Deer Hunting
Hunting deer is hard to do.
But not for Michael Waddel.
Michael is an amazing bow hunter.
He only hunts deer with a bow,
Which is very hard to do anywhere.
Most people hunt with powerful guns.
But not Michael.
He uses his skills to lure the big deer in.
poem by Drew Nofer
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The Deer-Star (A Paiute Legend)
HEAR now a tale of the deer-star,
Tale of the days agone,
When a youth rose up for the hunting
In the bluish light of dawn --
Rose up for the red deer hunting,
And what should a hunter do
Who has never an arrow feathered,
Nor a bow strung taut and true?
The women laughed from the doorways, the maidens mocked at the spring;
For thus to be slack at the hunting is ever a shameful thing.
The old men nodded and muttered, but the youth spoke up with a frown:
'If I have no gear for the hunting, I will run the red deer down.'
He is off by the hills of the morning,
By the dim, untrodden ways;
In the clean, wet, windy marshes
He has startled the deer agraze;
And a buck of the branching antlers
Streams out from the fleeing herd,
And the youth is apt to the running
As the tongue to the spoken word.
They have gone by the broken ridges, by mesa and hill and swale,
Nor once did the red deer falter, nor the feet of the runner fail;
So lightly they trod on the lupines that scarce were the flower-stalks bent,
And over the tops of the dusky sage the wind of their running went.
They have gone by the painted desert,
Where the dawn mists lie uncurled,
And over the purple barrows
On the outer rim of the world.
The people shout from the village,
And the sun gets up to spy
The royal deer and the runner,
Clear shining in the sky.
And ever the hunter watches for the rising of that star
When he comes by the summer mountains where the haunts of the red deer are,
When he comes by the morning meadows where the young of the red deer hide;
He fares him forth to the hunting while the deer and the runner bide.
poem by Mary Austin
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Hunt the Deer
Hunting season is here,
guns and rifles cleaned.
Stocked up with gear,
on his quad he leaned.
Lots of bullets,
hunt the deer.
No much of a challenge,
could use a spear.
Eight guys all with beer's,
one holding the camera.
Everyone smiling ' Cheers',
in front of the dead 'deer'.
poem by David Darbyshire
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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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A Horse For Dinner
A horse A horse
My kingdom for a horse,
A horse A horse
For the main course
Muscles of might
Pulled so tight,
A body of organs
All for a meal
Why a horse?
Why not a deer?
A horse does the work,
A deer will just peer
A horse is strong
a deer has no uses,
so there for a deer
suffers the abuses
Condemned is a deer
as from the day it's born,
until the day it dies
and its meaty flesh torn
So why a horse
if a deer has no uses?
because I am a man
Who too, has suffered too many abuses
poem by John McAdam
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Save the deer
Tigers are there; deer are there.
Tigers eat deer and deer exist.
Guilt is the tiger and adultery, the deer.
Adultery will not go extinct.
25.03.2000, Palakkad
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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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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I eager for You
today, O My Beloved,
I eager for you…
there was no such word
until today; today, there is..
to say, I’m eager for you
would be to say,
less than, I am…
when it’s I am, and
which you are, O My Beloved,
that eagers…
nor do I recognise eagerness..
how can I, if it’s not me?
no, today, it's an active word...
what else might I say?
to say I long, makes it sound
that I may never find you…
to say, I languish, makes me sound
so weak and hopeless…
to say, I yearn, makes it sound
as if I never knew You…
even the Hebrew word the psalmist used –
the deer that yearns for the waterbrook,
the hart that pants for cooling streams –
even that word’s uncertain; some say
it’s the way that a deer, feet slightly splayed
upon the sloping bank, stretches out its graceful neck
to the clear, pure, healing water…
some say, it’s that slight sound the deer makes,
as it gently laps that lovely water…
the sound that quenching makes...
today I am that deer, tasting what’s just out of reach…;
that feeling beyond all words possesses me –
the feeling that You who ever are inside me, Lord,
wish to proclaim You outside me –
today, O My Beloved,
I eager for to be myself; for You…
poem by Michael Shepherd
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19th September
I cannot walk properly after the gun shot,
But you were the very hunter who shot my leg.
