the first year anniversary of the passing of this beloved man through their poems, memories, laughter
and tears. Thank you, Rod, for leaving the light on for us. ~ Friends & crew of the Rockin' R.
This page will remain open indefinitely for those wishing to add their own special memory or poem
to it at any time. ~ The Traveler
| Thank You For The Friendship Mate ~ by Merv Webster |
|---|
- In a world of new technology you get to make new friends
with many kinds of gadgets and the list it never ends.
They have this thing called cyber space where folk the whole
world round can interact together without leaving their home ground.
For years the storytellers they just used the spoken word,
to share their tales with others and folk loved what they all heard.
Then came the written form it seems and then the radio,
but now they use the Internet, it really is the go.
Downunder there are poets, who like Banjo Paterson,
use rhyming verse to spread the word and mate I too am one.
Bush Poets we all call ourselves and our main aim is clear;
preserving this lands culture; a thing we all hold dear.
But then I found in cyber space the Cowboy Poets too
who love to keep their history alive like Aussies do.
The Rockin� R was one such place and it was clear to me
the Boss of this here outfit was as Cowboy as can be.
That man became a real good friend and other pards as well.
We shared our nations cultures and the company was swell.
Rod Nichols you were what we call a true blue sort of bloke
and well respected by your peers and lots of other folk.
Your passing it was sudden like and took us by surprise
and all your pards, including me, had tears well in their eyes.
The memories will carry on, I have no doubt of that
and thank you for your friendship mate. To you I lifts me hat.
�2008
Merv Webster
Bush Poet and Balladeer
| Remembering Rod ~ by Charles W. Bell |
|---|
- I met Rod for the first time at the Hot Springs Rodeo last year.
He graciously laughed and complimented me when I recited a
cowboy poem for the very first time in public with fellow poets.
I'll never forget that---nor him.
Here is the poem I recited at Hot Springs, which gave Rod a chuckle:
Cowboy Pretense
I've never liked to fool folks,
It strikes me as not bein' honest,
But there was once when I did it
'Cause I just wasn't feelin' my best.
I'd gone to the Cheyenne rodeo
An' got myself banged up a bit.
Come time to go to the airport,
'Twas when I made the hit.
I'd borried a cane from my daddy,
Put on some old Wranglers and boots.
When I got to the airport I looked
Like I'd just come out of the chutes,
I limped to the ticket counter
A leanin' hard on that cane.
The agent saw me and booked me
First to get on the plane.
Time to board: on I hobbled,
With my carry-on cane and bag.
Took a seat by the exit window
So's to let my "bad" leg drag.
Flew my way to Californny
Still pretendin' to be a gimp,
But, when I went up the jetway,
I plumb fergot to limp!
�2006 Charles W. Bell
All rights reserved
December 22, 2008
Charley
| Another Remembrance ~ by Glen Enloe |
|---|
- FOREWORD
In my last book of poetry, When Cowboys Rode Away, Rod Nichols
graciously wrote the foreword. Rod, a much respected and accomplished
cowboy poet, teacher and man of many talents, sadly passed over his last
trace in December of 2007, shortly before Christmas. Although we had
come to realize that he was in failing health, his passing nonetheless came
as a shock to his family and friends. His internet site, Rod�s Rockin� R
(or as we simply called it: Rod�s cowboy poetry board) had, over the years,
become a friendly and cozy cyber campfire where many cowboy poets, fans
and friends came to contribute and read posted poems about ranching,
cowboys, Indians and the Old West.
As fate would have it, I was lucky enough to stumble upon Rod�s website in
2002 shortly after I had begun writing cowboy poetry. Even though I was a
tenderfoot to the genre, Rod always took the time to encourage me and many
others in our efforts. Forever the optimist, Rod could always find the good
in our poetry, even when we stumbled. When asked, his criticism was always
constructive, gentle and generous. His teaching background often showed
through, and his own carefully crafted poetry attested to his literary
knowledge and adept writing skill.
In many ways, although he was only a few years older than me, Rod became
a mentor. His encouragement made writing poetry fun again, after I had
become burnt out writing the free verse that passes for much of modern
poetry today. Perhaps that was why I and many others took his passing hard.
Having lost my own father suddenly on Christmas day many years ago, Rod�s
sudden departure right before Christmas became another unpleasant reminder
of lost opportunities and unfulfilled promises.
Happily though, I did have the chance to meet and talk with Rod Nichols at
the National Cowboy Poetry Rodeo in Hot Springs, South Dakota, in
September of 2007. He lived up to all my expectations and more, and I
hope that I lived up to his. Perhaps it was his sense of the shortness of his
own time that inspired him to relentlessly work on his poetry, books and
website. He had much to do before riding off. I�m only thankful that he
paused to shake my hand, lift a cup of coffee, offer kind words and smile
before he resumed his journey and rode off toward that waiting campfire
and that soft, gentle sunset.
