Latigo Lines are what I call “saddle poems”
Short, about all I can remember from a work day…
Chuckwallas do not sing.
Their voices across the desert
do not ring.
They whisper little,
they cannot shout,
in a sound bite world,
Chuckwalla’s are left out.
Gophers look up from their holes
and don’t think much about God, Death or Souls.
But by God they don’t die
and death pads right on by
if they keep their holes full of soles!
Horny Toad’s Fate
Flattened, on the trail of life,
take that there horny toad.
Now free of Horny Toad toil and strife,
stuck to yonder slick rock in the road.
No hawk’s appetite will he leaven,
he’s fit for only ravens now.
Sent straight to Horny Toad heaven,
stepped on by a Circle Box M cow.
Floatin’ smooth across the grade,
sunlight shy and seekin’ shade,
the sidewinder turns and twists,
oblivious of the track he’s made.
Coiled beneath a ledge of schist.
Bother him and he’ll be pissed.
I’ll circle back to Baxter’s camp
leaven’ him unrattled and unhissed.
Baby Bunny Business
Baby bunny business,
Happens slow and fast.
Run like hell to get there
Then slowly chew the grass.
Clipping chomping chewing,
Little jaw swings side to side.
Get scared by your own shadow
Run off in the Sage and hide.
end: Latigo Lines