Behold, an Eskimo Kingdom.
Eskimos live on caribou,
Fish, berries, whales and seals.
Hard biscuits and tea warm ‘em
Other than what had from nature.
What a delicacy when blended
Caribou meat, seal oil and
Artic berries with ice flakes,
‘Akutok' their creamy delight!
Snow dwellings in winter,
Tents of skins on summer,
Eskimos called both an Igloo!
Their Chief had to be skilled,
In hunting or Fishing, whom
Advises sought when needed.
Brave hunters and gatherers
By nature, moved in groups,
When seasons changed, for
Life's course for every race
Is different in many a ways!
Their bodies covered by skins
Of Polar bear, fox, seals
And Caribou kept them warm
In their Frozen kingdom!
Huskies drawn sleds to slide
Over, Kayak for single hunter
And Umiaks to carry families
Across the icy waters, were
Their conveyance natural.
Wild whales when appear
Eskimo group would hunt
With skill and might sheer,
A survival on frozen thorns!
Stories that have traversed
Generations on drum beats
Made them dance during
Winter nights for hours long.
Responsible valorous men
Gathered food for families
When women made clothes
And cooked for their men.
Fur-bearing fox and bear
Were hunted for skin, fish
And seal for flesh, in ocean,
Rivers and streams all seasons.
Sought aid of‘Shamans' to make
Spirits appear to cure when sick,
Ensure a good hunting and
To control the weather hostile.
Even in their frozen minds
Forms of art had its place,
With many available stuff
Had manifestation of skills.
A brother Eskimo grins on
Looking at his FB screen,
By the frozen Greenland or
Siberia, Alaska or Canada!
Might be in pursuit of new
Techniques for hunting,
Shaping, shearing, sailing
Still with his Sealskin boots on!
poem by Tajudeen Shah
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Related quotes
The Polar Bear
The polar bear sat by the hole he had made in the frozen ice
patiently he waited for something really tasty and nice.
A baby seal jumped through the hole to fill its lungs with air
shaking the water from its bright red sweater it sat next to the bear.
“It’s nice of you to join me young seal I’m about to have some supper.”
“How kind of you Mr Polar Bear could we begin with a cuppa? ”
“We’ll begin with a seafood delight and it’s wearing a bright red sweater.”
The seal gulped and said, “Let’s not be hasty, I know of something better.”
“Now then seal what could be better than a seal in a bright red sweater”?
“Oh, I know of a scrumptious delicacy in the sea that is so much better.”
“And I suppose this delight is just swimming around on the ocean floor? ”
“Of course not Mr Bear, it’s in a sunken ship, hiding behind a door.
It’s mouth wateringly juicier, much sweeter, larger and tender,
I’ll invite it for supper, now that’s the best offer I can render? ”
“I’m not falling for that old trick; I could end up without my supper? ”
“But Mr Bear as a guarantee, I’ll leave you with my new sweater.
It will fit you like a glove and the colour will suit you much better.”
The Polar Bear liked this idea and placed over his head the sweater.
After pulling and tugging it got stuck, so that he couldn’t see.
“Goodbye, ” shouted the seal as he escaped, “sorry I can’t stop for tea.”
poem by Orlando Belo
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Warmer Than Winter, Colder Than Summer
In summer, when the wishes of us grow up like a steeple,
When we feel the warm weather, and see happy people
All the sadness and all the bad things will gone
No one feels hard, the life of cruel people is done.
Wishes, dreams, our childhood laughs…oh look, here is sweet home!
Wow! Home, sweet home! For the vacation of this summer let's go to Rome!
For our life we wrote lots of plans
And if we couldn't make them, our life will be so tight, as the soda cans!
In winter we rather to stay at home, near our dreams and our dear pen,
We drink warm coffee with our dear parents, now and then
Winter has lot's of stories to say,
Stories about the old steam of past and lovely frozen bay
All is about us, we can have our winter warmer than summer and we can have a summer that is colder than winter,
But the thing that is always warm and charmer in these two seasons, is the sun that comes from Easter!
poem by Ellias Anderson
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Whales
Whales.
What can I say about whales? I’ve seen them blow geysers of hot water
on the coast of Canada and Norway. Great innocent beings with small
brains living in peace, but for man. So much meat and fat; have you ever
tasted whale meat, it is dark and tender but it has to be soaked overnight
in vinegar or it will taste like cod liver oil. In the old days its fat made liquid
was good to lit lamps. We have got electricity now, so if you want a steak
kill a cow, they are plentiful, mind they are innocent too, graze and do not
know they are targeted to end up as burgers. The whales have a complex
language marine biologists say I don’t think it is hard at all, they are saying
in surprisingly feminine voice … where are you? I’m here two miles away
from you and watch out for boats, with propellers”. “Ok, thank you”
Sven Foyn, the whale murderer, nearly hunted them to extinction with his
exploding harpoon gun, but thanks to a few nature lovers this cruel practice
ended… Today there are many whales in the ocean sooner or later someone
will say there are too many of them, we have to cull them and make a little
money on the side. And unseen by us, but known by whales, a dark hulled
ship with a captain Ahab onboard is still hunting for an illusory white whale.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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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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The caribou feeds the wolf, but it is the wolf who keeps the caribou strong.
