Hats - Cowboy Poetry

[Fay Holiday]

Coming of Age Hat
Fay Holiday
Wild West Word Slinger
May 3 2025

At the age of ten, with a hat from kin, a hat from an old ancestor
With brim cut down, I went to town, to show my hat, a fashionable gesture
With chest puffed out, there was no doubt, that boobs I tried to fester
She should have cried, but my ma just sighed, and my me maw said God bless her

With legs in a cross, I posed like a boss, with a stance of importance no lie
I remember those jeans, not fitting worth beans, so belted they were way high
It was coming of age, my fashion not a rage, looking back I so want to cry
But tears don't come, from acting so dumb, so all I can do is sigh

That hat was too big, so I took my tails of a pig, and wound up my hair you see
That hat fit much tighter, and now it was righter, so a photo was taken of me
Sharing a photo of my stance, reminiscent of dance, friends girls laughed out with glee
I inquired why they laughed, as if they were daft ... that's the stance when a girl has to pee

 

[Fay Holiday]

Flat Brimmed Hat
Fay Holiday
Wild West Word Slinger
May 9 2022

After the long winter and snow started to melt
I stopped by the old hatters to price, a 100X beaver felt
Shaping it would be with a gentle pencil roll on the brim
Down in front, up in back, he cleared his throat, ahem ahem

"Wouldn't this crease or that be more for a young person your age
Don't you want to be fashionable like the movie star, Hollywood rage?"
"No," I said, "I don't, you see each shape of this hat comes from ancestors of old"
"Will you tell me those stories," he asks, "If my asking is not too bold."

I shared my ancestors' stories from Colorado, Arizona, and Texas
Stories of ranching and rodeo, with hardships that affected both sexes
His mannerisms told me it was time to leave, he had heard enough
To make me a hat that was versatile, all-weather, comfortable and tuff

I wore that hat in all seasons and weather for ten years more or less
Before it was stolen right off my head during a crowded rodeo mess
Why did it survive through all the hardships, what's the reason
Just to be stolen off my head, during a fun rodeo season

It was on my head, during one bad fire season so frightening
With ambers falling all around, a fire started by fast lightening
So you see those brim burns, from embers all a glow
They fell like it was winter and I was caught in the snow

Wasn't a fashion statement put there for a diva to wear
My hat protected me from burnt, singed, and damaged hair
Those blood stains came from a deep ugly leg gash
It served as a band aid, held on firm with rope lash

The dirt, the manure, even the result of eggs broken
Gave it character, made its story, a real one not a token
You see, that custom hat from 100X beaver
Even served in the pickup, when I puked from a fever

My hat was stolen off my head, but my mind retains the stories
The thief will never know that hat, with all its boastful glories
A hat is just a hat, a cover, without all the glorious tale
Like times it saved my noggin, from unexpected hail

Contemplating getting a new flat brimmed 100X beaver hat
Makes me wonder what stories it will have, with brim so flat
Maybe it will make me a better person, the Bible says, well
Not even all the great attributes of 100X, will hold up in hell

 

[Fay Holiday]

Bull Durham Barn
Fay Holiday
Wild West Word Slinger
April 29 2025

I did a lot of foolish things I said, she said she didn't know
And it didn't matter no how, since it was many years ago

As I swallowed a shot from her drink, tasting coffee down
I continued blabbing as we loaded, heading Pendleton town

I never chewed tobacco, smoked once, and never committed crime
But I did wear too short of shorts, scandalous, since past my natural prime

I never chewed, cheeked, or spat Old Bull, so let me be direct and clear
I was once too long in the rodeo garden, with mugs of frosty beer

You ever remember a ranch girl burning her bra, I mused and asked
She said she didn't recollect, such nonsense was history, it didn't last

You ever go to rodeo braless I asked, and then I could see
That was a foolish question, she was a triple D

Great for you she says, with your chest so small and flat
Since such was very hurtful, I changed the subject at that

Why is it that men never listen or pay attention, she inquired
Beats the poo out of me, leaves me speechless, I backfired

