The Old Time Ones

Our window into the past, our remembrance of the old time ones and the vaquero way.

Their bridle bits, their Nevada cheek spades.

Where have they all gone?

I know they are here, I have seen them on the hilltops.

I have seen their horses dancing, their manes in witch knots.

I have seen them smiling beneath a mustache and palm leaf.

So where are they now?

Why can't I see them?

Where do their horses graze?

Where has their bridles and romals been laid?

Where do their saddles set?

The stars whisper a hint of them.

Of where they lay in the deep of night; though none can ever tell.

Forever a wanderer, never let to stay.

The range is their only home, their only way of staying sane.

The solace they find is their greatest dream.

For they are always setting a horse, always with an unbroken soul.

Their hearts are gone to a long lost love and her whispering is the prairie's lull.

They mumble 'good morning' through grains of chew and coffee grinds.

Uttering to the ponies they call theirs for the time.

They laugh and cough and then simply ride away.

~ Gussie

I'm Proud of my Calluses, Cuts, Burns, Bruises and Scars. . .

I'm proud of my calluses,
rope burns and cuts.
I'm proud of my scars
that scream their name from my skin.
I'm proud of my life.
Of my horses.
I'm proud of my loops thrown,
my wild dreams and wild stories
and all that enthralls this life I ride.
Sometimes it seems as though I'm comin loose
or blown a stirrup.
Others I feel like I'm fanning him as he jumps over the moon.
But I am never willing to be told who or what to be.
To be mishapen by the opinions of others
and told what profession they believe a girl should follow.
There is perfection in the me that I am
and I was given talents and abilities by the dear Lord.
I was set upon this earth to be what I am
and to grow like the promising colt run off the mountain this morning.
So as my beaten fingers grip the poly strand and horsehair
that is my livelihood,
I am proud of being a cowboygirl.
I am proud of the life I have rode.
And I just hope to be gazed up to by the little girls
whose hearts run on the backs of horses
much as mine did when I was short and hard-headed.
I just hope that I am the best example of a cowboygirl,
and that I carry the name
with the pride and grace that which it was delivered
by hand from the bronc stomptresses of the past.
Mommas, let your little girls grow up to be cowboygirls.

This is the result of a bad cough, a late night and colorful pens! Hope you enjoyed :)
Loves!

~Gussie Lou

I'll see you in my heart...on my hands and in the mane of horses.....

I quit trying to wipe the mascara runs from my eyes.
I quit trying to pretend that I don't cry.
I quit trying not to sniff my nose when I think about her.
Cause I just miss her.
I know she loves being a horseback and my heart smiles to see her face and her hands holding mecates and ropes.
But my lonesome heart misses her.
Every time I throw my saddle on one I can't help but feel like she should be there, that she should be throwin her saddle over a horse tied just right there
Every time I put a ropin glove on, I will remember her rope burned hands and every time I run my fingers over the grooves of my saddle horn I'll remember her and all the horn wraps she's worn.
When that song comes on the radio.
When I want to say something I shouldn't.
When I need a mentor, she won't be right there.
She followed her dreams and I'm followin mine.
I'll see you.
I'll see you in my heart, on my hands, in the mane of my horse, in the reflection of my mirror.
Because someone once said "Are you girls twins?"

Missing my sissy!!!!



Have a great day all!!! <3


~Gussie Lou