Pheasants? ? ?
I was there in that land beyond the sea
The night was the blackest....that...
It ever could be...
When guns to the left... and... then to the right...
Cut loose... with such chatter...
I came out of my hole... emptying a clip...
Shouting... what the Hell was the matter...
Then with the adrealin in my gut...
And on my back of my neck...
There stood all my hair...
Through the night...till morning...
Turned out...nothing was there
By the early morning light...
My unit started to howl...
The Great White Hunter had been shot...
Because of his late night prowl...
I thought at first he... he...looked like a
Great Horned Owl
Now... as lunch time came...
My unit and I had prepared the feast...
That white ringed neck... owl... pheasant....
We made ready...to eat...
He was surprised...that Great... White... Hunter...
That pheasant laid out...cooked...
Covered with K-Ration butter....
Forty men all had said...look lets..after we feast...
We are very tired...and we'll finally get some sleep...
But to that one...that mighty hunter....
What you shoot...you eat...
You know the rule...it's the code
That unwritten law...in your heart today...it now abodes
Well I...and thirty-eight others...
Ate K-rations...saltines...and drank water...
I can honestly say...I had in my life...No better feast...
But..Brombaugh...Well...he had pheasant... and we made sure
That he ate...every dammed little piece...
The end
Clyde Grant Bryson
poem by Clyde Bryson
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The Night It Should Have Been Me
I was there...
Over in that land...beyond the sea...
Begging God...Don't let it be...
Lying... Frighten...Hiding on the ground...
As Rockets...Guns...Claymores...
Exploding...all around
The radio... Help me...Call had come in...
He said... God...I'm hit...very bad...
I couldn't believe... How my heart went...
Just so... damn mad...
I moved... as it was Mauir...
For a blinding flash...had torn my soul...
And slammed.. knocked my helmet from my hair...
My eyes and soul looked toward black...
With so much fright...
I could hardly move...because of my pounding...that night
I had to find him...
I had to make amends...
Because...He had taken it...for me...My friend
I had to find him... I had too....
I had... made the path
Oh.. Please... please God... No... Don't let it be...
But his leg was gone... blown off...above the knee...
By Star Bursts... flashing pale...white...light...
My hands shook as I worked...Scorched that night...
His hand clinched mine
His eyes and face...He just said hi...
I worked at fever pitch...105... Begging... God...
Jimmy... Jimmy... don't you...Die
I checked his face again...so gray and white
We had to move...again...
Facing Black... again that night
I looked for my soul...and my gun
And now...forever...carry about forty more tons
Like a mother...with child in arms...
I ran...so my soul...would have no more harm
We were on the 10,000 yard track...
Him in my arms...my shoulder his pack...
I could see the finish line...that Huey...
It was shouting....cheering...throwing Red...
Yellow...Green... and Black....
Trying desperately...too... keep my soul...from harm
I shouted...Hold tight...Jim...with your arms
I fought...Desperate to keep my soul...from any more harm
It will never be complete...nor whole
I had said I was tired...
We'd not had any sleep...watching out for the V.C.
He'd said Relax...and sleep... Like Christ on the Cross
This night...I'll take for thee...
Oh please God...Please...Now they can see...
That was the night...
That It Should Have Been Me.....!
Now I know when you read this, you'll think it wasn't my fault.
But to me! It does feel that way....When for my own selfish need
to have some sleep. I'm writing this so that others, may never have to
face this sort of thing. So if you see me, walking that path, that continues
onto Hell...Just step to the side...
Make sure... you're not doing the same, as I had done...
And please... remember to help others first.
Before you think or yourself.
When you help others first..
That is the way...
God, intended it to be...
That's why, He was staked to a tree...
Because other wise, for my sins also
It would have been me...
Like it was for Him...At Gethsemane....
For Jimmy
By Clyde Grant Bryson
poem by Clyde Bryson
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I A Hunter.
I a hunter of life,
I got shot by a hunter with my knife,
I a hunter of death,
A shot just broke my teeth
I a hunter of destiny,
Am afraid mine is taken,
I hunter of happiness,
am afraid mine is darkness
I a hunter of purity,
Putifying isn't my duty,
I a hunter of greatness,
I've just found am the smallest
I hunter of Love,
But am a sparrow not a dove,
and now I've got a message,
A message I, ve meant to receive
Hallow love Thank you,
my mind is holified that is you,
you have made my mind over due,
you made me think about you
SO THANK YOU
poem by Dickson Mseti
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The Hunter
It dont come easy, thats understood
Faint-hearted loser, thats no good
Just take a lesson from the great mohammed
He said... he said...
Pick up a rifle, you must be strong
To take a title, can be so long
If you believe, you cant go wrong
I said... I said...
