Haran Hunter’s Cowboy Poetry

Although it has been a few years since I left the West, there are many things I still hold dear…the mountain peaks in winter, the rushing rivers of spring thaw, and the many days spent with a rope in my hand working cattle on the range, or when they come out of the chute. For many a day was had coming off that bronc when you didn’t think you could get up and walk, and then hours later two-steppin’ and waltzing ‘til morning on sawdust covered wood floors to a good country band. Below, you’ll find a number of poems, most of which have been published in a number of western lifestyle, tourist and equestrian publications, as well as local papers that I wrote while living in Colorado and Montana. A single prayer in this regard is that you’ll be able to see through my eyes the days of old, and what the West has now become in places. After you’ve had time to read a bit, please let me know what you think. As for the pictures, most were taken as part of photo shoots from professional photographers in Colorado and Montana.

(Haran & Marias -- Photo Credits: Ken Redding Photographics / Vail, CO – Glacier National Park, Montana)

Straight From The Heart

It’s not all boots and jeans, or fancy shaped beaver hats

ain’t a rope hangin’ in your truck or pretty little chaps

the saddles are rarely fancy ‘cause of ridin’ in the rain

training a horse to rope can bring a little pain

mending fences and working cows, riding for the brand

sun-up to sundown, each day, covering a lot of land

just cause you earn a wage from the saddle don’t mean you’re a real cowpoke

it’s a lot of years, wet saddle blankets, and usually being broke

feeding tons of hay in winter, branding calves in summer

it’s year round, every day, with thousands of acres to cover

eatin’ dust and beat-up trucks, mud up to your knees

doctorin’ cattle, pullin’ calves, more than what it seems

Friday nights, maybe, you’ll get into town

‘cept when the snow’s too deep and you can’t get around

then you just sit back and watch the sunset across Montana’s big sky

knowing exactly why you’re here, never asking why

you realize it’s cause it’s what you do and who you are, not because you should

most will never understand riding for a livin’ and working harder than most men could

“whiskey bent and hell raising” – that’s for wannabes in the city

fancy shirts and silver buckles, sittin’ a little too pretty

the way you bridle a horse and saddle a bronc tells one who knows

if you’re for real, or just got the right clothes

yes, to earn a wage honestly from the saddle

you gotta know where to start

it ain’t for fame or fortune, it’s not what you wear, it’s gotta be

straight from the heart!

View and print the original Cowboy Poetry Newsletter, Hunter’s Heart (1994)

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For more information, please email haran@haranhunter.com.

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