SKYLAR HARWOOD
Salina, Utah
About Skylar Harwood

 

Papered Pete

Papered Pete was an old horse trader
real well known throughout the land
If you were shopping around for bloodlines
just check at ol Pete's stand

He didn't really care too much
on breed or riding style
As long as it had papers
he'd ride it with a smile

Last fall when we all met up again
to head the cow herd home
Pete was on this palomino paint
and I was on my old blue roan

He told me all about this filly
and her Doc Bar pedigree
Said she's the best cow horse
upon this range even though she's only three

This old horse of mine ain't papered
but he fits my saddle and me just fine
That's good for you old Pete did say
cause he's nothing next to mine

I just shook my head and smiled
as I mounted old Blue's back
And Pete pulled on the latigo
to tighten up the slack

Pete's prized papered pinto
got all fours clear in the sky
And turned and ran right over Pete
and just kept on running by

The other boys were at Pete's aid
so I went to catch his ride
And I know if he'd seen me laughing!
He'd a sure tried to tan my hide

He was up again and moving
when I rode back into camp
And right up on his Carhartt vest
was a perfect horseshoe stamp

Are you alright I asked him
and he just turned and looked at me
Don't judge my horse from that of course
keep in mind she's only three

Well he mounted up and we headed out
and rode up a couple draws
And I'll admit there for a while
his little horse was free of flaws

Then we come across a good size bunch
and started them on their way
When a pair right out in front of Pete
turned and begun to stray

Pete said watch this little filly go
She'll turn em back just right
I turned and looked in time to see
Pete taking into flight

Now what had happened was a rabbit
had been hiding in the brush
and as he rode on through it
like a hound dog made it flush

The rabbit took off running
and the horse went the other way
and when Pete come back to earth again
he turned back that pair that had gone astray

I said Pete she's quite a dandy
I like how she tries to strategize
and how she uses you to cut em back
You can see the intelligence in her eyes

As he got up to his feet again
he cursed that papered horse
Then grabbed a rein to lead her out
And I was feeling great remorse

I said here Pete give old Blue a try
and I'll ride your horse for a while
And to my surprise he said okay
and he said it with a smile

We finished out the day's work
and that Doc Bar horse was good to ride
And Pete he really liked old Blue
and he put his papered attitude aside
 
Yah he really changed his point of view
now he cross breeds like a fool
but I'd say he's overdone it
Last week he put a stud in with his mule

© 2006, Skylar Harwood 
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

 

 

Job Security

Most folks think I'm crazy
shoveling manure for my pay
But there's more in my job description,
I feed them ponies twice a day

But I don't worry about job security
or things like that and such
If I start to running out of work,
I just feed 'em twice as much

© 2006, Skylar Harwood 
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

 

The All Around

Joe he was an all around
He could do most anything,
from cookin meals to makin deals
Heck, he could even sing

A saddlemaker, mean colt breaker
poet and bronc rider
Rawhide braider, great horse trader
and a rodeo bullfighter

Pistol spinner, buckle winner,
an all out buckaroo
There ain't a thing I know of
that this cowboy couldn't do

Coffee brewer and horse shoer
He team roped on the side
Your eyes would be as wide as cowpies
if you'd seen this cowboy ride

Pole fence builder, stud colt guilder
and he could dog a steer
You'd bid up yourself a lifelong debt
if you'd heard him auctioneer

No doubt he was an all around
clear until his final breath
But that poor ole Joe, hey wouldn't ya know
He worked himself to death

© 2007, Skylar Harwood 
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

 

 

A Good Ride Gone

I was breakin colts to make some dough

and things were goin good

These babies now were comin round

and doin what they should

 

So I start to trust em more each day

and none could really buck

But my disguise somehow had failed me

and I was seen by Lady Luck

 

So of course, she had to change some things

and try to make us square

But I know somehow she stacked the deck

and wasn't playing fair

 

Cause this gentle little filly,

when I took her on a ride

Out and back she just went perfect

Then she tried to tan my hide

 

