TWO POEMS ABOUT FARMHANDS WHO WANTED TO BE COWBOYS 
by  Charles E. Williams and Bette Wolf Duncan

 


MILK TIME IN MOOVILLE
by Bette Wolf Duncan
 


How I hate that darned clock!
Every dratted tick-tock
takes me all that much closer to four.
That's when the bells chime,
"Wake up! It's milk time",
and my  sweet dreams are shattered once more.
Then the day comes alive-
and it's not even five-
as my feet struggle down to the floor.
It's milk time in Mooville.
It's blue time in Mooville.
It's moo time in Blueville once more.
Cattle drives, I was on one-
and cowboys, I was one-
in my dream...just in dreams, nothing more;  
 the closest that I've
come to' some cattle drive,
is a' drivin' in Bessie at four.

I'm a cowboy all right!
From mornin' till night,
what I do is t' care for the cow;
and when that chore's all done,
then what I become
is the sowboy who slops down the sow.
I'm a cow drivin' coot
and a milkman t' boot-
and it's milk time in Mooville once more.
Through the mud and the snow,
to the cowshed we'll go
till at last Bessie slides through the door.
Then I shove Balky Bess
through her cow patty mess,
while listening, the while, to her bawl;
then when Bessie's in place,
her tail flicks my face
and she kicks down the stool in the stall.

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

With a barn full a' moos
and a bucket a' blues,
I'm back in the saddle again...
in the shed on a stool,
just a cow milkin' fool,
full a' envy for range ridin' men.
Now if you wuz t' ask me my 'druthers,
it's fer sure that I'd lots rather be
a poke drivin' herds up from Texas.......
most any cowperson but me!
It's time fer a change.
This here home on the range
ain't much like the song sez at all.
It's cloudy and gray...
a discouraging day...
and there sure ain't no "play" in this stall.
 

 


* * * * * * * * * *  * * * * *
It was twilight time in old  Mooville.
Once again in the barn's  milkin' shed,
he sat there a' milkin' ol' Bessie....
but this time he smiled while he said---

"Bessie, ol' gal,
what ya ain't is a pal.
Yer a pain in the guess you know what.
While it's milk time once more,
it's not like before................
'cuz I 'm through
with this ol' Mooville rut!
Yer infernal moos,
 they're a' drownin' my news...
Listen up! Yer trail's gonna end !
 I done sold this here farm....
and I tossed my alarm.
It's the last time I'll milk y' my friend.

A hand in some big cattle outfit....
a waddie's what I'm gonna be.
 No more sloppin' the sow!
No more pushin' the plow!
A newly hired wrangler, that's me.
And as fer you, my dear Bessie-
yer bad tempered ways are all through.
A steak y' won't make-
and yer too tough t' bake...
but you'll do fer a kettle a' stew.
And as fer yer tail
flickin' poop in the pail,
yer meanness  has come t' an end!
Yer hoofs'll make glue-
and yer tail, it will too.
IT'S GLUE TIME IN MOOVILLE,
MY FRIEND!!!!

                        Bette Wolf Duncan
                            ©November, 2005


 

 

COWBARN COWBOY by Charles E. Williams


He grew up dreamin' every American boy's hope,
   To be a cowboy, ridin' across the prairies at a lope.
   To be the sidekick of Hoppy, Gene, or Roy,
   But he was born just a dairy farmer's boy.

   Still, he dreamed the life of his heroes on the screen,
   Fightin' outlaws, killin' bad men, an' other deeds he'd seen.
   But you've got to play the hand you're dealt,
   And life went on, no matter how he felt.

   The cows he cared for he secretly scorned,
   'Cus they were Holsteins, not the mighty Longhorns,
   Like those the Duke and Clift drove up the trail in "Red River,"
   An' there's nothing about a dairy cow that sets your heart aquiver.

   He learned to get them from place to place,
   Tho "drivin'" seemed too big a word for that case.
   He'd faced down an' turned many a thousand pound cow,
   Did it all on foot, an' got through it all somehow.

   All the time thinkin' that to be a real cowboy would be bliss,
   'Cus in all his movies, he'd never seen Roy do this.
   He'd love to live the life of Hoppy, Gene, and Roy,
   But he was stuck just bein' a cowbarn cowboy.

   He'd learned the basic tenet of the stock owner's creed,
   That you take care of the stock before your mouth you feed,
   An' clean the machines as soon as the milkin's through,
   Even though that's something Lash LaRue never had to do.

Oh, to be born a cowboy would have been the best of luck,
   'Cus Randolph Scott never had to push a cow on to a truck,
   An' how you had to care for them cows each and every day,
   Not like a real cowboy, such as Johnny Mack Brown, say.

