A wounded deer leaps the highest.
quote by Emily Dickinson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Wounded Deer—leaps highest
165
A Wounded Deer—leaps highest—
I've heard the Hunter tell—
'Tis but the Ecstasy of death—
And then the Brake is still!
The Smitten Rock that gushes!
The trampled Steel that springs!
A Cheek is always redder
Just where the Hectic stings!
Mirth is the Mail of Anguish
In which it Cautious Arm,
Lest anybody spy the blood
And "you're hurt" exclaim!
poem by Emily Dickinson
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The Father
Captain Patrick Tobin, R.D.F. Suvla, August 15th, 1915
Ever his eyes are fixed on a glorious sight.
A boy is leading, calls his men to come on:
Light as a deer he leaps, slender and bright,
Up the hill, irresistible: it is won!
Ever he sees the boy against the sky,
A slender Victory, light on his golden head.
Hardly the down on his lip he hath leaped so high,
His name is writ among the undying Dead.
Captain at one-and-twenty! Much was to come,
Great things yet to be done, heights to be scaled;
Love and comradeship, all fruition of bloom.
He has attained to the highest. Not he who failed!
The mother weeps her boy who comes not again.
The Father sees him, splendid and laughing still,
Leaping like a young deer, calling his men.
The glory dazzles! The boy's keeping the hill!
poem by Katharine Tynan
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A Horse For Dinner
A horse A horse
My kingdom for a horse,
A horse A horse
For the main course
Muscles of might
Pulled so tight,
A body of organs
All for a meal
Why a horse?
Why not a deer?
A horse does the work,
A deer will just peer
A horse is strong
a deer has no uses,
so there for a deer
suffers the abuses
Condemned is a deer
as from the day it's born,
until the day it dies
and its meaty flesh torn
So why a horse
if a deer has no uses?
because I am a man
Who too, has suffered too many abuses
poem by John McAdam
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Wounded
Well theres a whole lot of hurting being going on
Well Ive been wounded, wounded, wounded
This aint no way to be carrying on
You see me wounded, wounded, wounded
Im taken like a stone
That youve thrown in the deep blue sea
Giving me the scars that will never heal
Wounded, wounded, wounded
I remember the day when you came up to me
Almost breaking on your knees
Said you needed me more than anything else
You really took me in
But itd make you feel good to know
Id do anything you say
Well forget that line cause I aint gonna play
Wounded, wounded, wounded
I remember the day when you came up to me
Almost breaking on your knees
Said you needed me more than anything else
You really took me in
But itd make you feel good to know
Id do anything you say
Well forget that line cause I aint gonna play
Wounded, wounded, wounded
song performed by by Donna Summer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Save the deer
Tigers are there; deer are there.
Tigers eat deer and deer exist.
Guilt is the tiger and adultery, the deer.
Adultery will not go extinct.
25.03.2000, Palakkad
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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To fail at the great is greater
I had made several leaps and
The fruit stayed too high to reach.
Had I aimed at those with in my reach
I would have got as many as my leaps.
Losing the formidable is worth many leaps.
21.10.2000
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Images
I
Like a gondola of green scented fruits
Drifting along the dark canals of Venice,
You, O exquisite one,
Have entered into my desolate city.
II
The blue smoke leaps
Like swirling clouds of birds vanishing.
So my love leaps forth toward you,
Vanishes and is renewed.
III
A rose-yellow moon in a pale sky
When the sunset is faint vermilion
In the mist among the tree-boughs
Art thou to me, my beloved.
IV
A young beech tree on the edge of the forest
Stands still in the evening,
Yet shudders through all its leaves in the light air
And seems to fear the stars -
So are you still and so tremble.
V
The red deer are high on the mountain,
They are beyond the last pine trees.
And my desires have run with them.
VI
The flower which the wind has shaken
Is soon filled again with rain;
So does my heart fill slowly with tears,
Until you return.
poem by Richard Aldington
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A demarche-Cauchy3-tricks
A demarche…
Take a pictured horse as deer.
Who will treat deer as horse?
Gods will say that.
All as pets are teacher pets.
Horse then goes as deer.
Throw the stones to test the water depth.
Games with theorems are centered guards.
