THUNDER BUTTE TRAIL DRIVE

A Poem by Eagle Cruagh

Thunder and lightening, horses, mud and cattle. The way it was

THUNDER BUTTE TRAIL DRIVE

 

Lightning flashed and crackled across the plain
Lighting steers and horses mane
Thunder peeling off the clouds hit
Thunder Butte bounced and rocked as another
Bolt of lightning struck

In pelting rain and dark of night wind
Howling down again the lightning lit
The trailing cattle and struggling men
Who dank and tired worked on in vain
To just make camp despite their pain

As another bolt of emerald fire lit up
The butte and miles of empty desolate space
Tel-tales danced and sparked along the
Herd leaping fairy froth from horn to horn
And back again to lick across the horse`s mane

This night spawned in some devil`s brain
Grew steadily cold and wet and wild
The howling wind thunder born
Spoke about the need of man
To bridge destructive mean for one more
Notch in our human dream

Bawling calves their mother`s lost
Bellowing mad the old gal`s best yet to tear
The squatter`s dream with horn and hoof
As always aloof to the cowboy`s need
Another bolt of static blue sprinkled across
A dead black sky rent by steaming canon bleeds

A muddy horn in the pony`s gut the wrangler curse
Down he`s gone amidst the herd just a groan
And you are all alone
In this cursed rain with clouds of ink the wrangler died
Alone and cold as nature howled and claimed her own

-----   Eagle Cruagh 


 

© 2009 Eagle Cruagh

STORM AND ALONE

A Poem by Eagle Cruagh

Small boy weathers a mountain storm.

STORM AND ALONE

He sits atop a mountain
Alone , without a friend
One finds it hard to fathom
Empty miles without end

Where the antelope and buffalo
roamed so long ago
and now she stands unchanged
The mountain, home you know

He is only a little boy
Dwarfed by the endless plain
Beholding history without joy
From mountains rising plane

Thunder Butte they call her
A monument to the past
He sits with awe and wonder ,
How long can a mountain last ?

Dark thunder clouds roll over
Undaunted by nature`s mean
Wind swells , screaming, horror
A message to take cover
From a sky grown black
A message from nature`s mother
A warning to horse and rider
One lost without the other

Now a lightning flash and thunder
Roars, no longer any wonder
This small boy is lost and scared
As the world erupts in flash and roar

Why did they call her Thunder Butte
He thinks, as the ground shakes `mid
Thunderous roar, did this old mountain
Always terrify the dumb and mute ?

Mid thought , the pony bolts away
Frightened by the attacking fury
Of storm and thunder and flashing spray
A small boy stranded , in nature`s way

In the dark he hears a rattling snake
And he pleads with God to help
As he prays the moon comes out
The clouds part , a path to make

The little fellow looks back to see
A black visaged mountain under clouds
Thunder Butte, a kind old friend
Now that tragedy was not to be
--Eagle Cruagh

DOWN AT THE FOLKS

A Poem by John Crowley

A little dig at the pompous

DOWN  AT  THE FOLKS

 

You might have noticed

No letters past our name

We just said it straight

We don`t play no silly game

 

"Brawling city of iron men"

You may recognize the line

I think he was poet laureate

Of our United States

 

Mark Twain or more

Was made a doctor some

But never tried to press

Unless maybe the Mrs. dress

 

Don`t put on airs

If you can`t take the heat

This is our world here

And we just won`t be beat

 

We admire the real McCoy

Pay our taxes and vote

Don`t  pretend that you are great

Unless you bring a note

 

----- John Crowley

 

Paragraphs by MICHAEL CROWLEY

ZIEBACH COUNTY, SOUTH DAKOTA

Despite the comparative emptiness of the place, Thunder Butte has lived on in my father’s memory as a place of magic and adventure, a place where the lone cowboy riding across the grassy plain is an heroic figure with abilities far beyond those of the average man. This was a place where even the creatures—ranch dogs, ponies, owls, and rattlesnakes found in the countryside—took personas and significance far beyond those that we imbue our pets with today. This was a place where the sound of the wind blowing through the grass or the breeze whispering through the branches of an isolated tree sounded like music against the silence of the prairie. Perhaps many places possess similar magic, as remembered through the eyes of ourselves, as children. On the other hand, if your life depended on knowing well the subtlest of changes taking place among the things and creatures of this secluded landscape, your memories would be sure to center on the things that really stood out, whether fantastical or merely poignant.

