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Behind the Grindstone

Behind the Grindstone: Migas

| Bill Bunting | Behind the Grindstone
I’ve written quite a lot about Pablo
An old vaquero from back in the day
Livin’ alone he was always happy
When I drop by his way

Behind the Grindstone: Rodney's Story

| Bill Bunting | Behind the Grindstone
This week I was goin’ through boxes of poetry I had written years ago. Some finished, some started that must have fizzled.

Behind the Grindstone: Bernice

| Bill Bunting | Behind the Grindstone
We met Bernice along the way as we traveled across the country helping start or supporting Cowboy Churches. Bernice was an elderly widow lady living alone on a small plot of land in rural America.

Behind the Grindstone: Johnston

| Bill Bunting | Behind the Grindstone
Ol’ Cheryl and I took some time off and spent some time in the country I grew up in and roamed as a kid. There is so much history left and so much lost.

Behind the Grindstone: One With Everything

| Bill Bunting | Behind the Grindstone
I met a man sometime back who said while working as a pen rider in a feedlot in western Kansas he had worked with a cowboy named Harry who in his younger days had lived in a monastery. This sparked my interest because as far as I know I have never known anyone who lived in a monastery.

Behind the Grindstone: The Hammer

| Bill Bunting | Behind the Grindstone
There has been controversy over who was responsible for Christ’s death. Some blamed the Romans, some blamed the Jews but very few have blamed themselves.

Behind the Grindstone: The Jesus Poem

| Bill Bunting | Behind the Grindstone
As the Easter season approaches it reminds me of a poem I wrote several years ago. I was talkin’ to a man and he asked me why I thought they missed Jesus when he came.

Behind the Grindstone: Quiet

| Bill Bunting | Behind the Grindstone
There is a difference between quiet and silence. Silence is the absence of sound while quiet is the absence of noise.

Behind the Grindstone: Walls

| Bill Bunting | Behind the Grindstone
I was spending some time wandering around a little canyon on the ranch the other day. Later I asked my dad who is almost one hundred years old about the old stone house.

Behind the Grindstone: Drip

| Bill Bunting | Behind the Grindstone
Words can be a cantankerous lot. There are times they come like a raging torrent so fast they are unable to be written down.

Behind the Grindstone: Unnamed Horse

| Administrator | Behind the Grindstone
The story begins “Back in the day”
As all good stories start this way
It is said the west was wild
Years before the homesteads filed
A bout the time the sun went down
A stranger rode into town
Hitched his pony at the local saloon
Thinkin’ he’d howl at the moon
And do a little socializin’
Never once realizin’
That he would set history on it’s course
An unnamed man on an unnamed horse
And so he became socialized
The more he became liquidized
Wobbly kneed and blurry eyed
He couldn’t howl although he tried
But contrary to what most folks think
Horses too become fond of drink
And many a cowboy were willing to pay
To see a horse put a pint away
Soon spraddle legged and wobbly kneed
He had become an unstable steed
When leavein’ time had finally came
Man and horse were somewhat the same
Both had become inebriated
Though the act is over rated
He could not mount although he tried
Newfound friends got him astride
And tied the reigns in a knot
Off they went at a lopsided trot
And with this unsteady gait
They wandered cross the real estate
The tracks were followed the next day
By a coyote driftin’ along that way
Thinkin’ with his coyote zeal
A dying horse would make a meal
But his hopes soon got sunk
The horse weren’t dying only drunk
Now other critters saw the track
And wandered up and wandered back
And soon the track became a trail
Cattle driven to the rail
The cattle trail now was made
On the path the horse had laid
Which soon became a wagon track
Wanderin’ to and wanderin’ back
Adding miles to the route
With all of it’s wanderin’ about
Years have come and years have passed
And pavement covered the trail at last
Following on the wobbly course
Laid down by a drunken horse
And many a passerby
Would wonder at and question why
A road out on the prairie flat
Would weave and wander around like that
When asked why this trail was made
With all it’s twists and bends were laid
And why the road which was now paved
Followed the trail that dipped and waved
And wandered cross the country side
Like the lost without a guide
No one remembers why of course
Long forgotten the drunken horse
The answer comes without fail
We were just following anothers trail

Behind the Grindstone: Snowflakes

| Bill Bunting | Behind the Grindstone
Of fragile flakes the poets write
Falling on the winter’s night
Like feathers of the purest white
Oh, the snow, what a delight

Behind the Grindstone: The Line

| Administrator | Behind the Grindstone
In times mostly past the large ranches had cabins or line shacks as they were called at the far reaches of their range. A cowboy would stay in these “line shacks” to care for the cattle in these remote areas.

Behind the Grindstone: Jose's Christmas

| Bill Bunting | Behind the Grindstone
Us kids we would all gather
‘Round the old man Jose
And we would all listen
To the stories he would say

Behind the Grindstone: Cow Country Santa

| Bill Bunting | Behind the Grindstone
I went to town last night and saw all the Christmas lights lighting up Main. All of a sudden I realized December is just a few days away.

Behind the Grindstone: A Month of Thanksgiving

| Bill Bunting | Behind the Grindstone
As I look at the month of November, I realize it is a month of thanksgiving. We start the month with Veterans Day, a time to be thankful for those who served in our nation’s armed forces.