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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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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Road Not Taken
Trees coveted the dirt rock road
With the scent of pine
The long ridden trail to a familiar road
Snow covered trough, hinted winter has arrived
The coyote has gone to rest in his cave
Wild hunting season is bountiful
Altered smoke fills the sky from farmhouse chimneys
A bear has gone for vegetation surrounding the frozen lake
Long i await ‘til day is once dawn
I sleep for now
I dream
poem by Angela Khristin Brown
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Don't Eat The Yellow Snow
Dreamed I was an eskimo
Frozen wind began to blow
Under my boots and around my toes
The frost that bit the ground below
It was a hundred degrees below zero...
And my mama cried
And my mama cried
Nanook, a-no-no
Nanook, a-no-no
Dont be a naughty eskimo
Save your money, dont go to the show
Well I turned around and I said oh, oh oh
Well I turned around and I said oh, oh oh
Well I turned around and I said ho, ho
And the northern lights commenced to glow
And she said, with a tear in her eye
Watch out where the huskies go, and dont you eat that yellow snow
Watch out where the huskies go, and dont you eat that yellow snow
song performed by by Frank Zappa
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lines on A Canadian Hunter
Of Kentucky's great hunter bold,
Old Daniel Boon, oft tales are told ;
Of wild beasts he had no fear,
But dangers loved, that pioneer.
Canada hath hunters many,
Yet perhaps there is not any
For skill and boldness can compare
With our own Daniel Hebner.
In youth he was both tall and strong,
And supple as a willow thong ;
Hs never fled from savage bear,
Though bruin on hind legs would rear.
In hunting mink, or fox, or coon,
He was a second Daniel Boon ;
His rifle oft brought down the deer,
Which to his table brought good cheer.
But through his life his highest aim
Was to kill the savage game,
To track the wild cat to its lair
And see its eyes so fiercely glare.
But he oft longs for a cut ham,
Sweet as from bear near to Putnam,
For he waged his fiercest war
In big swamp of Dorchester.
Now, in the winter, Dan he rides
Warm 'mong his bear and coon skin hides.
He lets the younger men now snare
The beaver, muskrat and ottar.
poem by James McIntyre
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It Is Survival Of The Fittest
On the flesh of smaller forms of wildlife the eagle she does fill her craw
A predator of Nature's wild kingdom and Nature lives by her own law
And the predators of Nature's wild kingdom they have to kill to stay alive
It is called the survival of the fittest where only the fittest survive.
The fear of creatures of the jungle when they listen to the big cats roar
But in Nature big cats are not seen as killers they hunt for survival nothing more
They have to hunt when they are hungry of meat they need their daily fill
It is one of the Laws of Nature that the predator to eat must kill.
Nature never grieves for her dead creatures to grieve it is not Nature's way
She is above sorrow and pity when on her bosom her dead creatures lay
Us humans too are part of Nature we live for awhile and we die
The creatures of Nature's wild kingdom they are not less mortal than I.
It is called survival of the fittest it happens in Nature night and day
Those that are born to be meat eaters on other creatures have to prey
And birth and death to Mother Nature are part of life and of the same
And for the deaths of her wildborn her predators she never blame.
poem by Francis Duggan
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I Have Praised Mother Nature
I have praised Mother Nature in ballad, song and rhyme
And writing on Mother Nature is never a waste of time
And though I am not a Burns, Francis Ledwidge or John Clare
I am one of the many about Nature who does care.
To write something on Nature is always satisfying
For Nature she has been around before creatures started flying
Her streams flow to her rivers her rivers to her oceans flow
And Nature will live forever though her Seasons will come and go.
I have praised mother Nature and her praises I'll always sing
The colours of her Seasons Summer, Autumn, Winter and Spring
And though I truly love her little of her ways I know
I find her quite amazing and my wonder of her grow.
To my Goddess of Nature this rhyme I dedicate
I live in sheer awe of her of the beauty she create
She is the one immortal her beauty will live on
Long after the last human being to her reaper has gone.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Autumn Thoughts
Gone hath the Spring, with all its flowers,
And gone the Summer's pomp and show,
And Autumn, in his leafless bowers,
Is waiting for the Winter's snow.
I said to Earth, so cold and gray,
'An emblem of myself thou art.'
'Not so,' the Earth did seem to say,
'For Spring shall warm my frozen heart.'
I soothe my wintry sleep with dreams
Of warmer sun and softer rain,
And wait to hear the sound of streams
And songs of merry birds again.
But thou, from whom the Spring hath gone,
For whom the flowers no longer blow,
Who standest blighted and forlorn,
Like Autumn waiting for the snow;
No hope is thine of sunnier hours,
Thy Winter shall no more depart;
No Spring revive thy wasted flowers,
Nor Summer warm thy frozen heart.
