In loving memory of my Dad

It is called The Story of Jesse James, and is about my father's life. This poem was published in Saddle Up magazine in August 2003. I wrote it before Dad passed on, so he did get to hear me read it to him (he was pretty much blind by then) but he was gone before the poem was published. I submitted it to be published for August to "celebrate" his birthday. I share it with all of you now to again celebrate August 16th which would have been his 93rd birthday.


The Story of Jesse James

Born in a sod hut
On the prairie flat,
Part of his parents’ new life,
Was a young fellow
Named Jesse James,
Never gave his Mama no strife.

One of his jobs
As a young boy
Was to make pesky gophers dead,
So he fashioned a scoop
With it’s handle long,
And poison from horseback he fed.

He lived through winter
Storms so bad
You would’ve lost your way,
If not for a rope,
From barn to house,
Strung on a better day.

Kids held on tight
To a lariat rope
Behind Jesse’s horse at a run.
“Flat land skiing”
On a winter’s day
Was the ultimate way to have fun.

As luck would have it,
The day did come…
Jesse turned a little too short.
A big gate post
And a girl’s broken arm
Put an end to this “Olympic Sport”.

As a young man
In “depression” times,
Jesse found a way to live.
To full grown horses
Who’d never seen man,“Riding lessons” Jesse did give.

They’d rope ‘em
And hog tie ‘em
Strap on the appropriate saddle.
Rip off the ropes…
The horse was up,
With Jesse already astraddle.

As years went by
Jesse headed west,
Left the “bald-headed prairie” behind.
He crossed over mountains,
Then headed north,
His future adventures to find.

In a small café,
In a northern town,
Jesse found his future wife.
She was his waitress,
Who became his friend,
Then Annie became Jesse’s life.

In later years
A girl of eight
Saw Jesse ride a rearing horse.
From that moment on
He was her hero.
She knew not of his past, of course.

He told her stories
About teams of horses,
Matched in looks, size and strength,
Of harnesses fancy
Decorated with red tufts,
He entertained her at great length.

In his elder years,
Jesse was heard to say,
The best job he and Annie had done
Was, as expert gardeners,
They’d raised five Blooming Idiots,
Of which I am proud to be one!

Written in 1997

In loving memory of my Dad:

Jesse James Price

August 16, 1915 – January 18, 1999

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