Hunting
Hunting a person after the rain
Carries a joy to the skull.
Hurting is surprising like the snow,
A man in action enjoys his heart.
May this farm be excellent for breeding,
May some want more than this hunt.
The whole heaven awaits us,
The most pleasant news remains.
Mighty jewels construct a joke
For the kings of hunting, the royalty.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Hunting High And Low
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Hunting High and Low:
Here I am
And within the reach of my hand
She's sound asleep
And she's sweeter now
Than the wildest dream
Could have seen her
And I watch her slipping away
But I know I'll be
Hunting high and low
Ah there's no end
To the lengths I'll go to
Hunting high and low
Ah there's no end
To the lengths I'll go
To find her again
Upon this my dreams are depending
Through the dark
I sense the pounding of her heart
Next to mine
She's the sweetest love
I could find
So I guess I'll be
Hunting high and low
Ah, there's no end
To lengths I'll go to
High and low
Ah, do you know what it means
To love you
I'm hunting high and low
And now she's telling me
She's got to go away
I'll always be hunting high and low
Only for you (And now she's telling me)
Watch me tearing myself to pieces
Hunting high and low
Ah, there's no end
To lengths I'll go to
For you I'll be hunting high and low
song performed by by A-Ha
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Alpha Wolf of the Pack
As twilight breaks
She awakes from her sleep
She steps from the den
With four of her young
Playing about her paws
She looks to the sky
As the full moon rays
Aluminates her hunting ground
She sniffs the cool night air
And knows the hunt is near
She sits head lifted high
And alerts her pack
With an eerie howl
She’s awaken for the night
And ready for the prowl
She starts ahead
While the rest follow
She begins the trail
Pursuing in a whispering run
Among the freshly fallen snow
A flicker in the glow
And she spots in the snow
A white fluffy hare
His small black nose
Sniffing the nights air
She’s on him in a second
Her hunting skills prevailing
And she carries her prize
To her patiently awaiting pups
Then back again she hunts
poem by Britney Hogue
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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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The Forest Greeting
GOOD hunting! — aye, good hunting,
Wherever the forests call;
But ever a heart beats hot with fear,
And what of the birds that fall?
Good hunting! — aye, good hunting,
Wherever the north winds blow;
But what of the stag that calls for his mate?
And what of the wounded doe?
Good hunting! — aye, good hunting,
And ah! we are bold and strong;
But our triumph call through the forest hall
Is a brother's funeral song.
For we are brothers ever,
Panther and bird and bear;
Man and the weakest that fear his face,
Born to the nest or lair.
Yes, brothers, and who shall judge us?
Hunters and game are we;
But who gave the right for me to smite?
Who boasts when he smiteth me?
Good hunting! — aye, good hunting,
And dim is the forest track;
But the sportsman Death comes striding on:
Brothers, the way is black.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Hunting With Dad
I'm going hunting with my dad.
And trust me it's not bad.
I'm hunting rabbits, and squirrels, and stuff.
I might even hunt in a bluff.
This weekend will be so fun.
Just a father and his son.
poem by Garrett Hager
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hunting High & Low
Here I am
And within the reach of my hands
Shes sound asleep and shes sweeter now
Than thewildest dream could have seen her
And I watch her slipping away
Though I know Ill be hunting high and low
High
Theres no end to the the lengths Ill go to
Hunting high and low
High
Theres no end to the the lengths Ill go to
To find her again
Upon this my dreams are depending
Through the dark
I sense the pounding of her heart
Next to mine
Shes the sweetest love I could find
So I guess Ill be hunting high and low
High
Theres no end to the lengths Ill go to
High and low
High
Do you know what it means to love you
Im hunting high and low
And now shes telling me shes got to go away
Ill always be hunting high and low
Hungry for you
Watch me tearing myself to pieces
Hunting high and low
High
Theres no end to the lengths Ill go to
Oh! for you Ill be hunting high and low
song performed by by A-Ha
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hunting peace
The arrow of time slowly creeps
The archer of inferno with raised brows,
Awaits - the mortal legion, armed for a combat.