We had three hundred yards to go

and the corral was in plain sight

I was gockin from the saddle

When we both took into flight

 

Well I'm sure that nothin spooked her

It was just her time to try

Boy, she got all fours clear in the air

and we were really high

 

She was squealin and a fartin

with her head between her feet

Blowin fast and choppy

as I sat tall in the seat

 

When I finally got her head pulled up

and she was all unwound

I thought I might be hurtin less

If I would've hit the ground

 

Then thinkin of my bronc skills

I felt a saddened pride

As I looked around, and there i'd found

No one had seen my ride

© 2007, Skylar Harwood 
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

 

 

New Shoes

 

Dang, Tgo's thrown a shoe

and he needs em all reset

But I won't be the one to do it

On that you're safe to bet

 

So I go and call the shoein man

He says right now he's full

I guess it won't be too hard

to get the other three all pulled

 

So I pull them shoes and call her quits

and swear right then and there

That's all the work with feet I'll do

I'd rather fight a bear,

 

Than to hunch over and trim him up

and tack some new shoes on

When this chore usually comes around

I'm usually always gone

 

Then dad called and informed me

we're moving cows in just three days

I said, " Ya know I'll be there,

but I won't ride that ol Blaze"

 

"Then bring ol Tgo with ya,

he'll be better anyhow

That Blaze has never been too good

when it comes to workin cows"

 

I get up the next morning

just a cussin this new day

I don't wanna shoe this pony

I'd rather go haul hay

 

But cussin and whinin

don't make the job anymore fun

I pick up a foot and start to work

I just want this task all done

 

I got his feet trimmed up real nice

and my backs a goin out

All in all things really aren't too bad

I haven't had to shout

 

Then I tack shoes on and clinch em down

just glad to be all done

I don't know who ever said

that shoin horses was much fun

 

And the best part is he's set to go

and I don't have to ride Blaze

I'm ready to go help my dad

and ride with him for a couple days

 

But the day I went to load him

and towards home we would ride

Ol Tgo started colicin 

and wound up that he died 

 

First of all he was my pal

and the first colt that I broke

And his timing was sure awful

it wasn't much a funny joke

 

This meant I'd have to ride ol Blaze

cause Tgo was now gone

But the thing that most perturbed me

was I'd just put new shoes on

© 2007, Skylar Harwood 
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

 

Don

My folks they shoulda named me Don

So I could be the very best

at the things that all the cowboys do

like my heroes of the west

 

Don Edwards sings them cowboy songs

like the "Pecos River Queen"

Don Kings made some of the prettiest saddles

that a cowboys ever seen

 

And when it comes to making saddles

Don Butler's one to keep in mind

A saddle that compares to his

is one that's hard to find

 

And when it comes to cowboy poets

Ain't none better who could live it

Than my favorite himself, Don Kennington

who tells of shoein that ol Rivet

 

Though not everybody's favorite

none could argue anyway

about world champion bullrider

His fans call him Don Gay

 

And so I blame it on my parents

now my hopes and dreams are gone

I could have been a darn good cowboy,

If they would've only named me Don!

© 2007, Skylar Harwood 
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

 

Skylar told us, "A couple years ago at the Rocky Mountain Leather Trade Show up in Sheridan, Wyoming,  Don Butler was an instructor for a class I was in. While up there I also had the opportunity to meet Don King at King's Saddle Museum. Thinking of other known Don's and their cowboy images, I thought I'd have some fun and write myself a poem."

