AN OLD COWBOY'S ADVICE
A Poem by Tom Correa
Most folks today work hard just try’n to stay sane,
And today’s Cowboys are pretty much the same.
No matter if young or old, Wrangler, Paniolo, or Vaquero,
They all love an early morning ride through hills that roll
Up from a valley floor of green and golden plains,
The feel of a comfortable saddle that's been maintained,
A brand of their own, jackpot money, ropings, and rodeo.
Cowboys love Quarter Horses, geldings, a mare with heart and a lot of go,
A broad chest, a kind eye, a nice built bay, and tall sorrels.
They love the aroma of fresh coffee wake’n camp to shake the dew,
The sound of a crackling fire, a sip of whiskey, and a good joke or two,
California’s Sierras, the vastness of Montana, and herds of Buffalo.
They love the word “Liberty”, being ready to fight for Freedom never gets old,
And when the sun falls behind Old Glory and she takes on a glow,
A Cowboy will find a feeling that goes right to his soul.
So if a gnaw’n desire becomes fact, go pull your saddle off its rack.
Saddle up slow, and mount up after you take in ‘er slack,
And ride out not caring what time you get back.
Just set your speed and travel use’n a few common sense rules:
First, remember to care for your horse knowing what he can and can’t do.
Second, remember an all day ride ought to be rode with slow pleasure,
Because a constant lope will sooner or later have 'em winded and nowhere.
Move easy with an eye on the terrain, and always watch for bad weather,
All can appear flat and clear, but never give away your slicker.
Don’t let yourself get bogged down with useless questions or ponder
The clever short cuts and easy this or that trail used by others.
The right way might be a hard road, but it won’t last forever,
And the lessons you learn along that trail you’ll always remember.
So try not to trespass where it’s someone else’s estate,
And for God's sake, if you do, please don’t forget to close those gates.
Now if you can’t enjoy the cool smell of summer rain in all of God’s wonder,
And the uncertainties of life truly has you bothered,
Keep in mind, what matters is you, family, compadres, and home.
Gather ‘em up with a faith in God, your horse, and all you’ve sewn,
And hang on to ride out the rough times you're going through!
No matter if young or old, Wrangler, Paniolo, or Vaquero,
Remember to smile knowing you truly can hold your own!
And if some so and so should ask, “Why are you smiling so much today?”
Just go ahead and keep smiling, it doesn't matter what you would say,
Most folks have to figure things out in their own way.
Afterall Cowboys today work hard just try’n to stay sane,
And most folks today are pretty much the same.
A Poem by Tom Correa
Most folks today work hard just try’n to stay sane,
And today’s Cowboys are pretty much the same.
No matter if young or old, Wrangler, Paniolo, or Vaquero,
They all love an early morning ride through hills that roll
Up from a valley floor of green and golden plains,
The feel of a comfortable saddle that's been maintained,
A brand of their own, jackpot money, ropings, and rodeo.
Cowboys love Quarter Horses, geldings, a mare with heart and a lot of go,
A broad chest, a kind eye, a nice built bay, and tall sorrels.
They love the aroma of fresh coffee wake’n camp to shake the dew,
The sound of a crackling fire, a sip of whiskey, and a good joke or two,
California’s Sierras, the vastness of Montana, and herds of Buffalo.
They love the word “Liberty”, being ready to fight for Freedom never gets old,
And when the sun falls behind Old Glory and she takes on a glow,
A Cowboy will find a feeling that goes right to his soul.
So if a gnaw’n desire becomes fact, go pull your saddle off its rack.
Saddle up slow, and mount up after you take in ‘er slack,
And ride out not caring what time you get back.
Just set your speed and travel use’n a few common sense rules:
First, remember to care for your horse knowing what he can and can’t do.
Second, remember an all day ride ought to be rode with slow pleasure,
Because a constant lope will sooner or later have 'em winded and nowhere.
Move easy with an eye on the terrain, and always watch for bad weather,
All can appear flat and clear, but never give away your slicker.
Don’t let yourself get bogged down with useless questions or ponder
The clever short cuts and easy this or that trail used by others.
The right way might be a hard road, but it won’t last forever,
And the lessons you learn along that trail you’ll always remember.
So try not to trespass where it’s someone else’s estate,
And for God's sake, if you do, please don’t forget to close those gates.
Now if you can’t enjoy the cool smell of summer rain in all of God’s wonder,
And the uncertainties of life truly has you bothered,
Keep in mind, what matters is you, family, compadres, and home.
