It's That Time Of Year Again
It's that time of year again
When the leaves are on the ground
Swirling like little tornadoes
With out even making a sound
The friends come calling
From the distant past
We all seem to be aging
And it seems way too fast
The grass and weeds are dying
Soon they will all be brown
And before you even know it
Snow will be covering the ground
Farmers are harvesting the crops
And cleaning up their fields
Then soon enough they'll know
How much they have yeild
Hunters are hitting the bush
Hunting for that wild game
Some are looking for fresh meat
While others are hunting for fame
The wild turkey had better stay hid
Because Thanksgiving will soon be here
And as we think of our four-fathers
We'll toast them with a new cheer
written 11/13/2012 by Norman Hale Jr.
poem by Norman Hale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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A Hazy Shade Of Winter
Time, time, time
See what's become of me...
Time, time, time
See what's become of me
While I looked around
For my possibilities
I was so hard to please
Look around
Leaves are brown
And the sky
Is a Hazy Shade of Winter
Hear the Salvation Army Band
Down by the riverside
It's bound to be a better ride
Than what you've got planned
Carry a cup in your hand
Look around
Leaves are brown
And the sky
Is a Hazy Shade of Winter
Hang onto your hopes my friend
That's an easy thing to say
But if your hopes should pass away
Simply pretend
That you can build them again
Look around
Grass is high
Fields are ripe
It's the springtime of my life
Seasons change with their scenery
Weaving time in a tapestry
Won't you stop and remember me
Look around
Leaves are brown
And the sky
Is a Hazy Shade of Winter
Look around
Leaves are brown
There's a patch of snow on the ground
Look around
Leaves are brown
There's a patch of snow on the ground
Look around
Leaves are brown
There's a patch of snow on the ground
song performed by by Bangles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Every Turkey
Every Turkey wants to be a cow.
If they had it their way right now.
Every Turkey should immediately hide.
They should not ask a stranger for a ride.
Every Turkey should not give up a fight.
When the farmer trys to hold them tight.
Every Turkey should run real fast.
All of them are competing to be the very last.
Every Turkey should make a lot of noise.
So The farmers joy can't be immense.
Every turkey wishes you were a vegetarian.
Us turkey lovers are just not that mean.
Every Turkey is not able to say Happy Thanksgiving.
They are all to busy giving.
We all say thanks to God for their giving.
Who knows what a new year might bring.
Snow Dancing
Frozen ground, frozen ponds,
Overgrown fields awaiting spring.
Snow dancing across the roads,
Snow too cold to melt
when it hits the ground.
To light to stay down,
blowing every which way.
Cars pass by disturbing the air
making the snow dance
on swirling currents of air.
Swirling up, down, all around,
spinning, wildly, round and round,
trying to get to the ground.
Almost bare roads covered
with swirls of snow.
Everywhere the flowing snow.
No cars pass by. Now, only the wind.
Wind still blowing the snow,
up, down, and all around,
dancing lively to the ground.
From my poetry book 'Snowed in by a Warm Fire'
available on Amazon.com
poem by Joe Wocoski
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Christmas Is Coming
Christmas is coming
Yes, it's that time of year
When Jesus was born
May we all standup and cheer
Christmas is coming
To every house and every town
So bring on the smiles
And wipe away those frowns
Christmas is coming
And presents will be all around
Santa will fill childrens dreams
Without ever making a sound
Christmas is coming
May the snow bring you delight
But watch out for those reindeer
If you're out christmas night
Christmas is coming
May your hearts fill with cheer
As you sit back and think
All you've accomplished this past year
Christmas is coming
May that spirit of love never end
As you spend your time
Among your family and friends
Christmas is coming
May all your dreams come true
And now if I might say
MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL OF YOU
poem by Norman Hale
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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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The Cape Hunting Dogs Of Africa
They run for hours on end each day through grasses gray and brown
Race antelope to a stand still and drag big zebra down
Outlast the speedy wildebeest their victims die in pain
Those amazing cape hunting dogs the hunters of the plain.
They have no sense of right or wrong they must hunt to survive
And their young in den some ten miles off without fresh meat won't thrive
The cape hunting dogs of Africa don't have sins to forgive
They risk their lives amidst flying hooves they kill so they
can live.
The cape hunting dogs of Africa are creatures i admire
They chase big game for miles and miles and never seem to tire
Their team work and companionship they live to serve the pack
They often kill ten miles from home and trot the ten miles back.