 

Keith

Wranglin dudes has its own dangers

Heck, Keith had almost died

And I'm sure it'll take a couple years

to heal up his pride

 

Cause this gal bout only four feet tall

and dang near six feet wide

Couldn't climb up on her horse alone

No matter how she tried

 

So Keith, he give the count of three

and told that gal to jump

And grabbed himself to handfulls

of spandex full of rump

 

He started pushing with his shoulder

This now was life or death

Then her foot slipped from the stirrup

and Keith took in one last big breath

 

He tried to scream, but it was muffled

We couldn't see his head

But I'd have bet my weeks tips

it was more blue now than red

 

His hat pushed down so tightly

the brim almost touched his shoulders

He looked like a sapling willow

tryin to hold up two huge boulders

 

Then with one final effort

of super human power

He shoved her right up on that horse

And his face it sure looked sour

 

Pull the plunger from a syringe

and the pop noise that you get

If multiplied a dozen times

would probably be your safest bet

 

To the sound it made when she come off

of Keith with that much force

Not only would she tip the scales

She purt near tipped the horse

 

Now Keith's recovery's goin fine

He says therapy is swell,

But, I'll never forget the old man

stuck in the blowhole of a whale  

© 2007, Skylar Harwood 
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

 

Skylar told us: While wrangling for a trail ride outfit I rode with an old man named Keith.  He told me this story himself, only in a more colorful version, and claimed that it really happened to him.  I cleaned it up as best I could and just put it to rhyme.

 

 

Shoeing School

I paid five thousand dollars

to go and learn the shoein trade

I've always shod a little

but with school I'd have it made

 

So when I'd shoe for other people

I could charge a big ol' fee

Just six weeks in this little course

and I'd soon have my degree

 

The first day at this school

things seemed to be quite swell

But little did I know

I was kiddy korner right with hell

 

I got my first horse all shod

with an instructor right by me

And that's the first time that I'd realized

I just shoed him up for free

 

Then they had a bunch more horses

they had tied right in a line

And all of us, who paid them money,

nailed steel on all equine

 

And they just kept a coming

Boy, this school had it made

Cause for every horse us students shod

the school then got paid

 

Yeah, I paid five thousand dollars

so I could get the upper hand

But instead I just shod horses

and made that school ten more grand

© 2008, Skylar Harwood 
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

Skylar told us, "A couple years ago my dad taught me how to shoe horses. I mainly had been shoeing my own until last year when I got the opportunity to work on quite a few horses at Ruby's Inn, where I guided trail rides. I got just as comfortable under a horse as on a horse and decided to further my education in this field. This past winter I attended Oklahoma State Horseshoeing School. Though every penny was well spent, I thought the experience was deserving of a poem."

 

Tales Never Told

Recall the stories you enjoy
pertaining to the west
The ones in song and rhythmic form
Are those remembered best

And there's probably a couple
that you've heard from folks of old
But have you heard the stories
and the tales that ne'er were told

Well if you haven't heard these tales
then know you're missing out
Cause they're from lives your kinfolk lived
that no one talks about

Sure, you might know a few things
from a journal that they kept
Granddad might have told of times
of when he laughed or wept

But that old saddle in his shed
petrifying in the dust
has stories that you won't believe
just underneath the crust

Just look at every little scratch
from seat, to skirts, to swells
And hear the silent narration
of the things this old kak tells

And that abandoned little homestead
just miles from your place
With a rundown old wood shanty
Its dwellers gone without a trace

It'll tell you of the hard times
though not much there remains
And there's the ghost town in the canyon
flooded out by heavy rains

Each of these now tells a story
of all of those gone long ago
It's a journal without writing
from all the ones we didn't know

And I look now at my parents' house
at the foot of these small hills
Where ninety years ago had sat
Salina Roller Mills

Great Grandma knew the roller mills
there on the edge of town
It's there where she was growing up
til German soldiers burnt it down

Yeah, that's a story that's been told,
but now you'd never know
As the past it slowly fades away
with the melting of each snow

And there's stories everywhere you go
worth more than that of gold
So get yourself some treasure
of the tales never told

© 2008, Skylar Harwood 
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

 

 

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 About Skylar Harwood:

2007:

I'm 20 years old from Salina, Utah, and have been writing cowboy poetry for seven years. I struck a deep interest from reading cowboy poetry books of my dad's, and like many poets, found it a great way to tell a story.