Whispers of the WestNorth, South, East, West ~ The Spirits of the West Whisper on the Wind
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The following poem was selected along with poems written by Debra, Casey & Jeff by the Global Arts Project. Our poems will be paired and exchanged with the works of others around the world, as we celebrate the connection of spirit in all mankind around the world. Song of the Herdsman
A song as old as time itself runs through a herdsman’s veins Be they Maasai herding Borans or Cowboys driving Longhorns across the plains From the feedlots of Kansas to the scrublands of Somalia or Ireland’s fertile loam Cattle are the common lifeblood that you find wherever you roam
Each steward of the land, no matter their place of birth, Has lifted a fervent prayer to the heavens, cursed the drought scorched earth Or danced in jubilation as the blessed rains poured down upon their heads The knowing and the kinship are the same, no matter where we make our beds
Angus, Boran, Garre, N’Dama, Dexter, their purpose is the same Their hooves beat out the music that set our hearts aflame With the first breath we took, the song of the herdsman filled our soul Disease, drought, pestilence, we’ve stood strong despite their toll
So, why then the struggles and the treacheries of war? Shouldn’t we look beyond the hate and see the sameness at the core? We were placed here as stewards of the land and of each other Rancher, Guacho, Mongol, each are our sister or brother
We’ve shared the same struggles for more than a thousand years Children of the Cattle, Cowboy, Irishman, Afghani or Maasai with his spear So when you see them on the nightly news, hapless victims of war Remember the song of the herdsman and the sameness at our core
Catherine Lilbit Devine © February 2006
~<>~<>~<>~<>~ HAPPY BIRTHDAY TUCSON
For two hundred years and thirty more She has stood solid against drought, adversity & war El Presidio San Agustin del Tucson, her heart beats in us all Those whose roots run deep, still hear the bugle’s first call
The Hohokham, Cochise & O’odham called her by other names Then Eusebio Kino came, for God and Spain, staking his claims Stjukshon became San Cosme de Tucson under Father Kino’s care And gave to us the Dove of the Desert, so fair
In 1775, The Royal Army claimed her in the name of Spain The presidio built by Hugo O’Conor, changed her name once again 27 soldiers and O’odham farmers stood together against the Apache threat The stories of her beginnings, I pray we never forget
She has been discarded like a bad penny, hugged close as a favored child She was the last sentinel between civilization and a territory wild Many cultures make their home here, weaving a tapestry bright From the Barrios to the foothills, you will find delight
She has seen her share of struggles, reveled in her many victories Though she is a city now, the Presidio voices still echo on the breeze So let the Fiesta begin, she deserves a grand fete` Feliz Cumpleanos, Tucson, enjoy your special day
Catherine Lilbit Devine © August 2005 ~<>~<>~<>~<>~ Mis Raices Estan Aqui
"My roots are here", she said, "though far way I roam Mis raices estan aqui, my heart always pulls me home" From Window Rock and Williams to Sasabe on the Mexico line Her heroes all come from Arizona, from Elgin to Alpine
She knows the secret beauty of a high desert spring Has cursed the searing heat that a Sonoran Summer brings Danced among the lightning during that first monsoon rain Sought solace in the Salt River’s ancient, rhythmic refrain
Her Daddy was a Range Detective, the best and last of his kind From him, she learned to stand her ground and always speak her mind "From the Barrios to the foothills, Gates Pass to the Rincon Valley" She said with a shrug, "this is my home, mis raices estan aqui"
Her mother’s father came from Sicily, her mama’ from Pitiquito "From my Grandma" she whispered," I learned la tradiciones de Mexico" Baile y Musica, Tamales on Christmas Eve, tortillas hot off the comal These memories take her back to that special time when she was small
"This was my Daddy’s best horse," she said in a voice full of pride "I owe what I am to him. He sat me on my first horse and taught me to ride" He took her to her first rodeo, down in Sonoita, when she was barely two Taught her the ways of the cowboy; to this day to the Code she holds true
"Arizona, she has been real good to me," she said with a wide grin Don’t ask her to pick one favorite place, she’d not know where to begin "Her mountains bring me sweet relief from the desert’s relentless heat, But is it any more of a delight than to watch the day’s blazing retreat?"