The cape hunting dogs of Africa live as true family
They chase big game for miles on end and work in harmony
They have no choice but kill to eat if they don't eat they die
And they risk their lives to serve the pack when hooves of hunted fly.
poem by Francis Duggan
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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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Yep Easters In The Air
Children are out hunting
For hidden eggs everywhere
It's that time of year again
Yep Easters In The Air
All kinds of candies
Stuffed in baskets here and there
The kids will surely be wound
Yep Easters In The Air
Painted eggs hidden in the grass
Some tucked away with care
Chilren will race to find them
Yep Easters In The Air
The Easter bunny will leave pleanty
For all the kids to share
Though some may tend to get greedy
Yep Easters In The Air
So keep your eyes wide open
And don't get greedy for your share
There will be pleanty for everyone
Yep Easters In The Air
'HAPPY EASTER EVERYONE'
wrote 3/16/2008 by Norman Hale Jr.
poem by Norman Hale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Waiting For the Snow
Waiting for the Snow
When the leaves turn golden
And the geese fly south
Where will I be?
When the wind turns cold
And the bear is in hiding
Where will I be?
When the streams are frozen
And the rabbits’ color turning
Where will I be?
When the leaves begin to fall
And the northern cardinals stay
Where will I be?
When the nuts fall down
And squirrels store walnuts
Where will I be?
When the corn is harvested
And the deer seek shelter
Where will I be?
When the grass is brown
And the pheasants are flying
Where will I be?
I will be riding before the wind
And winging t’ward the sun
Flying from the snow
I will be waiting for spring
And sleeping till then
Hiding from the snow
I will be hiding till I’m white
And searching the ground for food
Waiting for the snow
I will be looking for berries
And singing merrily
Waiting for the snow
I will be saving acorns
And jumping form tree to tree
Waiting for the snow
I will be searching fields for corn
And hiding in thickets
Waiting for the snow
I will be hiding under grass
And calling out loud
Waiting for the snow
Gobble Gobble 4
This is a special time
we celebrate each year
Honey, something in your eye
or could that be a tear
The past is the past
this year I'll behave
Are you disgusted
or starting the wave
I know in the past
I have let you down
You told me last year
I played a naked clown
I may not remember
all the things I've done
But you know of Turkeys
all call me number one
Yep, I'm a Turkey
that I proudly admit
But I can't be a Turkey
if no one pitches a fit
So I guess you could say
that I do it all for you
You see, Turkeys may GOBBLE
but like all, they need Love too
This Thanksgiving remember
if your Turkey plays the part
He would not be a Turkey
if he were not in your heart
Terry M
The New-England Boy's Song About Thanksgiving Day
Over the river, and through the wood,
To grandfather's house we go;
The horse knows the way,
To carry the sleigh,
Through the white and drifted snow.
Over the river, and through the wood,
To grandfather's house away!
We would not stop
For doll or top,
For 't is Thanksgiving Day.
Over the river, and through the wood,
Oh, how the wind does blow!
It stings the toes,
And bites the nose,
As over the ground we go.
Over the river, and through the wood,
With a clear blue winter sky,
The dogs do bark,
And children hark,
As we go jingling by.
Over the river, and through the wood,
To have a first-rate play-
Hear the bells ring
Ting a ling ding,
Hurra for Thanksgiving Day!
Over the river, and through the wood-
No matter for winds that blow;
Or if we get
The sleigh upset,
Into a bank of snow.
Over the river, and through the wood,
To see little John and Ann;
We will kiss them all,
And play snow-ball,
And stay as long as we can.
Over the river, and through the wood,
Trot fast, my dapple grey!
Spring over the ground,
Like a hunting hound,
For 't is Thanksgiving Day!
Over the river, and through the wood,
And straight through the barn-yard gate;
We seem to go
Extremely slow,
It is so hard to wait.
Over the river, and through the wood-
Old Jowler hears our bells;
He shakes his pow,
With a loud bow wow,
And thus the news he tells.
Over the river, and through the wood-
When grandmother sees us come,
She will say, Oh dear,
The children are here,
Bring a pie for every one.
Over the river, and through the wood-
Now grandmother's cap I spy!
Hurra for the fun!
Is the pudding done?
Hurra for the pumpkin pie!
poem by Lydia Maria Francis Child
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When Tornadoes Take Over The World
When tornadoes take over the world
There'll be no time for fretting
No fussing or complaining anymore
When tornadoes take over the world
You won't have your folks
To blame for all the stuff that's your fault
Your freinds will be swirling
Right above your disembodied head
When tornadoes take over the world
All the things in the fridge
That fell on the floor
Will dissapear
And all of your neighbors
Will be waving their flashlights at your house
Your friends will be swirling
Right above your disembodied head
When tornadoes take over the world.