Hes a fighter, hes my friend,
Always winning in the end,
Hes no angel, hes no fool,
Never plays it by the rule,
Take the glory, steal the prize,
Only the hunter, only the hunter
You took your chances, you hurt your pride
A sense of failure, is hard to hide
You crossed the limit, you broke the code
Back on the road... remember?
Hes a rival, hes my friend,
Always winning in the end,
Hes a tiger, hes a swan,
Hes the one Im counting on,
To take the glory, steal the prize,
Only the hunter, only the hunter survives
Im on the outside, Im looking in
Through the lenses, then into film
Ive got the target set in my sights
I see a vision of truth... look out!
Were gonna fight until we drop,
Were gonna get back to the top,
Were gonna be the first in line,
Winners till the end of time
Only the hunter, only the hunter,
Only the hunter, only the hunter,
Survives
song performed by by Asia
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Hunter's Mind
Awake, awake!
Awake to the morning bowl from last night's food;
Like the fling of a stone that puts the stars into flight.
What has the hunter in the hand?
Awake to the games of the Sultans,
Where the morning glory do call for the hunter;
Awake, awake!
Awake to the facts of life;
Cos', the hunter's gun is ready for action.
Oh no! ! The hunter's eye has caught the Sultans turret,
Like the noose of light to awake nature's call;
Who can satisfy the Sultans?
Like a little pool, so is the hunter's mind;
The hunter's gun is ready for action.
The only man who makes no mistake is,
The man who never does anything;
Awake, awake!
The Sultans turret is in trouble;
Like the noose of light to awake nature's call.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Thank offering
The hunter draws his bow string back.
Then quick released the arrow flies
so fast the eye cannot keep track.
Pierced through the heart a young stag dies.
The clan will feast on meat tonight.
Their appetites well satisfied,
they praise the goddess of night
who keeps their wants and needs supplied.
These simple folk with simple ways.
a clan of hunter gatherers
are wise enough to offer praise
to the moon goddess: She who cares
for all her children man and beast
in gratitude for tonights feast.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Home
I came back late and tired last night
Into my little room,
To the long chair and the firelight
And comfortable gloom.
But as I entered softly in
I saw a woman there,
The line of neck and cheek and chin,
The darkness of her hair,
The form of one I did not know
Sitting in my chair.
I stood a moment fierce and still,
Watching her neck and hair.
I made a step to her; and saw
That there was no one there.
It was some trick of the firelight
That made me see her there.
It was a chance of shade and light
And the cushion in the chair.
Oh, all you happy over the earth,
That night, how could I sleep?
I lay and watched the lonely gloom;
And watched the moonlight creep
From wall to basin, round the room,
All night I could not sleep.
poem by Rupert Brooke (1913)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Coventry in November
They say it was a Hunter’s moon
The night the City died
They say it was a hunter’s moon
The day the people cried
They say it was a hunter’s moon
That took our house away
They say it was a hunter’s moon
When the devil came to stay
An ageing now I’d like to know
Won’t someone tell me soon,
Why the reaper came to mow
in the light of the hunter’s moon
poem by Adrian Wait
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Intense Warrior
A companion of the stars and the moon
The great-horned owl flies within the forest
All his feathers are speechless in the night
Persisting as the warrior he is
When he stares at you with his yellow eyes
There's a phantom strangeness surrounding him
And when you look back into that owl's face
You know he is looking into your soul
No one can predict the owl's train of thought
Through the years of hunting in the shadows
This intense warrior restrains his voice
He knows not to speak often in the night
Living amongst the trees, the great-horned owl
Braves the night and befriends the satrs and moon
A fierce hunter flying in a fierce world
How thunderous the silence of his wings
poem by Nate Flying Owl
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lonely Is The Hunter
There is a thing out there that lives in the dark
Lamented into dust is the crow
A star shining in the sky
In the darkened night
A filling taste it is
Lonely is the hunter in the days
Of them we are
Of they there are none
Two times the rooster crows
In the days of the lonely hunter
Hope dead and cold
Lonely is the hunter
None nearby lonely is the hunter
Tombs filling the heart
Lonely is the hunter
The hunter is he
poem by Alex Fischer
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Into White
I built my house from barley rice
Green pepper walls and water ice
Tables of paper wood, windows of light
And everything emptying into white.
A simple garden, with acres of sky
A brown-haired dogmouse
If one dropped by
Yellow delanie would sleep well at night
With everything emptying into white.
A sad blue eyed drummer rehearses outside
A black spider dancing on top of his eye
Red legged chicken stands ready to strike
And everything emptying into white.
I built my house from barley rice
Green pepper walls and water ice...
And everything emptying into white
song performed by by Cat Stevens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Deer Hunt
Hunter pursuits a white-tailed deer and suddenly it disappears in the thick jungle.
The way back is forgotten and he was left behind.