December 22, 2008
Glen
| Rod Nichols ~ by Lloyd Shelby |
|---|
- I met Rod many years ago at a CHAPS meeting. He was there with Judith,
his wife, and she sat on the front row to feed him any words or lines he
might have forgotten. As everyone knows, Rod rarely forgot anything he
wrote. He could, with a little bit of thinking, recite any poem from any of
his books, as well as most of his unpublished work, which was considerable.
He took great pleasure in his writing, but he also took great pleasure in
sharing his talent with others. As time passed, he grew more confident in
his performing. I remember when I had to practically beg him to do his first
cd, "YEP". He thought his voice wasn't good enough to be on a cd.
We drove to Austin three times to get it all done and I had the pleasure of
several hours of discussing writing and reciting our work to each other as
I drove.
I also had the pleasure of publishing all three of his books and the last he
published before he passed, "Old Trees and Tumbleweeds", was one of his
best.
Eve Thornton did his editing as well as the cover designs. She is a real
talent in her own right. I will always be grateful that Rod introduced me
to this talented lady.
Rod has, and will continue to be, one of the best and most prolific writers
of cowboy poetry. His talent flew in the face of those who say you can't
write good cowboy poetry unless you have been a working cowboy. Rod
was a teacher by profession, a cowboy poet by nature.
Yes, I too, miss ol' Rod. But, as many of the poems on this site tell, he is
still writing for the Boss and you know He's loving it, too!
Thanks, Rod. We'll see you on the other side.
December 22, 2008
Lloyd
| Remembering Rod ~ by Margo Metegrano CowboyPoetry.com |
|---|
- Not a day passes when Rod is not missed. He was the first Lariat Laureate at CowboyPoetry.com, and we are lucky to have many of his poems in our archive.
This is the last poem he submitted to CowboyPoetry.com, on December 15, 2007:
December 22, 2008
Margo
------------
The modern cowboy way of life might be summed up in three words, rodeo,
ranching and rhymes. This is the basis for present day gatherings and cowboy
poetry. This poem speaks to that conclusion.
- Rodeo, Ranchin' And Rhymes
The days of the Old West are over,
not likely to see them again.
The trail drives and legends that grew up
now lost to the ages my friend.
The cowboy lives on a bit diff'rent,
a workin' cowhand you will find,
exists in a trifoldin' manner,
in rodeo, ranchin' and rhymes.
The rodeo riders though younger,
still vie for an eight second ride.
The rancher, a modern practitioner,
still values his livin' with pride.
The past and the present combine now,
in verses a reader may find,
set down by the poet who pens them
in rodeo, ranchin' and rhymes.
At gath'rin's or fests you will see them
both ranchers and riders alike,
preserving their heritage proudly
recitin' the poems that they write.
A tip of the hat is deservin'
for sharin' in each of their lines,
a look at the cowboy who lives on
in rodeo, ranchin' and rhymes.
- Rod Nichols
�2007
| Someday ~ by Eve Thornton |
|---|
- Someday I reckon we�ll know why
a good cowboy left too soon,
when his East Texas beginning
ended �neath that Texas moon.
Someday we�ll see the wisdom then
maybe rightly understand,
why the trail he rode was fleeting
for our trail boss and his brand.
But somewhere there�s a pintsize boy
readin� �Little Britches� spin,
who sees himself inside each word
and triumphantly he�ll grin.
Or a talented performer
recites to a four-line rhyme,
then �Yep� is born from accolades
and humor from step and time.
An �Autumn Cowboy� will not ask
�why a cowboy starts to write,�
�cause he just read a poem penned by
that ol� Texan with poor sight.
Sixty-five years in a heartbeat
an eight-second legacy,
with his own pen he spoke of it
and now it has come to be:
�Someday this�ll all be over
just a prairie, grass and wind,�
but thanks to You, Rod passed this way
before he went headin� in.
�2008
Eve Thornton
| To Ride Upon The Wind ~ by Hal Swift |
|---|
- A spirit not allowed to fly,
to find the rainbow's end,
longs for the chance to free itself,
and ride upon the wind.
To each of us there comes a time
to say farewell to one,
who's been with us and lived with us,
and shared in what we've done.
And when it happens we feel sad,
and wish it needn't be.
But we realize, when reason comes,
that spirit must be free.
For spirit, clothed in human form,
is fed by earthly fuels.
While spirit freed, allowed to soar,
subscribes to different rules.
Someday my friends, we'll be the ones
who have the chance to fly.