"I left here once", she chuckled, "but as you can see that didn’t last!" She couldn’t survive without Rodeos or ranches; the pace was much too fast She came home as soon as she was able, here to raise her family "When I die", she said, "here they will scatter my ashes, mis raices estan aqui"
Catherine Lilbit Devine © September 11, 2005 ~<>~<>~<>~<>~ DREAMS FOR SALE There is a full set of rigging up for sale today, I cried when I heard the news
The man who was selling his dreams had paid more than his share of dues
The urge was there to ride again, the taste still sat in his gut hot & tight
But the body wouldn’t tolerate the abuse, time to tip his hat & say good night
He could hold his own against the rankest Brahma in the pen
And given the option to live his life over, he would ride ‘em all again
He pulled his gear out one last time, then repacked it with a sigh
As he struggled with the longing & tried to remember why Cowboys don’t cry
"Every hard luck ride makes you stronger, makes you thirsty to ride again
A roughstocker never gives up until his heart says there ain’t no way to win"
The cowboy recalled an oft-recited piece of advice from an old bronc buster
Who’d faced many a wreck & seen that gold buckle dream lose its luster
He knew that there was a purpose for each person put here on this Earth
His was to ride that Rodeo road & he had ridden it for all it was worth
That last bad wreck had been the worst, the docs say he was a lucky man
Now he relies on the hand of God to show him where he will stand
His rigging was a reminder of the next ride he’d never take
And he knew there was only one way to make a solid break
So he rigged up one last time, there on the living room floor
Then he sold his rigging to that youngster knocking at his door
The boy was young & eager spoke of aiming for his own gold buckle one day
And from the Cowboy’s mouth the words of that old bronc buster began to play
"Every hard luck ride makes you stronger, makes you thirsty to ride again
A roughstocker never gives up until his heart says there ain’t no way to win"
Catherine Lilbit Devine (c) May 13, 2005
~<>~<>~<>~<>~ Fragments of Time From Armagh to Arizona, the trails in between Riding down a rocky arroyo or across fields of emerald green There is comfort in the knowing that I have ridden these roads before And an urgent, primal longing that sometimes I can’t ignore It is then I close my eyes and slip gently down to rest Dreaming of a gallant laddie, a white lily on his chest
Born & raised way out west, among the cactus & the sage At home in the saddle, I have earned a cowboy’s wage I share a kinship with the earth, my father taught me well My Gran, she taught me the Celtic ways & wrapped me in its spell I learned to sort the calves in spring & to keep the irons hot And I learned to sing & dance a jig when I was just a tot
From Craggy shores to moonscaped Burren & in the ruins standing there I’ve heard my name from long ago, whispered, hanging in the air Who can explain the knowing that I have for places I’ve not been? Or the ghostly embrace in the crofter’s cottage, as if from a long lost friend I have felt these same embraces & heard the whispers on the breeze When I have stood in silent reverie, alone at Wounded Knee
This lifetime born to tell the tales of the West from long ago Of life along the trails, and the glory days of Rodeo From Armagh to Arizona, many trails to explore Giving voice to ghostly echoes, both here & on distant shore I hear a Bodhran beating time, a banjo calling me to dance As the mists of Ireland transport me, I give not a second glance
From Armagh to Arizona & trails in between All the friends made along the way & wonders I have seen I feel the Isle pulling me, singing my soul home I find a peace & comfort there, as her varied lands I roam As I journey through her towns & fields, I slip into an easy pace There is an ancient yearning, many lifetimes can’t erase
In Armagh or Arizona, the voices sing out from deep within They tell me though I’ve been too long gone, I can come home again I have felt this same sweet welcome in the adobe walls of Santa Fe In Tahlequah & Tubac, and other storied cities along the way As the lyric wisps of memories take flight on wings of rhyme My soul feeds upon the remembering of a fragment in time Catherine Lilbit Devine (c) 2005
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Canyon De Chelly Memories
Canyon winds caress the soul
Grazing sheep warm the heart Dine’ children play in the creek childish giggles that make us laugh With you here beside me The journey begins The horses nicker breaking the silence Silence wraps around us, Mother Earth holding us to her As we journey deeper Ancient drums begin to stir Can you hear the Ancients calling? Welcoming us to the tribal fire Dancing in celebration of our Love Catherine Lilbit Devine (c) 1980 ~<>~<>~<>~<>~