Take a test upon aha actions.
With images of horse they all are Tory.
With image of deer they all are foes.
Invite a wolf into house or close the door to kill the dogs are after math after test.
poem by Cheung Shun Sang
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Deer Hunting
Hunting deer is hard to do.
But not for Michael Waddel.
Michael is an amazing bow hunter.
He only hunts deer with a bow,
Which is very hard to do anywhere.
Most people hunt with powerful guns.
But not Michael.
He uses his skills to lure the big deer in.
poem by Drew Nofer
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Where the goat leaps, leaps that which sucks her.
The Wounded Wind
the wounded wind
spirited messages
she does send
disturb not the bark of this tree
ancient soul
it does speak to me
disturb not the pureness of this stream
trickling tears
it does haunt my dreams
the wounded wind sighs
ghostly shadows still dance before her eyes
the wounded wind cries
like the coyote who splits the silence of night howling at the moon
Warning, the wrath of the wounded wind will be upon us soon
poem by by unknown author
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Ex-Whore
I'm a miserably predictable
Broken, sticked-up doll.
My dress is torn, my hair matted
And one arm dangles at my side.
My wounded pride, my wounded pride.
I used to be pretty, you know
Before I got so old, before I became disposable.
They used to look at me and smile
I was theirs for a while.
My wounded pride, my wounded pride.
Too old for the job,
No one pays to keep a rag.
I'm a doll, a broken doll,
Wishing I didn't fall.
poem by Ana Podarevska
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At The Forest
you just shot
a robust deer
and you are
happy taking
it on your shoulder
something for
dinner....
and you walk away
behind your backs
a little deer is looking,
oh, a mother is taken
and the son
is weeping!
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Asylum
1.
Lost childhood in transit; a container full of ghosts
and bottles of piss, the cold and the waiting, the torn
pieces of paper with words in Italian, the mantras.
2.
He turned to me with the eyes of a wounded deer.
I cannot go back to the mud and the kerosine nights.
I have a question - What is this Bundesamt?
A motherless child, paradise lost.
poem by Leslie Philibert
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A Christmas Hunt
Me and ol' Bubba
on a late December hunt
Bubba's a man of few words
but he sure can grunt
The snow was fallin
a winter moon so bright
All the stars seemed special
as they sparkled that night
It was about midnight
we couldn't believe our eyes
A herd of flyin deer
seemed to fill the skies
I shot and I shot
how Bubbas gun did fire
But those flyin deer
just went higher and higher
Bubba looked at me
as I rubbed my aimin eye
It was then we both said
aint no deer that can fly
That was pert near
twelve years ago
Every late December
we still track through the snow
But not for huntin
we just go to see
Those flyin deer
ol' Bubba and me
Terry M
Going Shopping
En route to go shopping at our local grocery store,
I came across something which I hadn’t seen before.
A rustling sound within the trees, by me, was heard;
I just imagined it was either a cat or some kind of bird.
But what emerged in front of me, gave me a surprise;
A surprise which made me question my very own eyes!
Out of the trees, there very suddenly appeared,
An extremely lively, little brown deer.
I know that large herds of deer do reside
In the big forest, in the nearby countryside.
But never before in my life had I ever found
Any deer this close to the centre of our town.
As soon as he saw me, away he sprang,
But in my mind, alarm bells loudly rang.
For the deer, I began to feel a little scared,
As I wondered how, in a town, he would fair.
He was quite far from where he had grown,
And now, here he was, having to cope alone.
The countryside compared to the town are different places;
Here, he was faced with houses, cars and people’s faces.
I imagined the sheer panic which he felt inside,
And for that poor little deer, I almost cried.
To help him, there was nothing I could do.
He was so far away from all that he knew.
I thought about him for the rest of the day,
And couldn’t believe how far he had strayed.
A deer in the town was a strange thing to have sighted.
I just hope that, with his herd, he was safely reunited.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Wavering
I have peeled off my eyes.
Fear of unbeing creeps in,
genes were escaping.
The thin affair bends
under the burden of vague uncertainty.
A smoke rolls out from choking throat.
A word leaps high from wounded pride.
The author does not know the sting,
blames the ears.