Perhaps to ride a lightning bolt,
and race across the sky.
But now, we've come together here
to honor Rod, our friend,
who's broken loose from earthly bonds
to ride upon the wind.
�2008
Hal Swift
| My Friend Rod ~ by John in GA |
|---|
- I never met my old friend Rod;
I never shook his hand.
But from his wit and way with words,
I knew I'd like this man.
About a year ago he said,
"I like Georgia fruitcakes.
Can you still get them where you live -
The ones that fam'ly makes?"
Why, sure, I said. I'll send you some -
It's my favorite, too.
You'll have them in a week or so,
When Christmas rush is through.
A few days later I stopped by
The Rockin' R one night
And thought hackers had struck again.
This posting can't be right!
Then one by one the crew dropped in
And shared my disbelief.
We'd lost the one who led our tribe,
Our mentor and our Chief.
I gave Rod's cakes to homeless folks
Whose Christmas would be bleak
And scattered mine for hungry birds
Down at the frozen creek.
I wish I'd fueled ol' Dolly up
And checked the tires and brakes,
Then headed west on I-20
That day I got the cakes.
She's clocked more than a million miles
But after years of rest,
We'd like to hit the road again
'specially headed west.
A bob-tailed rig, a ten-pound load
Of chewy, fruity cake -
Willie and Waylon singing loud,
We'd have a run to make!
I'd find Missouri City and
I'd pull up in his yard.
Then tug the horn until he called,
"Hey, John! Is that you, pard?"
The one who had the sharpest knife
Would cut two slabs of cake;
We'd drink coffee from steaming mugs
To keep us both awake.
We'd rock and eat and swap some tales
And check the Cowboy's score,
Talk Winchesters and Remingtons
And then we'd eat some more!
I'll never meet my old friend Rod;
I'll never shake the hand
That painted, wrote and led and worked
To make a better land.
�2008
John Luffman
| Riding Toward The Light ~ by Glen Enloe |
|---|
- Oh, there�s a campfire up ahead
In the smoky darkness of night,
That holds the hopes and things we dread
As we go riding toward the light.
Those wagon wheels just keep spinning,
And all our life�s but one wild ride;
Our end is but the beginning
As we let all our dark thoughts slide.
And when the warmth of youth expires
As all our years of living pass,
We seek the wisdom of campfires
Amid gold mesas and green grass.
But then we gathered by your fire
And shared our words of bygone days;
Raw hands and poets in your hire,
Lost in the prairie�s pulsing haze.
And as we watched you drink that joe
And fling away the final drop,
We know that soon we all must go
To gallop skies that never stop.
Yet, there was much you had to do
To make sure you had left a mark,
And though you knew you�re never through,
You lit a light within our dark.
Yes, still we sit around fire flame
And now reflect on things we�ve done;
Knowing our ends are all the same,
As we recall your glints of sun.
There�s still a campfire for the crew
As we now drift in glowing night;
Yet, you left far more than you knew
As we go riding toward the light.
�2008
Glen Enloe
| Hoof Prints In The Snow ~ by Mag Mawhinney |
|---|
- A cowboy came to guide us
on trails we chose to go
and he rode tall in the saddle,
making hoof prints in the snow.
His marks remain forever
and everyone would know
the deep impressions he has made...
like the hoof prints in the snow.
A Texas star now lights the way
in twilight indigo,
as a phantom horse walks alone,
leaving hoof prints in the snow.
�2008
Mag Mawhinney
| An Empty Place By The Campfire ~ by Glen Enloe |
|---|
- There�s an empty place by the campfire
That no one had noticed before�
Once filled with poems and old stories
About the Old West and its lore.
I can still hear the tin cups clanking,
The soft sipping of the hot joe�
All the tunes of the old Chisholm Trail�
Things only a cowboy would know.
The fire�s warm but somehow we�re still cold,
By what�s gone from our fire and heart�
We know the loneliness soon leaves us�
All the things of this earth will part.
But now all our voices are hollow
And there�s a void left by the flame�
New riders will soon fill that old place,
But somehow it won�t be the same.
There�s an empty place by the campfire
And all of us know that it�s there�
We know that ours will be empty, too,
When there are no more tales to share.
�2008
Glen Enloe
| The Debt That All Men Pay ~ by Slim Farnsworth |
|---|
- Y' can try t' run, from the settin' sun,
But pardner, yer gonna lose,
Try as y' may, the day's the day,
And its one that you can't choose.
You can draw yer gun, you can try t' run,
No matter what people say,
The end's the end, I tell y' friend,
Its the debt that all men pay.
Don't matter the day, 'cause be as it may,
The Fates got a plum stern code,
When yer through, there's nothin' t' do,
It won't matter who y' knowed.
