dalton-wilcox

I one time killed a frankenstein
whilst shopping in a store
He lurched towards me, arms outstretched
as I ambled toward the door

In my hands, a new bandana
a hat, ten gallons deep
In my body was a soul
which my body aimed to keep

His voice was ghastly as he spoke in halting monster speech
and I tried, with all my might, to stay out of his reach
He said, “You gotta pay for that” and filled my heart with dread
and then I drew my six-gun and shot the monster dead

The news reports described the monster simply as a man
to keep from terrifying folks as only a frankenstein can.

—  “I One Time Killed A Frankenstein” by Dalton Wilcox, poet laureate of the west
7

The Wit and Wisdom of the West with Dalton Wilcox

Andy Daly and Matt Gourley kick things off with a bang as they bring us the first podcast pilot hosted by Poet Laureate of the West Dalton Wilcox. Expect a true story from Dalton’s week out on the range, a chat with Rustle Shine, the city slickin’ publisher of his book “You Must Buy Your Wife At Least As Much Jewelry As You Buy Your Horse and Other Poems and Observations, Humorous and Otherwise, From a Life on The Range,” a Cowboy Poetry Workshop with fellow cowboy poets Sally Jespa & Bartleby Mokay, and music from one of the best Country Western bands in the world, The (Goddamned) Journeymen. Make sure to head over to earwolf.com/dalton to participate in the Dalton Wilcox Book Store Challenge and grab yourself The Journeymen’s album “Mount Us More” over at http://gosuperego.bandcamp.com/album/mount-us-more! If you’re in Los Angeles, don’t mss a LIVE taping of The Andy Daly Podcast Pilot Project with Irish storyteller Patrick McMahon on Tuesday, March 11th at Molly Malone’s Irish Pub. Go to http://www.mollymalonesla.com/ for more info!

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Andy Daly kills it (and himself) again and again.

The cowboy’s life is full of danger
To risks to his life he is never a stranger
He knows there’s a chance his horse may throw him
He lives in fear that a storm may blow him
Of all the ways a cowboy may meet his end
There are few against which he can defend
His rifle can’t shoot the wind or the fire
It will not work against vampires
Who stalk the plains for cowboy blood
And leave their pray dead in the mud
Every shadow that moves in the night
Gives the cowboy vampire fright
Vampires! Vampires! Vampires! Vampires!
With fangs as sharp as new barbed wire
They sneak up behind cowboys, sit behind them on their horse
And ride that way for miles, of course
The cowboy riding unawares
Until he feels icy fingers brushing his hairs
Off of his neck to get a clean bite
And reduce his pallor to a ghostly white
A vampire can look like anyone
Getting killed by one would not be fun
A smart cowboy will carry a stake of wood
And bury it in the heart of anyone he thinks he should
Some of these may turn out to be regular men
But better safe than sorry, then
— 

Dalton Wilcox, Poet Laureate of the West
“A Dangerous Life”

From his book “You Must Buy Your Wife At Least As Much Jewelry As You Buy Your Horse” And Other Poems and Observations, Humorous and Otherwise, From a Life On The Range.

Dedicated to the memory of Winston Black, Carlyle Dunhill, Baxter Fields, Tom Sherwood, Lester Dellwood, Wesley Norton (And several folks whose names he is not aware of)

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Excerpts of cowboy poet laureate, Dalton Wilcox

"Ebeneezer Wilcox" by Dalton Wilcox, Poet Laureate of the West

Ebeneezer Wilcox

by Dalton Wilcox, Poet Laureate of the West

It was Christmas time out in the West,
the time of year cowboys like the best.
But I had had a real hard year
and was not filled with Christmas cheer.
I’d lost 20 head of cattle to a vampire coven,
and another girlfriend had been found with her head in the oven.
And I know what happens when you feel this way,
when Christmas comes and you are not gay.
So I kept my ear out for those three Christmas spirits,
If a ghost tried to get me, I’d damn well hear it.
And sure enough, a ghost!
A ghost!
A ghost!
A ghost!
A ghost!
The thing next to vampires and mummies that a cowboy fears the most!
It came at me to remind me of bad things from my past,
like the time I ran over a family ‘cause I was driving a little too fast.
Yes, he came in the form of Sheriff Lomax with a warrant for hit and run
And that ghost that got the action end of my Smith and Wesson gun
I was trying to bury him when the next ghost did appear,
the Ghost of Christmas Present in the form of Jimmy Greer,
my old ranch hand,
trying to haunt me about burying a man,
So I hit him with the shovel and began to dig again.
The ghost of Christmas future was a fella from the bank.
I stuffed his nose and mouth with money as a funny kind of prank.
And after that, a strange thing happened: I was in a better mood.
Those Christmas ghosts had done their job, I was no longer being rude.
I told a boy to buy me the biggest goose in town.
He turned out to be a mummy, so I had to gun him down.
But it’s shaping up to be the greatest Christmas of them all.
So from the heart of the West, comes a cheerful cry:
“Merry Christmas one and all!”