“Down on the Crick” — a pronunciation lesson
If you ever wondered how the word “creek” is really pronounced, you truly “nid” to “rid” this poem.
“The Circle Turns”, a vintage poem with a new twist
I originally wrote the following poem in 1985 for my little sister. It wasn’t bad, but years later I didn’t think it was quite up to snuff, so I reworked it.
“New Frontier,” a nostalgic tribute to the Wild West
“They can keep their new frontier….”
“Chris LeDoux’s Ghost”, a song by Kirby Jonas
When I was fourteen years old, my mom called me downstairs to where she was listening to KUPI radio to have me hear a song she thought I might enjoy.
My Last Cattle Drive, poem by Kirby Jonas
I was going for a walk, one sunny day in June, And just behind the mountains must’ve lurked a big full moon…
LUNA RISING — my poetic tribute to the golden moon
A golden brim cuts the sky so dim—
Luna is finding her way
Over the dark and depthless rim
As the owls come out to play . . .
“The Devil’s Trail,” a song written for my book The Devil’s Blood
The Devil’s Trail You’ve taken on a violent cause, for your two friends who’ve died…
Dallas Ford, a poem by Kirby Jonas
. . . They tracked him through the mountain land—
Dallas Ford was full of fury;
They’d bury the bandit in the sand,
They’d kill him in a hurry . . .
Campfire, a Poem by Kirby Jonas
Campfire Campfire glowing in the night, You cast out demons with your light. You’ve warmed my soul, soothed heart and hands, In shadowed coves or aspen stands. Fireflies from your soul wing high, Like tiny candles, t’ward the sky. I’ve heard your voice recite its...
Mesteño, a poem by Kirby Jonas
Sagebrush paints the prairie, as far as the eye can see; Rolling hills and tall blue mountains, where the rivers still run free…
A Tear Fell, 09-11, a poem by Kirby Jonas
A Tear Fell A tear fell, and was heard around the world. Morning broke, bright and clear. A new day, full of hope, full of promise. Fathers, mothers, sons, daughters— Family. They kissed, they hugged, they said goodbye. They would meet...
The Buster, a poem by Kirby Jonas
The Buster He told us he was a buster—a twister for ten years now; In fact, he said, every bronc he’d rode he’d gentled right down like a plow. He could bust anything with eyes and hair—train it to pull or ride; And if any dumb puncher dared say different, he’d...
‘Rusted Old Bobwire’, a poem by Kirby Jonas
Rusted Old Bobwire I’ve hated you, you doggone cuss—you cut apart my range; You’re an ugly scar upon a land that didn’t need no change. I hate to say this kind of thing—it tends to tell my age But I was here upon this land when it was only sage. Heck, I can tell you...