Stabbed incessantly I writhe, with open scars that bleed,
I shut my eyes to this world of deceit in reflex
But I can't escape the myth of reality.
God inflicts angst on me.
I cry. I mourn. I shiver. I wail.
I am lost, never to return.
It's a defeated Me.
A Me quite not Myself.
This I - a lone self.
I am Orion, waiting for my place amidst the constellation.
If I could die, in death I would,
Inscribe my inncocence and my endless pain.
My senses lost, my soul entrapped.
I am left cold and numb.
In search of - a warm hand to hold on...
Am ashamed and embarrased of my state,
Never thought it would be so,
The cosmic forces crush me with their might and force.
Life and death, wedded in my mind -
Am living in death,
Am dying to live.
There is a hunting in my head -
There is a hunting in my soul -
There is a hunting in my heart -
Am hunting peace,
Am hunting me,
Am hunting you to rescue me.
poem by Gargi Chakravarty
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Deer Hunting Time Is Here Again
Deer hunting time is here again
And many hunters take to the woods
After months of planning with family and friends
They gather in common brotherhood
It's a freedom that fills the soul of a man
With the peace of God's nature all around
Lessons that have been taught since time began
And lifelong memories and friendships are found
Hunting is taught by tradition still yet
Knowledge passed on from man to man
And you'll learn things that you'll never forget
And respect nature more, our wildlife, and our land
So all you hunters enjoy this time
May you be skilled and have lots of luck
May God bless you as you hunt today
And may you bag that ten point buck! !
Dedicated to my Father who enjoyed hunting with family and friends all of his life. He died of a heart attack on the opening day, while hunting with my brothers and uncles. He could not have asked for a better way to go, doing what he loved most!
poem by Kathleen West
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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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For Hunting...
For Hunting...
Heart is given only with heart...
Nobody can fly with one wing.
I feel with smell, snow will begin.
The dog oblivion - will start to bark...
You do not miss in winter's nights.
You'll prepare the horse for hunt's...
Only - is cautious, is on each step...
Traps are awake for you in forest....
poem by Tsira Gogeshvili
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The Hunting
The Red Fox awaits
hidden in twisted tree trunk
colors from the hour of hunting
palette red
blood desired
drained, falling in drops
the seasons of death
there's no heart
beats of thunder
there's no mind
she showed red tail
FOX HUNT
Opened the gates of the aristocracy!
no dogs or horses
Men!
poem by Mirna Morgan
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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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If you Risk to fall for a Trap
Hunting Shadow
Leave me alone
I am free as a widow
Hunting Shadow
Find yourself
I am only a meadow
Hunting Shadow
Hurried passed by,
as Good-bye she heard, from the window…
(Aug.13 -2007)
poem by Florida Angel
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hunter's Lullaby
Your father's gone a-hunting
He's deep in the forest so wild
And he cannot take his wife with him
He cannot take his child.
Your father's gone a-hunting
In the quicksand and the clay
And a woman cannot follow him
Although she knows the way.
Your father's gone a-hunting
Through the silver and the glass
Where only greed can enter
But spirit
song performed by by Leonard Cohen from Various Positions
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hunting dreams
Please, do not follow me any more
I am tired of your shadow and of your kisses in my dreams.
Let me go, and please return to where you belong.
You know I cannot go with you there where you going.
Do not hunting me and my dreams, and don’t close my eyes
Let me go, because it is impassible to love a ghost
Don’t hunting me and my dreams any more…and don’t close my eyes, because you can’t possessed me, I’m not a toy! !
Return to your twilight zone and close the door behind you.
