[Lance Levens]

John and Jayne

Is this too weird for your crowd?

Song of the Un-PC Cowboy

It's so hard to be a friendly chap
With hungry Injuns dining in your lap.
It's even harder, can't you see,
When what they're dining on is me!
They brought the vino, the bread and cheese,
The coffee’s French or it’s Viennese.
But I can’t stop this knockin' at my knees
Cause what they're dining on is me!
Don' wanna flounder in no Injun potion,
Don't wanna simmer in no ragu ocean,
When some Injun gets a nibbly notion--
Let him nibble anything but me!
I love chop suey and a cold Chablis.
Toss in a flaming cherries jubilee
And I'm as happy as a happy guy can be
If they’re eating anything but me!

[John Whitworth]

Ain't too weird for me but the judge of this particular competition is a dull dog. I'd give you a tenner, straight up,Lance.

[Jayne Osborn]

No problem for me either, Lance, though they seem to prefer clever/thought-provoking to downright funny. But you never know...

[Martin Elster]

An Outfit for Life in the Wilderness

You might live out of doors all day and night,
And herd the cattle till your thighs feel tight
As a rope round a longhorn’s throat, dog-tired with joy.
No Stetson, though? You ain’t the real McCoy.

You may sport Levi’s jeans, fur chaps, a vest,
Wool shirt, bandanna, ride across the West
Like wind across the Plains, eat beef or soy.
No Stetson, though? You ain’t the real McCoy.

You may work as a wrangler tendin’ horses
Or battle bulls with their far-out brute forces,
A pro at brandin’ — far from a hobbledehoy.
No Stetson, though? You ain’t the real McCoy.

You might not have a clue what you would do
Not hearin’ every Hereford’s mournful moo
(A tuba crossed with a woebegone hautbois).
No Stetson, though? You ain’t the real McCoy.

You might be self-dependent, honest, holster
A six gun for protection or to bolster
Your ego; still, it’s no more than a toy
If you’ve no hat. You ain’t the real McCoy!

Whether you ride a horse or drive a pickup
Or risk your neck in rodeos and kick up
A field of dust, cheered by the hoi polloi ...
No Stetson? Nope! You ain’t the real McCoy.

[Jayne Osborn]

Martin,

That's brilliant! I think you've managed to include absolutely everything there is to say about a cowboy.
Pity ah 'aint the jur-dge, son.

Popped back to say that I think it would be even better if you lose the capital letters at the beginning of the lines you've enjambed. (Makes it flow better and is much easier to read IMO.)

[Jerome Betts]

Martin, as a Herefordian-born, I see with interest that you use the American (and Shakespearean) two-syllable 'Her'ford' pronunciation, unknown nowadays in the county itself. (I'd never heard it till playing the heavy Northumberland in a school production of Richard the Second).

Can't agree with you about capitals, Jayne.

[Jayne Osborn]

Jerome said:

Can't agree with you about capitals, Jayne.

I know it's been argued about till Kingdom Come and it will always be a matter of personal choice but I think, particularly in Martin's poem, where the first three lines of all the stanzas are one sentence (apart from the penultimate one), it would be better. The 'No Stetson, though? You ain’t the real McCoy' would then stand out even more IMHO.

I'd go with this, and do it all the way through...

Your ego; still, it’s no more than a toy
if you’ve no hat. You ain’t the real McCoy!

...but it's entirely up to Martin, of course. FWIW, the four LitRev winners last month were 50-50 on the uncapitalised/Capitalised First Words, so they clearly don't display a preference. No worries, then, either way.

[Marion Shore]

When I was a young cowboy
my heart was always brimmin
with love for all them cowgirls--
whoops!--all them cow-women.

And then I fell for Sally,
with eyes bright as the sun.
But she ran off with an Injun—
whoops!--Native Americun.

So now I roam the prairie,
past hill and cliff and canyon,
with no one but my faithful horse—
whoops!—animal companion.

[John Whitworth]

I think that is very funny - a gem, no less. Far too good for 'em. But I shouldn't say so. They gave Jayne £300 so there must be some good in them.

I might mention that the genesis of my own poem was not this competition, but a news item saying that Radovan Karoticz (spelling) was a 'respected poet'. As I m sure he is.

[John Whitworth]

Herford OUGHT to be OK.We Canterbury men call it Cambry. And Edinburgh, when I was there, was Embra