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At the hunting lodge

The hunter’s.308 Musgrave hunting rifle
lies next to him in pieces
in the faint light of the hunting lodge
where he is cleaning the weapon

and in the distance a jackal
is calling at dusk,
he notices a swarm of wild doves
landing in the marula tree.

When the parts of the weapon
is joined as it belongs,
he carefully puts the weapon away
before he walks out
joining his wife at the barbeque fire

and the smell of fried lamb chops
makes his stomach growl
while he takes a pair of frying tongs from her,
turning around strings of sausages

above them the stars in the night sky
are shot-gunned into the black,
there are hyenas attracted by the smell
of the frying meat

laughing behind some trees,
somewhere he hears a kudu snorting
and the moon hangs yellow-gold above them
while he stirs the porridge

in the black three-legged pot
and his wife can swear
that a leopard with glowing eyes
is peering at them.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Weapons of Mass Destruction

The Holy Roman Empire and Alexander The Great
Exterminate the globe, with extreme prejudice,
A Weapon of Mass Destruction

The European Inquisition, A Weapon of Mass Destruction
The Holy Christian Crusades, A Weapon of Mass Destruction
The Manifest Destiny and land expansion, A Weapon of Mass Destruction

Globalization and commercialization of the many rain forests,
A Weapon of Mass Destruction
Comprehensive sanctions is economic violence,
A Weapon of Mass Destruction

The procreation of religion and God, A Weapon of Mass Destruction
Democratizing the whole world, A Weapon of Mass Destruction
The extermination of The Iroquois Confederation, A Weapon of Mass Destruction
World domination the salvation of, A Weapon of Mass Destruction

War, is the greatest Weapon of Mass Destruction
The justification for annihilation of, The Constitution

The constitution of retribution, the absolution of, A Weapon of Mass Destruction.

poem by Josephine DixonBanks
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The thunder cat

In the bush I see a strange thing,
a secret cat
that like a phantom
follow our tracts, shadowing behind
leaving no tracts of its own.

Red eyes glow at night
with the intensity of a fire burning
but every time that I really look
it’s out of reach.

Around the orange-yellow fire
where we are barbequing the meat
from the day’s hunting
I can almost smell the monster
where it sneaks out of sight
around us.

I wonder what has awaken
in the wild veldt, the jungle
and what hell of a thing
we now have drawn
from its sleep?

My.308 rifle and hunting knife
both lie near to my side,
but something let me comprehend
that no usual weapons
will stand against this monster

but at that time I am still convinced
that it’s only imagination
and the tiredness, the party
at the fire
and my thoughts are playing with me.

Totally unconcerned we go to sleep
and with time the flames
burn lower and lower
and there are only glowing coals left.

When I wake up with a start
a bright moon is in the sky
and something strange
stand over me
and it looks part transparent
but still with a fixed
dark form.

I can smell death
on the breath of it
and see its teeth glittering
and it’s as if thunder
flames from its jaws
when it bites at me

and an urge for survival
let me jump from the ground
to the other side
of the glowing coals
and its teeth clash on each other.

Next to me lies a shovel
and some of the coals
still have small flames
and I see that the coals
make it hesitate for a moment.

Desperately I grab the shovel,
scoop if full of coals
and when the monster
opens its jaws again
to take another bite at me
and I get the rotten smell
of its foul breath
I throw the whole shovel
down its throat.

For a moment it roars thundering,
is filled with bright white thunderbolts
and stand ablaze
and looks like a thunder cat
before it disappears into the darkness
and becomes nothing
as if suddenly it’s in another dimension

and everybody stares at me
with eyes huge as saucers
and from the sand
I pick up two teeth
that shines strangely, like diamonds,
but with an unknown blue-white fire
glowing from the inside.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Brunt Of The Heat

A frying cake blamed a frying pan
And the frying pan, the frying cake
For the brunt of heat they bore from the stove
Like a woman and his son’s wife do.

