Farm Fresh

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Mike Walters knew the minute he saw my phone come out tonight that he was about to become the victim of a poem!!!! I treasure the friendship and regard Mike and Chelsea Moore and their two boys as family…somehow Mike had evaded getting a poem written….until now!!! Happy Easter you guys!! Much love!!PT

Farm Fresh

Heading up our old farm drive
Easter Sunday’s running late
I’m here to feed my livestock
The hour was just past eight

There upon the old farm porch
Perched up on kitchen chair
A farm fresh porchside haircut
Our Mike Walters getting there

In fancy shops in big towns
Pro’s style and cut for show
But here out in farm country
It’s done by those you know

A treasured rite of summertime
Quiet nights and fresh warm air
Just hanging out with your family
Hair trimmed by hands that care
PT Muldoon © 2017


Into The Mystic


One of the great casualties of the hum of this fast paced life has been time….somewhere along the way I resorted out of necessity to riding at the end of the day once all my obligations were satisfied. After 30 years it’s kind of taken on its own persona around our little town and I look forward to my midnight rides and peoples reaction to seeing a horse and rider disappear into the mist….an added benefit is that it’s kind of helped me develop some pretty solid saddle horses over the years and I love the trust it builds between me and my pony. Wrote a short verse about my excursions into the mystic…hope you guys like it. PT


There is a place in darkness
Thick air and ground collide
And from earths inner battles
Through ghostly fog we ride

I call this place the mystic
We ride there deep in night
And feel ancestors heartbeats
On trails shod hooves ignite

The movement in the mystic
Commands a ghostly charm
Upon my trusted night horse
No fear or threat from harm

The meadows here are sacred
Bright moon and stars our light
We leave behind all worries
And set forth cares to flight

Someday we’ll both crossover
When this life’s race is through
You’ll find us in these meadows
Where we’ll be mystic too
PT Muldoon

© 2016, PT Muldoon

Hope Awaits


A friend Julie Asher Lee posted this awesome pic on here yesterday and I stared it all day trying to imagine her story….I love looking at an artists work and trying to write some words to go with it….Hope you like the poem. PT

Hope Awaits

She awaits the one who loves her
To return from points unknown
Separated by vast oceans
Off defending life and home

Her love keeps the fires burning
Sending prayers into night air
Kind of love that lasts forever
Til back home this life to share

Looking deeply to the distance
Where she hopes he’s looking too
As the time here in between them
Passes slowly til it’s through

Every night out in that meadow
Just beyond their old farm gates
She keeps vigil for a sweetheart
To return as Hope awaits

PT Muldoon ©2017

Top Hand


After we pulled his shoes and trimmed Tiggs yesterday we had a good day roping the calves and tuning up fuzzy horses. Raul and I had a few minutes to visit over the tailgate of his truck. I was cleaning and oiling a treasured old bridle I thought I’d lost and then yesterday rediscovered hunting an s shank bit in my tack room. Raul was putting away his shoeing tools and enjoying a cold one and filling stock tanks. We talked about kids.;;.effort, heart and try…. we talked about loyalty, skills and honor…we talked about cowboys…real cowboys…the kind who measure what they do with pride and heart, jump in when help is needed and stay loyal no matter the cost or sacrifice that presents. I wrote this poem after he left…..I think it sums it all up kinda nice.PT

Top Hand

Where honor meets leather
And the leather meets hides
These two come together
As top hands choose sides

Some come to seek glory
While others skilled trade
And the time tells their story
Sorts out what’s been made

See cowboys no noun
It’s pure action for sure
Some head for soft town
But for this kind no cure

In the braiding of tools
Or fine arc of that rope
Cowboys suffer no fools
In a life built from hope

When the stuff hits the fan
And you think there’s no way
There you’ll find the top hands
They’ll ride deep thru that fray

These knights of the saddle
Are made tough by the fire
Every day long hard battle
That reveals their desire

And it aint how they ride
With a crowd on their feet
Its that fire down inside
That burns loyal and deep

For those outfits that count
Choose the loyal but tough
As is made new great mounts
From the young and the rough

For these men bear a name
Measured out by their sand
For in this cowboys game
Called just simply top hand

PT Muldoon ©2017

True Country


This one goes out to my friend Scotty Plowman….keep making real country music….we’ll listen….If you play it they will come!!! PT

True Country

Nashville’s killing off our country
As they romance Rolling Stone
And miss their mark completely
Let’s find the next George Jones

In jeans hand made in Europe
With shoes from Paris France
They stand against our values
Real country songs no chance

Their Stetson’s shiney plastic
Most couldn’t stack fresh hay
They could never run a tractor
Country music? Hell no way

The girls are kinda sleazy
The men made up like thugs
Souls caught up in a lifestyle
Full of parties stars and drugs

Let’s take back country music
Put it back with heart and soul
And send this trash to New York
It’s just packaged rock and roll

Put back the roots born rural
And dump this shallow bling
Start buying from real artists
Who still live this life they sing
PT Muldoon ©2017