The genre of cowboy poetry has been around for quite awhile and can also be heard in the ballads the drovers sang to calm the nerves of their cowherds. There has been a lot of "bad" poetry written, but some is very good. I try my hand at it occasionally, but I don't know if it's good or bad. Whatever, it sure is fun to write. Here's one of my creations in my usual seven-syllable line:
A man had to make his choice:
roll-your-own or tailor-made.
There was certain craftsmanship
in a man's ability
to take cigarette paper,
furrow it just right, shake flakes
of Bull Durham from the bag
(which featured the well-known tag),
curl one edge of the paper
under and roll the other
over; then with a quick lick
seal that tube for good measure.
To take the craft another
step, he'd reach into his pants
to extract a kitchen match
and with a flint-thick thumb nail
scratch it to a plume of fire.
Then in his double-cupped hands
he'd ignite his creation
- even in a gusty wind -
for a few puffs of pleasure.
Copyright/Lynn Bueling
P.S. No posts will be made next week on this blogsite. I'm going to Branson, MO for some entertainment.
