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Freedom
The cowboy's a man, that rides this big land
With his pony, they're both wild and free
Over desert and hill, singin' songs that can fill
The air of the warm summer breeze
Lookin' for strays, he's been out for days
Under sun that can make his skin leather
He smiles every day, can't live another way
Floating free like a wind blown feather
He came from the east, leaving all the big towns
The crowded streets and the noise
Riding out through the west in his four pocket vest
Feelin' good, he's a working cowboy
He loves the wide plain, even in a hard rain
It cleans up the smell of the cattle
All he wants is his pay at the end of the day
To buy him a fancier saddle
He thinks of his stay, down Mexico way
Riding with the Spanish Vaquero
But the heat and the dust that year were too much
So he rode to the mountains of powder snow
Some day he just may get a place of his own
Right now that's for other kinds of men
His rope and his gun, his saddle and the sun
Are all that he'll need until then
5-30-99 7:00
© 1999, Jan F Erickson
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
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Ten Dollars
Way out on the prairie, 'neath the big mid-western sky
Lived a good hard workin' rancher and his wife
They never missed the fair, every year in Douglas County
So grand, it was a high point their entire married life
Shorty was a small man, standin' only five foot three
Martha was somewhat a larger size
Together at the fair, they would stare with wild amazement
At the gadgets and the wonders they could see with their own eyes
It was always Shorty's wish to take a ride up in an airplane
But Martha kept on tellin' Shorty "No!"
They were folks of frugal wages, so Martha was against it
"Ten dollars is ten dollars, so Shorty you can't go"
Time went by and Shorty now was in his later sixties
Still, ten dollars was ten dollars just the same
He'd keep on tellin' Martha how the years were goin' by
And feared that he would never get to go up in a plane
Each year at the fair, they would have the same discussion
But this time Shorty's pleas were overheard
Standing near his bi-plane, was a man from Molt, Montana
Said to Shorty; "So you want to fly in my big yellow bird!"
The pilot's name was Larry, barnstormin' 'cross the country
He offered a free ride, but here's the deal
Martha goes along and the flight would cost them nothin'
If each of them stayed quiet, not scream or yell or squeal
This was Shorty's chance to take a ride up in an airplane
But Martha once again told Shorty "No!"
They were folks of frugal wages, and she was still against it
"Ten dollars is ten dollars, I don't think we should go!"
Shorty was real eager, Martha not as much
But they climbed into the back then said "OK"
Larry kicked his leg real hard and gave the prop a mighty pull
The engine came to life, so then the three were on their way
Shorty looked at Martha, she was starin' back at him
With her finger pressed real tight against her lip
She didn't want to hear sounds that would cost them hard earned money
So they sat back for the ride, above the fair in that air ship
Shorty lived his wish, as they soared up through the clouds
But Larry had a plan to get ten bucks
He knew maneuvers that would make the most stout hearted faint
He'd get these two t'yellin', with any kind of luck
Larry set the plane to divin', Martha's stomach hit her throat
But Shorty sat there with a big ol' grin
Loops and rolls, straight ups and backs, Larry did his very best
To get these folks to groan and moan, so ten bucks he could win
Larry didn't hear a sound, so he finally gave it up
Brought the plane back down to earth there at the fair
He yelled back to the couple, said; "I never heard a peep,
So the ride is free and hope you liked it way up in the air"
Shorty finally broke his silence as they taxied through the grass
There was somethin' he thought Larry ought'a know
Said; "I nearly spoke right up when Martha fell out of the plane,
But ten dollars is ten dollars, so I just let it go"
3-11-03 05:30 - 08:50
© 2003, Jan F Erickson
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
Every Thursday evening, the IAMA (Intermountain Acoustic Music Association) has a jam session at the Ogden City Airport. Every so often, a pilot named Larry Larson shows up after flying in from Molt, Montana. I understand he makes flying inspections of electrical transmission lines.
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