Country-Fried BULL
More Poems

Jeff Caroll sent me this one of his without a title. Most of us can sure relate to it.

	I sit behind my desk each day,
	And push my pencil thisaway,
	And listen to the clatter of machines;
	When I really know I orter,
	Hear the rush and roar of water,
	Or the wind, as through a mountain pass it keens.

	I'm the lost generation'
	And there's one in every nation,
	Where technology and finance take their toll;
	But I'd rather be beachcombing,
	Or on a ship that's "homing",
	Or with sled and huskies, mushing to the pole.

	In some far off desert land,
	A lost culture waits my hand,
	To dust it off, and show it to the world;
	And the're cozy warm libraries,
	With good friends to make me merry,
	Telling tales of battle flags that once unfurled.

	I can hear the Pan pipes call,
	And I dash out in the hall,
	To join in orgies on the verdant plain;
	But I meet the secretary'
	Who'se quite large and very hairy,
	And she says, "My Gawd, just look at all the rain."

	So I slink back to my lair,
	Fall dejected in my chair,
	Ponder, "Things are not as bad as they may seem;
	'Cause I really need the pay,
	And I'll be movin on some day,
	And until that time, well, I can always dream."

Jeff Carroll jcarroll@acmail.blinncol.edu



The rest of these poems are by Ronald E Shultz




            
Colt .45
by Ron Shultz

A cowboy knew how to survive,
When danger would come around.
He'd draw his old, Colt .45
And put his enemey, in the ground.

Sometimes, hearbreak comes around,
And it's a fight to stay alive.
You try to shoot that old memory down,
By drawing out a cold, Colt 45.

The cowboy's foe, would lie in the dust,
As he turned his horse, and rode away.
Yet, even, if it was right and just,
He'd relive it every night and day.

His Colt .45, helped him to live on.
My cold one, helps me to forget.
His enemy is dead, but not gone.
I haven't buried my memory, yet.

Colt 45's are easy to draw,
Though they don't solve nothing, at all.
You still have the pain, in your heart,
And they never let your memory rest.

Sep 24, 1994 


 

	Silver Spurs

Broken bones, lost teeth,

   Bull snot swirling in air

Rodeo.  Gee Haw!

by Ron Shultz, June 20, 1994


		Texas Eagle
by Ron Shultz

The Texas Eagle rolls through the heartland
And I hold my sleepin' Dahlin's hand.
My favorite country singer is fillin' up my ears
While I reflect on my life's smiles and tears.

Tellin' my neighbors some of my life's tales
Helps to pass the hours ridin' these steel rails.
Passing by those dormant fields of wheat,
I can hear America's steady heart beat.

Refrain
It's the folks in these old small towns
And not the high falutin' Wall Street clowns
That made this country when it was great.
And they'll do it again, you just wait.

You can keep your big city wit and charm.
Put me back down home on the farm.
I'd be with folks who are just what you see
Watchin' the Texas Eagle roll by and proud to be free.

Dec 30, 1994	


West Texas Heaven

I found the peace that I was needin'
In the West Texas town called Eden.
A little further down the road in old San Angelo,
The views prepared me for that heavenly glow.

God loves Texas and tucks it in bed at night
With a soft blanket of clouds, oh, what a sight!
I've got wide open spaces where I can roam
Just like the vastness of that eternal home.

CHORUS
Texas must be a lot like glory
Where I'll be singin' the old, old story.
Where God finger paints in the big blue sky
And the soul passes over never more to die.

A man can settle down in a place like Ranger.
Away from the big city noise and danger.
There's no way a man can be more free
Except for when he kneels at Calvary.

Sinner, friend you may never ride the plains with me,
But turn and gaze right now upon that old rugged tree.
Call upon Jesus to save you then you'll know
Heaven's where you'll land when thrown from life's rodeo.

CHORUS

May 19, 1995


Shazam! Shazam!

Please move to Mayberry and marry me
And make sweet love under the old oak tree.
We'll name our sons Goober and Opie,
If you'll jist say, "Okie dokie!"

We'll get a coon dog and name him Rover
Every Sunday we'll have Sheriff Andy over.
We'll move next door to Deputy Fife.
We'll have a grand old country life!

REFRAIN
I once had city slicker style,
But you turned me into Gomer Pyle.
Golly! Shazam! Shazam!
How I sure do love you, M'am!

We'll eat Aunt Bea's fresh apple pies
And swear how the time surely flies
Shellin' those green peas by the peck.
Sittin' in the sun gittin' an old red neck

We'll raise us six strong, healthy boys
By givin them chores instead of fancy toys.
We'll have a little girl or maybe two
Pretty as a picture jist like you.  
 REFRAIN

Honey, I'm serious, I ain't spinnin' no yarn.
Let's get some education out behind the barn.
When the kids settle down and outten the light
We'll make hot country love on a cold winter night.

REFRAIN

We'll move next door to Deputy Fife
We'll have a grand old country life!
When the kids settle down and outten the light
We'll make hot country love on a cold winter night.
6/26/95	



		Stereotypes
by Ron Shultz

I've got no use for Yuppie hype.
They say, I speak in stereotype.
That's OK, it suits me just fine
And they can kiss my Rebel behind.

They drink micro beers and own fancy cars.
I'll stick to my pickup and Honky Tonk bars.
They think me strange, but they're sure stranger.
Let them go their way and I'll be the Lone Ranger.

They have their noses high in the sky.
Surely with them wisdom will die.
They know it all, or so they say,
But every old dog will have his day.

I'd rather hang out with the common man.
The one with the bent back and callused hand.
He'll speak the truth without hype or vanity.
That's the kind of stereotype I want to be.

8/29/96	

Copyrights as dated Ron Shultz

Ron Shultz
http://www.wimall.com/cowboy70
ronshultz@juno.com

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