I know men don't listen to me, because I talk a lot
Pausing from my babble briefly, taking another coffee shot

On the other hand, you hardly talk and won't say poo bull
Even if flying manure hits the fan, and fills your mouth up full

Why men are so deaf, don't listen, can't hear the female word
No answer ever comes to me, no answer has been heard

With business finished in the town, well known for Let er Buck
We sashayed our denim clad behinds back, to the pickup truck

After lunch and chatter, stool seated, at the old cowboy grill
The day was young so killing time was fun, time that we had still

To take the back road off the freeway, beckoned slow and cool
Back to where I posed at the old barn ad, for the Durham Bool

That was years ago, years like chickens have flown the proverbial coop
Many memories from the day we drove, cruised the old back roads loop

Donned in shorts, short from jeans legs ripped, beyond any skillful mend
I grabbed my hat, not to diva pose, but to hold, securing from the wind

With my 100X beaver, rodeo stolen years before, the memory still not dead
This one, though Beaver of a Lesser Felt, secured, hand placed upon my head

 

[Fay Holiday]

Beaver of a Lesser Felt
Fay Holiday
Wild West Word Slinger
April 30 2025

With my daily ranch, range, and cattle days, in the rear of view
I decided I didn't need a hat, black, brown, gray, or blue
Then one day a whipping branch, my forehead it left a welt
That had me reconsidering, a hat, a beaver of lesser felt

While I desired a purer felt, the price was much too high
It didn't make sense for purer felt, that's fact, I will not lie
You see with 100X, the price goes up, up toward the sky
So many considerations choosing a hat, deciding what to buy

If I recollect correct, the hat I bought was 20X, beaver fifty
With full crown ivory brown, it was utility snazzy nifty
I opted for sun blocking shade, shade from the wide flat brim
Paired with sunglasses dark, the sun was very dim

That hat of lesser beaver felt, I had for many a moon
Before I gave it to friend, one sunny afternoon
She gave it to her daughter grand, that wore it ridin low
Racing on the old river trail, wind caught, it was seen no mo

I often wonder how the 20X held up, saturated in river silt
Only the sturgeon know, but they are mum, harboring no guilt
I think my days of custom hats, in the cowboy ranch tradition
Are over, here's hoping you understand, my unique position

 

[Fay Holiday]

New Hat Old Skirt
Fay Holiday
Wild West Word Slinger
May 1 2025

It was outdoor wedding time, request were made for ladies in skirts and hat
Having no suitable hat, I went shopping finding one without fret or frat

Feeling sassy, although an old lassie, in my new hat and old skirt
I came to honor friends of friends, break bread, not to dance or flirt

A wind came up, a westerly, blowing my old skirt up high
With no time to think, I grabbed my hat, foolish, I cannot lie

I should have worn a pencil skirt, avoiding indecent shame
Is was a bad decision, my bad, there is only one to blame

When asked why I didn't grab my skirt, why did I do in lieu
"What was seen under my skirt is old, this hat is brand new"

 

[Ouachita]

Hey Fay,
How 'bout you telling about yourself. I like your poetry as it is, but it'd be better with some context, some background.

 

[Fay Holiday]

Hey Fay,
How 'bout you telling about yourself. I like your poetry as it is, but it'd be better with some context, some background.

I made a brief introduction on the new members thread. I wish they had a personal diary or blog section on this forum for sharing info in one place.

 

[Dave]

She use to live real close to my neck of the woods. What more do you need to know? Someone who forsakes the rest of the world to live in this area is obviously of superior intelligence.

 

[greybeard]

I made a brief introduction on the new members thread. I wish they had a personal diary or blog section on this forum for sharing info in one place.

This is and always has been a discussion board type format with first and foremost a problem solving board for cattle and associated infrastructure.
Daily blogs or text podscasts type entries don't play very good here, tho a couple of people have tried to do it in the past.
I hope ya stick around, continue to entertain us with your cowboy/cowgirl poetry and anything else you want to talk about.

 

[Fay Holiday]

Well Dave, I don't know about superior intelligence, but superior grit certainly applies.