   And the horses that he used were just an old work team,
   As he drove them of cowponies he would dream.
   The horse leather he knew the most about were harnesses,
   Not glamorous saddles like Tim Holt's or James Arness's.

   He learned that when you give your word, to it you must be true,
   An' around ladies is not the place to make the air turn blue.
   Oh, to live the free life of Hoppy, Gene, and Roy.
   Too many rules and gotta's when you're a cowbarn cowboy.

   But he knew for sure he could never be a cowboy,
   When the only gun and holster he could strap was a toy.
   Oh, he'd learned early what guns were really for,
   An' first had pulled a trigger when he was three or four.

   They were to bring meat to the table, an' every little while,
   To dispatch a varmint er a pest in the most efficient style.
   But he'd never carried a pistol like the Lone Ranger every day,
   You used 'em when you had to, but otherwise they're in the way.

   So he grew a thinkin' that his dream would not come true,
   An' the closest he'd get to cowboyin' was to hear the cattle moo.
   He wouldn't get to ride the range with Hoppy, Gene, or Roy,
   He'd have to be content just bein' a cowbarn cowboy.

   He thought he knew the land, every rock an' hole an' tree,
   But when it came to cavin', he found how wrong that could be,
   For them old cows would find some brand new hidin' place,
   That was somethin' that Joel McRay had never had to face.

   An' strainin' to help a heifer have it's first calf,
   An' if you had bad luck, how it could even tear in half.
   That never happened to Stewart er Fonda er the rest,
   He sure wanted to live upon their ranches in the west!
 
   An' Heston an' Peck had never had to treat fer flies,
   Nor have a manure-laden tail switch across their eyes.
   It was a whole lot better to ride with Hoppy, Gene, and Roy,
   Than to struggle in the mud an' blood when you're a cowbarn cowboy.

   But as he got a little older, things began to change,
   An' he learned a little more about life upon the range,
   He found the things he'd been taught, an' the lessons that he'd learned,
   Were really all along the things for which he'd yearned.

   No, his life would never be written by Kelton or L'Amour,
   But he'd gotten what he'd dreamed of, an' then a little more.
   No, he'd never ride the range with Hoppy, Gene, or Roy,
   But he'd become a man and was proud to be a cowbarn cowboy.
 
   This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
Charles E. Williams
Copyright © 2002

 

No material on this web site may be excerpted, copied, or reproduced, used or performed in any form (graphic, electronic or mechanical)
without the express written permission of  the author.


 


 

CHARLES  E. WILLIAMS.....
Storyteller, Humorist and cowboy Poet

 

Charles E. Williams

      It’s a long way from a small dairy farm in upstate New York to an internationally know performer, but Charles Williams has been able to make that journey.  His early experiences with various types of livestock (cows, of course, but also including horses, sheep, pigs, chickens, dogs and cats) close up and hand-to-hand gave both an appreciation for the foibles of domesticated animals and fodder for many based on true-life stories.  After graduating from a small high school in Western New York, he took advantage of a New York State Regents Scholarship to attend the New York State School of Ceramics at Alfred University.  He emerged from Alfred University five years later with a degree in Ceramic Engineering, several trophies and medals from a surprising successful (especially to those who know him now) career as a distance runner, a life-long love of knowledge, both for learning and sharing, and the high expectations and self confidence that only an excellent education combined with a socially nurturing environment can give a person.  Then he went to work for a living. 

       His first employment was with Dow Chemical Company’s Rocky Flats Plant in Colorado.  His first task in what he was sure would be a Nobel Prize winning stint in industry was shocking like what he had been used to on the farm – he was handed a wrecked piece of gear and told to fix it.  Thus, he learned early on that “engineer” was just another way of saying, “Find a way to make it do,” sort of like “cowboy” and “farmer” are.  Engineers do get to play with more expensive toys, and Charles has many stories based on what happens when you mix high technology with high jinks and highly active imaginations.  His Dr. Atom character employs many of these happenings in his own experience along with other, more famous stories from science to humanize science and engineering and show how much fun it can be. 

