Old Rodeo Man

The ground is an absolute, the air lets
you down. The way you leave your bronc sustains
a compromise with violence you embrace
the way you mean an oath. Forever.
Without fault forfeit or regret—
a repossession of what
you will never let go, even
when you lose stirrup
grip and (so finally) your life.

Some say God’s not in Heaven, but
in the fling of self into chaos,
and He’s there not to stop
your fall, but to join in
the glory of your need to make every ride—
if often much harder to ground
than bone prefer—always as close
to the whistle as will will provide.


This poem first appeared in Dialogue, a Journal Mormon Thought. It is also part of a manuscript entitled Have by Lee Robison, which has been accepted by WordTech Communications for publication under their  David Roberts Books imprint. We are currently working on a release date sometime in the fall of 2019.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.