There live a Widow and a Virgin who were pioneers of the secret forest provide him hospitality.
The hunter doesn't want to white wash and he catches these two birds (huntresses) in one stone.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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My Snow White
There once was a girl and if I remember right,
She went by the name of Snow White,
Skin white as the snow, hair black as the night,
She lived with seven men of very short height.
She washed their clothes and prepared their food,
And that’s not all, I’m afraid it gets rude,
Each one she loved and each one she screwed,
Snow white kept the dwarfs in a very good mood.
One day an old hag jealous of what she had,
Fed her an apple which had gone bad,
Then out popped a maggot, Snow White was mad,
Another little man all shrivelled and sad.
All this for a roof above her head,
Now another man to please and take to bed,
She looked at the dwarfs and angrily said,
“I’m moving to the house made of gingerbread.”
Off she went following a path of crumbs,
Sniffing the air and licking her gums,
Pushing Hansel and Grettle into the slums,
Deep into the forest with their two gay mums.
She ran to the house made of biscuit and vanilla,
Excited to see her gorgeous dream fella,
Who she found on the floor with Cinderella,
What the hell was she doing out of the cellar?
Snow White shouted and screamed at the pair,
How could he be shagging her,
She stinks of shit and is covered in hair,
Snow White felt sick just standing there.
Too sad and weak to put up a fight,
She cried herself to sleep that night,
From then on she stayed low and out of sight,
That’s the last I heard of good old Snow White.
poem by Lindsey Ashton
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White Hunter
Starvation festers deep within, just like a burning coal
And to that hunger each gives in, that hole that's in the soul.
The wolf, like lions, tigers, bears, must hunt for food to live
And just like them, he truly shares the need to take not give.
White hunter wolf is on the prowl, as predator not friend,
Intentions cruel and callous, foul, another life to end.
With no pure white, no impure black, no middle ground that's grey,
The hunger forces him to track, to find food night or day.
Against the snow, invisible, except for piercing eyes.
While his smile hides fangs that cripple and cut foes down to size.
His claws await their destiny, their moments in his plan.
Fulfillment of their infamy, since hunting first began.
This time, he hunts, yet all alone, no other wolf in sight,
And so his heart is cold as stone and dark as deadly night.
Condemned to forage for himself, the vicious victim preys,
His cunning, running, speed and stealth, from these he never strays.
Beware the white wolf's wicked stare, he hunts without remorse.
His is no game of truth or dare, it's life or death... of course...
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'White Hunter'.
More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
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Lonely Is The Hunter
My eggs in one basket, but she threw me a bone
She was dealt a full deck, but she likes to live alone
Aint just talkin to myself, need a reason to stop (oh yeah)
With a flower in her teeth, she drained the last drop
I said girls love money like bees the honey
But lonely is the hunter, youre my one and only, and lonely is the hunter
Asked her for a refill, sweat flew off my face (oh yeah)
Shes a legendary figure, kept me in a cage
Shes a torture chamber, when I seduced her in my bed (ooh yeah)
She gave a cold reading, success went to her head
In the heat of the battle the heart cannot rule, Im such a fool
But lonely is the hunter, youre my one and only, and lonely is the hunter
Lonely is the hunter, youre my one and only, and lonely is the hunter
Lonely is the hunter, youre my one and only, and lonely is the hunter
Lonely is the hunter, youre my one and only, and lonely is the hunter
song performed by by Kiss
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Indian Hunter
When the summer harvest was gathered in,
And the sheaf of the gleaner grew white and thin,
And the ploughshare was in its furrow left,
Where the stubble land had been lately cleft,
An Indian hunter, with unstrung bow,
Looked down where the valley lay stretched below.
He was a stranger there, and all that day
Had been out on the hills, a perilous way,
But the foot of the deer was far and fleet,
And the wolf kept aloof from the hunter's feet.
And bitter feelings passed o'er him then,
As he stood by the populous haunts of men.
The winds of autumn came over the woods
As the sun stole out from their solitudes;
The moss was white on the maple's trunk,
And dead from its arms the pale vine shrunk.
And ripened the mellow fruit hung, and red
Were the tree's withered leaves round it shed.
The foot of the reaper moved slow on the lawn
And the sickle cut down the yellow core--
The mower sung loud by the meadow-side,
Where the mists of evening were spreading wide,
And the voice of the herdsmen came up the lea,
And the dance went round by the greenwood tree.
Then the hunter turned away from the scene,
Where the home of his fathers once had been,
And heard by the distant and measured stroke,
That the woodman hewed down the giant oak,
And burning thoughts flashed over his mind
Of the white man's faith, and love unkind.
The moon of the harvest grew high and bright,
As her golden horn pierced the cloud of white--
A footstep was heard in the rustling brake,
Where the beech overshadowed the misty lake,
And a mourning voice, and a plunge from shore,--
And the hunter was seen on the hills no more.
