A treasured memory ~ this refers to an incident that removed any doubt I might have had in the healing power of the drum.

Healing Power of the Drum

A Dead Man's Name

Every day the bus would take
the boy away so he could make
teachers frown from his mistakes
cause he didn't give a damn.
He was born to out-ride the wind,
show a tornado how to spin --
rodeo was where he'd begin
and prove he was a man.

He hit the road in ninety three
packing light as he traveled free --
made the short go in Calgary,
then won rookie of the year.
The bulls he rode were big and strong
but he showed the world he belonged,
the next year he could do no wrong
in Vegas he had no peer.

World champion by age twenty one,
he whipped the moon and broke the sun;
a man child just out having fun
as he drummed his own beat.
He drove or flew from town to town
light the fuse then he'd burn it down.
Hearts and hooves were his playground,
he'd never known defeat.

As he hit Cheyenne in mid July
crowds would gather as he walked by,
he'd point a finger to the sky...
Number One at this game!
But bulls don't read the daily press,
don't give a care to your success;
they also want to be the best
and beat you just the same.

His first ride was ninety two
there was nothing that bull could do
he spurred until the buzzer blew,
then stepped off to the right.
The grandstands erupted with applause
he had broken gravity laws,
the judges agreed he had no flaws --
day money was his that night.

But the bull would get his revenge
as cowboys talked behind the pens,
a gate unlatched unknown to them,
he stood there faced away.
Eighteen hundred pounds of horns and hate
came crashing through the unlatched gate
bent on granting a dead man's fate
to the man of the day.

As hooves and horns thrashed the ground
the man below them made no sound.
The bull had won the final round
and walked away, head high!
Denim and dirt covered the man,
a life lost in a second's span,
no more gold buckles in God's plan.
A cowboy had to die.

And so it goes in rodeo,
thousands dream of silver and gold
but for each of these a tale is told
of hearts and bodies lost.
A wood cross planted behind the chute
reminds the cowboys of the truth;
to look ahead far beyond their youth --
don't pay the devil's cost.

Don't walk away from friends or foes
or turn your back to devils or bulls.
Take the highs along with the lows --
in stride and with good grace.
Because rodeo is just a game
no matter if it brings you fame
the world forgets a dead man's name
as another takes his place.
 
 

A Dead Man's Name

"It does not require many words to speak the truth" - Chief Joseph


Emotions are the colors that paint an otherwise black and white world. Through these pages its hoped that your day will be painted with a bit more color from my rainbow word-brush.

I was born into a ranching and rodeo family, have lived the life to some degree and while much of my poetry centers around the cowboy lifestyle, I do not consider myself a "Cowboy Poet". I do write about real life - the beauty, the hardships and the laughter.

I am an accountant by trade, and not so redneck as one might stereotype me to be, but I am fiercely proud of my country background and strive to portray the cowboy and others in real life situations and with real life humor and humility.

I have dabbled in poetry for many years. I strive to write on a variety of topics, however, as with most writers, I tend to write on what I know.

I know Nature, and I love to be consumed by her beauty. I know the winds, the mountains and the wide open prairies of home.

I know Cowboys. I was raised by one, grew up idolizing many and have spent enough time on the back of a horse to feel completely connected to the cowboy way of life.

I know Love. First love, lost love, pain and elation.

I know History. I study it, immerse myself in reading it. Particularly the history of the Native Americans.

These are the things that I write on. They are a part of who I am, who I was and what will remain when I am no longer here.

I was influenced at a young age by the writings of Robert Service, Banjo Patterson and Robert Frost, and therefore developed a love for rhyme and rhythm. A lot of my work tends to rhyme, although I do try to write some free verse and prose as well.
 
I am always looking for ways to improve my writing and would appreciate any constructive feedback on my poetry. I promise I won't be offended.

When my time has passed, and my breath has silenced, the mountain winds can carry my ashes over this wonderful land that I call home. I am Canadian by birth, Albertan by choice and a lifelong resident of the Rocky Mountains by destiny.

I hope you enjoy my writing.

Rory

A Dead Man's Name

apoeticinjustice

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