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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Related quotes
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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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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January, January….
Ice, thick,
as I have never seen
on Cherwell.
Jagged, floating towards Isis.
Low mists of ice-dust
drift on Christ Church meadow
and cool the blood
of long-horn cattle
standing
ankle-deep in mud.
A lame roe deer
beneath the trees
pauses, where
the sudden call of coots
splits the air.
In the gardens of Trinity,
all is order and harmony.
January blossom from Japan,
well-kept paths and lawns.
Controlled
and quiet.
Magdalen is a small, medieval town;
courtyards and golden houses,
a Tower and a Park.
Along Addison’s Walk,
tall trees like sentries,
follow the stream
which sidles out from Magdalen Bridge
to turn and twist
past the Deer Park
with its white deer,
(living, condensations
of the mist) .
poem by Brian Taylor
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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
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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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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The Truant
The Truant
Trying to flee Christmas I opened a wrong door and
fell from sky into a glossy stygian lagoon, swam to
its northern shore and saw trees dismal graveyard,
petrified and silent trunks lit up by hazy moonlight.
I walked to the lake’s eastern shore and witnessed
the easy birth of a day; a deer chastely drank blue
water when a brown bear came out of the forest
attacking me. I jumped into the lake the bear too
jumped in, a better swimmer, but as it was going to
catch me, I ducked, swam up behind it, mounted
the beast- like a cowboy- and gripped my fingers on
the liberal skin folds of its fat neck. Howling angry
the bear swam in circles but couldn’t shake me off,
when it beat swam for shore I let go, the poor brute
crawled ashore and tired scuttled into the woods.
I followed a barely visible track and came to a town
where kind people gave me food (hotcakes, honey
and bacon,) a bath and a bed in a green room. I slept
for days, but when asked where I came from, could
only tell of a deer and a bear as my only memory.
To be an embryo inside a celestial dream feels fine
while I plan the newness of my life.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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I eager for You
today, O My Beloved,
I eager for you…
there was no such word
until today; today, there is..
to say, I’m eager for you
would be to say,
less than, I am…
when it’s I am, and
which you are, O My Beloved,
that eagers…
nor do I recognise eagerness..
how can I, if it’s not me?
no, today, it's an active word...
what else might I say?
to say I long, makes it sound
that I may never find you…
to say, I languish, makes me sound
so weak and hopeless…
to say, I yearn, makes it sound
as if I never knew You…
even the Hebrew word the psalmist used –
the deer that yearns for the waterbrook,
the hart that pants for cooling streams –
even that word’s uncertain; some say
it’s the way that a deer, feet slightly splayed
upon the sloping bank, stretches out its graceful neck
to the clear, pure, healing water…
some say, it’s that slight sound the deer makes,
as it gently laps that lovely water…
the sound that quenching makes...
today I am that deer, tasting what’s just out of reach…;
that feeling beyond all words possesses me –
the feeling that You who ever are inside me, Lord,
wish to proclaim You outside me –
today, O My Beloved,
I eager for to be myself; for You…
poem by Michael Shepherd
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No gain without pain
Christmas shopping.
Again, the pain,
a thought so stark
will I even get
into the car park?
I only needed
to nip in,
a quick purchase
to make.
T'was deer steak
I wanted.
Oh dear, it's raining.
So I made a quick dash
oh, that was rash,
no deer steak
just rain
and a beef steak
to boot.
So I'll stay mute
about Christmas shopping.
poem by George BernardBloodyShaw
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Bye-bye Jimmy.....[Nature observations; Death; Personal]
Two days ago out our window in the morning
a unique event appeared to me without warning.
Among the trees, of our neighbor's southern slope,
I spied a large deer which I felt had little hope
of making it to the next day's dawning.
I saw it prostrate, its head weakly raised a bit.
One large ear moved but was about to quit.
One proud antler rose above its head,
but I thought 'this buck is nearly dead.
It will cause no more springtime 'fawning'.'
My wife was near me and I alerted her.
By the time she looked, the deer did not stir.
But she thought he was alive and that he looked her way.
She may have been correct, but who can really say?
She named him 'Jimmy'. I don't know why.
My wife urged me to write this farewell note,
the first such poem I ever wrote.
Two days have passed and Jimmy lies there cold,
no longer roaming hillsides, no longer bold.
poem by Bri Edwards
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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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Natures Corse
There's a frog
on a log
who croaks at
a rabbit with
the habit.
The rabbit see's
her friend deer
who has the fear
of a human and
a steer,
While walking beside
the river the deer gets a
shiver
so he runs in a local
bush.
He see's the rabbit
out there and
breathing in the freash
air.
poem by Valerie Aker
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Hunt the Deer
Hunting season is here,
guns and rifles cleaned.
Stocked up with gear,
on his quad he leaned.
Lots of bullets,
hunt the deer.
No much of a challenge,
could use a spear.
Eight guys all with beer's,
one holding the camera.
Everyone smiling ' Cheers',
in front of the dead 'deer'.
poem by David Darbyshire
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On The Banks O' Deer Crick
On the banks o' Deer Crick! There's the place fer me!--
Worter slidin' past ye jes as clair as it kin be:--
See yer shadder in it, and the shadder o' the sky,
And the shadder o' the buzzard as he goes a-lazein' by;
Shadder o' the pizen-vines, and shadder o' the trees--
And I purt'-nigh said the shadder o' the sunshine and the breeze!
