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Rex Henderson



A Kindred Spirit

I've never owned a horse
A saddle, lariat or a steer.
I've never owned grazing land
And for a cowboy that is queer.

I've never owned a cow or calf
So a cowboy I just haven't been.
I've tried to be a cowboy poet,
But prizes I'll never win.

And when it comes to recitin',
I can't remember a single line.
And when I begin to read,
I'm already slippin' in decline.

From all the failures listed above
It makes me feel sorta sad.
When tempted to be a cowboy,
I think of the hanging chad.

So I'll never be a cowboy,
But how I love the cowboy way,
The simple life, the love of nature
Just down right honest folk are they.

I love their creative songs and poems,
I love their smiles and friendliness,
Their handshakes and the hugs.
I love the meetings I confess.

I love to sit around the campfires
When the evening shadows fall
Listening to our many poets
And musicians who give their all.

Their warm spirits burst into flame
Like the fire around the wood
But the flame of kindred spirit
Burned brighter than the wood.

Cowboy friends, each a library,
An epitome of love and care
These are the fires that warm most
There is nothing to compare.
From the glow of many campfires,
The Meetings in Mountain View,
The Winter Watt's Meetings,
And the honor of bidding adieu,

These meetings I highly treasure
For they represent the old West,
The Cowboy's place in history
And the fellowship of the best.

From down on the ol' Texas trail
I yearn to ride back some day
For the music and the poems,
And hugs the good old cowboy way.

Rex Henderson
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.


Cowboy Jed

"Lord, I believe all things are right in Heaven
Just the way they oughta be, but down here,
Lord, I'm a feelin's things just aint so good.
Frettin' and complainin' is about all I hear."

W'y I just found myself flalt out a grippin"
The other day because things weren't goin' right.
And I said, "Lord, it's time You're a doin' somethin'
Like blessin' this old parched land tonight.."

The cricks and water holes are a dryin' up,
The hot, sweltering, burning winds are a schorin'
The cattle's a bawlin' "Lord, don't you care?
Why don't You send rain like its always been?"

Well, I slunked off to sleep in my old bedroll
Not knowin' what tomorrow would bring,
And I dreamt about lightin' and thunder
And a downpour that was a frightenin' thing.

It was a restless night, but when I awakened
The good Lord had come by with lots of rain.
The cricks were a flowin', the water holes a fillin',
And the rain had come to freshen once again.

Then I cried, "Lord forgive my belly achin',
And complainin', and how I questioned You.
Please help this ol' cowboy to know that
You're a watchin', and will always see us through."

Rex Henderson
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.



About Rex Henderson:

I am a member of the Missouri Cowboy Poets Association along with Leroy Watts and Neal Torrey. I grew up on a farm in southeast Kansas where there were cattle and horses.

At 19 I left the farm and entered the Ministry and have served as a Pastor for many years. For 12 years I have written weekly for a newspaper under the heading of Poetry, Prose and Praise.

I hold three Masters Degrees, one in English from Northwest MO State University, Maryville, Mo. From New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary I have two degrees; One in Religious Education and the other Master of Divinity.

My wife, Erma Lee and I have two sons and a daughter and some Grands and Great Grands.

Oklahoma is my native state.



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