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Man's Silhouette

Cowboy Poetry

The Ballad of Franklin G

Tis time,time time for a tale that's true,

About them boys and what they do,

Away up there on Findlay Creek,

That Franklin G. is such a sneak;

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This Poetry Disease

Don't anyone move!   

this is a screw-up

I mean a hold-up,

Actually I give up.

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The Zen Of Feeding Cows

If the f**king tractor starts,

then feeding becomes

an occidental Tai Chi,

slow and simple and perfect in the flow

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I stick my nose in everything

Suck the nectar of each flower.

I poke my beak in every creek

To smell the trout and pondy-weeds

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