The Cowboy Cantos - Cowboy Poetry & Stories

In this episode, Jason shares the story behind a recent Facebook profile picture that sparked a surprising compliment: “The older you get, the more handsome you become.” That simple line stuck like a burr in his saddle and got him pondering the passage of time, the stories etched into a weathered face, and the common belief that people lose their looks as they get older. Jason challenges that idea, reminding listeners that aging doesn’t always mean fading — sometimes it means becoming more striking, more confident, and more authentic.

Homely Days, Handsome Nights

© 2025 Jason Curtman

A lady once told me, with a wink and a smile,

“Cowboy, you’re handsomer now than you were by a mile.”

It stopped me dead cold, like a bronc in mid‑stride,

And I pondered my past with a little lost pride.

Was I ugly back then, when my boots were still shiny?

When my jaw was all bony, my whiskers still tiny?

Did the girls see a scarecrow, in this gangly young pup,

And pray to the Lord that I wouldn’t ride up?

I recall those days awkward, all elbows and knees,

Hair like a haystack, teeth crooked as trees.

I’d stand with a comb

Right in front of the mirror,

And rub in some bees wax to look a bit dearer

But it was all useless,

Cause good looks I did lack,

I looked like some roadkill

Stuffed down in a sack.

But time’s got a trick, like a sly ol’ magician,

It sands down the rough with a patient precision.

Now wrinkles are badges, my grin’s weathered leather,

And somehow I’m better than I ever was… ever.

So I tip my hat kindly, and chuckle with grace,

Ugly was practice for this handsome old face.

The compliment’s sweet, but it leaves me amazed:

Was I truly that homely in my youthful days?

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In this episode of Cowboy Cantos, Jason Curtman shares a heartfelt cowboy prayer that blends grit, faith, and longing. It’s the story of a ranch hand with patched jeans, stomped hat, and all, laying his hopes before the Lord as he seeks love and companionship. Through simple words and honest faith, we’re reminded that even the roughest hands can carry the gentlest dreams.

A Cowboy’s Prayer To Court.

© 2025 Jason CurtmanLord, I ain’t much for speakin’ ,Or polishin’ words too fine,But I’m kneelin’ here in dusty bootsWith a hopeful heart of mine.I don’t ask for riches, Lord,Or a herd that never strays,Just a wink from that sweet young ladyTo brighten all my days.I’ve patched my jeans with balin’ twine,My hat’s been stomped by cows,My pickup smells of saddle soapAnd half a dozen sows.But if You’d grant me courage, Lord,To speak without a stammer,I’d trade my best ropin’ horseFor her smile and gentle manner.I’ll promise not to brag too loud,Or chew with my mouth agape,I’ll even wash behind my earsAnd learn to use a plate.So bless my boots with steady steps,My tongue with cowboy charm,And if she’ll take this ragged heart,I’ll keep her safe from harm.And if she laughs at all my jokes,Or forgives my crooked grin,I’ll thank You, Lord, each starry nightFor the sweetest prize to win.Now Lord, You know I’m stubborn,And I’ve rode through storms and dust,But when she smiles, my knees go weak—My spurs near start to rust!I’ll swap my chaw for peppermint,I’ll even shine my boots,If it means she’ll sit beside meAnd laugh at my tall hoots.So guide my rope to catch her heart,As gentle as a dove,And bless this cowboy’s ragged soulWith the miracle of her love.

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In this episode of Cowboy Cantos, Jason Curtman spins the hilarious legend of Chuck, a cowboy whose tall tales were always betrayed by his loyal Blue Heeler, Biscuit. Every time Chuck stretched the truth, Biscuit’s grin gave him away—turning fibs into punchlines and making the bunkhouse roar with laughter. From fence‑mending exaggerations to poker night bluffs, fishing stories, and even romance claims, Biscuit became the prairie’s most reliable lie detector. Together, Chuck and Biscuit proved that sometimes the funniest legends are born not from what a cowboy says, but from what his dog reveals.

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Out here on the frontier of memory, history still rides beside us. This episode of Cowboy Cantos honors William “Bill” Pool of Missouri — a man whose life stretches across two centuries, binding the muskets of the Civil War to the tanks of World War II.

Bill Pool was born in 1925, the son of Charles Parker Pool, a Union soldier who fought and bled in the Civil War. Charles lived long enough to father Bill at the age of eighty, making Bill not just a son, but a living bridge across time.

Now Brother John went with his family in tow,With Miss Allie beside him, all quiet and slow.They’d head into town in their Good Sunday best,With Uncle Jack trailin’ and Aunt Erm well-dressed.They’d find them a booth at the diner just right,Where the coffee was strong and the biscuits were light.They’d order up breakfast, no fuss and no flair,Some biscuits and gravy and two extra chairs.John nodded polite, Allie smiled soft and sweet,They cleaned off their plates, not a crumb left to eat.Then John reached down feeling just fine,And placed on the table a bright little dime.“Allie,” he whispered, “That oughta be fair,For service like that and the cook’s extra care.”She nodded, content, not thinkin’ too deep,While Jack bit his tongue and Aunt Erm didn’t peep.John and Miss Allie We’re kind to the bone.The depression was hard And they just didn’t know.A dime for a tip, like it helped with the rent,And they meant it sincere, every cent that was spent.Jack lingered behind with a gentleman’s gait,And walked to the table before it’s too late.He’d drop a few bills with a nod and a grin,Then caught up real casual, like he’d just met a friend.The waitress would smile, never sayin’ a word,Just pocket the tip like a grateful young bird.And John never saw, not a flick of the brow,That Jack tipped the waitress and slipped out somehow.So it went on for years, like a well rehearsed play,With dimes on the table and Jack on delay.Some folks give sermons, some folks give grace,And some folks just tip with a straight poker face.But the best kind of love in this proud prairie land,Is the kind that slips dollars from a sweet loving hand.I tell of the Brittons, and Jack’s quiet game.Where a dime bought a story, and no one took blame.

