Presenting Kent Stockton, Medallion Award Winner.

"The campfire has gone out," he said-
Last line in his sad verse.
He'd seen the best spin into worst
And now this old man, nearly dead,
Welling tears in eyes bright red,
Lamented Progress, cowboy's curse.

We heard his poignant words that night,
Reciting lines from days long past.
He told of times too good to last
And though he couldn't read or write
This weathered cowboy named Slim Kite
Spoke images that held us fast.
__________________________

From back a hundred years ago
They built their literature.
The oral history that they told
Proclaimed the way things were,
There upon the desert,
On the prairies, in the hills,-
It magnified their conquests
And chronicled their spills.

The cowboy's poems painted plain
What "lonesome" is all about;
And his ribald sense of humor
Rubbed shoulders with thoughts devout,
In those spoken lines from long ago
That share a place in time
With civilized verse from urban sites
That often don't even rhyme.

Now the academic scions
Who know their poetry
Say that doin' all these cowboy rhymes
Is a waste of time for me.
They say my time were better spent
Reciting Keats or Joyce,
Than tellin' this cowboy doggerel
'Round the campfire with the boys.
_____________________________

His octogenarian eyes were wet
Though he stood slender, tall and straight.
He wove his tales of cowboy fate,
And I'm forever in his debt
For no one else has said it yet
In a way I more appreciate.

But though I so admired his ways
And share the loss he spoke about,
I cannot share his hopeless doubt-
For as long as there's rough-country strays,
The sun will dawn on cowboy days-
An', Slim- the campfire ain't quite out.
Kent Stockton © 2006

Dedicated to the memory of Slim Kite.

Better Times

He closes his eyes, rememberin' back,
though the years to him haven't been kind;
Selectin' good mem'ries requires a sharp knack
When you're livin' the past in your mind.

Ain't easy to see past the missing shingles,
Broken rails, an' loneliness;
It's tough to ignore the stains on the floor-
But it's an old man's only defense.

It's easy to say that silence is golden-
Used to be so noisy 'round here.
No one to intrude on his solitude
Or to offer to share his last beer.

There's very few chores an' no stock to be caught,
No others with whom he' entwined-
Nothin to cost him his train of thought
While he's livin' the past in his mind.

_______________________________________

He sees corrals in perfect shape
With mares and foals inside.
He sees a pretty lady's face
Beside him as he rides.

Children's laughter fills the yard,
Puppies yip and play-
Life's a joy, though plenty hard-
They like it best that way.

Friends drop by most every night
To share a bit of news;
Every day seems exactly right-
This home never knows the blues.

___________________________________

Well, those days are gone, an' he' alone;
The papers have all been signed.
Tomorrow, alone, he'll leave this home-
But it'll always be there in his mind.

Rememberin's hard, but forgettin's foreign-
Puts a man in miserable bind.
The only thing now that keeps him goin'
Is livin' the past in his mind.

Kent Stockton ©2006

Dedicated to the memory of Bill Young.

                                                             Kent Stockton and his horse.
                                                          (The photo above features Kent Stockton.)

         KENT STOCKTON writes:

    "As near as I can remember, I've always wanted to be a cowboy. Among my earliest memories is a Christmas- I guess I was about four or five years old- and a whole cowboy outfit, including boots, chaps, spurs, rope, and a gunbelt with cap gun included. I was so proud of that outfit I wore it to Christmas service at the little church in Fulton, Kansas. The minister "oohed" and "aahed" over my getup, but made me check the gun outside- an ignominious fate for a cowboy.

      Through the years that followed, I vicariously watched the popular evolution of the cowboy from the Saturday matinees to the new-fangled TV screen. As a teenager I got my first taste of dealing with the "real thing" when I worked on a cattle ranch in Colorado- I took a job as a "rosin jaw" on the outfit, though I didn't know the job by that name at the time.

     I carried the heritage- or at least the clothes- to Dartmouth College, and was among the few who wore cowboy boots, jeans and jean jacket in the Ivy League of the early 60's. The jean jacket got swiped while I was a student there, so I guess at least one other person shared a penchant for western dress.

In medical school I realized that an M.D. degree would open doors to me- I could go virtually anywhere to practice medicine, and the yen for the cowboy life still burned strongly beneath the surface, so I persuaded my bride to give Riverton, Wyoming a try. That was in 1973, and we're still here. Suffice it to say that I've been in Heaven since we lit here- right from the start I befriended rodeo cowboys, working cowboys, retired cowboys, weekend cowboys - even the original Marlboro Man, who lives nearby.

Then came the Cowboy Poetry Movement, beginning with the Elko Cowboy Gathering in 1985. I got to the Gathering for the first time in '87, and discovered a whole new world of cowboys complete with regional differences, nuances of dress and cattle handling. My wife, Mary Margaret, and I have made wonderful friendships and acquaintances with cowboys and cowgirls from all over the West- indeed from all over the world- through the Gatherings, and I've been able to realize lifelong dreams by working beside them and learning from them.

My own experimentation with cowboy poetry began in the 70's, shortly after moving to Riverton. I'd written a little poetry before, but none of the cowboy variety. My book "The Campfire Ain't Quite Out" expresses some of the thoughts and emotions I've experienced since moving to Cowboy Country- also the realization that, although the cowboy has changed over the past century, he ain't dead yet. As Chris LeDoux said it musically, "You just can't see him from the road". It has been my privilege to know and work beside a good many men and women who still make their living horseback, caring for and caring about the livestock and the land.
                                                         Kent Stockton

       "The Campfire Ain't Quite Out" by Kent Stockton was a 2007 Will Rogers Medallion Award winner. The Academy Of Western Artist will present Stockton his award during the 2007 Will Rogers Award Show. This award is given for Outstanding Achievement in the Publishing of Cowboy Poetry. The poetry of Kent Stockton carries the reader to Riverton, Wyoming.... and when you've read his book, you feel like you've lived there; and that you know the people he writes about. It's real...and written from the heart. Stockton never talks down to you.....he talks with you. And for awhile, you're around a vigorously burning campfire- and enjoying every minute of it! There is an echo of Will Rogers in his writing...it is rich with all the much loved humor, wit, and easy going style of telling a story that is reminiscent of Will Rogers.

          This book is another beautiful hard cover publication of Cowboy Miner Productions. It is superbly illustrated by Dani Griffith, who was raised on a farm near rural Pavillion, Wyoming. She made her debut into the world of cowboy art in 2002 with the design of a poster for a major rodeo.

To order or to obtain further information, e-mail:

kstockto@wyoming.com

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