Greybeard, Yes I know this is a specialty forum for cattle. I have been around cattle for 74 years now and although I no longer ranch due to health and old age, it is the theme of my cowboy poetry. In my opinion, those poets whose poems are more about horses, trail riding, pro rodeo, and less about cattle ranch life, have lost the old spirit of cowboy poetry and story telling.

The name cowboy says it all. Cowboys were those, usually young men, that worked on trail drives driving cows to market. Since they were many times in their teens, boys was attached to cow. Cow also included steers. Sadly the term cowboy lost its meaning with the advent of professional rodeo. Cowboy is used these days for folks that are mostly wranglers or just hobby horse folks. In my family, cowboy also included girls and women. Most times when one of my grandpas called for cowboys to help out, it was mostly the girls that showed up.

One of my great great grandpas that had a large ranch and lots of land back about 1875, started drinking whiskey and finally ended up drunk all the time. His wife and daughter legally had him committed and took over the ranch. The daughter, my Great Grandma, was among the first women in Texas to be a ranch owner. She was married to a mostly American Indian and it took time before he was also included as an owner.

For me, when working cattle, whether on horse, tin pony, or on foot, I was a "cowboy." When I was building fence or operating equipment, I was a ranch hand. After I qualified as a livestock judge, then when at a fair or 4H judging, that was what I was, a Livestock judge. It all fell under the umbrella of Cattle Rancher.

 

[Fay Holiday]

Here is a story from when I was 12. My dad and I finally found a smaller black baldy cow and was able to get her to the range corral, shed, and supply/bunk house. After a hard labor, only a head appeared. A very large one. My dad got her haltered and tied to a snubbing post and then reinjured his cracked ribs trying to get to the back folded front legs.

The calf died rather quickly from strangulation, and my dad couldn't use his arms without excruting pain, so it was my job to cut the head of the calf off, push the bloody neck back, and then go in for the front legs. Once I got the front legs out, then pulling the calf required hooking up the block and tackle and easing it out. Not easy for a 12 year old. That was my first experience pulling a calf.

 

[504RP]

I was about that age when I watched as a man pulled a calf that had died before being born in the cows womb. It had been dead inside the cow long enough that it had started decaying. The cow had gotten so weak by that time she had laid down and was almost dead herself. It was very week. The man would reach up inside the uterus and attach chains to whatever he could get them attached to. First the head came off. Then both front legs came off, then the neck and rib cage. Then I was so sick from what I seen and still remember that smell today. That I left and don't know how the rest went. I think I was around 10 years old at the time. The man pulling the calf was just out of high school and was very big and strong. He tried out for some pro foot ball team not long after this happened. Only mention this to give readers some idea as to how capable he was to pull that calf out in peaces like he did. He would put both feet on the cows hips to brace his self as he would pull on the chains. Stuff like that is sometimes part of owning cattle or other live stock. Just something that has to be done to the best of your ability wether you want to or not.

 

[Fay Holiday]

Eastern Oregon Buckeroo
Fay Holiday
Wild West Word Slinger
Aug 1 2024

It's rodeo time, out here in the east
Where man steps up, to ride the bucking beast
Cowboys and Indians, do what they like to do
It's low down on the ground, Eastern Oregon Buckeroo

Cowboys, Indians, and Hippies, are looking mighty dapper
Rough stock is unloaded, it's going to be a zapper
Many a Cowboy will soon, be all black and blue
It's low down on the ground, Eastern Oregon Buckeroo

Young ladies rounding barrels, toppling some they graze
Ropers raising dust, lariats swinging in a haze
Smoke rising from the pit, cooking brisket BBQ
It's low down to the ground, Eastern Oregon Buckeroo

Hot dogs, hamburgers, tap beer, all at least a ten dollar bill
Long lines, port a potty waiting, their turn to take a spill
Never mind the dust, the burn of sun, just do what you do
It's low down to the ground, Eastern Oregon Buckeroo

So get out of town, come on down, enjoy what we do
It's a low down, hoe down, Eastern Oregon Buckeroo

 

[Dave]

Well Dave, I don't know about superior intelligence, but superior grit certainly applies.