Gather ‘em up with a faith in God, your horse, and all you’ve sewn,
And hang on to ride out the rough times you're going through!
No matter if young or old, Wrangler, Paniolo, or Vaquero,
Remember to smile knowing you truly can hold your own!
And if some so and so should ask, “Why are you smiling so much today?”
Just go ahead and keep smiling, it doesn't matter what you would say,
Most folks have to figure things out in their own way.
Afterall Cowboys today work hard just try’n to stay sane,
And most folks today are pretty much the same.
© Tom Correa
September 1st, 2001
September 1st, 2001
ABOUT KEEPING FOCUSED
A Poem by Tom Correa
At the Veterans Hospital, Doctor Murphy was tired of listening to it
While giving a class to a group of Vietnam Vets who were throwing a fit.
After Doctor Ron Murphy just let each man whine and belly-ache,
The good Doctor knew what was finally needed for God's sack.
So he grabbed up a small piece of chalk and draw on the blackboard
A ship they all knew and the iceberg that she was sailing toward.
Well, some of the Vets sighed, others laughed, and some were bored,
Until Doctor Murphy said "don't laugh, you all live as if you're all aboard
The Titanic while she's sinking from a hole ripped into her starboard."
A sudden and angry quiet fell over the room,
A sudden and angry quiet fell over the room,
Most men don't like to be told they deal in gloom.
And when one old Vet spoke up and said, "I've had enough,
I came here for help, and I'm not here to hear this sort of stuff."
Pointing to the boat, Doctor Murphy nodded, then with a smile replied,
"But you're here! And what has gotten you here is just like most of you guys,
You see while the Titanic is slowly sinking, most of you here are doomed
Because you're too worried about re-arranging chairs in her Dinning Room!"
© Tom Correa
August 13th, 2002
A COW HORSE NAMED MURPHY
A Poem by Tom Correa
My bay’s registration's with the American Quarter Horse Association.
He’s got great bloodlines and real nice conformation,
Yet at first, I swore I bought a cold-blooded clown
Who was so darn cinchy he’d simply throw himself down.
Sure he doctor’s easy and he’ll trailer OK, and sure both’s a benefit,
But with his crow hop’n starts, teeth jar’n gait, and the way he throws a fit,
I started to wonder if later I’d have a few regrets.
Now since I was raised around ol’ cowboys, a lot’a kids, and cattle,
And over the years moved a few cows for folks,
I wasn’t completely blind to see I needed my son under saddle
And maybe some round pen work with a lunge line and rope.
Of course having things go right is always my hope,
But I know real well some things just won’t.
Allow me try to elaborate and maybe make a few things straight:
You see Murphy still ain’t trained to head or heel, or sit in a box and wait,
And crossing water and opening gates are still among the things he hates.
And though at times he can go from easy keeper to bronc with no holds barred,
I did hook on to a bay want’n to respond with a great second wind and heart.
Now I don’t usually care if others laugh about my treat’n him like a kid,
And some say I shouldn’t spoil that old knot-head,
But simply put, he has done it all and to his credit
He simply don’t understand the word quit.
You see, he’ll move cows all day through any terrain, and that’s just a start.
He does what I ask, he’ll go anywhere, do no matter what, and work real hard.
So folks can think or say what they may
And most likely some will find it strange to treat stock my way,
But they’ll probably never understand how a horse like my bay
Can truly sneak into a life and steal your heart away.
In fact it wasn’t that long ago at an auction, I think it was back in late May,
That I couldn’t believe my ears when I heard my friend’s ol’ Uncle say,
“You should sell that horse of yours, and buy yourself a good horse today!”
Now I’ve only known the ol’ Timer a short while and he’s likable of course,
But I figured he’d lost his mind by the way he talked about my horse.
So being respectful and not unkind, I simply replied, “No thanks, he’s just fine.”
Then days later, my friend and his ol’ Uncle asked me if I had some time
To help them go into the hills and look for a few strays they couldn’t find.
Now we worked all day and only stopped a few minutes to get out of the sun,
And I’d say that my friend's ol’ Uncle was purely amazed, I’d even say he was stunned,
See’n the way my boy Murphy works for me, and that he just ain’t as bad as some!
And later when our day had ended and it was awful close to sundown,
I tried not to give ‘em too hard a time but I figured that time had come around,
So I just sort’a brought up a fact to his attention and mentioned mostly in fun,
“Yes Sir, to sell ‘em would be pretty dumb!”
© Tom Correa
August 1st, 1997
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