The Spirit of the West

Now a little known fact, and perhaps well kept secret, is that I also write and perform traditional cowboy poetry. I have even been known, on occasion, to frequent various "cowboy poetry gatherings" held in out of the way parts of the western states. This seems relevant today because I am currently visiting a friend’s ranch in northern California, en route to our aforementioned destination. This visit takes me back to some of my own roots, having once lived and worked on a cattle ranch in northeastern Oklahoma. That experience is the basis for my having material to write about ranching and our western heritage. Now, there is something different about rural people who live and work mostly out of doors. The have an unusual, symbiotic if you will, relationship with the land and the creatures which dwell thereon. Hollywood has most likely done them a disservice with its dramatization of the traditional west, but there is currently a renascence of western (American west) culture underway which has made important steps in preserving that part of our heritage. To that end, then, today I offer the following poem which seeks to explain that untamed part of the American spirit which is wrapped up in, and personified by, the working people of the American west. It was originally performed untitled, but I eventually realized that it could only be called, "The Spirit of the West." See ya on down the trail, saddle pals.

The Spirit of the West
There is something very special
Something you can only feel
But for those of us who've found it
It is something very real
It's a certain kind of wonder
Mixed with humility, and pride
Known only by the simple few
Who live and work outside
We've tried with stories, songs and poems
To help folks understand
But it's only known by those of us
Who love and work the land
It's in the torrents of the rain
God sends to soak the earth
It's in a mother's gentle hands
And calves and colts at birth
It's in the sun's first eastern rays
And final western glow
A spark which comes from mother earth
That only cowboys know
It's in the spirit of a horse
And in the river's path
It's in the rhythm of the hooves
And in the cyclone's wrath
We see it in the smallest flower
And in the bluest sky
It's in the wind-swept cottonwoods
And faint coyote cry
God reserved a special blessing
For the women and the men
Who work outdoors on horseback
And who call the land their friend
Call it peace, or inspiration
But it's in each cowboy's brain
It's in his stubborn western heart
And coursing through his veins
Something so alive and free
That it defies a name
And though we cannot pin it down
We feel it just the same
By Frank Carpenter ©