Poetry By Chuck

Subtitle

 

The day is a woman who loves tan.
Riding across this fatal-feeling land.
A dusting of morning snow.
The forgotten shine of the moons glow.

A remote bunkhouse with whispy smoke.
The sage brush plains where six guns spoke.
Prairie dogs n' cows, snakes and faint clouds.
Where more than one Cowboy wore a shroud.

When God looked down and created the space.
Where rivers once roared and oceans owned the place.
Dust devils now rule and twist the sky.
A lonely coyote howls its forlorn cry.

This rocky spine of tough country,
 which encompasses the Outlaw Trail.

Where rocks splinter into the dust of ages,
and Cowboys tell stories like some kind of sages.
Wagon wheel tracks last forever,
And Outlaws thought they were clever.

Indian songs and wood smoke in the air.
Grass baskets and woven hair.
There's a haze around the western moon.
Dust from winds long ago swooned.

Where the Calvary and Indians fought it out.
Bleached bones no longer about.
There's a rainbow over the Hole-in-the-Wall.
Where Outlaws saw it all.

Where dawn comes breakin' thru.
And a Cowboys eyes speak to you.
In a land few call home.
Where Outlaws no longer roam.

The ghosts are still aware.
Although thread worn and barely there.
The leathers all rotted away,
And the grounds mostly of sand and clay.

In a midnights screaming wind,
Where the souls lonely howl begins.
In a sky of midnight black,
A campfire's glow holds them back.

This rocky spine of tough country,
 which encompasses the Outlaw Trail.

In a land of abundant scarcity,
Riddled with Cowpokes that think their witty.
Lie the forgotten lives of adversity,
And the buried miners and their surity.

Now the trails worn us to the bone.
Broken wagon wheels are well known.
The dust coats our mouths,
and its time...to check the mounts.

This rocky spine of tough country,
 which encompasses the Outlaw Trail.


 

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