Ode To A Blueberry Roan
I was heading to the bunkhouse, after a wild night on the town
dancing & romancing & one too many round Back in my wild & woolly days, one more rowdy Saturday night full of cheap beer & whiskey & the necessary fight I set Ol' Gus on auto pilot, he knew the way back to the spread And I set to fighting with those rotgut demons dancing in my head We were getting pretty close to home, so I eased up on the bit when all of a sudden that dang horse he up & quit His ears were all pricked forward, listening quite intense I caught a drift of what might pass for music, somewhere beyond the fence It took a lot of persuading, cussing & cajoling but I got ol' Gus headed for all the caterwauling the sound got more peculiar as we crested the hill the memory of what I saw that moonlit night stays with me still for I had stumbled on a peculiar party, hosted by a peg leg dog and there was a one eyed pole cat doing comedic monologue A Blueberry Roan soon took the stage, singing Motley Crue I swear I saw a big ol' ornery hog with a "born to squeal" tattoo There were bulls & Heifers dancing, I couldn't believe my eyes why those bovine wore spikes and body piercings, in places utterly unwise There where horses with mohawk hairdos head banging to the song I swear to you, Ol' Gus, he began to sway & sing along Now I know what you're thinking & I most heartily agree it was the moon & wind playing tricks, along with rotgut whiskey You city folks can keep your pink elephants parading in tutus for this cowboy was shown the light by a Roan in blue suede shoes I gave up hell raising & carousing, said so long to the honky-tonk life Happy now to stick to ranching & dancing under the moon with my wife But every now & again, when the wind blows & the moon is shining bright I swear I can hear the livestock laughing & head banging through the night Catherine Lilbit Devine (c) April 2003
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Bronc Buster Boogie The Bronc Buster’s Boogie is danced every day From Calgary & Cheyenne to way down Arizona Way You size up your bucking partner & set your rigging right Then settle in for a wild dance, make sure you hold on tight That boogie begins with a 3/4 beat, as you & that bronc start to spin Him with a mind to send you soaring & you with a mind to win Three bone jarring leaps & a hoof tap tango, as that bronc heads for the sky That bronc has a lot of fire & heart & that Cowboy, a lot of try Your eyes are focused between his ears, every muscle tensed & strained If you have to ask why its done, there ain’t no need to explain You pitch & sway to a rhythm & a song only heard by the bronc & you When that buzzer sounds, with a leap of faith, you soar in to the deep wide blue So plays out the Bronc Buster Boogie in arenas big & small The roar of the crowd after a winning ride is the sweetest music of all Catherine Lilbit Devine (c) 2004 ~<>~<>~<>~<>~ One of Texas’s Best “Back in my day” his stories all would start I’d lean in close to listen though I knew ‘em all by heart He was a living legend, one of Texas’ best Not just another lawman with a tin star on his chest He fought along “RIP” Ford & John Coffee Hayes When Texas was wooly & wild, back in the good old days “One Riot, One Ranger” I’ve heard it said many times before from fighting off Commanches to turning the tide of a range war A Ranger never faltered, never imagined he could lose a fight He’d go hell bent for leather just to turn a wrong to right. From Nueces to Salado Creek he patrolled the border land Dealing out swift justice with a smoking Colt sitting easy in hand Hardin, Iron Jacket & Sam Bass thought they could get away The Rangers ran them down to ground, the stories still are told today Great Granddad was a hero, one of Texas’s best Not just another lawman with a tin star on his chest He passed on the legacy & the stories I’ll now tell as I hear his voice echo when I start off, “ I remember well” So tip your hat & raise your glass to the Rangers out there on patrol and to all the Shadow Rangers, Rest in Peace, God rest your soul Catherine Lilbit Devine (c) 2005 ~<>~<>~<>~<>~ NIGHTMARES & WHISKEY
