Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE LEGEND OF BOASTFUL BILL, by CHARLES BADGER CLARK JR. Poet's Biography First Line: At a roundup on the gily Last Line: "huh! Are you the great grandchildren of the west!" Alternate Author Name(s): Clark, Badger Subject(s): Americans; Cowboys; Ranch Life; United States; West (u.s.); America; Southwest; Pacific States | ||||||||
At a roundup on the Gily, One sweet mornin' long ago, Ten of us was throwed right freely By a hawse from Idaho. And we thought he'd go-a-beggin' For a man to break his pride Till, a-hitchin' up one leggin, Boastful Bill cut loose and cried "I'm a on'ry proposition for to hurt; I fulfill my earthly mission with a quirt; I kin ride the highest liver 'Tween the Gulf and Powder River, And I'll break this thing as easy as I'd flirt." So Bill climbed the Northern Fury And they mangled up the air Till a native of Missouri Would have owned his brag was fair. Though the plunges kep' him reelin' And the wind it flapped his shirt, Loud above the hawse's squealin' We could hear our friend assert "I'm the one to take such rakin's as a joke. Some one hand me up the makin's of a smoke! If you think my fame needs bright'nin' W'y I'll rope a streak of lightnin' And I'll cinch 'im up and spur 'im till he's broke." Then one caper of repulsion Broke that hawse's back in two. Cinches snapped in the convulsion; Skyward man and saddle flew. Up he mounted, never laggin', While we watched him through our tears, And his last thin bit of braggin' Came a-droppin' to our ears. "If you'd ever watched my habits very close You would know I've broke such rabbits by the gross. I have kep' my talent hidin'; I'm too good for earthly ridin' And I'm off to bust the lightnin's,Adios!" Years have gone since that ascension. Boastful Bill ain't never lit, So we reckon that he's wrenchin' Some celestial outlaw's bit. When the night rain beats our slickers And the wind is swift and stout And the lightnin' flares and flickers, We kin sometimes hear him shout "I'm a bronco-twistin' wonder on the fly; I'm the ridin' son-of-thunder of the sky. Hi! you earthlin's, shut your winders While we're rippin' clouds to flinders. If this blue-eyed darlin' kicks at you, you die!" Stardust on his chaps and saddle, Scornful still of jar and jolt, He'll come back some day, astraddle Of a bald-faced thunderbolt. And the thin-skinned generation Of that dim and distant day Sure will stare with admiration When they hear old Boastful say "I was first, as old rawhiders all confessed. Now I'm last of all rough riders, and the best. Huh, you soft and dainty floaters, With your a'roplanes and motors Huh! are you the great grandchildren of the West!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WESTERN WAGONS by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET DRIVING WEST IN 1970 by ROBERT BLY IN THE HELLGATE WIND by MADELINE DEFREES A PERIOD PORTRAIT OF SYMPATHY by EDWARD DORN ASSORTED COMPLIMENTS by EDWARD DORN AT THE COWBOY PANEL by EDWARD DORN A BORDER AFFAIR by CHARLES BADGER CLARK JR. A BAD HALF HOUR by CHARLES BADGER CLARK JR. A COWBOY'S PRAYER (WRITTEN FOR MOTHER) by CHARLES BADGER CLARK JR. |
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