Wind Spirit Acres

Another one of my interests is dabbling in writing poetry. My great great grandfather wrote poetry beginning about the mid 1830's and I have all his original handwritten manuscripts. Maybe one of these days I'll publish some of his works on my site. For now though I'll show you what I've done.

Below, is my first creation. They say most poems are written out of inspiration. Well, BTSR is about a place, Buffalo Trail Scout Ranch, and some of the goins on there during the summer camp. There in lies my inspiration.

BTSR
By Carl Poitevint

Out in West Texas where Scouts come to from afar,
There is a place known to all as BTSR.
Just turn off Highway 17 on to Ranch Road 1832,
And when the pavement runs out there'll be someone there to greet you.
Then come on through the gate and meet the best Camp Ranger in the land,
He's that strange sort of feller we call Ranger Dan.
He lives in this canyon called Little Aguha,
With a real nice family and an old Black Dog.
Next, you'll find two Directors like you all know,
They say they've worked real hard to put on this show.
They sent out the applcations and gathered the finest staff,
to teach the merit badges and a lot of Scoutcraft.
They found the best cooks to prepare the finest quisine,
And a Head Wrangler the likes of which no other camp has ever seen.
They hired a Medic which we hope you didn't have to meet,
And someone to show where the Eagles Trail leads.
The Wranglers and the Outback Rangers are of the highest selection,
They'll take you on tours of the whole Ranch,
Each and every Section.
And if Rock Climbing is what you came to do,
They found someone to teach that,
And how to jump off of them too.
The Field Sports staff is of the highest caliber yet,
Even the adults will be put to the test.
Our Aquatics personnel can't be beat,
So head on up to the Pool and get out of the heat.
And if you looking to experience some living history,
That's in the Bank.
All you need do is follow a Rock Lizzard, or a North Star, or a Trail Blazer,
or a Dancing Squirrel, or a Snake Stomper, or a Cookie together with
the spirit of the South Wind on up the Black Trail to Whiskey Bottle Tank.
And, there you can live and do,
As the Mountain Men did before you.
Whether it's been for a weekend or a week,
We hope you've enjoyed your stay,
That is our wish heartfelt and true.
And please come back for there is plenty more to do.
Now if you ever get back out to West Texas where the Scouts all camp,
And find that strange sort of feller called Ranger Dan.
Stop and say "HOWDY!" and get out of the car,
For you wont soon forget that you've been to BTSR.

This poem reflects some of my memories of one of the best friends I ever had, South Wind. I wrote this after I returned home from his funeral.

South Wind
By Carl Poitevint

As Allowat Sakima summons the spirits of the winds,
I am reminded of one of my most cherished friends.
South Wind, home of the mildest and warmest winds, he calls,
South Wind, the booshway said you will now and forever be known by all.
They say, if you want to really know someone just camp withem for a few days,
Thats how I found out what made South Wind tick, in many different ways.
We started out together years ago up at the Pole Pens you see,
That was the first Rendevous camp for me.
Oh what a week, Ill never be the same,
For That is when I was given my Rendevous name.
I had gone down the trail to the spring for more water supply,
And when I returned and Howdied the camp, this was South Winds reply.
What kind of a dance were you doing in the middle of the trail?You made the ground quake.
I said you might dance too if you found yourself on top of a rattle snake.
Oh how he chuckled and laughed much to my dismay,
And asked at the same time if I was OK.The week passed quickly and ended with the closing festivities all prim and proper,
And thats when South Wind declared, now and forever you will be known as Snake Stomper.
Since then South Wind and I have Rendevoused many times together,
In many different places and all kinds of weather.
The simple pleasures was what South Wind liked,
And he soon found out so did I.
After the long hike to the Mountain Man camp South Wind liked to give himself a treat,
For you soon would find him down by the cool water soakin his feet.
Of corse, he knew when he returned, he would find me there enjoyin the breeze,
Yes, there Id be, fast asleep under the trees.
Very seldom was South Wind at a loss for words or a story to relate,
About Old Roubedeaux, Jedediah Smith, or Jim Bridger, for each in history had his own place.
And if you had questionswhen South Wind was through,
He would always take the time to answer each and every one just for you.
During the Rendevous camp he would always impart,
His vast knowledge of black powder shooting with safety a must from the very start.
The knife and the hawk into this category also fell,
So that each and every Scout his experience, would live to tell.
The campfire of the Rendevous was a great gathering place,
To listen to more of South Winds tales and to partake,
Of some of the heartiest meals made to satisfy even the pickiest taste.
And as the weeks camp would draw to an end,
South Wind refused to say Goodbye to his new found friends.
Instead he would give them a blessing which from his Irish ancestory came,
And now in his memory I will give you the same.
May the road rise to meet you.
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
The rains fall soft upon your fields And,
Until we meet again,
May the lord hold you in the palm of his hand.
AMEN