Clint

The cowboy walks into the bar, its occupants, the gentlemen , their respective ladies, and the not so respectable ones go silent at the lone figure in its door, a silhouette against the setting sun. He is cut from stone, a man of the earth. The bustle of life, flowing booze, laughter and chips continue to fall but all eyes are still upon the lone figure as he saddles up to the bar.
The six gun on his hip, with weathered handle in its holster.
where did he come from,
where is he going?
Times lost and the western is dead, but the cowboy continues on, his life his own. The road before fills with wide open spaces and the call of the land.
He is a samurai, his sword ,the big iron of his dead .44
A ronin wandering , his love, his only call...the call of the wild.

The west was won, he is the lone victor.  

LARGER THAN LIFE THE BUFFALO STANDS,
STRONG  AND TOUGH,
MINIATURE MOUNTAINS ON THE FLAT PLAINS,
HERDS , BRING STRENGTH WHERE THE WEAKNESS OF ONE ONCE WAS,
STAND STRONG MIGHTY BUFFALO,
SPIRIT OF THE PLAINS.

Lazy sunday

cold,rising from the hudon, the breeze makes it ways beneath my clothes. I am freezing, hypothermia is setting in, but this is life,

the life of an american man.

Brothers, Brothers,
Into the mouth of hell with guns blazing,
My oath is my swear that blood will be avenged with blood,
An eye for an eye, A life for a life,
Swords, sidearms, battle axes, no weapons is beyond our slaying,
Vengenance at all costs, no reason, no mercy.

In our veins runs the blood of man,
the strength of many distilled into the soul of these few,
Brothers, we share the same heart,
Adventure, violence, fire.

Vibrations

Y'all come back now ya hear?

The twangs of the dueling bakos wage musical war on my ear drums, as the roasting of fresh meat cause my mouth to salivate, the musky smell of drying and crackling wood is inhaled, and its a part of me. The world here is simple, and fast, slow and easy going. I sip the beer grasped in my oil stained fingers, the condensation dripping down my palm. Jesus save me, save my soul. The blue jays and swallows sing a symphony rivaling any man made opera. Sun shining on  my face, its lighting my soul. There and here, here and there, I exist in this moment, the smoke permeates my being, smoking my soul, like the finest venison jerky. Jesus its good to be home.

Rebel, renegade,
Patriot, comrade in arms,
Looking for an army,
The cold steel bumps against my thigh, a pulse for evey step he takes,
Where are the patriots, the bombs bursting in mid air?

The flag makes a good blanket to keep us warm in the cold of justice,
White wash the american dream picket fence, lazily drift down the Mississippi.

Open plains of purple majesties, hops,grains and cured tobacco,
The kings of beers is the ruler of my taste buds.
Here is the end, the hope is here, still the end marches along.
I march to the war drum, the beat is all my own,

Self reliance, production, innovation,
They have all died out.

Service, servitude, debitors and creditors,
The name of the game, the nightmare, where has the dream woken us up too?

I am an American Born Indian

I am an american born indian.

I step outside into the concrete jungle, the sun shine hits my face. I know its rays are also hitting the face of some oklahoma farm boy hard at work. For a second, a twang of pain, as my eyes adjust to the life giving rays. I , in my faded blue jeans (which are made in america), checkered red and blue shirt, some distorted motif of american flag. my buffalo stetson and boots. I grab my cigarettes from the pocket of my faded green army field jacket, the seams are screaming, from the years of use. I reach into my pocket and grab my lighter, years and thousands of cigarettes later its still as reliable as my wife. With my cigarette between my teeth I light it and take my first drag for the morning. I exhale and I cant tell if its the tobacco or the frigid cold that's escaping my lungs. I am a spitting image of the stereotypical texan. I am a stranger in a stranger land, a land of bills and commerce. I am free, dedicated to my friends and blood, and if it was up to me i would have my 20 gauge in the window of my truck. I am an american born indian, at least that's what i answer when those inquisitive strangers with the same skin color ask me where im from.  But to those that know me, that have shared a beer with me and heard my southern twang, I am an American. An American Cowboy.

Purple Mountains

I am a patriot who has never shed any blood but my own for liberty,
... courageous, honest and deceiving,
...proud, loyal and two timing,
... strong, rebellious, bellicose,
... expansive, majestic, win swept,
... honky tonk ,bluegrass, just plain blue,
the dream is here and here to stay,

I am red, white, and blue, but we all still bleed red,
... loud, pugilistic, happy,
... crying, depressed, repressed,
... free, true and tried.
... mass appeal, branded, out sourced.
where have all the true cowboys gone?