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The well-bred hound, if he does not hunt to-day will hunt to-morrow.
Over The Hills
The old hound wags his shaggy tail,
And I know what he would say:
It's over the hills we'll bound, old hound,
Over the hills, and away.
There's nought for us here save to count the clock,
And hang the head all day:
But over the hills we'll bound, old hound,
Over the hills and away.
Here among men we're like the deer
That yonder is our prey:
So, over the hills we'll bound, old hound,
Over the hills and away.
The hypocrite is master here,
But he's the cock of clay:
So, over the hills we'll bound, old hound,
Over the hills and away.
The women, they shall sigh and smile,
And madden whom they may:
It's over the hills we'll bound, old hound,
Over the hills and away.
Let silly lads in couples run
To pleasure, a wicked fay:
'Tis ours on the heather to bound, old hound,
Over the hills and away.
The torrent glints under the rowan red,
And shakes the bracken spray:
What joy on the heather to bound, old hound,
Over the hills and away.
The sun bursts broad, and the heathery bed
Is purple, and orange, and gray:
Away, and away, we'll bound, old hound,
Over the hills and away.
poem by George Meredith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hound Dog Man
Hey, hound dog man,
Where you been now,where you been?
I wish that you were back,
It was too good to ever end.
Once in a while someone like you
Will give everything for what you wanted to do.
Hey, hound dog man,
My old friend play it again.
You gave the world a whole lot of joy
Now that aint bad for a country boy
I just knew you could not lose
The way you sang rock and roll and blues.
I still think about these things
And the memory that it brings
Hey, hound dog man,
My old friend,play it again.
Hey, hound dog man,
My old friend,play it again
Sometimes I think about james dean,
Sammy cooke and my teenage queen.
Doo ron, de ron, de ron,
Marilyn monroe and hot rod fun.
I still think about these things
And the memory that it brings.
Hey, hound dog man,
My old friend,play it again.
Hey, hound dog man,
My old friend why did it end?
Hey, hound dog man,
My old friend, why did it end.
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Unforgiven Hunt
I shouldn't be telling you this
No one should be telling you this, but
Only a few people even know
About the time of the Unforgiven Hunt-
We are on the Unforgiven Hunt, so I should tell you
I can't even tell you
What the Hunt is about
And why it is called just that-
The Hunt
But I just told you
That the Hunt is called the Hunt
For a reason-
So now I should tell you the whole story
How we came to this point
Why our features stand out
In the whole world, all the countries
First, we were like all the others
Down-to-earth, forgiving, out loud
Sharing all our secrets
But now the Hunt people regret
That we came this far
We came this far, we broke our friendship apart
Now we are on the Unforgiven Hunt
The time of the Hunt started at the time of the Hunt
No one really knows
When it was, what it was that unbalanced the scale
Of life and death-
But we are on the Unforgiven Hunt
We started the Unforgiven Hunt by saying,
"We have to increase our lifestyle, then we'll stop"
But over time, it grew to be our hobby
Beating other countries
In machines, in factories and greed
In food, in water and high standards
In shelter, in organizing, in need
We are still on the Unforgiven Hunt
I Hunt
I hunt.
For specific kinds of meat.
I hunt.
To feed that desire within me I seek.
I hunt.
I do not keep my needs a secret.
I do not wish to discreet them in any way.
I hunt.
I want this known.
I want it easy for the meat,
To be captured and seasoned.
With a sauté done to taste.
And delayed at a minimum wait.
I hunt.
For specific kinds of meat.
I hunt.
To feed that desire within me I seek.
I hunt.
To satisfy what it is I do.
And grunt...
Sometimes,
Just before the morning dew appears.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I’s Gots a Hound Dog Commin
I’s gots a hound dog commin,
He’s gonna sniff me out
Done went and smelled up Herbert
Done smelled up Janice too.
I’s gots a hound dog commin,
Done smelt out dees new wurds,
An hes gonna tear em up
Tear mes as down as well.
I’s Gots a hound dog commin,
Caint hide mys smell no mo,
Dem wurds puts out an oder,
Dat hound is boundda smell.
I’s gots a hound dog commin,
So I says goes, let em come,
He don’t know nuttin no ways,
No comments dat I’s fears.
I’s gots a hound dog commin,
Here doggie, I’s right here.
Come read dees wurds, an tells me,
Is dis a poet dat ya’s smell?
poem by Sandra Osborne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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One-eyed Hound
Mister youve been caught at last
Chasing dogs in the moonlight
This man committed a sin
This man he never can win
Mister youve got one more chance
If you catch the hound when the sun shines
This man committed a sin
This man he never can win
And its all gone wrong
Night is the time for chasing the one-eyed hound
And its all been tried before
Night is the time for chasing the one-eyed hound
Have you seen the one-eyed hound?
