Where the Sweet Bluebonnets Bloom
There is one thing a Texas cowboy
_Always takes into account:
_A cowboy will ride to heaven
_On his favorite trusty mount.
There is a crowd of clapping hands
_As he rides through heaven’s door.
_The open range is boundless
_With bluebonnets evermore.
There is no need to pay a florist
_For some wreaths around my grave
_As long as I’m in Texas,
_Where the sweet bluebonnets wave.
When I attend my final roundup
_And meet my final doom,
_Please bury my mortal body
_Where the sweet bluebonnets bloom.
LTC Roy E. Peterson, US Army Military Intelligence and Russian Foreign Area Officer (Retired) has published more than 6,750 poems in 95 of his 118 books. He has been an Army Attaché in Moscow, Commander of INF Portal Monitoring in Votkinsk, first US Foreign Commercial Officer in Vladivostok, Russia and Regional Manager in the Russian Far East for IBM. He holds a BA, Hardin-Simmons University (Political Science); MA, University of Arizona (Political Science); MA, University of Southern California (Int. Relations) and MBA University of Phoenix. He taught at the University of Arizona, Western New Mexico University, University of Maryland, Travel University and the University of Phoenix.
I feel this poem actually galloping along, Roy.
Thank you, Margaret! One of my favorite ways to write poetry.
Reading this I immediately got the feeling of a genuine traditional Western song. It’s simple, fresh, and touching. It could be set to music, don’t you think? In any case, Roy, the words are well chosen, and the beat is pleasant and comfortable. This is a fine piece of writing. Moreover, Evan has found you a dandy illustration.
Thank you, Bhikkhu. You actually touched a spot in my heart, since I have written 150 songs and have been a former entertainer on stage as a solo singer. I greatly appreciate your assessment.
This poem is bittersweet and highly evocative, Roy. I witnessed a lot of cowboy culture when I lived in Santa Fe. Cowboys have a stoic world-view all their own which you capture as you describe “that final roundup.” I’ve always wished I could see a vast field of Texas bluebonnets. I’ve heard the sight is quite magical.
Thank you so much Brian. I have a picture of a cowboy riding a white horse in an intense field of bluebonnets. You are so right about the practical stoic worldview as I know you found in your time in New Mexico.
Roy, you provide an emotional slow-motion picture of the forever closeness of man and mount, and their inseparability from the land through which they ride–to a final destination. Alternate pictures of the end fade into the distance. The bluebonnets represent nature ever renewed, since their blooming is one of the fabled sights in Texas. I’ve known people who plan a trip to see those bluebonnets, and miss the season more than once. I was fortunate on a cross-country drive for another reason to witness the bloom by accident. As the car passed through the rolling Western plains, the color and the mood gradually changed. A beautiful revelation renewed by your poem!
Margaret, as you noted there is a closeness of man and mount in the cowboy culture with which their view of the world comes from a hardened, one with the land and the horse perspective. I am so glad you witnessed such a panorama of flowers that must have been as relaxing as it was beautiful. When one of us writes a poem, we never know the emotions it evokes in someone else. I am delighted it was a pleasant memory.
POETRY WITH SUBTLETY
By Roy E. Peterson (May 2, 2026)
I need to start explaining much of my poetry.
The meanings are much deeper conveyed with subtlety.
I wrote one of a cowboy, the stoic hardened kind
Yet he loved bluebonnets in fields he would find.
Do you understand the meaning? Do you get the drift?
In the cowboy’s senses, there seems to be a rift.
On the one hand as a cowboy, he can take it tough
On the other, sentimental. His heart is soft enough.
Poet Note
I am referring to my just published poem on SCP,
“Where the Sweet Bluebonnets Bloom.”
For three years, Roy, I worked as a cowboy for some cattle ranchers in the mountains of eastern Arizona, and these people were the epitome of true grit. We have a similar species of flowering plants here in New England where I now live that’s closely related to Texas Bluebonnets, which we call Lupines. The Point? You can take a cowboy out of his range, but you can’t take the range out of a cowboy. I still ride, if only in my heart, with Clell & Katharyn Lee at the VM Ranch.
Fascinating personal story, C. B. When I worked on my doctorate at the University of Arizona, I sometimes camped in the Graham Mountains east of Tucson near the New Mexico border. The only painting by my mother is a beautiful one of a meadow high in the Graham Mountains that she painted from one of my photos. It shows Aspen trees and other mountains in the distance. DYI: Texas A&M has managed to preserve and plant seeds from genetic variants that are pink among other colors. The Texas legislature has officially still recognized them as “bluebonnets.”
I always knew those tough cowboys were big softies at heart.
An unusually sensitive poem. Thanks for the read, Roy.
Paul, that is often the case, although they do not like to let on to other cowboys.
Really love this cowboy poem… I’ve lived in Texas all my life but I’ve never been a cowboy. I’ve known many cowboys and have no doubt that I’ve absorbed more than a bit of the cowboy philosophy… cowboys do have great hearts, by and large, however you’d do well not to mess with ‘em!
Can never see enough bluebonnets…
I have never been a real cowboy either, although I have been around cowboys, cowgirls, and horses. Some of the cowboys I know, have the biggest hearts. Who else would sing to cows! On the other hand, I never wanted to get in a fight with one.
Roy, your poem has captured the wonder of those glorious swathes of bluebonnets that grace the fields and roadsides every Texas spring. I arrived in Texas with bluebells in my heart. I used to play in bluebell carpeted woodlands and walk through them with my grandmother back in England. I missed those scenes terribly… until I first saw and smelled the bluebonnets. I’ve made many new memories on April wildflower trips… I can fully appreciate your wish in the heart-touching closing couplet.
Susan, when I lived in South Dakota until the age of 13, my mother also had bluebells in our flower gardens much like you had in England. I am like you. I have fallen in love with the bluebonnet vistas found in East Texas. I am so glad you have been able to take April wildflower trips. Regarding the last couplet, at least my remains might smell better.
I enjoyed this cowboy poem. There is something romantic (and personally nostalgic) to me about the cowboy life. Thinking about the gentle flower and the rough cowboy in the same thought is quite the paradox. A cowboy’s life is a sad one, alone…except for the earth and his trusty mount.
Michael, those are perceptive and precious comments on the life of a cowboy. Thank you.
Very nice, very sweet and elegiac in its thoughtful way. Still, don’t get too morbid, Roy – I am sure there is plenty of life left in an old dog like you!!!
Thank you so much, James, for your concern and encouragement. I try to avoid the morbid at this stage of life.
Roy, this is a lovely poem, with lilting rhythm, and a strong sense of the love of earthly place, even though it is about heaven. Those of us who have not been to Texas tend to think of it as a hot, dry, desert of cacti and rattlesnakes. But it is clear from this poem that it can be a richly fertile spot of beautiful, endless flowers.
Joseph, you are right about Texas. The difference is between West Texas as the semi-arid land of Pecos Bill and East Texas which is fertile and productive still.