In addition, do not even thing about it coming back to hunting my dreams. I will become your hunting nightmare!
poem by Vanesa Rabic
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Fox Hunting Is Banned In Britain
A so called sport of the upper class that inspired the bards to rhyme
Fox hunting is banned in Britain everything has it's time
For nothing last forever it had passed it's use by date
And in chasing down and killing a frightened creature what is to celebrate?
John Masefield's long poem 'Reynard the Fox' I readily can recall
One of the best on fox hunting if not the best of all
But that aside fox hunting was cruel or to me 'twould seem that way
For to be hunted down and mauled to death by dogs not what you'd call fair play.
I read in the Newspapers how those for fox hunting protested long and loud
But there was nothing in this so called sport of which they could feel proud
For to watch a creature torn to shreds could hardly be much fun
It seems a far more painful way to die than the quicker death by gun.
The day is near when all blood sports will be things of the past
For all things have their use by date and nothing seems to last
Some may see the fox as vermin but the fox warrants a fair go
And empathy for wild born creatures not too much to ask to show.
Fox hunting is banned in Britain such good news is good to hear
News well worth celebrating to that I'll drink a beer
To be torn to shreds by a pack of hounds seems an awful way to die
And to this very cruel blood sport good riddance and goodbye.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Hunting Season Is Open
Gun hunting season opens tomorrow morning
my husband is gathering his hunting gear around.
He'll be getting up really early in the morning
way before the break of dawn.
He's trying his special orange hunting cap on
so that he's not mistaken for a deer.
Us wives always worry about that you know
it is one of a hunter's wifes greatest fears.
The weather is suppose to be very cold and rainy
my husband says that is the best weather for hunting in.
Because the deer are on the move much more
then when it's warmer like some recent days have been.
I will say a prayer to our Lord above
asking that He protect all hunters, on this opening day.
And that they all come back with that Buck or Doe their after
and no bullets from their guns shot go astray.
poem by Linda Winchell
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The Gardener LXIX: I Hunt for the Golden Stag
I hunt for the golden stag.
You may smile, my friends, but I
pursue the vision that eludes me.
I run across hills and dales, I wander
through nameless lands, because I am
hunting for the golden stag.
You come and buy in the market
and go back to your homes laden with
goods, but the spell of the homeless
winds has touched me I know not when
and where.
I have no care in my heart; all my
belongings I have left far behind me.
I run across hills and dales, I wander
through nameless lands--because I am
hunting for the golden stag.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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The King's Hunt is up
The hunt is up, the hunt is up,
And it is well nigh day;
And Harry our king is gone hunting,
To bring his deer to bay.
The east is bright with morning light,
And darkness it is fled;
And the merry horn wakes up the morn
To leave his idle bed.
Behold the skies with golden dyes
Are glowing all around;
The grass is green, and so are the treen,
All laughing with the sound.
The horses snort to be at the sport,
The dogs are running free;
The woods rejoice at the merry noise
Of hey taranta tee ree.
The sun is glad to see us clad
All in our lusty green,
And smiles in the sky as he riseth high
To see and to be seen.
Awake all men, I say again,
Be merry as you may;
For Harry our king is gone hunting
To bring his deer to bay.
poem by William Gray
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Looking For Trade Martin's Ferret
From Alaska to Zanzibar the poets are out
They’re searching and hunting and looking about
The hunt is on, the call is being shouted out loud
The poets well versed are searching all round
In cupboards and sheds and holes in the ground
They’ll keep searching until that ferret is found.
They scramble about like mouse hunting cats
Reciting some prose in case ferrets like that
They’ve heard many stories of ferrets abound
And even up legs of trousers are found
Those furry mammals with teeth oh so bright
That when they are bared they give quite a fright.
The poets are hunting high up and low down
And when they have found him they’ll call you around
And while they are waiting they’ll play for a while
With the ferret you’ve lost since the end of last year
And gave herald to a ferretless and lonely new dawn
Since the day TM celebrated that Christ was past born.
poem by David Taylor
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