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.

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.

‘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.

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.

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.

Reprinted from Twisted Vignettes: Poems and Photographs.