Your gun shot was aimed at my back like,
A virgin lady without a pot;
For i am now a deer to you.
Your were in the same forest that i was,
Looking for a deer to shoot at and you rather got me;
But i do hope that one day i will walk very well.
I have got my papers in order and i still need your care,
But you came as a hunter to get me down!
And in this wolrd of lovers and haters,
What can i say to this act of yours?
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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A Christmas Hunt
Me and ol' Bubba
on a late December hunt
Bubba's a man of few words
but he sure can grunt
The snow was fallin
a winter moon so bright
All the stars seemed special
as they sparkled that night
It was about midnight
we couldn't believe our eyes
A herd of flyin deer
seemed to fill the skies
I shot and I shot
how Bubbas gun did fire
But those flyin deer
just went higher and higher
Bubba looked at me
as I rubbed my aimin eye
It was then we both said
aint no deer that can fly
That was pert near
twelve years ago
Every late December
we still track through the snow
But not for huntin
we just go to see
Those flyin deer
ol' Bubba and me
Terry M
How Boomer Ruined Our Hunting Trips
For years we have gone hunting.
I've loved sitting next to him in his deer blind
or sitting quietly in my own.
Now that Boomer came into our lives
I see all living animals as having feelings
and I can't stand the thought of hunting.
Boomer is our bassett hound.
He thinks he is human.
I sometimes think so too.
The way he has shown me
that he feels things like we do
has changed me forever.
Now, all I can think of is that
if a dog can feel emotions like we do...
can a deer?
Are they afraid?
Do they know why we are sitting there?
Do they hate me?
I have to explain this to my husband
and pray he understands why
our hunting days together are over.
AE01 Bushmen
man atop a wind-bowed tree
searching for any sign of deer
here we have tree-stand to see
perch like bird; powerful scope
on high powered hunting rifle
deer no match, down on spot
can you imagine yourself crawling
upwind with bow and arrow in search
for lunch, dinner, breakfast; yards away
slight miscalculation or moves; crucial
life of pre-dawn man in remoteness
where salads and burgers unknown
poem by Manonton Dalan
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A demarche-Cauchy3-tricks
A demarche…
Take a pictured horse as deer.
Who will treat deer as horse?
Gods will say that.
All as pets are teacher pets.
Horse then goes as deer.
Throw the stones to test the water depth.
Games with theorems are centered guards.
Take a test upon aha actions.
With images of horse they all are Tory.
With image of deer they all are foes.
Invite a wolf into house or close the door to kill the dogs are after math after test.
poem by Cheung Shun Sang
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Song
Soon as the glazed and gleaming snow
Reflects the day-dawn cold and clear,
The hunter of the west must go
In depth of woods to seek the deer.
His rifle on his shoulder placed,
His stores of death arranged with skill,
His moccasins and snow-shoes laced,--
Why lingers he beside the hill?
Far, in the dim and doubtful light,
Where woody slopes a valley leave,
He sees what none but lover might,
The dwelling of his Genevieve.
And oft he turns his truant eye,
And pauses oft, and lingers near;
But when he marks the reddening sky,
He bounds away to hunt the deer.
poem by William Cullen Bryant
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Tony Finally Got His Deer
Tony was out for revenge
always the one that got away
his cousin Pat and his friend Matt
woods brisk and chilly
Matt recently back
from the desert war
not sure what he was fighting for
Pat along for the hunt
Tony on top of the ridge
Pat and Matt down below
two sets of antlers
they had the spot
the spot was hot
get ready Matt, says Pat
I'ts your shot
no! you shoot says Matt
all is calm, then
suddenly
BOOM, BOOM
two blasts, two deer, lay lifeless
Tonys revenge
I sorry Pat uh
I had to shoot, dat dam deer uh
he avoiding me uh, for two years uh
now deer tease me uh
no more uh
poem by Matt Mondschein
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Going Shopping
En route to go shopping at our local grocery store,
I came across something which I hadn’t seen before.
