The Snake
Like sable coils of twisted cord that glisten in the light,
Scales round with tiger stripes are scored, death spoiling for a fight.
Draped on a stump - a tree long dead, bone dry in heat of day;
A flickering fork from poisoned head that smells the air for prey.
Mulberry bow; Black fletched with crow: an arrow, notched, half drawn.
The boy, the hunter, stealing slow, makes not a sound to warn.
The serpent looks with steely eyes, that see no danger yet.
Though close below its burrow lies, the hunter's trap is set.
A powerful arc, a full drawn bow; The snake in mortal fear,
It dashes for its den below, an arrow thudding near.
A blur of sleek uncoiling rings, swift down the hole it glides;
The bow string twangs, the arrow sings, through flesh and bone it slides.
The threshing tail flies side to side, a writhing lashing whip;
Escape from certain death denied, held in the arrow's grip.
The hunter draws it from its lair, lays on the ground his prize;
The vanquished of a contest fair, like bloodied rope it lies.
And so plays out the ancient duel ‘twixt snake and son of man;
Lays slain the fleeing serpent cruel, as in the Maker's plan.
poem by Dennis N. O'Brien
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The hunter
With a bow in his hand
the hunter sneaks
above the wind,
following the tracts
of the wild antelope.
His brown skin
melts into the field
and the bushes,
and like a wild cat
he sneaks
from cover to cover.
The sun is hot
where it hangs in the half-Kalahari sky
and he drinks a tiny bit of water
out of the ostrich egg flask,
before a brown hand
with caked sand
wipes sweat out of his dark brown eyes.
Again he takes the trail
and follows it at a jog
until the oryxes are closer
and again he sneaks nearer
and stalks still closer.
When he is in striking distance
an arrow is taken from the quiver
and the small bow’s string
made out of roped intestines draws
and for a moment,
it sounds like the buzz of a bee
while the arrow
rushes away from the bow.
The arrow hits the antelope
and when the startled oryx
rushes away
the hunter follows
faithful on the spoor,
till he finds it
where in time
it lies stretched out
on the red brown Africa sand.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Arrow For You To Shoot
Shall I give you an arrow to shoot? .
The arrow is ready to shoot forth
Its tip is sharp and shining
And it is sure to pierce through any flesh and bone.
The arrow is made of age old metals hard
Its frame is lean and long
A shaft that knows no bounds...
And it is sure to strike at the object hard.
The arrow is loved by sages and saints
Its value is unquoted in scriptures ever
And it is sure to remain desired by all.
But where is the bow to shoot it from?
You decide... you alone
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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An Arrow
An arrow of laziness spread through the circle;
And carried in the air, like sold material,
And fetched by evil spirits who do not live among us.
I sow the seeds of sky and tundra,
Why do they offer so many advantages to me?
Fear him?
No hunter caused the stars and the planets to move
Without guidance. And my bow and arrows are braver
To the realm of God.
Is the world an ostrich’s egg? Or do you know of a world
So huge that it revolves like an arrow through space.
It is laid by the big bird, it is left alone by the dragons,
And the arrow is dead now.
poem by Naveed Akram
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The Song of the Little Hunter
Ere Mor the Peacock flutters, ere the Monkey People cry,
Ere Chil the Kite swoops down a furlong sheer,
Through the Jungle very softly flits a shadow and a sigh--
He is Fear, O Little Hunter, he is Fear!
Very softly down the glade runs a waiting, watching shade,
And the whisper spreads and widens far and near.
And the sweat is on thy brow, for he passes even now--
He is Fear, O Little Hunter, he is Fear!
Ere the moon has climbed the mountain, ere the rocks are ribbed with light,
When the downward-dipping trails are dank and drear,
Comes a breathing hard behind thee--snuffle-snuffle through the night--
It is Fear, O Little Hunter it is Fear,
On thy knees and draw the bow; bid the shrilling arrow go;
In the empty, mocking thicket plunge the spear!
But thy hands are loosed and weak, and the blood has left thy cheek--
It is Fear, O Little Hunter, it is Fear!
When the heat-cloud sucks the tempest, when the slivered pine-trees fall,
When the blinding, blaring rain-squalls lash and veer,
Through the war-gongs of the thunder rings a voice more loud than all--
It is Fear, O Little Hunter, it is Fear!
Now the spates are banked and deep; now the footless boulders leap--
Now the lightning shows each littlest leaf--rib clear--
But thy throat is shut and dried, and thy heart against thy side
Hammers: Fear, O Little Hunter--this is Fear!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Testimony is like an arrow shot from a long-bow; its force depends on the strength of the hand that draws it. But argument is like an arrow from a cross-bow, which has equal force if drawn by a child or a man.
quote by Charles Boyle
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Sonnets of the stone ruins
I
Long ago a mighty hunter
sailed on the river to look for medicine
and his canoe made from tree
was swept along with uprooted trees
by a river in flood.
He lost control over the boat
and in the distance
a thundering sound
hanged in the air
mighty smoke
rose ghostly out of the water
in a fine spray
and he could hear tons of water
flowing down a cataract.