Tell me where hes going
This man committed a sin
This man he never can win
Every place that I have been
No-one else has seen him
This man committed a sin
This man he never can win
And its all gone wrong
Night is the time for chasing the one-eyed hound
And its all been tried before
Night is the time for chasing the one-eyed hound
Everybodys telling me exactly where to go
This man committed a sin
This man he never can win
People call and people talk
But they dont reach agreement
This man committed a sin
This man he never can win
And its all gone wrong
Night is the time for chasing the one-eyed hound
And its all been tried before
Night is the time for chasing the one-eyed hound
Night is the time for chasing the one-eyed hound
song performed by by Genesis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Hounds
Far off a lonely hound
Telling his loneliness all round
To the dark woods, dark hills, and darker sea;
And, answering, the sound
Of that yet lonelier sea-hound
Telling his loneliness to the solitary stars.
Hearing, the kennelled hound
Some neighbourhood and comfort found,
And slept beneath the comfortless high stars.
But that wild sea-hound
Unkennelled, called all night all round--
The unneighboured and uncomforted cold sea.
poem by John Freeman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hound Voice
BECAUSE we love bare hills and stunted trees
And were the last to choose the settled ground,
Its boredom of the desk or of the spade, because
So many years companioned by a hound,
Our voices carry; and though slumber-bound,
Some few half wake and half renew their choice,
Give tongue, proclaim their hidden name -- 'Hound Voice.'
The women that I picked spoke sweet and low
And yet gave tongue. 'Hound Voices' were they all.
We picked each other from afar and knew
What hour of terror comes to test the soul,
And in that terror's name obeyed the call,
And understood, what none have understood,
Those images that waken in the blood.
Some day we shall get up before the dawn
And find our ancient hounds before the door,
And wide awake know that the hunt is on;
Stumbling upon the blood-dark track once more,
Then stumbling to the kill beside the shore;
Then cleaning out and bandaging of wounds,
And chantS of victory amid the encircling hounds.
poem by William Butler Yeats
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Good to hide, and hear 'em hunt!
842
Good to hide, and hear 'em hunt!
Better, to be found,
If one care to, that is,
The Fox fits the Hound—
Good to know, and not tell,
Best, to know and tell,
Can one find the rare Ear
Not too dull—
poem by Emily Dickinson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Man is the culprit
Hares and deer produce in multitudes
To withstand onslaught of lions and tigers
Grass and weeds abound much more
To surpass onslaught of hares and deer
Lions and tigers beget not many.
The cycle is in perfect harmony.
Man is adamant to disturb the balance.
5.11.2000, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Song: Top Dog
Without the luxury or remorse,
of the kennelled cops on horse;
the addict dogs patrol the airport lounge.
I'm an Officer of the Force,
PC Dogie O'Hound, of course,
a taut spring, tight and tensioned, till unwound.
Dogie O'Hound, the cop from the Pound:
I hunts 'em down. I hunts 'em down.
I gets around as Dogie O'Hound,
to sniff out more quarry, pound for pound.
The dog cop is Halle-Boppe,
a comet to a grain.
You'll never stop the dogged cop;
hard-nosed and so well-trained.
The cop dog is top dog,
in the furry food-chain.
The cop dog, full chop dog,
smells guilt in flooding rain.
Dogie O'Hound, the cop from the Pound:
I hunts 'em down. I hunts 'em down.
Dogie O'Hound's no flip-flop, nor bound
by the laws of the jungle. My power's profound!
The cop dog's a hot dog,
whose nose can entertain,
the thick fog and mixed blog,
of false scent as no-brained.
The dog cop is hip-hop;
wild and unrestrained.
The dog cop is tip-top,
black ops and arts arcane.
With a known and honed resource,
my talent alone exhorts,
all lesser breeds to cower, as I confound.
I'm an Officer of the Force,
PC Dogie O'Hound, of course.
I am a blooded lurcher of renown.
Dogie O'Hound, the cop from the Pound:
I hunts 'em down. I hunts 'em down.
Dogie O'Hound, the new hero is crowned,
who harries and worries, and hunts 'em down.
poem by David SmithWhite
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Question
Body my house
my horse my hound
what will I do
when you are fallen
Where will I sleep
How will I ride
What will I hunt
Where can I go
without my mount
all eager and quick
How will I know
in thicket ahead
is danger or treasure
when Body my good
bright dog is dead
How will it be
to lie in the sky
without roof or door
and wind for an eye
With cloud for shift
how will I hide?
poem by May Swenson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Beddgelert - (pron. Beth-gelert)
‘There once was a Prince called Llywelyn, Dai bach,
The Lord of this Snowdon Wales,
Back in the mists of the mountain, when times
Saw wolves leave their blood-stained trails.'
(I sat by the Church of St. Mary out there,
The vicar stared out on his fold,
His rheumy old eyes held the myth and the lies
That the Welsh told the people of old!)
I listened, he spoke, and I doubted him then,
The story he told so bizarre,
But when he had finished, I baited my breath,
Walked musingly back to my car.
Llywelyn, the hunter, was given a hound,
A present from England's King John,
A mighty wolf hound that he treasured and took
On his hunting trips, loping along.
The Prince had an heir that was merely a babe,
Still swaddled in linens and veils,
The child was his joy, he'd been blessed with a boy,
He was one of the Princes of Wales.