When years had passed on, by that still lakeside
The fisher looked down through the silver tide,
And there, on the smooth yellow sand displayed,
A skeleton wasted and white was laid,
And 't was seen, as the waters moved deep and slow,
That the hand was still grasping a hunter's bow.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Lone Traveler
Lone howl under the great blue night sky
A pack of wolves running through the forest
Chasing down crying little rabbit looking for a hole
Doesn’t know that every damn hole is full of corns
Lone howl under the great blue night sky
The moon shines like there is no other night
To make the curve she had to follow the relenting howl
As time runs in circle, the night goes faster than before
Lone howl under the great blue night sky
A child walks down the street of the city of angels
Knows no bond to depend on, no rope to hang on
He raised his hand for a dime, he’s only got reservation in heaven
Can you catch the notes floating with the sound
Within the cold air that freezes your bones and brain
With the snow that falls like storm,
And nothing but the white emptiness before your soul
And I’m walking with my bare two feet, listening carefully
To the sound of cars driving on the streets at night
To the sound of babies crying out their heart
To the sound of waves washing the shore, the sound of loneliness
To the sound of traveling stars, the sound of the universe
poem by Alexander Foald
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A werewolf howl
A howl in the night,
Cuts the silence in two,
A howl in the night,
Makes you ask ‘who? ’
It is a lonely hunter,
That stands on the field,
It is a lonely hunter,
That hasn’t yet killed,
A creature so big,
All covered in pelt,
A creature so big,
Whit its head high held,
A wolf on two legs,
Howls to the moon,
A wolf on two legs,
Is going to kill soon,
It is called a werewolf,
Deadly as few,
It is called a werewolf,
If just you knew.
poem by Anna Turtle
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Agent Orange
The thought, never came to my head
Never thought it could said
You see, He had truly cared for us
Like a mothering Hen making a fuss
We had often hidden face first down
Thinking there was safety,
Lying on the ground
While Rockets, Guns, Claymores
Him and each round, screaming,
Keep your heads down
How do I describe, War, Blinding White,
Thunder...
He had said. Dont be stupid,
Or make a blunder...
Thirteen months,
Now that's our lucky number
Just Rembember to thank God
That were not Six Feet Under
So we left that place
That Red Powdered Clay, and the Sand
Caught a couple Red Tails
To our Homes Lands
Those Freedom Birds, From Black Hell
and Vietnam
Home, Girls, Women, Maybe some kids
Making our plans
Home at last...?
Safe...?
Well... I spent twenty five years...
Just fixing my Head...?
...Even Now I only get three or four
Camping's no fun or
Trying to sleep in a bed...
I went to tell him one day... Thanks...
And happy that we had not eaten... any lead...
He broke me... the news...Clyde, Buddy,
I'm already dead...
That Red Powdered Clay and the Sand
Agent Orange
They sprayed on the land
Seems it killed the trees, and this man
Killed by our own Government
Fighting for Freedom... And our lives...
In Nam...
Now there's is no one
Our Government never cared for us...
They never shared...?
That Cancer...Never...No cure for us
But He Did...
His name... Lynn Newman Harris...
And now after these forty some
Hell like years
We have all cried...shed millions...
Endless tears...
And still...
Yet even today his name never appears...
I've gone and looked...
At that Black Wall of Tears
For Lynn, He died from Agent Orange
He served at K'San, Vietnam...
He was my friend......
Clyde Grant Bryson
poem by Clyde Bryson
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I Hope It Happens Soon
I've stood many times in the face of troubles
Once or twice face to face with death
One night so close I even fealt his breath
You see I was knelling and the reaper, was hovering over me
Breathing down my neck
I was trying to help my buddy, we were one
Yet the bullets still came from N.V.A.guns
I've never forgotten those nights of fear
Nor when the Grim Reaper came so near
That came so close to vist with me
In that land, Black Hell across the sea
Forty one, some years have come and gone
But I remember as if it was just before the dawn
So now my heart goes hungry through this world
Never finding the peace I seek
Nor a way to hide pains that cries out
With words that it cannot speak
My name stands for one who can see far
But for peace I only can wonder, where you are
My arms reached out to stop him only to wrap empty air
Living forever that one day I cried buddy hang on! Hang on!
Yet, He took you and left me, dying there...
They say time heals all wounds...
God... I hope that it happens soon
poem by Clyde Bryson
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Woke Up With A Spider
bad sleep
last night
a first
though woe
woke up
with a spider
crawling
on over
my face
cheeky
had trouble
sleeping
after that
but the spider
was shortly
dead thereafter
escape
caught
deceased
thanks
to a good
repeated
spray
with Raid
great
white hunter
was slightly
more satisfied
poem by Terence George Craddock
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