Campfire Collection of Cowpoke Poetry

Saturday, August 17, 2013

"My Boys Are Gone"

"Gone, but not forgotten"

Well, folks it's with a sad heart I share with you that my three boys are gone, but not forgotten. Trixie doesn't understand how I feel because they weren't hers in the first place. Their mother was out of the picture for a long time. So basically I was left to raise and care for 'em.

I was the one who planted the seed - so to speak and felt responsible. I nurtured them along the way and I guess a fella might say I gave them life. I made certain they got plenty of exercises in the sun so they could be happy later and have off-spring of their own. I protected them from harm. I fed 'em everyday. Trixie didn't want them exercising in the front yard nor in the side yard, so I put up a fence of sorts out back.

Like all teenagers, they started to fight and tangle for space so I had to separate them to avoid problems. I called it time-out. As time progressed they began to grow and even had fruit of their own begin to develop (If ya know what I mean). Then one day tragedy struck. It just made me sick.

They were gone. I thought at first they ran off. I saw no signs of them anywhere. I stood over the spot where I last saw them and felt sick. Then is when I discovered the tragedy.

I sat at the kitchen table and watched Trixie pour a cup of coffee for me. She could tell something was wrong. She put the coffee pot back in its place. "What's wrong? You look almost sick."

I rubbed my forehead and set the coffee cup down on the coaster. "My boys are gone. I think they're dead. I don't know what to do."

Trixie took her hand away from her mouth. "Come with me."

I followed her out to the back yard and the place where I last saw 'em. I looked down at the empty spot. There was nothing but dirt. Trixie pointed over to the scrap pile of weeds. "Does that look like them over there?"

My jaw dropped, my eyes popped out and my posture collapsed like a balloon with all the air gone. Yep, Trixie had pulled out all my tomato plants that I raised from seeds. That was the first and will be the last time I try having a garden. I started with twenty-five seeds and ended up with three plants. After all, I'm a cowboy - not a farmer.


Vegetarians

A necessary part of ranchin' is puttin' on a brand.

 

Some Vegetarians say that's the most cruel thing heard of in our land.

 

They'll say things like, "You hurt those helpless creatures and that's what I hate."

 

Well, my botany courses back in college taught me something and I'd like to set the record straight.

 

Those plants, them folks have been 'a eatin' have all got feelings. Why, all God's creatures do.

 

They live and breathe and propagate just like me and you. 

 

Now people don't hold the market for cryin' on a pillow.

 

Plants can also drop a tear - just ask a weepin' willow.

 

Those folks eat the hearts out of lettuce and rip cabbage heads from the ground.

 

They'll pick an ear of corn so the stalk can't hear a sound.

 

They blind a helpless 'tater by cuttin' out its eyes. Then they smash his brain.

 

They peel the skin off live bananas and oranges. Oh God, what pain.

 

Mushrooms and tomatoes are tortured 'cause they're still breathin' when they fry.

 

And when they whack a helpless onion in two, a tear dro comes to my eye.

 

The cute little coconut that's nothin' more than a fuzzy ball,

 

Gets chopped in half. They drink his fluids and eat his meat. There's nothin' left at all.

 

I've barely started about their cruelty to plants, and fruits and nuts.

 

So I don't think they should complain when I tattoo my cows' butts!

 

 

*Poem taken from my book: "The Campfire Collection of Cowpoke Poetry"

 

All my books are available at my web site or download through Amazon or Smashwords.


No comments:

Post a Comment