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Bitter In the Winter of Your Discontent
If you know a love sought,
Isn't where you are.
And has not been.
When will you awaken,
From that wishful thinking?
You attend with repeated heartbreaking.
Again and again.
What point are you really making?
You wish to receive warm hugs,
On faces quick with grins.
What season of life,
Have you found yourself stuck in?
If you know a love sought,
Isn't where you are.
And has not been...
You either neither need it!
Or...
You are frozen with resentment,
Bitter in the Winter of your discontent.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Vincent River
Vincent River
God made you
So that we could swim inside you
In the summer
But not in the winter
Because inthe winter you are frozen with snow
But in the winter we can play hockey inside you
Vincent River
In the winter you are peaceful
But in the summer you are very noisy
Because all the boats come across you
Vincent river
There are so many fish inside of you
That we can fish in the summer
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Seasons
What is a season, sometimes children ask,
Then to explain to them is not a hard task;
its four groups of months, divided equally,
Winter I like, It's the month so special to me.
First we take Summer, it's sometimes so very hot,
But; when you get to go swimming, it cools you a lot;
Eating Salads, and lovely cold drinks, and sweet too,
But; when it's in the 40's, I just don't know what to do.
Next we have Autumn, a beautiful season to check out,
The colors on each tree change, the wind blows the leaves about;
We know it's almost time, to get our warm clothes ready,
and when it's very windy, it's hard to stay on your feet steady.
Then comes Winter, out comes our warm clothes, and gear,
Our coats, gloves, and rain boots, are always left near;
Then it comes, the rain, Hail, sleet and icy snow,
Where you feel the winters blast, on each finger and toe.
So there is the seasons, each different from the other,
What is your favorite season, or do you prefer, not to bother?
In Melbourne Victoria, It's like all comes together,
Four seasons in a day, oh what strange yet beautiful weather.
poem by Margaret Haig
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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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An Icicle Kiss
'I am the Winter Flower'
she said
'the opposite of the Summer Ones.'
'My blooms
peak in deep snow
and I weather
hail, sleet and bitter cold.
My Summer Kin
know the Sun.
I live beneath
White Winter's Glow
withstanding
blizzard wind
as furies blow.
I produce
anti-cold;
survive
winter's
frozen mold.
My petals
are steel-forged
for winter has made
me strong.
My bulb forces it's way
up through frozen ground
and defiant
I face worst Winter's onslaughts.
My petals
fold, unfold
peak,
and stare Winter down.
I am the Winter Flower
beautiful in my Ice Tower.
I too,
have my Ice Prince
who plants upon me
an Icicle Kiss
beneath diamond shining
beautiful,
frosty
Wintry Stars.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Frozen
Frozen
By: Adam M. Snow
Memories frozen and gone,
like sands in broken time,
'gainst the blackest of dawn,
yet cold with no love sublime.
To be alone in ice of despair,
with hearts cold and frozen.
There's nothing left to bear,
for all who are chosen.
Like frost in the wind,
chilling a lonely being,
leaving nothing to mend,
like a ghost without seeing.
Dreams now cold like ice,
falling to pieces,
not once but twice,
as the days decreases.
What else is there to know,
with everything oh so cool?
Like being ghost in the snow,
and you being the fool.
All's now cold like a winter's night,
like little breezes dusk and shiver,
and with unpleasant delight,
with fear all is quiver.
Staring now out a hoar frost window,
alone, cold and wilted,
with your sufferings and woe,
waiting to strike you dead.
All's now cold hearted,
like frozen in ice,
as all's departed,
and you're the sacrifice.
poem by Adam M. Snow
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Appreciate Stone Wall Memories
it is true the stone wall loss
of our ever beloved ones,
is a barrier too hard to pass
cross for bitter mournful seasons,
stones are hard cold wet
with our 'ice crystallized cold tears',
unyielding in left loneliness
of broken spaces in our souls;
mourning rich beauty
in passing noble lives,
retreating into private
depths of passion grief,
into the torn raw hurt
of missing our beloved,
the wind knife ice blows
savage cold in this winter season;
trees refuse to leaf,
streams creeks rivers
ice frozen may not run;
but spring thaw cycles life
next seasons beauty
must rebirth come,
as new season life
blesses our families
with babies
growing
into bubbling
laughter,
miracle first steps
stumbling toddler runs,
life growth must
delight renew regenerate
into beauty
of multiple new memories;
Stone Walls
on a breezy sunny day
are warmed by the sun,
stone walls will give out
the warmth of sunlight
they receive, warm the heart
warm receptive souls
warm into the night,
stone walls are a refuge
for life that abides
within them; stone walls
hold precious memories
as numerous as the stones
within them, stone walls
landscape
through seasons
in cycles
of wonder life,
stone walls
shelter
block hail winds
in winter seasons,
we need to shelter
in glowing memories,
delight appreciate
in stone wall memories,
stone wall backbone
honouring nobility of lives
stretching back complete
through our passage lives
poem by Terence George Craddock
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