Wheated fields
raging bulls
prairie natives
all roamed
a festive thriving
Bless-ed home
A bedeviled
creature
wasted
this throne,
Alas, not me
to never be,
If I were
a cowboy
I would poke
the earth and
straddle the
land, rock a
mountain on
rivers grand
A cowboys cattle
who knows
of no clan-
a buffalo, an eagle
or gallant man,
that would
battle boulders
thundering down
a canyon, a slip
knotted tightly
bound, to a falls
lying slantward
facing a steep drop
cliff,
a water-whittled
acrid,
dry drip
If I were a
cowboy, there
would be no
‘last stand’
no dust bowl
no famine
no tumbled
weeds rolling,
no smoked winds
blowing,
out of control
like a lost herd
or vacant soul
only green valleys
and rugged knolls
would blaze this
land of sacred souls.
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh revised 5/21/21
Photo by Mahir Uysal on Unsplash
#Poetry #Rhymes #Spokenword #Cowboys
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