Don't let on anything to these people that you are anything less than superior intelligence. Other wise they will think you are just another hick from the sticks. Myself I have a Harvard education. Might have been Harvard elementary but how many others on here are Harvard educated? You get the picture. Don't sell yourself short.

 

[Fay Holiday]

High Noon at the Bar PP Bar
Fay Holiday
Wild West Word Slinger
June 3 2022

It amazes me that cowboys can shoot the head off a rattler at 30 feet with a single action Colt
But miss a two foot porcelain target standing two feet away, when to the toilet they bolt
Once taking a stance two feet above the porcelain throne, flushing for sanitation
They miss the bowl and blast the back of the seat, it defies the imagination

When women suggest perhaps changing their stance and sitting when they shoot
They become incensed, they feel insulted, and their excuses are such a hoot
Their excuse explores being unsteady, drowsy, and half asleep at night
Then suggestions that since darkness impairs, they sit down, is unjustly cause for fight

Rather than assume a reasonable sanitary toilet position
The cowboys resolved to go outside and pee in manly tradition
So they went outside and peed in the moonlight, listening to the coyotes call
No one thought of facing the moon, instead they peed on the bunk house wall

Memories of the boss lady as she berated, demanding new board and bat
She said they had manners of a billy goat in rut, it smelled like decaying rat
She made a vow to hire all women for the next spring through fall season
No one even the boss man, the head honcho, dared question her reason

She went on about replacing their hats, and boots with fishermen's slicker
Sending them to gut fish on a boat in Taiwan, no one dared even snicker
Since they loved the smell of dead fish, lacking the courage to face the moon
They should all be stripped of their cowboy title and gut fish at high noon

As Sue and I assisted the boss man readying for haying, the boys stood trial
He confessed to me and Sue with our promise of silence, he wasn't in denial
Years ago, he too was on trial and since then had assumed a sitting position
I'll never forget the Bar PP Bar, its real name I forget, with deliberate omission

 

[greybeard]

Keep 'em coming!, but pay no attention to that Dave person. He landed on his head a few times too many back in his younger (bullet proof, invisible and able to jump a 5 strand fence flat footed) days.

 

[Fay Holiday]

Denim and Western Decline
Fay Holiday
Wild West Word Slinger
Sept 25 2021

That big W embroidered on the pockets on the rear
No longer says American as you wrestle down that steer
The west that was once based on beef, God, whiskey, and hope
Is now given way to no responsibility, disrespect, tofu, and dope

Cowgirls once wearing no back pocket jeans called bareback
Graced rodeos as they brushed their horses and got out their tack
Most cowboys controlled their manners, their language, and drama
Reason being, they respected, honored, and deeply feared their mama

They knew their mama brought them into the world and she could take them out
Such revelation kept them focused ------- when they went to the barn to pout
No smart denim donned cowboy ever called his mama an unspeakable name
Changed since biblical times, the rod was now a whip, a quirt, and not a cane

Those days have disappeared, ended, and fled
Except for a few living and most of the dead
You see when denim changed, no longer USA made jeans
Many branding irons went cold and pots emptied of beans

Rodeo became a big-time sport not a special ranch holiday
With sponsors promoting commie jeans just for the pay
Jeans made in China by workers living in poverty and squalor
Gives me rise to step upon my saddle soapbox ---- and holler

 

[Fay Holiday]

Let Er Ride
Fay Holiday
Wild West Word Slinger
April 22 2022

You know girl sometimes best to let things slide
Take a firm stance then walk and step with a glide
That is what he meant but with old cowboy pride
One of few words simply said, girl, just let er ride

I was ten then, a real woopie tie yi yo cowgirl mounted on hoof
And not about to listen to my old Texas uncle with snow on his roof
So I went thundering off through the mesquites after a breakaway steer
And while a 14 hands fall doesn't sound like much of a story to hear

It is all in the details of that fall, the nitty-gritty, that made it hard to bare
You see my chaps didn't fully protect my backside from that prickly pear
The old paint nudged me as to say you silly girl you were extremely lucky
Old auntie scolded, old uncle just said "let er ride" his trademarked horse pucky

Now at seventy one I think about that ancient time
Before I get riled and violently share a piece of my mind
Let er ride is great advice before one has a fit
But notice I didn't say I do, I said I think about it

On a recent rural walk I pondered and composed these lines
Looking out in the distance where the desert meets the pines
Thinking of the changes and all the rules we must abide
I know what my old uncle meant by his rule, "let er ride."

