by Rod Nichols

There’s a place I just know where worn-out boots go
and it’s sort of a heaven for soles,
’cause they’ve faithfully done all was asked of them son,
and remember for whom those boots tolled.

In hard times and storm they kept our feet warm
and with comfort we won’t soon forget,
so it don’t seem quite right at the end of their life
they’d be tossed aside and that’s it.

No, I see a table in some heavenly stable
where a bootmaker angel resides,
just tapping away through the nights and the days
restoring them tattered old hides.

He pauses a bit and then gives ’em a hit
til the soles and the heels look brand new,
then he redoes the leather and pulls ’em together
and smiles to himself when he’s through.

I can see them boots now in a showroom somehow
with a heavenly host gathered ’round,
it’s a shop don’t you know where cowboys can go
and a pair of old friends can be found.

I’d like to thank Rod Nichols for this swell addition to the “Book of Bootnik Poetry”.

Links

• Mr. Nichols writes poems about things other than boots…really! Take a look at his Rod Nichol’s page of cowboy poetry.

© Rod Nichols, 2000. All poems are copyright the artist and should not be reproduced without permission.

by Rod Nichols

There’s a “Cowboys Only” boot shop down in Texas
just above but pert near on the Rio Grande,
and I’m tellin’ you the truth if yore lookin’ fer some boots
they got ever type of hide that’s known to man.

From yore ostrich to a javelina bush hog
or a horny toad if that’s yore kind of style,
and if yore thinkin’ snake why pard for pity sakes
they got ever rattler scared fer twenty miles.

Take yore ox or elk or even little beaver
or giraffe it makes no diff’rence to this crew,
and if you favor grizzly they’ll only ask where is he
then skin him out and make a pair fer you.

Now I don’t want you thinkin’ it’s a windy
nor just another Texas Lone Star tale,
but when I asked for yeti they had a pair already
and at least a dozen more were up for sale.

If it’s boots yore needin’ then don’t look no further
than the “Cowboys Only” boot shop Rio Grande,
you couldn’t ask fer better in the way of custom leather
and what’s more old hoss you’ll be a Texas man.

(NOTE: Mr. Nichols wears a pair of boots worth braggin’ about…he has a pair of Texas custom-made elk skin boots. The elk was shot by his father-in-law in Colorado and the skin sent to the Rios Boot Company. Boots like these are hard to beat!)

Links

• Be sure to pay a visit to Rod Nichol’s cowboy poetry page. His website is a bit like it’s own poetry gathering, featurin’ the work of other notable cowboy poets on it’s hitching post page.

© Rod Nichols, 2000. All poems are copyright the artist and should not be reproduced without permission.

by Rod Nichols

Now some cowpokes swear by their saddles
while others their guns or their rope,
still others the horse that they’re riding
and some by the brand of their smokes,
but I can’t go long with them, no sir,
to me they’re just hot air galoots,
cause when it comes right down to useful
there ain’t no comparison to boots,
for comfort and ease they’re the answer
no matter with blue jeans or suits,
and I’ll challenge the rest of them yahoos
to do anything else without boots,
don’t matter the style or the leather
elk skin or snake skin or buck,
there’s nothing so good for a feller
while riding or walking or such,
now my boots aren’t custom or special
like Roy’s or old Gene or some star,
just good old American cowhide
but I’m grateful for just what they are,
so hold up your saddles and lariats
and tie down your horses and guns,
cause when it comes right down to useful
why boots man is “A” number one.

I’d like to thank Rod Nichols for this swell addition to the “Book of Bootnik Poetry”.

Links

• Please pay a visit to Rod Nichol’s page of cowboy poetry. (It’s got “every-thang cowboy” from the hoss to the yodel!)

© Rod Nichols, 1999. All poems are copyright the artist and should not be reproduced without permission.

by Bob E. Lewis (1929-2001)

Jake was headed for the line camp
That was 20 miles north of town.
He had to go right through it
To get to the camp where he was bound.

He tied his mount and packhorse in the alley
Behind the cafe where he liked to go.
For there was a pretty young waitress there
That, sometime back, he had gotten to know.

He wore his favorite boots that day
That had tall yellow tops of course.
He just wouldn’t feel right without them
When he was sitting on his horse.

The bottoms had been rough out leather,
Although you sure couldn’t tell it now.
He’d worn those old boots so many years
They were as smooth as a bald man’s brow.

He felt a hand upon him
As he started in the door.
He looked around, saw no one
Till he looked down toward the floor.

There was this young kid with a shine kit
Looking straight into his face.
He said how about a shine man?
A better one you’ll not get anyplace.

Now son, I don’t think I should change a thing
Of the way these old boots look now.
They have earned the right to look this way.
Or that’s how I feel anyhow.

But I tell you what I will do
If it will make you feel any better.
If you’ll reach down and unbuckle them
You can shine my new spur leathers.

Thanks again to Bob Lewis for bein’ so generous with his poetry.

Links

• Shoot! I hope by now you’ve wandered over to the Rafter “L” Ranch to read more poetry.
• You can read more poetry by Bob Lewis on pages 4, 6, and 7 of this book of “Bootnik Poetry”.

© Bob E. Lewis, 1999. All poems are copyright the artist and should not be reproduced without permission.

by Paul Harwitz

Working boots are what I wear.
For fancy dude shoes I don’t care.
I’m stepping in cow-plop, not trendy restaurants.
What rich fellas vaunt don’t match my wants.

My vehicle’s not an expensive, useless car,
To ferry me to and from some haughty bar.
It’s a beat-up, hard-working pick-up truck,
Not a gaudy toy to help me strut and cluck.

My boots aren’t made of ostrich or alligator or snake.
Just regular leather is what I always take.
I don’t buy boots to impress folks here-abouts.
If I tried to do that, they’d laugh their insides out.

My boots have to work just as hard as I do.
They don’t need to be green or purple or blue.
I don’t buy strangling neckties or constricting business suits,
So I’ll just stick to buying honest working man’s boots.

Many thanks go to Paul Harwitz for his support of the “Cowboy Boot Web Page”.

Links

• Please visit Paul’s Cowboy Poetry Site to read more of his poetry. Mr. Harwitz also has a “featured guest” cowboy poet each month on his site…so keep checkin’ back!

© Paul Harwitz, 1997. All poems are copyright the artist and should not be reproduced without permission.