In a room stark & white A nightmare he will ride tonight Twisted sheets in a rider's grip as he settles in for that fateful trip silently he screams & shouts This time there'll be no turn out The final clash of beast & man In the mind's arena plays out again Once was a time he was among the best Until that Brahma stepped on his chest Now he's locked in a ride he can't quit as his wife & his family at his bedside sit How he longs to be up & out of this bed Away from the demons in his head But you can't drown a nightmare in morphine And every night he rigs up again In a room stark & white She'll replay the ride tonight "Just one more ride & I'm done I've got to help raise our son" He'd said as he climbed in the chute and straddled that Brahma brute With a nod & a prayer, he marked out His last would be his best, no doubt Then, with a sudden twist & a flash of horn The cowboy from his seat was torn She watched him fall & struggle to rise Numb to the crowd's horrified cries Now she sits here each night without rest Cradling their baby boy close to her chest How she longs to have him hold her near Later, she reaches for the bottle to chase the fear But you can't drown a nightmare in whiskey And every night she rigs up again Under the arena's bright lights He'll dance with a nightmare tonight Wearing a greasepaint smile to hide the pain He plays out that fateful ride again One step out of rhythm & rhyme He'd lost the race against Brahma & time Word's haunt him still of a Cowboy's last request After that Brahma had stomped on his chest "Tell Katie I love her & I'm sorry for this" "If I'd listened to her, I'd not be in this mess" "You & the boys take care of her & my son" "I hear the chopper landing, guess this ride is done" How he wishes he could run that race once more The memory pushes him hard, it won't be ignored But you can't mask a nightmare with greasepaint And every night he rigs up again A wild Bullrider, loved one or clown no matter the poison the memory won't drown Nightmares, whiskey, greasepaint or morphine Can't kill the demons that ride through your dreams Catherine Lilbit Devine (c)2003 ~<>~<>~<>~<>~ First Morning Cup In that grey, quiet space between night & dawn While the coyote sings a good morning song A cowboy rides up to a spot high on the hill to reflect on his blessings & the bounty of good will For a hot cup of coffee & warm meals to eat For the shade of a broad brim hat & the sturdy boots on his feet For the comfort in the silence just before the rooster crows Just why he was chosen to be this lucky, only the Creator knows For this good horse between his knees, sure & steady at a lope for those fat & sassy cattle & true aim when he ropes For all his compadres just now stirring for the day Each one of them in your likeness, so the preachers say For living each & every day as Cowboy as he can For unexpected kindness & the basic goodness of a man The keening of the hawk draws his gaze up toward the sky And he says another prayer for those who ride in the By & By Yes, there are surely enough reasons to grump, cuss or shout But taking stock of all your blessings is what that first morning cup is all about So thank you once again sir, for giving us this life May you ride along beside us, in good times & in strife Amen Catherine Lilbit Devine (c) June 2005 ~<>~<>~<>~<>~ Rodeo Blues Riding against the wind, merciless memories nipping at her heels wearing a Pollyanna mask & a ready laugh to hide the hurt she feels The stinging words she heard that day hammer her heart like driving rain she sips thunder & lightning from a bottle but she can’t escape the pain Rodeo has held her in its spell for all of her nineteen years Its taught her to make friends with danger & never shrink from fear Gave her a healthy respect for a life well lived & showed her its rewards She’s better off for the lessons learned in the back chutes & stockyards She thought she was well prepared for any hand that Rodeo dealt Until that fateful phone call, a worse pain she’s never felt She’d given her heart to a wild Bullrider, a good man through & through Family, friend or stranger, he gave the best to all he knew Around midnight the night before, he’d left for an exhibition ride one last promise to fulfill before starting a new life with his bride she’d spoke to him early that morning, a quick “I love you” & “Good Luck” By quarter past ten he was in the chute, shouting “throw the gate & let ‘em buck” Three jumps & a crazy eight twist, the rigging split with a sickening snap In seconds his life ended, silence roared through the arena like a thunderclap The phone was ringing back in Tucson as she pulled up to the house The caller spoke in monotone igniting a fire never to be doused She still love’s the Rodeo, still answer its bittersweet call and she keeps his rigging bag in the closet down the hall She grew up quick in an eight second flash & paid her Rodeo dues Now she’s riding hard against the wind & singing the Rodeo Blues Catherine Lilbit Devine (c) August 2003
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©July 2004