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The hunt for love

By my nature
i am not a hunter.
hunting implies
that killing takes place.
the last thing
i want to do
is to kill something.

is hunting wrong?
not necessarily,
but i think hunting is wrong
for me.
besides, as far as i am concerned
motive makes all the difference.
for example,
i was a hunter once
and didn't even know it.
a certain innocence had taken me
into the snowy woods
one snowy evening.
i was hunting
for someone to love.
little did i know my nonchalance
would lead me to another hunter.
this hunter
was moving cautiously
through the same poetic snowy woods
binding snowflakes into winter dreams.
this hunter was careful
to avoid familiar mantraps
while also hunting for someone to love.

poem by Richard Ilnicki
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Hunters Lullaby

Your fathers gone a-hunting
Hes deep in the forest so wild
And he cannot take his wife with him
He cannot take his child
Your fathers gone a-hunting
In the quicksand and the clay
And a woman cannot follow him
Although she knows the way
Your fathers gone a-hunting
Through the silver and the glass
Where only greed can enter
But spirit, spirit cannot pass
Your fathers gone a-hunting
For the beast well never cannot bind
And he leaves a baby sleeping
And his blessings all behind
Your fathers gone a-hunting
And hes lost his lucky charm
And hes lost the guardian heart
That keeps the hunter from the harm
Your fathers gone a-hunting
He asked me to say goodbye
And he warned me not to stop him
I wouldnt, I wouldnt even try

song performed by by Leonard Cohen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Very Deep In The Dark Moonlit Night

Very deep in the dark moonlit night
I still hear the sound of doves
where the whole night they coo, whisper and laugh;
I see the yellow moon glowing as a sickle
where it hangs high above the horizon,
there are thunderbolts lashing thundering,
in blinding flashes of blue-white light
with the doves scattering scared over the roof
when the storm walks nearer through the tree branches.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Neighbours you would like to miss

I

The type of whites that camp out
on the sidewalk
frying their barbeque just there
with chops and sausage grilling,

enough for a huge feast,
talking loudly in order to inform
the whole neighbourhood
what they are saying

and with heavy beat music playing, partying
and dancing to early morning light
while their kindergarten kids
are pushing carts up and down
in the street, getting every
dog to bark all night long.

II

A bull of a black man
almost gigantic in size
who uses his pickup
to unload a huge black ox

in his back yard
and then slaughtering the thing
just there with it bellowing
to invite his ancestor ghosts to visit

the neighbourhood and his garden
while a witchdoctor is dancing
around the beast, singing and beating a drum
and then he tries to spit roast it
on a huge fire burning all the meat and inviting a squadron
of minibus taxi drivers to a feast of uneatable charcoal.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The best weapon of a dictatorship is secrecy, but the best weapon of a democracy should be the weapon of openness.

quote by Niels Bohr
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Man Exclaims Part01

The man exclaims, 'It was by mere chance that I was in the parking lot when the man died, with the murder weapon in my hand. No sir I had o idea how he died. I just picked up the tire iron to check the pressure on my cars tires. I always used this tire iron. For I've always used the one from the parking garage to check my tires.'

the officier spoke sternly in a serious tone, 'that tire iron is not the weapon that killed this man.'

The man questioned in a state of confusion, 'Then what did? '

The officier was angry now. He screamed, 'you did after you smacked him with the tire iron. You ran over him 6 times.'

The man exclaimed, 'but that's not even my car. That's my wife. Mines the one next to it. I'm being framed I swear.'

poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Marula tree trunk

Strong winds blow against the Marula tree trunk,
They come with miscellaneous objects,
Light and heavy,
And use them to break the Marula tree trunk,
But nothing happens to the Marula tree trunk,

Light and heavy rains come,
The Marula tree smiles,
For the plentiful rain water will make
It stronger and taller,

Animals come and sleep under and on top
Of the Marula tree,
Lean and rub their itching bodies
Against the Marula tree trunk,
Relieve themselves against it,
But nothing happens to the Marula tree trunk,

The human race use the Marula tree for shade
Against the merciless summer heat of the Limpopo sun,
And eat or make beer with Marula,
But, alas! One vicious human being returned,
And chopped it,
Off goes the faithless Marula tree trunk,
To be scorched by the everlasting home burning fires.

poem by Niki Nicholas Nkuna
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The game ranch

We went to visit my cousins
on their game ranch
and you hated it there
although every thing
was very comfortable
and you were well cared for.