Hails will strike when you open the door.
The past will question the future,
the anguish of infinity.
poem by Satish Verma
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The Deer-Star (A Paiute Legend)
HEAR now a tale of the deer-star,
Tale of the days agone,
When a youth rose up for the hunting
In the bluish light of dawn --
Rose up for the red deer hunting,
And what should a hunter do
Who has never an arrow feathered,
Nor a bow strung taut and true?
The women laughed from the doorways, the maidens mocked at the spring;
For thus to be slack at the hunting is ever a shameful thing.
The old men nodded and muttered, but the youth spoke up with a frown:
'If I have no gear for the hunting, I will run the red deer down.'
He is off by the hills of the morning,
By the dim, untrodden ways;
In the clean, wet, windy marshes
He has startled the deer agraze;
And a buck of the branching antlers
Streams out from the fleeing herd,
And the youth is apt to the running
As the tongue to the spoken word.
They have gone by the broken ridges, by mesa and hill and swale,
Nor once did the red deer falter, nor the feet of the runner fail;
So lightly they trod on the lupines that scarce were the flower-stalks bent,
And over the tops of the dusky sage the wind of their running went.
They have gone by the painted desert,
Where the dawn mists lie uncurled,
And over the purple barrows
On the outer rim of the world.
The people shout from the village,
And the sun gets up to spy
The royal deer and the runner,
Clear shining in the sky.
And ever the hunter watches for the rising of that star
When he comes by the summer mountains where the haunts of the red deer are,
When he comes by the morning meadows where the young of the red deer hide;
He fares him forth to the hunting while the deer and the runner bide.
poem by Mary Austin
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Bury My Heart At Wounded Knee
Indian legislation's on the desk of the do right congressman
Now he don't know much about the issues so he picks up the phone
And asks the advice of the senator out in indian country
A darling of the energy companies their ripping off
What's left of the reservation
I learned the safety rule
I don't know who to thank
Don't stand between the reservation
And the corporate bank
They're sending federal tanks
It isn't nice but it's reality
Bury my heart at wounded knee
Deep in the earth
I said cover me with pretty lies
Bury my heart at wounded knee
They got these energy companies
Who want to take the land
And they got churches by the dozens
Trying to guide our hands
And turn our mother earth
Over to pollution war and greed
Well
Bury my heart at wounded knee
Bury my heart at wounded knee
I said deep in the earth
Bury my heart at wounded knee
Won't you cover me with your pretty lies
Bury my heart at wounded knee
Bury my heart at wounded knee
They got the federal marshalls
We get the covert spies
We get the liars by fire
We get the fbi
They lie in court and get nailed
And still leonard peltier goes off to jail
(the bullets don't match the gun)
Bury my heart at wounded knee
An eighth of the reservation
Bury my heart at wounded knee
It was transferred in secret
Bury my heart at wounded knee
We got your murder and intimidation
Bury my heart at wounded knee
My girlfriend anna may
Talked about uranium
Her head was full of bullets
And her body dumped
The fbi cut off her hands
And told us she died of exposure
Yeah right
Bury my heart at wounded knee
Bury my heart at wounded knee
Oh deep in the earth
Bury my heart at wounded knee
Won't you cover me with pretty lies
Bury my heart at wounded knee
Bury my heart at wounded knee
Bury my heart at wounded knee
Talk about a revolution
We had the gold rush wars
Why didn't we learn to crawl?
And now our history gets written in a liar's scrawl
They tell me " honey you can still be an indian
Down at the y on saturday night''
Bury my heart at wounded knee
Bury my heart at wounded knee
I said deep in the earth
Bury my heart at wounded knee
And cover me with your pretty lies
Bury my heart at wounded knee
Bury my heart at wounded knee
Bury my heart
It was an eighth of the reservation
Bury my heart
It was transferred in secret
Bury my heart
Got your murder, murder, murder and intimidation
Bury me
Bury me
Bury me
Bury my heart
Bury my heart
Bury my heart
Bury my heart
song performed by by Indigo Girls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Improve in what you are
Tiger thrives by fight.
Deer does by flight.
If tiger or deer, be as you are.
Both ways you can survive.
31.05.2001, Palasa
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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