A rustling sound within the trees, by me, was heard;
I just imagined it was either a cat or some kind of bird.
But what emerged in front of me, gave me a surprise;
A surprise which made me question my very own eyes!
Out of the trees, there very suddenly appeared,
An extremely lively, little brown deer.
I know that large herds of deer do reside
In the big forest, in the nearby countryside.
But never before in my life had I ever found
Any deer this close to the centre of our town.
As soon as he saw me, away he sprang,
But in my mind, alarm bells loudly rang.
For the deer, I began to feel a little scared,
As I wondered how, in a town, he would fair.
He was quite far from where he had grown,
And now, here he was, having to cope alone.
The countryside compared to the town are different places;
Here, he was faced with houses, cars and people’s faces.
I imagined the sheer panic which he felt inside,
And for that poor little deer, I almost cried.
To help him, there was nothing I could do.
He was so far away from all that he knew.
I thought about him for the rest of the day,
And couldn’t believe how far he had strayed.
A deer in the town was a strange thing to have sighted.
I just hope that, with his herd, he was safely reunited.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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At The Forest
you just shot
a robust deer
and you are
happy taking
it on your shoulder
something for
dinner....
and you walk away
behind your backs
a little deer is looking,
oh, a mother is taken
and the son
is weeping!
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Run free, Angel (R.I.P. Chelsea King)
She loved to run through the green forest,
Where the sun watched over her,
Where the lake’s cool and riveting motions
Met with the tranquil flow of the wind.
But the sun’s eyes
Could not change her destiny
They could not predispose her judgment
Or those of the Monster
Whose impulses were like those of a Tiger
Ready to pounce
Out of thirst, out of hunger, out of a sick taste for Vulnerability.
She ran like a deer,
Graceful and liberated,
Her eyes saw no danger
She succumbed to no fear.
But as a deer is entranced by a clean patch of grass
A Tiger finds opportunity
Strikes hard, and strikes fast.
The Tiger, the Monster,
Pounced on her body, devoured her soul
Fed her to the lake, who swallowed her whole.
The lake watched over her until the people came
It knew that the Monster would not win this game
His satisfaction would not go unnoticed
For this deer, this child, this girl
Was an Angel,
Is an Angel
And will always be.
poem by Jamie Ries
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A Poem of Hunting, Fishing, and a Truck
I throw my gun in the back of my truck
With it I hope to kill a 12-point buck
While in the woods, BANG! I see the deer fall
I take him home, freeze the meat, and mount his horns on my wall
I grab my pole and tackle box and head to the lake
At this time in the morning, I feel barely awake
There is no school today, I’m glad there is no class
A mighty tug on my line, I hook a large mouth bass
There is nothing like hunting; waiting for the kill
Cutting and cleaning the meat my freezer I’ll soon fill
Deer steaks and deer jerky have such a great taste
And with his head on my wall nothing goes to waste
I like fishing, fishing is fun
Fishing underneath the rising sun
I like catching the fish and putting them in a net
Fish is a great dish when the table is set
My truck is unstoppable; it can’t beat
I slam the door and strap myself in the seat
I start the engine and press the gas to the floor
My truck takes off and my engine lets out a roar
I wouldn’t be able to hunt or fish if it wasn’t for my truck
With it I carry poles, guns, and my fallen buck
I pull my boat with my truck in four-wheel-drive
At my destination I always arrive
poem by Glaedr the poet
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The Archer who’s greedy for venison
A golden antelope jumps in a rainforest.
In the moonlit night the ardent archer makes his bow and arrows
But this time he is very sensitive about the rare deer.
He used his special arrow for the hunt.
The deer ran away with the pierced arrow into the jungle.
He followed the woman like cry and Alas! He saw a Nymph was lying on the grass in cold blood.
She stammered “Caveman love is tastier than venison
But it’s too late now my dear.”
She died on his lap sadly.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Improve in what you are
Tiger thrives by fight.
Deer does by flight.
If tiger or deer, be as you are.
Both ways you can survive.
31.05.2001, Palasa
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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