Llywelyn went hunting abroad with his pack,
The hounds were all baying the way,
The buglers followed, their blasts on the horn
Drove the hogs that were leading the fray!
The hunt brought them venison, gammon and fowl,
The hunt brought them mutton and game,
But Gelert, the hound, was nowhere to be found
Though the Prince called, and bellowed his name.
Llywelyn rode back to the palace at dusk,
Dismounted and looked for his son,
The cot was all bloodstained, the covers were torn
And a sign of the child, there was none!
Then Gelert leapt up, and he greeted the Prince
With a loud joyous cry in the dark,
His fur was all bloodied, his teeth dripped with gore,
And Llywelyn shrank back at his bark.
In thinking his son had been slaughtered, the Prince
Cried out as he lifted his sword,
And ran through the hound as he fell to the ground
And he cursed and he cried, the good lord!
But then came an answering, pitiful cry
From the child that lay under a bed,
The boy was uncut, but was smeared with the blood
Of the wolf that lay next to him, dead!
The throat had been torn from the wolf by the hound,
Brave Gelert defended the son,
And now that the Prince held the child in his arms
He reflected on what he had done!
He cradled the body of Gelert and wept,
And buried in honour his hound,
He set up a stone with the tale that it told
And it stands there today, on its ground.
The place is Beddgelert, in Gwynedd, look you,
And hundreds of years have gone by,
But history tells us, Llewelyn the Great,
Was never again seen to smile!
David Lewis Paget
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Porcupine
Any hound a porcupine nudges
Can't be blamed for harboring grudges.
I know one hound that laughed all winter
At a porcupine that sat on a splinter.
poem by Ogden Nash
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Bring Me My Longbow
If you do not hunt, you do not eat
If you do not hunt, you do not eat
When will the sun come, when will the sun come,
When will the sun come
If you do not hunt, you do not eat
If you do not hunt, you do not eat
Who is the best boy, who is the best boy,
Who is the best boy
Bring me my longbow, sing me the holy song
Bring me my longbow, sing me the holy song
Fill the cup, fill the cup, pass out the water
Fill the cup, fill the cup, bless our provider
If you do not hunt, you do not eat
If you do not hunt, you do not eat
Burn out the tall grass, burn out the tall grass,
Burn out the tall grass
Women cry, children cry, throats are dry
But the family must survive
song performed by by Utopia
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lone Wolf Plan
I get more power,
At night time.
I am a lone wolf,
And a smart one too.
I hunt by myself,
And feed myself.
I look for love,
But I always get rejected.
I've taken my last reject,
So I hunt for blood.
I hunt the one's,
Who rejcted me.
I hunt my old pack,
To kill the leader.
Once that's done,
I'll be leader.
I can lead my new pack,
To victory.
I shall win a new love,
And win a pack.
My strength is better,
But my smarts are better.
I am clever,
So I will win.
I fight the leader,
And lose.
Now I die,
All alone.
My plans have failed,
My life has just began.
I might not breath the air,
Or run freely.
But my new life,
As a spirit,
Has just begun...
poem by Dragon Crenshaw
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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How Are The Weak Free?
They will hunt again.
With years to plan.
And sharpen their teeth.
But no one knows, no one knows.
Free the wolf from his cage.
Watch him hunt, stalk his prey.
We let them go.
They will hunt again.
Prey on the simple.
Feast in the temple.
Free the wolf?
We must put him down.
We'll put him down again.
Our protectors hide and grin.
song performed by by Zao
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Black Hound
WHITE-TOOTHED is the Black Hound,
And ever, as he comes after,
There is no sweetness in wine,
Nor is there joyance in laughter.
Red-tongued is the Black Hound,
And ever, as he speeds baying,
There is no shaking him off,
Nor is there stopping or staying.
Keen-sensed in the thick dark
He follows for ever and ever;
Nought stays him in his pursuit —
Nor marsh, nor mountain, nor river.
Day-long through the broad light,
His tongue like a flame outleaping,
He hunts; and we fly before,
Wan-faced, foot-weary and weeping.
Night-through in the still hours
When stars in the sky assemble,
We hear his cry on the roads,
And startled, staring, we tremble.
White-toothed is the Black Hound,
And speed to his limbs is given;
God help and pity us all
Who fly for ever, hard-driven!
Time comes when the feet fail
Or drag on the ways, unwilling;
Then fast, froth-flakes on his jaws,
He speeds keen-fanged to the killing.
Then some, as they pass, say —
Few pausing, and weeping, fewer —
'Hound-work is this that we see,
Fang-work of him, the Pursuer!'
Black Care is the Black Hound,
And ever 'tis his to follow
Pale men from birth to that hour
When grave-mouths open and swallow.
poem by Roderic Quinn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The moth hound
Of a coon hound
you have heard
there's plenty around
i have found
a very strange dog
who's nothing, but a moth hound
when ever, you see
he sees a moth near by
the moth trys to flee,
it isn't no match
as my dog goes after the moth,
and makes a wonderful catch
he eats it all the way
and chews and swallows
he looks at me, now he wants to play