Confront life and take a firm unyielding stance
Don't go thundering off before choreographing your dance
Backing off and not crowding instead facing that steer
Would have saved me a painful poke right in the posteer

My cowboy cousins upon hearing about the thorn in my patoot
Laughed until they hee hawed, my dilemma was such a hoot
Suffering embarrassment and shame, I searched for a place to hide
If only I had known what old uncle meant by "Let Er Ride!"

 

[Fay Holiday]

Three Eyed Horse
Fay Holiday
Wild West Word Slinger
April 23 2022

Learn to sleep like a three-eyed horse
My father said, his voice was tired and hoarse
So, I left my bunk cranky with much remorse

It was calving time, requiring all on 24 hour duty
How do I sleep on my feet and not my booty

Sleep like a horse with three eyes he said
Stand at the corral, don't lie in your bed
The time for lying sleep is once you are dead

Lock your knees with closed eyes but alert
Don't count sheep or with Shepherds flirt

But I don't have a third eye and neither does a horse
I was young but not dumb, so I said it with force
It is an invisible ability when you stay the course

Like a horse you can sleep awake, your feet ready to go
From the thermos take a quick sip of steaming old Joe

Coffee drinking age 12 was forbidden except at calving time
To me it didn't make sense, but that was their line
Like a sleeping horse with three eyes, it was one of a kind

I remember my first time turning a breech
I stood on a stool, it was quite a long reach

Finding the front feet pulling them out first
Followed by the head and neck, with pride I burst
Now for another, I was hooked I had the thirst

How many I turned I really don't know
But I sure earned those sips of steaming old Joe

I wanted to go to school and become a vet
I never did, but that isn't a current regret
Sleeping on my feet still, alludes me yet

I never mastered sleeping like a three eyed cow pony
Such advice and ranch wisdom is pure old baloney

 

[Fay Holiday]

Keep 'em coming!, but pay no attention to that Dave person. He landed on his head a few times too many back in his younger (bullet proof, invisible and able to jump a 5 strand fence flat footed) days.

I have never met Dave, but I know the area and his ranch from 40 or more years ago. While it is true that he did rodeo and must have banged his head at least once, he is the real deal and despite his years on the coast cutting trees, he has adapted well to his later years environment. It is tough country down there and among the last of the old west way of life.

He does have a fear of rattlesnakes that rule the rocks behind his place, but I can't fault him for that. The small town or community near where he lives once had a cafe. Here is a story from when I was in that area.

Rye Valley Sagebrush

I was coming back from being up 24 hours helping with calving way south of nowhere and Mormon Basin. I decided to take a shortcut through Rye Valley over to Hwy 30. I had to drive as my friend was overtired and fell asleep before I was in the driver's seat. Her pickup was fairly new, comfortable, and automatic, unlike my old International 4WD to which I was accustomed. Coming through Rye Valley as daylight was breaking, I was awakened by her screaming, and the sound of giant sage brush beating the extended side mirrors something fierce. All we could see was giant sagebrush all around us. I reversed it and was able to follow the path of disturbed sagebrush until we hit the dirt road. I was about a quarter-mile off the road. I had failed to navigate a curve in the road. We sat there awhile drinking the last of the cold coffee from the thermos.

That cold coffee kept us alert as we made it over Gold Ridge and down to old highway 30 that carried us into Durkee. Durkee had a great breakfast cafe in those days. Nothing like hot black coffee, homemade biscuits, heavily peppered gravy, eggs sunny side up, and a few strips of pig fat to get the day going.