The man has a way, of makin' y' pay,
Friend I don't know what t' say,
Like it or not, its all for naught,
Its the debt that all men pay.
When yer short on time, and its your own dime,
That's the time t' make things right,
Like it or not, when on the spot,
Y' best jist head fer the light.
There's nowhere t' hide, and y' can't confide,
He'll find y' by night or day,
He'll take yer breath, y' can't cheat death,
Its the debt that all men pay.
That's the way that it is, its jist the biz,
Cowboys eventually die,
Ain't no reason, ain't no season,
I certainly don't know why.
They tell me its cold, when death takes ahold,
I reckon we'll know someday,
Stand up square, 'cause its only fair,
Its the debt that all men pay.
Y' can try t' run, from the settin' sun,
But pardner, yer gonna lose,
Try as y' may, the day's the day,
And its one that you can't choose.
You can draw yer gun, you can try t' run,
No matter what people say,
The end's the end, I tell y' friend,
Its the debt that all men pay.
�2008
Slim Farnsworth
| The Boss Rides On ~ by Jan Price |
|---|
- It's been a long 'n' weary trail
without you leadin' the way.
We're doin' our best to carry on,
just a few have gone astray.
You left us midway through the drive,
not once did we ever ask why,
tho' stronger men than both of us
were seen wipin' tears from their eye.
It hit me pretty hard back then
which I'm not ashamed to say,
'cause pard, you taught me all I know,
in your talented unique way.
Our Lord had other plans for you
but He just couldn't let us know
that we'd be ridin' on our own
and the pace 'd be a tad slow.
Altho' we'd rather you were here
leadin' us out on the trail,
with your spirit right beside us,
not a chance will we ever fail.
We'll keep ridin' these barren miles,
keep strivin' to get the job done,
'cause we made a pact on that day,
we'd finish the work you'd begun.
One thing I'm certain 'n' sure of,
speakin' now on behalf of the crew,
we'd never have ridden at all boss,
if it weren't for a cowboy like you.
�2008
Jan Price
| Rod's Pinpoint Of Light ~ by Slim McNaught |
|---|
- Rod Nichols wrote this touching poem
about a pinpoint of light
That (discovered on the desert)
was picked up by satellite
A NASA engineer zoomed in,
showed a cowboy bowed in prayer,
The daddy of that engineer
knelt down by camp fire there.
When I was just a gangly lad
trailin� my own pa around,
And roundup days were in full swing
and we�re sleepin� on the ground.
Just big enough to fork a bronc
and still wet behind the ears,
We�d sit there �neath that starry sky
while my dad recalled the years.
He told me of our family
all his kin and mother�s, too,
And recalled our salty granddads
that rode up a trail or two.
He did his best to teach me there
what the cowboy life�s about,
Rasin� cattle and savin� range,
and to work my problems out.
Then he told me of this story
that his grandma swore was true
About what happens to our folks
when their life on earth is through.
She told him when this caused him grief
to look up to Heaven�s sky
And see at night a new star shine
for each loved one who�d gone by.
She said God put those stars up there
so we�d see the folks were safe
He put them there to comfort us,
know they�re in a better place.
The stars send out their twinklin� beams
sayin� all is well tonight,
And give us all that piece of mind
knowin� now they�re in God�s light.
Tonight I see this brand new star,
Rod finally made it home,
He rides a horse with golden tack
on a perfect range to roam.
That bright and twinklin� star up there
soothes the sadness death has dealt,
Like grandma told us, God is there,
He will ease the grief we felt.
So watch for Rod�s pinpoint of light
while he works on Heaven�s range
And our hearts are blest just knowin�
that the Bosses there won�t change.
He�ll always have a steady job
with a good horse and a spare,
And God will keep our bunks made up
�til we meet with Rod up there.
�2008
Slim McNaught
| "Yep" ~ by Dick Morton |
|---|
- It has been my pleasure to recite Rod's poem, "Yep" many times since
I
received his email giving me permission to use it. As a result many have
enjoyed hearing the poem. To name just a few:
At an elementary school--Students caught on when I said, "Yep" and they
started saying "Yep" at the right time during the poem.
Then at several senior events the same thing happened and there have been
many chuckles.
Recently at the WMA annual meeting in Albuquerque I had the privilege
of reciting it on the Saturday night show in front of over 500 people. They
loved it and I saw many people stand in ovation not for me but for Rod.
What a thrill.
Always after a program people pass me and say, "Yep."
When I give credit to Rod I tell the story of our email and I say, "Rod
was a man of many words and in his email response he said, "Yep."
Really he said more but it sure makes a point. Thanks Rod for your legacy.
December 22, 2008
Dick Morton
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