Remnants

Inspired by a picture of cowboys herding mustangs to the home corral combined with my imagination of what lies just over that far hill.

As our expansive vistas bump against
encroaching boundaries,
cloud shadows slide along the short grass;
omens of darker days just over the horizon.

But here, just here
there is a sense of solitude and stillness.
Free range fillies, heads bowed,
haltingly make their way
toward the setting sun.
Each hoof beat muffled by dust
that erupts then hangs suspended
between sunlight and shadow.
The last vestige of their passing.

The not so distant highway hum
and the whosh, whosh of a traffic copter
drown the sound of mustangs and mule deer.
IPods play Waylon, Willie and Western Swing
as cowboy’s pray to keep their home on the range
from becoming a two story subdivision
with pools and putting greens.
So they ride, backs straight, heads high,
pushing the past lest it be overtaken by the present.
Jeff Hildebrandt © 2010

The Sponge

There are some of us out there who get so busy being religious that we lose track of why. You may know someone like that; all take and no give. To be fair, I know some folks who have an immense capacity for study, but they also seem to be able to find the time to put their faith into action. I'm a little intimidated by believers who do all the things that I wish I was doing. This little poem is about those who fall instead, into the category of "wanna-be buckaroos" All Hat and No Cattle. “But don’t just listen to God’s word. You must do what it says. Otherwise, you are only fooling yourselves.” James 1:22

The Sponge

The next time you pick up that sponge at your sink,
just stop for a minute and take time to think
how that sponge represents what life is about.
It's not useful at all, until it's wrung out.

On Sunday, you sit and smile in your pews
and listen intently to all the Good News.
You have pamphlets by Stanley, tapes by Swindoll
and you hear John MacArthur on route to the mall
where you rush past a hand out and don’t stop to look
cause you’re in a hurry to get a new book
that talks about living as Christ would today
or how to serve others and how best to pray.

We soak up the teaching in hopes we’ll be blessed
but despite all that study we’re feeling depressed.
We know the right words but they never get said.
We don’t implement anything that we’ve read.
We're just like that sponge that sits on our sink.
If we don't get wrung out, we're going to stink.
Just soaking up knowledge is not what God planned.
We must live the lessons and help those we can.
So, squeeze out the blessings God sends from above.
Wring out the Good News of God’s saving love.
There's joy like a fountain from which we can drink.
But not if our sponge is filled up on the sink.

Jeff Hildebrandt copyright 1999

Baby Boomer Blues

I’m a pre-modern man in a post-modern age;
A poet, a seer, a sayer, and sage
who rhymes of how simple our lives used to be
when Howdy Doody was on TV.
I was here for the birth of rock and roll
and saw the beginning of blue eyed soul,
High school sock hops when coke was a drink
and Saturday nights at the roller rink.
And I speak Baby Boomer.
I used to watch Jack Paar..
I wore green for Uncle Sam
and drove a rag top car.
Yeah, I speak Baby Boomer.
My hair has gone to gray
and no one really cares to hear
the things I have to say
I was here for Buddy Holly and the day the music died.
And when they shot Old Yeller, everybody cried.
Tie dye shirts, mini-skirts, Peter, Paul and Mary;
The Beatles and Bob Dylan, Curly, Moe and Larry.
I was here for Sputnik and the U. S. on the moon,
those Alabama marchers and lives snuffed out too soon
in Dallas and in Memphis. Our country mourned its loss
while young men went to Vietnam to carry freedom’s cross.
Yes, I speak Baby Boomer.
Things are groovy and they’re cool.
I’m the Woodstock generation
and still “hip” as a rule.
But, I speak Baby Boomer.
My hair has gone to gray.
and my kids don’t pay attention
to the things I have to say.
Oh, we have things in common. We like pizza with a beer
and we try to get together for Christmas every year.
But my children now have children and I think that it was better
when generations had a name not just a single letter.
See, I speak Baby Boomer
not X or Y or Z
So, let me lay it on you
and hopefully you’ll see
that all us Baby Boomers
have plenty still to say.
It’s just harder to remember what
since our hair has turned to gray.


Jeff Hildebrandt © 2007

Tumbleweeds

This poem came to me while I was in the mountains at a men's retreat. Like all good church-based men's retreats, we had several hours of "fun" time on a Saturday afternoon. Most of the guys played golf or went hiking, but I'm more of an Ice Tea by the pool kind of guy, so I just relaxed. But I kept thinking about something said in the morning session and as I sat by the pool, I wrote...then re-wrote...until it was time to gather again. for the uninitiated, Bob Nolan was one of the founders of the "Sons of the Pioneers," along with Roy Rogers. One of their most famous songs was, "Tumbling Tumbleweeds."

Tumbleweeds

Bob Nolan sang of tumbleweeds
just driftin’ cross the plains.
And even now, when cowboys sing
you’ll hear that same refrain.
I think about those tumbleweeds
just tumblin’ to and fro,
always changing their direction
with how the wind will blow.
The tumbleweed just tumbles
because it’s broken free.
It has no roots to hold it back,
its dead as dead can be.
And in the song, that cowboy
was driftin’ that way too.
He had no firm foundation
that he could hold on to.
At times I think that I’m just like
that tumblin’ tumbleweed.
just blown in all directions
by self-centeredness and greed.
When I don’t have Living Water
or feed on God’s own Word
I become a drftin’ tumbleweed.
Of that, I am assured.
But there is hope for tumbleweeds.
Don’t take this truth for granted.
God’s the gardener of your soul
and you can be replanted.