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wonderful Winter
The snow slowly falls like dimonds
The child runs out and play. Sticking there
tongues out to tast the cold, frosy ice that
turns quickly to water. families and Friends
runs and walk up the hill with their snow gear
Looking out the snow dazzle on the trees and ground
the slid down with giggles and smiles
Laying on the ground moving our arms and legs
making snow angels. Snowballs were throw in the air
hitting the other team. The day starts to get colder, they
go inside to have nice hot meals and bless there food, and their
day. The day starts to get warmer. Spring was coming, Next year I hope there will be a Wonderful Winter like this year
poem by Sarah Frank
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In Old Claraghatlea When I Was A Young Boy
In old Claraghatlea when I was a young boy
Walks in the old fields I used to enjoy
And Summer evenings out hunting in Pomeroy's bog
With Pudsy our dark brown hairy cattle dog
The boy of the fifties is now looking gray
One might say he has known a far better day
But memories of the past in the memory remain
And in memory the past we re-visit again
Old Pudsy long gone she is in time's decay
In Mother earth's bosom forever she lay
And time ticks away and nothing seems to last
And in memory we only can go to the past
And in old Claraghatlea far north and far away
A boy with his dog is out hunting today.
poem by Francis Duggan
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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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Hazy Shade Of Winter
(p. simon)
Bangles
Time, time, time
See whats become of me
Time, time, time
See whats become of me
While I looked around
For my possibilities
I was so hard to please
Look around
Leaves are brown
And the sky
Is a hazy shade of winter
Hear the salvation army band
Down by the riverside
Its bound to be a better ride
Than what youve got planned
Carry a cup in your hand
Look around
Leaves are brown
And the sky
Is a hazy shade of winter
Hang on to your hopes my friend
Thats an easy thing to say
But if your hopes should pass away
Simply pretend
That you can build them again
Look around
Grass is high
Fields are ripe
Its the springtime of my life
Seasons change with the scenery
Weaving time in a tapestry
Wont you stop and remember me
Look around
Leaves are brown
And the sky
Its a hazy shade of winter
Look around
Leaves are brown
Theres a patch of snow on the ground
song performed by by Bangles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Men Of The Canyon Blues
I saw all the men of the canyon
Hunting in the wild today
While I drove through the wild
In my friends truck
poem by Aldo Kraas
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The Hunters Of Men
HAVE ye heard of our hunting, o'er mountain and glen,
Through cane-brake and forest, — the hunting of men?
The lords of our land to this hunting have gone,
As the fox-hunter follows the sound of the horn;
Hark! the cheer and the hallo! the crack of the whip,
And the yell of the hound as he fastens his grip!
All blithe are our hunters, and noble their match,
Though hundreds are caught, there are millions to catch.
So speed to their hunting, o'er mountain and glen,
Through cane-brake and forest, — the hunting of men!
Gay luck to our hunters! how nobly they ride
In the glow of their zeal, and the strength of their pride!
The priest with his cassock flung back on the wind,
Just screening the politic statesman behind;
The saint and the sinner, with cursing and prayer,
The drunk and the sober, ride merrily there.
And woman, kind woman, wife, widow, and maid,
For the good of the hunted, is lending her aid:
Her foot's in the stirrup, her hand on the rein,
How blithely she rides to the hunting of men!
Oh, goodly and grand is our hunting to see,
In this 'land of the brave and this home of the free.'
Priest, warrior, and statesman, from Georgia to Maine,
All mounting the saddle, all grasping the rein;
Right merrily hunting the black man, whose sin
Is the curl of his hair and the hue of his skin!
Woe, now, to the hunted who turns him at bay!
Will our hunters be turned from their purpose and prey?
Will their hearts fail within them? their nerves tremble, when
All roughly they ride to the hunting of men?
Ho! alms for our hunters! all weary and faint,
Wax the curse of the sinner and prayer of the saint.
The horn is wound faintly, the echoes are still,
Over cane-brake and river, and forest and hill.
Haste, alms for our hunters! the hunted once more
Have turned from their flight with their backs to the shore:
What right have they here in the home of the white,
Shadowed o'er by our banner of Freedom and Right?
Ho! alms for the hunters! or never again
Will they ride in their pomp to the hunting of men!
Alms, alms for our hunters! why will ye delay,
When their pride and their glory are melting away?
The parson has turned; for, on charge of his own,
Who goeth a warfare, or hunting, alone?
The politic statesman looks back with a sigh,
There is doubt in his heart, there is fear in his eye.
Oh, haste, lest that doubting and fear shall prevail,
And the head of his steed take the place of the tail.
Oh, haste, ere he leave us! for who will ride then,
For pleasure or gain, to the hunting of men?
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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