Author Archives: brelandg

Lately, I’ve taken an interest in cowboy poetry, an art form harkening back to 19th-century cattle drives and extending into the 21st-century culture of cattle raising, especially on ranch lands in the American West. From long days in the saddle and lonely nights by the campfire, cowboys occupied their minds by creating poems. In theContinue reading “Cowboy Poetry”

This is a list of my poems that have been published over the last several years. PUBLICATIONS Whole Cloth: Sacred Stories in Verse (2011). Fields Publishing, Inc. (This is a self-published collection of poems on biblical subjects, divided into four parts: Old Stories, Nativity, Beatitudes, and New Stories.) Whole Cloth: Sacred Stories in Verse, SecondContinue reading “Published Poetry”

Do you remember the last time you got stuck trying to do something and it was just not working? So you try again. Still doesn’t work. And again. No go. The frustration mounts, as well as self-doubt—maybe I’m just no good at this, too dumb, incompetent. Angry words are muttered. Hands are thrown about inContinue reading “Stuck”

Well, doggone it, I sure wish I could yodel! Western music—to put a finer point on it—cowboy music, is not complete without yodeling. Maybe it’s because I grew up hearing Roy Rogers and Gene Autry, who always had a cowboy band at hand that could break into a set of western music between foiling theContinue reading “I Wish I Could Yodel”

Did once a Cherokee lodge upon this ground Stand where now I pitch my canvas tent? And later, were some settlers glad they found This glade just as their failing strength was spent? Have all of us, in our separate times Lingered by this creek or longer stayed Beneath these towering oak, beech, and pineContinue reading “On Camping at Cataloochee Valley in 2016”

I’d sure like to have the recipe for those peas And the women choked back their laughter Not wanting to offend this relative from the north Who was eating her first Crowder peas Then one — there’s no recipe, you just cook ‘em               None of them had ever seen written in book Or onContinue reading “Peas”

Hands clasped behind my backI wander the portrait galleryWhere old friends on displayLook out through younger eyes. A traveler from a distant land,I have so much to ask, but findThey have no voices to speak aboutWhat would come–no notes to compare. So, I put aside my curiosity.Is it really important to knowWhether the kid withContinue reading “Old Friends”