II
While the canoe was spinning round
and round
he tied a long thin strong thong
to a arrow
and with all the power in his strong arms
he draws the bow’s string and set his aim
on a massive tree
standing on the shore.
The arrow caught speed
and hanged a moment in the grey air
before it hit the tree with great force
and the thong spanned stiff
and his arms with desperate power
overcame the river.
III
He passed the remains
of ancient mines
and villages declining
and overgrown by bushes
and suddenly there were rock walls and towers
and branches creeping
into the walls.
Cautiously he sneaked nearer
and shot a arrow through a spitting cobra
and suddenly a figure appeared behind a bush,
but before his rock could hit it
it disappeared into the nought
and against a niche another figure stared
deep into his thoughts
IV
When he stormed with assegai in his hand
onto that figure
it disappeared around a corner
into a dark passageway
and all at once
there was an animal with glowing eyes
breathing heavily in the dark in front of him
and he lifted his shield against it
And took a firm grip on the back of the spear.
With rotting breath and cruel anger
a lion leaped with stretched out claws
growling onto him,
but he was shield somewhat
While the assegai went deep past the animal’s ribs.
V
While the lion died in anger
the claws ripped deep into the hunter’s shoulder
and his sharp knife
slashed time after time
through the animal’s heart
and covered in blood
he came out
from under weight of the dead lion.
In horror he saw
the lion changing slowly
from animal to human
with a spear through his ribs
and a lion skin
around his shoulders.
VI
He was still busy
dragging the lion skin from the killed man
and felt the soft fur
in his hands,
when to more lions
in anger leaped on him.
It was too much for him
since both knife and spear
still wedged into the dead man
and with the fighting
he had lost
his bow and arrows
and he was cornered
by lions ripping from both sides.
VII
l’Envoi
It is told
than when the air is open
and the moon takes long to rise
a mighty hunter appears
with the rain gods
where they bash their shields
and spears against each other
and that the air
is now his hunting ground
You can see stripes of thunder
when his arrows with thongs
dropp down to earth,
before the new season’s
first raindrops fall.
[Reference: With thanks to “The ivory trail” by T.V. Bulpin that gave me the idea of this poem.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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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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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 Role Of Resistance
the bow must be strong
and so must the string be
but with more flexibility
and the arrow must be
sharp and smooth and
to the air it must know
its ways like the river
to its own winding tunnel......
the hand pulls the tail
the resistance works
the arrow against the bow
and then you shall see
something is gone in
such a sudden way
far, far, farther away.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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First Shot
I said I was hunting deer. I knew the trails, the split tracks and pellets of shit; circles
where they bedded down together. I faced a buck once, for almost ten minutes I think;
I moved first and it left me. I ran home to think.
I had a bow, target arrows, a target on straw. My father said be careful, and I was, but
I sneaked my bow and arrow to the woods. I surprised a tiny rabbit near a hole. It
froze. I had an arrow on it. I moved and it ran for the hole. I never shot.
They had a blanket, in a clearing of wiry grass that sloped to the north. He had her
down, her hands all over his back. I thought I knew her. They hadn't seen me. I notched
an arrow. His head turned my way, vague, like he needed his glasses, and maybe afraid.
I got scared, I wasn't sure what it was; I shot my arrow, my first shot, wild I think, and ran.
I waited for something for weeks, for more than weeks. I couldn't answer questions. I
thought I saw her a few times, later. I never went back until I was sixteen, almost, and
nothing was there but I only stayed for a minute.
poem by Eric Torgersen
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An Arrow Goes To War
An arrow goes to war
Right to the start of it
Right through the heart of it
“Ow” cries out from a wounded beastly roar
When an arrow goes to war
Good dies out
On a battlefield
Evil considers it chattel killed
Shouts come from the home front too loud to ignore
This is the outcome
Of an arrow gone to war
Weary mothers, fathers, lovers, friends, daughters & sons
Appealing for slaughter to end what has begun
Recognizing the sin but then to win…
…Love is a fight worth fighting for
But how can the broken mend again
When an arrow goes to war?
poem by Tony Haynes
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The Mountain And The Snake
a long black yellow snake with stripes
arrives hissing
looking for a prey
a rat perhaps
but there is none
not even an ant for a snack
and so the long black yellow snake with stripes of green
slides its way to a dark, moist cave
tight on its door
pushing its long slimy body
to the tip of the
cave's orifice to the end of its
intestine
it was a good tickle
and the whole body of the mountain
gives a tremble
a moan and from the slits of its sides
to the tip of its feet
and toes and trees
the whole body of the mountain
moans
happy with the long slimy body of the
snake's skin and bone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A hunter with one arrow doesn't shoot with a careless aim.
Deer-hunter, waste not your arrow on the hare.
The archers
I
Stripped to the waist, his copper-coloured skin
Red from the smouldering heat of hate within,
Lean as a wolf in winter, fierce of mood--
As all wild things that hunt for foes, or food--
War paint adorning breast and thigh and face,
Armed with the ancient weapons of his race,
A slender ashen bow, deer sinew strung,
And flint-tipped arrow each with poisoned tongue,--
Thus does the Red man stalk to death his foe,
And sighting him strings silently his bow,
Takes his unerring aim, and straight and true
The arrow cuts in flight the forest through,
A flint which never made for mark and missed,
And finds the heart of his antagonist.