What had set you off?
I still do not know,
but at breakfast you were already furious
although everybody
danced to serve and entertain you.

Was it the hunting tales
of the previous night
around the blazing big fire,
or the bush hog
that the Spaniard boasted
about killing,
which almost smashed him
of which his wife
had taken a video?

At the shooting range
some cool drink tins were set
and you didn’t want any help from me
and didn’t really listen
to the instructions from my cousins,
closing your eyes with every shot
that you took with the pistol
and missed every target by a mile.

I looked at the nine-millimetre pistol
with its missing front sight
and both my cousins smiled
as if conspiring with each other
and I clasped both hands together
in a well taught military hold
and your eyes went big,
almost popping out of your head
while the row of tins
was shot off
in what sounded like almost one shot.

On instruction I shot at the fallen tins
letting them jump into the air
until the magazine was empty
and the cousins
put matches standing up on bricks
and gave me a old.303 rifle
with an open sight.

I aimed carefully before pressing the trigger
and shot those matches down
and on your face
there was a frown
and even before we left
to go hunting
with some trackers
you looked at me
as if I had turned into a killer
and was going to shoot
at every living thing.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Religious War

Religious war has been fought by rare person
person fighting for religion is ever winner
only the person took the help of weapons
are defeated, History is witness in weapon war
only the powerful weapons are winner, but
that can not be termed as Religious War

Weapon War is always blind but religious war
is always full of love and peace.

Weapon war is the matter of ego
Religious war is the matter of consciousness

Weapon war sheds blood but Religious War
It sheds love and affection

A person fighting for Religious War has to be
martyr some time but he becomes the reason
to be worshiped for ever

Weapon war spreads chaos and terrorism
Religious War spreads prosperity

Weapon war knows to split the society
Religious War knows to unite the society

Weapon war knows to enslave the human being
Religious War knows to make him free
from all kinds of slavery

Weapon war pushes us back to barbaric age
Religious war pulls us forward to civilized age.

Weapon war ends with destruction
Religious war ends with creation

Religion is the law of nature
which prevails all to be survived

poem by Ramesh Rai
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Weapon Of Choice

Dont be shocked by the tone of my voice
Just got my new weapon, the weapon of choice
Dont be shocked by the tone of my voice
Just got my new weapon, the weapon of choice
Listen to the sound of my voice
I can chicken al loud, its the weapon of choice
Dont be shocked by the tone of my voice
Its the new weapon, the weapon of choice
2x chorus:
You can go with this,
Or you can go with that,
You can go with this,
Or you can go with that,
You can go with this,
Or you can go with that,
Or you can throw with (us)-(only the 1st time)
Walk without rythm,
It wont attrack the worm
Walk without rythm,
And it wont attrack the worm
Walk without rythm,
And it wont attrack the worm
If you walk without rythm,
Ah, you never learn
Dont be shocked by the tone of my voice
Just got my new weapon, weapon of choice
Dont be shocked by the tone of my voice
Just got my new weapon, weapon of choice
Be carefull, we dont know them
Be carefull, we dont know them
Be carefull, we dont know them
2x chorus
Oh, mary we wont do the ? ? ?
Too big love to the angels of lie
Yeah, and my girl
She just dont understand
Is gone beyond being a man
? ? ?
? ? ?
But Im going to hold my cool,
Because of easy rules
Yeah, so move on baby, yeah
Halfway between the gutter and the stars, yeah
Halfway between the gutter and the stars, yeah
2x chorus

song performed by by Fatboy Slim
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wild F*#$ing Manners

hunting a tiger
big sharp teeth
man-eater
these hunters
big egos, big guns
hunting for survival
need fur and meat to survive
hunting wild game
wild f*#$ing manners
saw lioness and her cubs
on f*#$ing youtube
wild animals is to game theory
as man is to war
primitive yet perfect in movements
stop hunting these majestic creatures
they echo the intelligence we lack
in a far away land called our sub-conscience
only to find our only way to organized life
we're just animals on a hunting ground

poem by Inner Projection
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Pistola