Well--I never seen the ocean ner I never seen the sea:
On the banks o' Deer Crick's grand enough fer me!
On the banks o' Deer Crick--mild er two from town--
'Long up where the mill-race comes a-loafin' down,--
Like to git up in there--'mongst the sycamores--
And watch the worter at the dam, a-frothin' as she pours:
Crawl out on some old log, with my hook and line,
Where the fish is jes so thick you kin see 'em shine
As they flicker round yer bait, _coaxin_' you to jerk,
Tel yer tired ketchin' of 'em, mighty nigh, as _work_!
On the banks o' Deer Crick!--Allus my delight
Jes to be around there--take it day er night!--
Watch the snipes and killdees foolin' half the day--
Er these-'ere little worter-bugs skootin' ever'way!--
Snakefeeders glancin' round, er dartin' out o' sight;
And dew-fall, and bullfrogs, and lightnin'-bugs at night--
Stars up through the tree-tops--er in the crick below,--
And smell o' mussrat through the dark clean from the old b'y-o!
Er take a tromp, some Sund'y, say, 'way up to 'Johnson's Hole,'
And find where he's had a fire, and hid his fishin' pole;
Have yer 'dog-leg,' with ye and yer pipe and 'cut-and-dry'--
Pocketful o' corn-bred, and slug er two o' rye,--
Soak yer hide in sunshine and waller in the shade--
Like the Good Book tells us--'where there're none to make afraid!'
Well!--I never seen the ocean ner I never seen the sea--
On the banks o' Deer Crick's grand enough fer me!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Tony Finally Got His Deer
Tony was out for revenge
always the one that got away
his cousin Pat and his friend Matt
woods brisk and chilly
Matt recently back
from the desert war
not sure what he was fighting for
Pat along for the hunt
Tony on top of the ridge
Pat and Matt down below
two sets of antlers
they had the spot
the spot was hot
get ready Matt, says Pat
I'ts your shot
no! you shoot says Matt
all is calm, then
suddenly
BOOM, BOOM
two blasts, two deer, lay lifeless
Tonys revenge
I sorry Pat uh
I had to shoot, dat dam deer uh
he avoiding me uh, for two years uh
now deer tease me uh
no more uh
poem by Matt Mondschein
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One Day at a Time
Yesterday the sky was clear and the sun
Was visible behind the barren trees-
In the early morning the snow was falling and
The path upon which I walked led me to nowhere-
In this life I have no destination, Yesterday wild geese were calling
High in the sky, I followed their lead-
I do not know what my future holds-
My family, being amongst the departed-
As snow falls lightly upon my horizon,
My future is clouded.
I live one day at a time,
Yesterday the sky was clear and today-
Overcast, clouded and dismal- although
I can still see the wild geese flying above and
I believe I saw a young deer
Lying amongst the trees, near where I am walking-
I have no destination and my future is
Darkened by clouds of uncertainty- although
Wild geese, deer and a lone cardinal-
Have become my best friends today as I walk and as I
Continue my journey-In all suddenness it hardly matters- in actuality-
That I do not know what my future holds or
That I do not know my destination in this life-
Today I own the forest, and the mystery of it all
Has given me strength to persevere-
Living one day at a time has removed the clouds as would an eraser to a chalkboard-
Enveloping inside of my mind the glory of my surroundings as
The voices inside of my mind accompany me-
I shall let the magnificence of these woodlands very well be my destiny-
I believe I see a ray of light shining through the bleakness of the sky,
Though phantasmal, it is still there to guide me for this moment-
Yesterday the sky was clear but my life was an empty cage-
Today I have become the queen of the woodlands,
I live one day at a time and as I hear the wild geese calling and
In their own way beckoning me- as a herd of deer gallop by- I realize
I shall never be alone as I hear voices speaking to me
That only I can hear-the deer, the wild geese are close by and
I see the beauty of the snow blanketing the trail as I walk-
Living one day at a time, I need not think of tomorrow
Because today has just become too beautiful-
Claudia Krizay
poem by Claudia Krizay
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Run free, Angel (R.I.P. Chelsea King)
She loved to run through the green forest,
Where the sun watched over her,
Where the lake’s cool and riveting motions
Met with the tranquil flow of the wind.
But the sun’s eyes
Could not change her destiny
They could not predispose her judgment
Or those of the Monster
Whose impulses were like those of a Tiger
Ready to pounce
Out of thirst, out of hunger, out of a sick taste for Vulnerability.
She ran like a deer,
Graceful and liberated,
Her eyes saw no danger
She succumbed to no fear.
But as a deer is entranced by a clean patch of grass
A Tiger finds opportunity
Strikes hard, and strikes fast.
The Tiger, the Monster,
Pounced on her body, devoured her soul
Fed her to the lake, who swallowed her whole.
The lake watched over her until the people came
It knew that the Monster would not win this game
His satisfaction would not go unnoticed
For this deer, this child, this girl
Was an Angel,
Is an Angel
And will always be.
poem by Jamie Ries
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19th September
I cannot walk properly after the gun shot,
But you were the very hunter who shot my leg.
Your gun shot was aimed at my back like,
A virgin lady without a pot;
For i am now a deer to you.
Your were in the same forest that i was,
Looking for a deer to shoot at and you rather got me;
But i do hope that one day i will walk very well.
I have got my papers in order and i still need your care,
But you came as a hunter to get me down!
And in this wolrd of lovers and haters,
What can i say to this act of yours?
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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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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