Thus has he warred and won since time began,
Thus does the Indian bring to earth his man.
II
Ungarmented, save for a web that lies
In fleecy folds across his impish eyes,
A tiny archer takes his way intent
On mischief, which is his especial bent.
Across his shoulder lies a quiver, filled
With arrows dipped in honey, thrice distilled
From all the roses brides have ever worn
Since that first wedding out of Eden born.
Beneath a cherub face and dimpled smile
This youthful hunter hides a heart of guile;
His arrows aimed at random fly in quest
Of lodging-place within some blameless breast.
But those he wounds die happily, and so
Blame not young Cupid with his dart and bow:
Thus has he warred and won since time began,
Transporting into Heaven both maid and man.
poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
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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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Hunter/Killer
On the twilight of life, the sky shed tears
Knowing too well of what lay ahead
Fate revealed
Pale shadows danced as the night caught fire
No turning back, one glance ahead
What was void now turns to red
Responsiblity discarded
A snake always sheds it's skin
Push away the pain we cause
Live to sin, we are
Hunter/killer
Blinded by our hate, deafened to cries
Hunter/killer
Only one has the right to survive
Hunter/killer
Faith in conviction of lies
When all that's left is a sigh
Then we'll wonder why no one asked why
A truth that cuts deeper than the lies that bind
Souls hardwired to serve one god
Backbone made of fear tranlates to lack of control
Responsiblity discarded
A snake always sheds it's skin
Push away the pain we cause
Live to sin, we are
Hunter/killer
Blinded by our hate, deafened to cries
Hunter/killer
Only one has the right to survive
Hunter/killer
Faith in conviction of lies
When all that's left is a sigh
Then we'll wonder why no one asked why
Torn apart who can we look to for answers?
One more loss will bring is closer to the edge
Unwritten chapter, a final tale
Are we the only one's who cannot comprehend?
Can't you see we've only just begun
No second chance, there's only one
No turning back, what's done is done
Look into the eyes of madmen
Pools of blackness lie beyond
Drowning the soul, drowning cries
Ties that blind, lineage that's last so long
Must be overcome before
Time is revoked, curtains fall
song performed by by Quo Vadis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Death In The Forest
August 2: 1100
Where the greenwood is greenest
At gloaming of day,
Where the twelve-antler'd stag
Faces boldest at bay;
Where the solitude deepens,
Till almost you hear
The blood-beat of the heart
As the quarry slips near;
His comrades outridden
With scorn in the race,
The Red King is hallooing
His bounds to the chase.
What though the Wild Hunt
Like a whirlwind of hell
Yestereve ran the forest,
With baying and yell:--
In his cups the Red heathen
Mocks God to the face;
--'In the devil's name, shoot;
Tyrrell, ho!--to the chase!'
--Now with worms for his courtiers
He lies in the narrow
Cold couch of the chancel!
--But whence was the arrow?
The dread vision of Serlo
That call'd him to die,
The weird sacrilege terror
Of sleep, have gone by.
The blood of young Richard
Cries on him in vain,
In the heart of the Lindwood
By arbalest slain.
And he plunges alone
In the Serpent-glade gloom,
As one whom the Furies
Hound headlong to doom.
His sin goes before him,
The lust and the pride;
And the curses of England
Breathe hot at his side.
And the desecrate walls
Of the Evil-wood shrine
Lo, he passes--unheeding
Dark vision and sign:--
--Now with worms for his courtiers
He lies in the narrow
Cold couch of the chancel:
--But whence was the arrow?
Then a shudder of death
Flicker'd fast through the wood:--
And they found the Red King
Red-gilt in his blood.
What wells up in his throat?
Is it cursing, or prayer?
Was it Henry, or Tyrrell,
Or demon, who there
Has dyed the fell tyrant
Twice crimson in gore,
While the soul disincarnate
Hunts on to hell-door?
--Ah! friendless in death!
Rude forest-hands fling
On the charcoaler's wain
What but now was the king!
And through the long Minster
The carcass they bear,
And huddle it down
Without priest, without prayer:--
Now with worms for his courtiers
He lies in the narrow
Cold couch of the chancel:
--But whence was the arrow?
poem by Francis Turner Palgrave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poetry As Constellation
for Karthik,
'...descend, and of the curveship lend a myth to God.'
You hear
'consolation'
as 'constellation'
when I explain
a poem is a
consolation
work that I
am compelled
to
as a lover
is to traces
pointing
beyond sighs
and windows
where
Arcturus
stands
poised
wheeling
in night's
patient
slow round,
his arrow
strung
forever
ready to
swiftly fly
as am I
along the
spatial curve
of your
arching
thighs.
Thi s, too,
taut,
restrained,
breath held
in perpetua's
swollen
lips of
release -
If you
could only
see what
I see in
your eyes
when the
arrow
finally
flies
[for Karthik ]
poem by Warren Falcon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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