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The Star-Planters

    Home Cowboy Poetry The Star-Planters
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    The Star-Planters

    By Arthur Guiterman | Cowboy Poetry | 0 comment | 7 February, 2017 | 0

    Them stars! Oh, how often I’ve laid on the prairie
    And watched them go sweeping around,
    My bronco a-dozing beside me, and nary
    A breeze nor a whisper of sound!

    I’ve learnt the main bunch in the heavenly ranches
    There’s Jupiter, Venus, and Mars—
    Religion? He don’t know its primary branches
    What ain’t been alone with the stars.

    Some clusters are branded.— the Dipper, the Lion,
    The Eagle, the Sarpent, the Bear
    The Horns of the Bull and the Belt of Orion,
    And Cassy O’ Whats-her-name’s Chair;

    But most of them’s mavericks, roaming the ranges,
    Unclaimed in the herds in the sky,
    No part of the big panorama that changes,
    From winter to summer;— and why?

    Well, maybe it’s gospel, or maybe he sold me,
    But here is the yard that the Priest,
    Chitola, who bosses the Navajos told me
    The night of the corn-plantin’ feast:

    When all of the mountains were set in their  places
    And threaded with cañons and rills,
    The star-worlds, the last of the mighty creations
    Were laying in heaps on the hills

    In masses of silver, of gold and of copper,
    All polished and shining and new,
    Poured out on the granite like corn from the hopper
    Awaiting their place in the Blue.

    Now, first came the Bear of the Mountains, who faces
    The North, from his cave in the scaurs;
    He lifted his paws to the heavenly spaces
    And laid out his picture in stars.

    Then over the peaks of his western dominions
    The Eagle who battles the storm,
    Flew up to the heavens with star-dusted pinions
    And printed the lines of his form.

    And next, that the tribes and the nations might wonder
    The Buffalo leaped to the sky;
    That shag-headed Bison whose beller is thunder,
    Emblazoned his image on high.

    But now came the Coyote, so crafty and clever,
    A scallywag all the way through,
    The yap-throated, critical varmint, who never
    Is pleased with what other folks do.

    Sez he, “These here stars were intended to brighten
    The uttermost reaches of Night,
    But you fellers waste them in pictures to heighten
    Your glory; and that isn’t right!

    “Jest watch me!! I’ll show you how stars should be
    planted”—
    He jumped in the glittering piles,
    He kicked and he gamboled, he danced and he ranted,
    He scattered them millions of miles!

    So that’s why they glimmer at sixes and sevens,
    Stampeded all over the vault
    A shame and disgrace to the orderly Heavens;—
    It’s all that coyote chap’s fault.

    And still you can hear him, the yelping Coyote,
    A-mocking the stars in the dim
    Of night on the Barrens, with yammerings throaty,
    While they look reproachful at him.

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