On the tip of my tongue an offensive is poised and rearing
My intention a bullet, my body a trigger finger
Your weapon is a pistola
I don't need to fear, fear you
Your weapon is a pistola
My secret arsenal is an infinite ageless ink well
It's a fountain of youth and a patriot's weapon of choice
Your weapon is a pistola
I don't need to fear, fear you
Your weapon is a pistola
On the tip of my tongue an offence is poised and rearing
My intention a bullet, my body a trigger finger
Your weapon is a pistola
I don't need to fear, fear you
Your weapon is a pistola

song performed by by Incubus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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At the zoo

There are street hawkers
selling their wares
next to a wall build
of rocks and stone
on all sides of the entrance.

Carved wooden walking sticks
african faces in black wood,
grass brooms, pottery,
hats and t-shirts
and African drums
and paintings line the sidewalk.

Light pink flamingos
parade next to their dark brown pool
and walk among long palm trees
while they call to each other.

Some white swans
drift on a lake in the park
and catch something to eat
with dipping heads
from the dark water.

a Couple of elephant throw
red-brown sand
over themselves
and their pleated skin
looks like rough sandpaper
and at the back
there’s an old white farmstead
with a green roof
and some hay
for them to eat.

Some spotted Hyenas
swim in a stream
and their dark brown
dots stand out
against their light coats.

There’s some long walkways
going through gardens
that stretch into the distance..

Just the head and back
of a lonely Hippopotamus
rises from a dark brown pool
and it drifts with its nose
under the water
in the direction
of some other Hippopotamuses.

Some bridges run
over the small stream
of the Apies river
which splash over rocks.

a Blue crane
combs its blue-grey coat
next to a striped Kudu cow
that grazes on the green grass
with the Kudu bull watching
the visitors.

a Big brown bear
walks up a rock slope
and splashes in cold pool.

Some Impalas are gathering
on a rocky slope
and a narrow path
stretches up the wooded hill.

A Tiger lies sleeping
under a tree
and two black-backed jackals
stand grinning next to each other.

There are yellow-gold lions
that hides in the long green grass
and a slim female
with two cubs
steps out and watches
and the big male
comes out with a twisting tail
and roars menacing at the crowd
while one of the keepers
are giving them meat.

There’s a great view of the buildings
of Pretoria from the top
of the hill
and some high rises
and towers jump up
into the sky.

I take a cable car
for the long way down
and see the Union buildings
far in the distance
and miniature animals
flash by on the bottom.

A Leopard growls
when I leave the cable car
and I hear the calls
of some black Chacma Baboons.

Some African Buffalo
stand grazing like cattle
and a Rhino
lies stretched out
on the grass.

Some of the gamekeepers
are feeding a giraffe
and it stretches its neck
over a high wall
and time catches me
and something of the animals
stays with me
when I walk back to the car.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Meet the hunter.

Meet the hunter.
Oh, the day past and the sun disappear,
Night come and is time to put on the mask,
Hunger and ready to go hunting,
Hungry for meats and sausages,
Any catch both would be nice,
Boys and girls make the best to impress.
Holy showing legs and chest;
In this tiger den, with all hungry meats eater!
Hunting for a big fatty meat!
Who know the hunter will be hunts?
Let see who play the game smarter?
Dress in suit and tie, who know empty pocket or full?
Stand up front, the look can easily past everyone eyes.
If lucky you got a free drink, mostly you digs on your own pocket,
Be real stranger to stranger, buy you drinks?
In this western den, buy your own sweetie.
You think, you wise, really a fool!
Everyone out smart one another,
and nobody is a fool.

poem by See Fee Lee
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The Magic

The magic had failed just then,
Training a hand to a weapon;
The cocked weapon was itself,
The magical weapon was itself.

