Posted by: Oklahoma Sun | March 21, 2010



J. Edward Hungerford. The Pacific Monthly, February 1915.


OH, a Round-up’s work and a heap uh grief;
And yuh kaint make plans when yore herdin’ beef;
Fer the dog-gone things are a loco breed;
Let a ki-ote yap and they’ll all stampede,
And its shore some tough if a bunch gits freed,
Old Hoss!
Read More…
Posted by: Oklahoma Sun | March 20, 2010



Katherine Elspeth Oliver. Songs of the Out of Door West, 1922.


HERE’S what I love!
The clean sky above
And the clean wide air,
The mounting plain,
The sweeping rain—
The wind in my hair!
  Read More…
Posted by: Oklahoma Sun | March 20, 2010

The Son Of Marquis Noddle.

The Son Of Marquis Noddle.

Robert J.C. Stead. The Empire Builders, 1908.


HE is brand-new out from England, and he thinks he knows it all—
(There’s a bloomin’ bit o’ goggle in his eye)
The “colonial” that crosses him is going to get a fall—
(There’s a seven-pound revolver on his thigh).
He’s a son of Marquis Noddle, he’s a nephew of an earl,
In the social swim of England he has got ‘em all awhirl,
He’s as confident as Cæsar and as pretty as a girl—
Oh, he’s out in deadly earnest, do or die.
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Posted by: Oklahoma Sun | March 19, 2010

Sleepin’ Out.

Sleepin’ Out.

Robert V. Carr. Cowboy Lyrics, 1912.


ONCE let a feller git in tune
With all outdoors, there hain’t no use
Fer nun to think he kin ferget,
Or from the wild’s big ways jar loose.
He ‘s always thinkin’ ‘bout them nights—
Jes’ listen now, and hear him sigh,
A-dreamin’ of an old tarp bed,
And sleepin’ out beneath the sky.
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Posted by: Oklahoma Sun | March 18, 2010

At The Half-Way House.

At The Half-Way House.

Louis Roller. The Overland Monthly, 1919.


LOST in the dust of the trackless plains,
Only a speck on the prairie there—
Of course on Broadway you might meet
Men more handsome or girls more fair
But give me a whiff of the desert air,
And a quaff of the cooling desert ale
Where the west bound travelers camped at night
At the half-way house on the desert trail.
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Posted by: Oklahoma Sun | March 17, 2010

A Colorado Lodge.

A Colorado Lodge.

Ruby Archer. Little Poems, 1900.


UNKNOWN to the public eye
Of a busy, hurrying town,
Where a hedge goes rambling by,
Is an old brown lodge—oh, brown
With the trees’ own swarthy hue—
The brown of the unshorn bark
Deepened with sun and dew;
And the wandering rooms within,
Curtained and coy and dark,
Have a winsome, wayward air,
A challenging—“Find me out!”
A happy wilful turn
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Posted by: Oklahoma Sun | March 16, 2010

The Stockman’s Last Bed.

The Stockman’s Last Bed.

Anonymous. “Bush Songs,” A Century of Australian Song, 1888.


WHETHER stockman or not,
For a moment give ear—
Poor Jack, he is dead,
And no more shall we hear
The crack of his whip,
Or his steed’s lively trot,
His clear “go ahead,”
Or his jingling quart pot.
For he sleeps where the wattles
Their sweet fragrance shed,
And tall gum-trees shadow
The Stockman’s last bed!
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Posted by: Oklahoma Sun | March 15, 2010

The Guardhouse.

The Guardhouse.

William Patterson White. The Pacific Monthly, February 1911.


O I‘M lyin’ in the mill with my feet agin’ the sill;
I’m as thirsty as the Arizona sand.
Both my eyes are turnin’ black, an’ my shirt’s torn up the back,
An’ my head is achin’ me to beat the band.
I was workin’ up a rep. so that I could get my step,
Now—I’ll call upon the Colonel in the mornin’.
O it’s “Prisoners! Turn out!” you can hear the Sergeant shout
When it’s time to see the Colonel in the mornin’.
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Posted by: Oklahoma Sun | March 14, 2010

The Texas Cowboy.

The Texas Cowboy.

Anonymous. The Journal of American Folk-Lore, 1913.


I AM a roving cowboy just off the Texas plain,
My trade is cinching saddles, and pulling bridle-reins;
I can throw a lasso, I can throw it with my ease,
I can rope a broncho, and ride him where I please.
Read More…
Posted by: Oklahoma Sun | March 13, 2010

Before So Many People Built Their Houses In Between.

Before So Many People Built Their Houses In Between.

Addison Erwin Sheldon. Poems and Sketches of Nebraska, 1908.


THERE’S nothin’ like the neighbors that in early days was seen
Before so many people built their houses in between;
Them days we use’ to neighbor all along the Denver road,—
Camden Forks to Martin’s an’ on to Kearney Ford,—
Thompson’s Ranch at Walnut Creek an’ Millspaugh’s futher on,
Fouse’s an’ McFadden’s—an’ another one that’s gone;
We went forty miles to funeral an’ sixty to a dance,—
An’ everybody eager, like it was their only chance,—
Shakin’ hands an’ swappin’ news an’ meetin’ heart to heart,
Before so many houses pushed us all so fur apart.
Read More…

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