen on my first visit to the National Cowboy Poetry Gathering in Elko, Nevada some years ago. At that time, I didn’t have my beautiful family with me to make me seem interesting. So I shyly skulked about, invisible to most of the nice folks in attendance…except for Colen Sweeten who suddenly, out of the Nevada blue sky, initiated a conversation with me about seemingly everything that made me feel truly welcome in Elko and good about myself. I worried that the old feller must have thought I was someone else — some old friend from a past gathering or something. But on subsequent visits to Elko, I would watch Colen working his magic with the Big Dogs as well as the nobodies like me. He was a true man and an inspiration.
Thanks to Mick Vernon who’s been playing Twisted Vignettes on his Radio Ranch show on KNRY - Monterey, Salinas and Santa Cruz. Some of my biggest heroes called that part of the country home, including Ansel Adams and Bill Dorrance. I once drove my ‘57 Chevy pickup through that spectacular scenery in hopes of absorbing some of the things that made Ansel, Ansel and Bill, Bill. So far, I’m still John (singular), but their influence on me through books and photographs is quite deep. Driving around Monterey with no power steering or power brakes did give me an appreciation for gravity, some modern conveniences and, I suppose at some level, auto insurance as I stared through my white knuckles at all manner of Lexees and Mercedees, pumping the brakes frantically and praying to Ansel and Bill for stopping power.
Posted in Ramblings | 6 Comments »
September 7th, 2007
A very special thanks to Deb Robiscoe at KGLT in Bozeman for the great show on Thursday, playing five tracks off of Twisted Vignettes. KGLT is a listener-supported radio station that is broadcast all around the state of Montana and on the internet. Deb’s weekly show is one of the best I’ve ever heard, hands down. The fact that she can even think of playing five cuts from the same artist in one three-hour show is a testament to how great KGLT really is. Somewhere in their lair, deep in the bowels of some cold flourescent-bathed office building, Clear Channel’s research department felt inexplicably & collectively nauseus last Thursday between 9:00 a.m. and noon…at least I hope they did!
Posted in Ramblings | 3 Comments »
August 4th, 2007
There ain’t nothin’ better in this western world
Than a long-haired, tight-jeaned buckaroo girl
With a smile on her face and spurs on her buckaroo boots
You won’t catch her wearing one of them Toby hats
She’s not crazy ‘bout the Chinese Ariats
Her boots and hats are artistic working tools
‘Cus leather is her stock and trade
She likes it in her saddle and she likes it to braid
And she loves spinin’ a big ol’ rawhide loop
She likes lyin’ in the tall, tall grass
Ruminating on a buckaroo task
And yodeling a little lady yodel, too
Her brim is flat, her shirt has snaps
That wildrag ‘bout give you a heart attack
When it’s loosened up at the end of a long, long day
Dabbin’ one on a renegade heifer
Gives her some kind of buckaroo pleasure
That makes it worthwhile when she draws her little pay
It’s about bits and bridles, chinks and chaps
Flower-carved saddles with bull-nose taps
Reins, chains and a braided leather bosal
Flatbed pickups and border collie dogs
Western swing music and Tom Russell songs
Brandin’ in the spring and gatherin’ in the fall
And dancin’ at the dance puts her in state
As the cowboys watch, understanding their fate
That their ropes are going to be just a little too short
Hard and fast just ain’t her style
If you like what you’re doin’, why don’t you take your time
She’s talking about craft and art, not a sport
So head out to Elko or Jordan or Idaho
And get yourself a slick fork and some latigo
And learn how to ride in the wide sagebrush sea
Then work an outfit, ten sections will do
And you can start workin’ at being a buckaroo, too
‘Cause that’s where this Buckaroo Girl goes to be seen
Shake out a loop ‘bout 22 feet
That’s what it’ll take for you to compete
And give it your finest double hoolihan swing
Then close your eyes and hope to hell
That she likes your type of buckaroo fella
And if she don’t…
Well, like me, I guess you can learn how to sing
© John Michael Reedy, Twisted Cowboy Music (ASCAP). All rights reserved. These words may not be reprinted or reposted without the author’s written permission.
Posted in Lyrics | 5 Comments »
August 3rd, 2007
Rilla was the daughter of a rancher
Will made her a rancher’s wife
She pulled calves and broke horses
Painted columbine, blue and white
Her life on the ranch was unsparing
The winters they were cold and long
But ice on the river was bearing
And she knew it wouldn’t be long
She’d cross the winding Elk River
And ride into the Big Meadow
Watch the calves settle in the tall grass
Up in the aspen and the alpenglow
She remembers all of the horses
That carried her through the pines
All along the South Fork trail
And up to the Great Divide
But today she’ll stay in the pickup
Her knees can’t handle the strain
Of ten hours a-horseback
Across this mountain terrain
She says, “Keep ‘em out of the willows boys
Someone keep an eye on Will
Take a picture of the grass when you get there
Up in the aspen and the alpenglow”
Now the cattle are settling in the tall grass
And the sun fades in the sky
Will shoots a picture from the saddle
As Rilla hums Bye and Bye
Now she can rest
Soon she’ll be turned to the land
No jewelry on her neck or her fingers
Will places the picture in her hand
He says, “Soon you’ll cross the winding river
And ride into the Big Meadow
Watch the calves settle in the tall grass
Up in the aspen and the alpenglow”
© John Michael Reedy, Twisted Cowboy Music (ASCAP). All rights reserved. These words may not be reprinted or reposted without the author’s written permission.
Posted in Lyrics | 3 Comments »
July 26th, 2007
July’s scalding wind scattering black confetti.
A smoke squall, a column eclipsing the Divide,
torching spruce, spotting outside fire lines.
Sparks in the canopy, igniting drought-dried trees.
Like the full moon rising we watch the fire light,
picturing favorite places smothered, forever changed,
unwilling to envision the fate of elk and stray cattle.
While sleeping, smoke settles, waking the animal self.
Dreams of cool zephyrs, meadows snow-swollen.
Sunrise screened through viscous smoke.
800 blistered firefighters battling scorched timber
Slurry filled air support, unattainable containment.
Then, a singular breeze, snow dusted granite,
A shrug from nature, a chance to catch our breath.
Reprinted from Twisted Vignettes: Poems and Photographs.
Posted in Poems | 3 Comments »
June 26th, 2007
She’s asleep
in her beautiful cubicle
dreaming
over documents
dry as the dusty ranch road
her mind travels down.
Her dog
ecstatic
on the flatbed,
a burst of alfalfa smelling salts
through her side window,
the singular shadow of Ted
grazing
and swatting flies
with his flaxen tail
on a summer evening
in Montana.
Twisted horsehair rope
in her hands,
blue jeans
tucked
into her boot-tops,
grass belly-deep
in the pasture
as he raises
his head.
She rides bareback
as the summer sun
sets
slowly
through the dry haze
of dirt road dust
in the valley.
Reprinted from Twisted Vignettes: Poems and Photographs.
Posted in Poems | 1 Comment »