Vintage Colorado Poetry Poem of the Week January 19, 2004

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The 98th National Western Stock Show in Denver opened Saturday, January 10th.  The Show's just past mid-point now.  Events this week include rodeo, draft horse and mule show, bison judging, longhorn show, to name just a few, plus more rodeo with the finals next Sunday the closing event.  By then, more than a few cowboys might feel like the one in this 1919 poem.

A Cowboy at the Carnival Yes, o' cose it's interestin' to a feller from the        range, Mighty queerish, too, I tell you,---sich a racket fer        a change ; From a life among the cattle, from a wool shirt        and the chaps To the biled shirt o' the city and the other tony        traps. Never seed sich herds o' people throwed together,        every brand O' humanity, I reckon, in this big mountain land Rounded up right here in Denver, runnin' on new        sort o' feed. Actin' restless an' oneasy, like they threatened to        stampede. Mighty curious to a rider comin' from the range,        he feels What you'd call a lost sensation from sombrero clar        to heels ; Like a critter stray that drifted in a windstorm from        its range To another run o' grazing where the brands it sees        are strange. Then I see a city herder, a policeman, don't you        know, Sort o' think he's got men spotted an' is 'bout to make        a throw Fer to catch me an' corral me fer a stray till he can        talk On the wire an' tell the owner fer to come an' get        his stock. Yes, it's mighty strange an' funny fer a cowboy, as        you say, Fer to hit a camp like this one, so unanimously gay ; But I want to tell you, pardner, that a rider sich as me Isn't built fer feedin' on sich crazy jamboree. Every bone I got's a-achin', an' my feet as sore as if I had hit a bed o' cactus, an' my hinges is as stiff From a-hittin' these hot pavements as a feller's jints        kin git,--- 'Taint like holdin' down a broncho on the range, a        little bit. I'm hankerin', I tell you, fer to hit the trail an' run Like a crazy, locoed yearlin' from this big cloud-        burst o' fun Back toward the cattle ranches, where a feller's        breath comes free And he wears the clothes that fits him, 'stead o' this        slick toggery. Where his home is in the saddle, an' the heavens is        his roof, An' his ever'day companions wears the hide an'        cloven hoof, Where the beller of the cattle is the only sound he        hears, An' he never thinks o' nothin' but his grub an' hoss        an' steers.                                                                                                  --Anonymous            Reprinted from Songs of the Cattle Trail and Cow Camp by John A. Lomax, New York, 1919.