Jeff Hildebrandt © 2004

Gone Fishing

Henry David Thoreau is quoted as saying, “Most men go fishing all their lives without knowing it is not fish they are after.” I wonder how many people go to church on Sunday and don't know what they're after? When you leave a worship service are you looking for ways to serve others or just looking for someone to serve you lunch?

Gone Fishin’

A friend told me he’s been a-wishin’
he could spend more time just fishin’.
Catchin’ rainbows in a stream
seems to be his only dream.
But when he tries to get away
some crisis just gets in the way
and he’s left sittin’ here and wishin’
he could be out there just fishin’.

One Friday, he was set to leave
when someone’s tuggin’ at his sleeve
saying he feels just ignored.
So they talked about the Lord.
They talked about what God has done;
sending down His only Son
to die so all of us could live.
But that’s not all God had to give.
His Spirit’s here to help each day
and all we need to do is pray.
Then, Saturday, he still had time
to get out there and wet a line.
When someone called to say he’s bored.
So they talked about the Lord
and just how full a life can be
when given to the Trinity.
God’s opened heaven’s doors for you
but while you’re here, there’s lots to do.
His Spirit’s here to help each day
and all you have to do is pray.
In church on Sunday, he was wishin’
he was out there somewhere fishin’.
Then this vision crossed his eyes
as God said, “Don’t you realize
the fishin’ trip that you’ve been on?
It’s like Andrew, Peter, James and John.
That’s the fishing you should seek.
And you caught two big ones just this week”.

And so if lately, you’ve been wishin’
you were out there somewhere fishin’,
take time with those who come your way
or a big one just might get away.

Jeff Hildebrandt © 2008

Great American Wild West Show

The Great American Wild West Show is getting ready for their next extravaganza. It will be in Reno, Nevada at the state fair. I have known these folks for quite a few years and love to see their show. It combines great Western music, stagecoaches, trick riders, Native dancers, long horn cattle drives and fun for the whole family. I adapted one of my poems to fit their presentation and they have been kind enough to let me perform it when I can make it out to one of their events. I only wish I could be with them in Reno.

He’s a Cowboy,
with a hundred years of history
that’s no where near the mystery
and romance on the range the movies show.
He’s like those who rode the Goodnight Trail
pushin’ cows from Texas to the rail
when a Cowboy’s Code was all you had to know.

Vaquero blood pumps through his veins
and he is all that now remains
of a breed-a men whose handshake sealed a deal.
And the Great American Wild West Show
may be your only chance to know
they weren’t no Urban Cowboys, they were real.

From the golden days of Buffalo Bill
these legends live and always will
in the minds of everyone who comes to see
the sights and sounds and stories told
of Indians and riders bold
cause, the way it is, is how it used to be.

Jeff Hildebrandt Copyright 2000

Cowboys on Concrete

You may or may not know that I was a volunteer fireman and emergency medical technician for 7 years back in Kentucky. When you read this poem, you'll know that I know the feelings I mention. I just did a radio interview for Trent Loos' Rural Routes program heard all over the mid-west and he wanted me to read this so I thought I'd post it here as well. On Sep;tember 11th, I've been asked to perform this and Cowboy Up America at a tribute to "First Responders" in Illinois.

Cowboys on Concrete

There are TV shows and movies
about the cowboy way.
And I’ve heard people question
if it’s relevant today.
Does the cowboy code of ethics
really still apply?
Do cowboys help the needy
or like others, pass them by?
Do they stand up for the helpless
and when asked, they volunteer?
Are they brave? Is there compassion?
Do they act despite the fear?
Have you seen a cowboy lately?
Have you really looked around
to see who rides to help you out
when all the chips are down?
Do you recognize the cowboy?
Not the swagger or the hat
but the cowboy way of helping out
when we’re in need of that.
They’re the ones who face down danger
when others run away;
the ones whose life is on the line
protecting us each day.

But, do you know the courage
that it takes to heed the call
and run into a burning building
that could kill them all?
Or the fear they have to swallow
as they make a traffic stop
cause the world is full of crazies
who’d just love to kill a cop.
Have you ever felt as though a target’s
painted on your chest?
Are you haunted by the nagging thought
you didn’t do your best?
Are there memories you just can’t shake
of choices that you had to make
and chances that you had to take
to risk for someone else’s sake?
Do you know the code of silence
they maintain when they go home?
To protect their loved ones from the truth,
they carry it alone.
One wife described it like a dance;
they circle round the fears
and hold each other tightly
to keep away the tears.
And yet, each time the call goes out
that someone is in danger
these heroes saddle up and ride
like modern day Lone Rangers.
Cause there’s another feeling
that they all get to share:
That right now, someone is alive,
a child in danger did survive,
a family won’t be wracked with grief,
the city’s safe from one more thief.
Inside, they all share this belief;
The world is better ‘cause they’re there.

They’re cowboys on the concrete.
When you see one, pray God’s grace
will surround and will protect them
from dangers that they face.
Then thank those first responders.
They do what must be done
and they deserve our gratitude.
So we salute you, everyone.

Jeff Hildebrandt copyright 7/30/2010