Somehow, living many years and thousands of miles beyond the time and place of my father’s childhood, Thunder Butte lives on for me as an exceptional and memorable place—a place both of legends and tall tales, as well as a place that has helped to shape me and my family. Although I think of it in sepia tones and grey—because those are the shades of the old photos—doing so does not subtract from colorfulness of lives lived here, or the grip that Thunder Butte has on my imagination.

Influences travel through families and time, reverberating like the wavelets that spread out in a circle from a pebble dropped in a pond. Whether for better or worse, the legacy of Thunder Butte lives on in me and my family today. I know it will help to shape my child and his view of the world. Even though he may never know the place other than through the stories of his grandfather, Thunder Butte—this still empty land—will continue to live on in the thoughts and dreams of my son and his children.

Mike Crowley Saturday, August 27, 2005 | (0) comments |

PARAGRAPH by MICHAEL CROWLEY

  Despite the comparative emptiness of the place, Thunder Butte has lived on in my father’s memory as a place of magic and adventure, a place where the lone cowboy riding across the grassy plain is an heroic figure with abilities far beyond those of the average man. This was a place where even the creatures—ranch dogs, ponies, owls, and rattlesnakes found in the countryside—took personas and significance far beyond those that we imbue our pets with today. This was a place where the sound of the wind blowing through the grass or the breeze whispering through the branches of an isolated tree sounded like music against the silence of the prairie. Perhaps many places possess similar magic, as remembered through the eyes of ourselves, as children. On the other hand, if your life depended on knowing well the subtlest of changes taking place among the things and creatures of this secluded landscape, your memories would be sure to center on the things that really stood out, whether fantastical or merely poignant.

Somehow, living many years and thousands of miles beyond the time and place of my father’s childhood, Thunder Butte lives on for me as an exceptional and memorable place—a place both of legends and tall tales, as well as a place that has helped to shape me and my family. Although I think of it in sepia tones and grey—because those are the shades of the old photos—doing so does not subtract from colorfulness of lives lived here, or the grip that Thunder Butte has on my imagination.

Influences travel through families and time, reverberating like the wavelets that spread out in a circle from a pebble dropped in a pond. Whether for better or worse, the legacy of Thunder Butte lives on in me and my family today. I know it will help to shape my child and his view of the world. Even though he may never know the place other than through the stories of his grandfather, Thunder Butte—this still empty land—will continue to live on in the thoughts and dreams of my son and his children.

Mike Crowley Saturday, August 27, 2005 | (0) comments |

THE BEST THING IN LIFE

 

Hunkered down by the truck

Just catch`n little shade

He`d had it for the day

At eighty eight and count`n

This decrepit old dude was done

 

His clothes were ragged and dirty

His life was full of holes

Nuthin ever went right

Since he was in his teens

 

Well, you have heard the story

Drink ,  women and cards

Leading a dissolute life

Self indulgence all the way

 

He never served any time

He was glad of that

His life was empty always

Drag`n  bottom all the way

 

If only he`d done something

To make his kids feel proud

Hell !  They`d felt good to have a dad

Just to kick around  

 

He never done a single thing

To make his life worth while

He just kept make`n big mistakes

Then he remembered and broke in to a smile

He was ---- a United States Marine

 

------Eagle Cruagh

THE BEST THING IN LIFE

 

Hunkered down by the truck

Just catch`n little shade

He`d had it for the day

At eighty eight and count`n

This decrepit old dude was done

 

His clothes were ragged and dirty

His life was full of holes

Nuthin ever went right

Since he was in his teens

 

Well, you have heard the story

Drink ,  women and cards

Leading a dissolute life

Self indulgence all the way

 

He never served any time

He was glad of that

His life was empty always

Drag`n  bottom all the way

 

If only he`d done something

To make his kids feel proud

Hell !  They`d felt good to have a dad

Just to kick around  

 

He never done a single thing

To make his life worth while

He just kept make`n big mistakes

Then he remembered and broke in to a smile

He was ---- a United States Marine

 

------Eagle Cruagh