He needed to obey the weapon,
You dress and bind your wrists,
But the sword snaps in them,
Falling apart and then the magic enters!

A place for your hands has no choice,
What are you now that magic appeared?
There is no escape, no where to provide
And foresee to exact the retribution.

The person also ordered his chest
To expand and release the lungs,
For his magical tricks could foresee
Why he was a magician.

poem by Naveed Akram
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Cafe Of Dreams

welcome to the cafe
the cafe of dreams
the cattle stand dry
dry of mouth parched

awaiting their slaughter
so that a tired worker
may enjoy a good steak
meat pie or sausages

ground meat salt herbs spices
fried lovingly in your frying pan
not young mince meat dying
politic rhetoric in Afghanistan

slaugherhouse cafe is open
not only for teenagers who
dine 'Café des Abbatoirs'
die daily like passing cattle

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Out Of The Frying Pan

out of the frying pan (and into the fire)
It's only two o'clock and the temperture's beginning to soar
And all around the city you see the walking wounded and the living dead
It's never been this hot and i've never been so bored
And breathing is just no fun anymore
And then i saw you like a summer dream
And you're the answer to every prayer that i ever said
I saw you like a summer dream
And you're the answer to every prayer that i ever said
You can feel the pulse of the pavement racing like a runaway horse
The subways are steaming and the skin of the street is gleaming with sweat
I've seen you sitting on the steps outside
And you were looking so restless and reckless and lost
I think it's time for you to come inside
I'll be waiting here with something that you'll never forget
I think it's time for you to come inside
I'll be waiting here with something that you'll never forget
Come on! come on!
And there'll be no turning back
You were only killing time and it'll kill you right back
Come on! come on!
It's time to burn up the fuse
You've got nothing to do and even less to lose
You've got nothing to do and even less to lose
So wander down the ancient hallway
Taking the stairs only one at a time
Follow the sound of my heartbeat now
I'm in the room at the top, you're at the end of the line
Open the door and lay down on the bed
The sun is just a ball of desire
And i wanna take you out of the frying pan (and into the fire)
Out of the frying pan (and into the fire)
Out of the frying pan (and into the fire)
And i wanna take you out of the frying pan (and into the fire)
Out of the frying pan (and into the fire)
Out of the frying pan (and into the fire)
And into the fire! fire! fire!
And into the fire! fire! fire!
And into the fire! fire! fire!
And into the fire!
It's only two o'clock and the tempertures beginning to soar
And all around the city you see the walking wounded and the living dead
It's never been this hot and i've never been so bored
And breathing is just no fun anymore
And then i saw you like a summer dream
And you're the answer to every prayer that i ever said
I saw you like a summer dream
And you're the answer to every prayer that i ever said
Come on! come on!
And there'll be no turning back
You were only killing time and it'll kill you right back
Come on! come on!
It's time to burn up the fuse
You've got nothing to do and even less to lose
You've got nothing to do and even less to lose
So wander down the ancient hallway
Taking the stairs only one at a time
Follow the sound of my heartbeat now
I'm in the room at the top, you're at the end of the line
Open the door and lay down on the bed
The sun is just a ball of desire
And i wanna take you out of the frying pan (and into the fire)
Out of the frying pan (and into the fire)
Out of the frying pan (and into the fire)
And i wanna take you out of the frying pan (and into the fire)
Out of the frying pan (and into the fire)
Out of the frying pan (and into the fire)
And into the fire! fire! fire!
And into the fire! fire! fire!
And into the fire! fire! fire!
And into the fire!

song performed by by Meat Loaf
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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