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This Thanksgiving, Cowboy Cantos takes a detour from the dusty trail into the kitchen. Jason Curtman shares the tale of a ranch hand asked to carve the holiday turkey — only to discover that carving a bird can be wilder than breaking a bronc. From ragged slabs to sideways drumsticks, this cowboy’s first cut at Thanksgiving turns into a family tradition no one will forget.

Drumsticks And Disaster

© 2025 Jason Curtman

They asked me to carve the turkey,Like it was some noble chore,But I’d only carved a stick or two.And never nothing more.I set that bird before me,Like a bronc I had to ride,Sharpened up my pocketknife,And poked it in the side.The breast came off in ragged slabs,The wings were hacked in two,I trimmed the drumstick sidewaysAnd the grease began to spew.The family sat there starin’,Like I’d branded Grandma’s cat,But I just smiled and weakly said,“Folks, this is a first for me,I swear that that’s a fact.”Now every year at Thanksgivin’,They don’t hand me any blade,They just point me toward the counterWhere I pour the lemonade.

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Well, Slim rode in from the sagebrush,His hair blowin’ wild in the wind,He said, “Boys, I need me a trimmin’,Or I’ll look like a tumbleweed’s kin.”

The barber was laid up and useless,His shop had a “Closed” on the door,So Slim found himself in a beauty hall,With powders and perfumes galore.

The parlor was busy with chatter,They said, “Honey, we’ll spruce up your look!”He asked for a haircut, plain cowboy,But they gave him a perm from the book.

They wrapped him in curlers and lotion,They steamed him till smoke filled the air,And when they unveiled their creation,Dog gonnit, he had poodle hair!

He strutted back out to the bunkhouse,His hat sittin’ high on the crown,The boys nearly died laughin’ sideways,Each time that his curls bounced around.

He showed up that night at the barn dance,His ringlets all bouncin’ with flair,The gals lined up just to giggle,While the fiddler near fell off his chair.

Now Slim swears he’ll stick to tradition,No beauty shops ever again,But the legend of Slim and his hair doStill rustles through the camps like wind.

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In this episode of Cowboy Cantos, Jason takes us on a poetic ride through time, from the days of wall-mounted phones and party lines to the bewildering world of talking tiles and tech that tracks your every step. With humor, heart, and a healthy dose of cowboy grit, Jason reflects on what we’ve gained and what we’ve lost when we traded cords for swipes.

The Wall Phone Was Enough

From Clickety-Clack to Cold Glass

I grew up with a phone hangin’ right on the wall,It rang like a bell, and that was its all.No screen, no apps, no voice that talked back—Just a cord and a dial and a clickety-clack.

If you wanted to chat, you stood by the sink,And if someone was listenin’, you’d give ’em a wink.It never got lost, it never got wet,And it never once gave me a worry or fret.

But times, they do change, and folks got to push,So I saddled my truck and drove into the bush—Well, the strip mall, I mean, with its neon and glass,Where the clerks wear polos and talk mighty fast.

I said, “I need a phone, one that’s smart.”He grinned like a fox and said, “Well, bless your heart.”He handed me somethin’ that looked like a tile—No buttons, no cord, and riddled with style.

I held it up like a prize from the fair,It buzzed in my hand and I knew it was there.“Hello,” it said, “I’m Siri, your guide.”I nearly dropped it and stepped to the side.

I asked it the weather and it showed me a map,Then told me my heart rate and when I should nap.It tracked my steps, it judged my tone,It even reminded me to call back home.

I tried to make sense of the icons and swipes,But it felt like I’d wandered into city folk types.I missed the old ring and the click of the line,When a phone was a phone and the world was just fine.

Still, I reckon I’ll keep it, at least for a spell.It’s handy for maps and it texts pretty well.But if it ever tries to coach me on my old cowboy ways,That will sure be the end of its tech-savvy days.

In this heartfelt and humorous episode, host Jason Curtman shares a true story from his own family history. It’s the tale of young Dolores, his maternal grandmother, who at just five years old took an unforgettable plunge into a barrel of molasses. Set inside a rustic prairie kitchen with a view of the open fields, this poetic retelling captures the charm, grit, and gooey misfortune of a childhood moment that became family legend.

Episode Summary: In this episode of Cowboy Cantos, Jason Curtman shares a true tale from his family’s past, wrapped in rhyme and rich with character. “No Gravy for John” recounts a humorous moment involving his great-grandfather, Brother John Britton—a beloved preacher with quiet wisdom—and a mischievous mutt with a taste for trouble. Originally featured in Missions In The Mountains by Mrs. H.W. Darst, this poetic retelling blends heritage, humor, and heart. It’s a story of restraint, respect, and a bowl of gravy that went to the dog.

Featured Poem: “No Gravy for John” © 2025 Jason Curtman