        After a tour of duty with Dow Rocky Flats and Coors Porcelain Co. in Golden, Colo., Charles went further west, to Fairchild Semiconductor in California.  Not only did he change address and industry, but also he changed real reality for California reality.  California was sort of an advance degree in alternative thinking, and Charles dived in with both feet.  His repertoire of strange experiences in sciences mushroomed, as he was in Silicon Valley during some of the heady early days of the semiconductor industry. New companies were formed overnight, technology was racing forward at break-neck speed, and colorful characters were the norm.  He ended up in San Diego, and there his life took another twist.  He entered the folk scene, first as a partner in a coffee house in Escondido, Calif., and then as a storyteller in schools in the San Diego area.  His exposure to the folk singers and musicians on the circuit in California at that time convinced him that he had too little talent and too much sanity to become a successful folk singer, which was his first desire.  What he did have was a heritage as a storyteller.  Both his father and mother were storytellers – his mother as a librarian, and his father as a storyteller in the true folk tradition of the person in a group who knows all the stories and loves to tell them.  Combing family stories with researched stories (mostly tall tales), Uncle Charlie was born.  Over the years Uncle Charlie’s repertoire has grown and expanded to all sorts of traditional tales and stories, but his enjoyment of kids (and their enjoyment of him) has remained a constant. 

        It was also during this time period that Charles became involved in pottery.  Despite being at one of the foremost schools of ceramic design at Alfred, and learning all about the technical aspects of clay and glazes, it was not until he went to California that he sat down on a wheel with a lump of clay.  It quickly became evident he had a real feeling for this art form, and over the years he has produced both prize-winning and highly sought-after pottery.

         Meanwhile, his professional career had taken him to Dallas, Texas and Texas Instruments.  Initially hired for his expertise in the manufacture of ceramics made by tape casting, a method of technical ceramic manufacture for which he was one of the most knowledgeable experts, shifts in technology demands led him into several different fields in his quarter of a century at TI.   His highly productive career at TI spanned hybrids, microwaves, solar energy and advanced packaging.  He had the honor of working with Jack Kilby on the solar energy project for several years.    Evidence of his technical expertise can be seen in the fact he was made a Member, Group Technical Staff and was granted 14 patents during his tour of duty. In many ways his career came full circle, because many of his responsibilities with TI was involved taking broken things and fixing them, although in this case, many of the things were processes as well as equipment.   His work took him to the four corners of the globe (well, Mexico, Taiwan, Japan and Europe, anyway) and each place he visited added more grist to his story mill.

       No one can live in Texas without being affected by cowboys and the Western experience, and Charles was no exception.  He first started telling professionally in Dallas, branching out from schools into festivals, corporate events and banquets.  He went to “The School of Ho Ho Ho” and became a very successful Santa Claus.  It was at a festival in the late 1980’s that he first heard about a new phenomenon on the entertainment scene – Cowboy Poetry.  Not knowing what to expect at a Cowboy Poetry Gathering, he wrote a poem based his experience with cows –“The Drunken Cow”-and headed off to Oklahoma City to the First Annual Cowboy Poetry Gathering at The Cowboy Hall of Fame.  It was a life-changing experience.

       He learned right away that these were his kind of people – friendly, gregarious, and not only slightly out of plumb but totally off the wall.  He fit right in.  While he was a “Cowbarn Cowboy” – his second poem, written at the Gathering – his early experiences with cows and, more importantly, his view of life, dovetailed perfectly with what the cowboy heritage movement is all about.  His first actual performance was at Abilene’s Ranching Heritage Festival a couple months later, and he has never looked back.  In the decade plus since then, he has appeared at dozens of Gatherings both large and small, from the granddaddy of them, Elko, to fledgling first timers all over in small town Texas.  He is a regular fixture at The National Cowboy Symposium in Lubbock, Texas and the Lincoln County Cowboy Symposium in Ruidoso, NM.  He has a tape out called  “Up The Trail”, a CD entitled “Smoke From Distant Campfires” and has been published in an anthology, “Humorous Cowboy Poetry.”

    He has also given back to the movement.  He was elected President of the Texas Cowboy Poets Association, and served two years in that office.  While there, he started The Cowboy Gathering at the Texas State Fair and Campfire Tales at the Forth Worth Stock Show, both of which he still ramrods.  He was a founding member of the Academy of Western Artists (he holds membership card #2), and is currently Executive Vice President of that organization, as well as being Head of the Poetry Section.  As well as being a performer, Charles has gained a reputation as a reliable and entertaining Master of Ceremonies. 

     Charles Williams mixes cowboy poetry, humorous stories and historical stories into an entertaining show for all ages.  He also continues to perform as Uncle Charlie, bringing traditional folktales, fairy tales and tall tales to school children and campfire gatherings. His Dr. Atom combines stories from the history of science and his own experiences with tricks from physics and chemistry to help bring science alive.  He retired from his day job in 2001 and is now a full time storyteller. 

 For booking information, contact Charles at cewcbpo8@sbcglobal.net  or at (214) 750-1362.

You can read more of his poetry at http://www.cowboypoetry.com/charleswilliams.htm        


 

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