I started writing Cowboy Poetry in January of 1990. I attended the funeral of a friend on the JA Ranch near here. He had been a cowboy in the Texas Panhandle all of his life. He lived in a small "no frills" house on the JA and had a home in town where his wife lived. Tom had been recognized as "Texas oldest working cowboy" and had been the guest of honor at several gatherings in Texas and New Mexico. In spite of all of this, Tom still got up every day, saddled his horse and went out to check cattle on the JA range.
At his funeral, in the ranch cemetery, a tarp was set up for the news reporters and friends that attended. The tombstones dated from the 1800's. No one had been buried there for years, but it had been Tom's wish to rest on the ranch. Cornelia Richie Bivins, "Ninia", daughter of Monte Richie and heir to the JA Ranch, led an empty saddle procession to the cemetery followed by the cowboys from the ranch. She had taken Tom's favorite gray horse, saddled it and turned his second best pair of boots backwards in the stirrups. I liken this to the missing plane formation that the military uses; we honor our fallen comrades by showing an empty spot that is hard to fill.
I stayed after the cemetery after everyone else had left, just wanting to spend a few moments alone, my way of saying goodbye. The television crews were packing up to leave and a reporter came over and asked me if they could interview because I was the last one left. He asked my impressions of "this great man". I told him that Tom was just a cowboy. He rode for a ranch and died doing exactly what he wanted to be doing his whole life. I think that Tom was a good man. I told him no to the interview. As I started to leave the ranch, the picture of the day came into my mind and the first words of a poem. I pulled off the dirt road onto the grass of the JA and wrote my first Cowboy Poem.
The white tent was stretched out under a bright blue Texas sky.
The men stood with their heads a bowed as the empty saddle came by.
From the 6666's to the lx and all around they came
To a ranch, we call the JA to remember a friend, Tom Blassingame.
"Texas oldest working cowboy" was what we'd heard him called,
But an early rising, bronc forking man was who we saw.
He'd been around so many years just like the JA range
That we'd come to depend on this man tom, just like the seasons change.
He was an inspiration to those who heard his fame
But he was more than just a friend to those that he would name was.
Now tom has thrown his last tight loop and made his last hard ride,
Cause on a cold December morn, a real cowboy's, cowboy died.
He'd gone out riding early but his horse came back alone
And on the trail where they found tom they new that he'd gone home
To a greater open pasture where the skies are always blue
And cowboys of this heavenly home number more than just a few
Where men are men and all are known and there they have great names,
They have welcomed home a friend of ours, a cowboy, Tom Blassingame.
In my younger days, not too long ago, I was a macho as could be,
And to prove all this, I took up the sport called rodeo you see.
The rodeo man was about as tough as anyone in my home town and he always looked
good if he could just stay up, you know, up off the ground.
The first couple of times I hit quite hard and was bruised in unmentionable places
And I know those were really looks of concern, not smirks upon friends faces.
Eventually though, I got the knack and could just about hold my own
And I got through that summer, I am proud to say, without ever breaking a bone.
At summers end I had a friend that wanted to help me out
For a pretty girl had followed us along the rodeo route.
She was partial to bull riders but "ridin' is ridin'" is what he had to say.
Why I had ridden some rank broncs lost some easy ones and even collected some pay.
All I had to do was borrow a rigging and ride that bull out the gate,
Why the way he said it, it sounded quite easy, maybe it really was fate.
I'd ride that bull, collect the winnings and get that pretty girl on the side,
After all "ridin is ridin", that's what he said, I probably won't lose any hide.
So, I borrowed the rigging, rosined the rope and psyched myself up real tight.
They called my number and I climbed the steps to give that bull a real fight.
Everyone was telling me to watch the horns, settle in and hold on for my life,
I had drawn old widomaker a bull known for dealing real bullriders strife.
As I sat down I could feel the muscles of that bull getting ready for action,
I got to thinking I'd like to come out whole, not stove up somewhere in traction.
Old widomaker turned his head just enough to show me his blood red eye
And in that instant, I thought to myself, boy you're a fixin to die.
Now in all honesty, old widomaker has never done a bad thing to me
And I am man enough to honestly say old widomaker should really ride free.
So boys just hold up and let me off cause this ain't the glory I sought
And looking at that gal, it come to me, she ain't quite as pretty as I thought.
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