I created Hermit’s Pen to share the wonderful cowboy and mining poetry of my Great Uncle Kenneth Browning. I remember going to see him as a young girl when we would visit Montana. When I was an adult with my own family, Uncle Kenneth used to write me wonderful letters that would sometimes include a poem or two even after he had a stroke and had to write with his left hand. I don’t think he ever stopped writing until he passed away. It was important to him that his writing live on:
They say we poets are seldom famous,
‘Till after death has come to claim us.
My last wish is, that when I am gone.
Some of my poetry will live on.” ~KB
Thanks for visiting the site,
Monica
Kenneth Browning
“I composed the writings in this book,
And I hope they are worth the time it took
For me to put on paper all this bunk,
I pray you won’t consider them all junk.
I trust your sarcastic comments will be withheld,
When you find some word misspelled.
And that your tongue doesn’t start it’s clacking,
At punctuation, misplaced or lacking.
When (or if?) you have read them to the end,
If some word, your ears did offend.
Be not to harsh with your censure,
For this is my first literary adventure.
My joy will be most infinite,
If you find one moment of pleasure in it.
I wish you as much joy from the reading or reciting,
As I obtained from the writing.
Many hours I’ve spent in my cabin,
Far away from the sound of tongues a gabbin’
Writing this stuff and making copies,
Away from the racket of wild jalopies.
Away from a hectic world’s roar,
While friendly squirrels playing round my door.
While crested Bluejays were always pleading,
Telling me it was time for feeding.
Where little fawns were cavorting,
And smart old bucks were loudly snorting.
Where the great bull elk, stood grand and tall,
As he sent forth his challenging bugle call.
Where the golden Eagle soared high,
And scanned the ground with searching eye.
Where every evening, without fail,
I heard the coyotes’ lonesome wail.
Where fir and pine reached for the sky,
While among their branches, breeze’s sigh.
Nowhere else is nature so benign,
Nowhere is scenery so divine.
They say we poets are seldom famous,
‘Till after death has come to claim us.
My last wish is, that when I am gone.
Some of my poetry will live on.”
~Kenneth Browning
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