Creative TraditionalCelebrating Mother Earth? Seasonal, Traditional & Rhyming poetry posts here. (i.e. sonnet, limerick, haiku & all other poetic forms as seen in the Poetry-Defined section.)
Bang For The Buck-- A Hunter’s "Tail"
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Bang For The Buck-- A Hunter’s "Tail"
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Bang For The Buck-- A Hunter’s "Tail"
Tiptoeing from camp at mornings twilight,
freshly sprinkled snow, twinkles a trail’s delight.
It’s hunter’s first light, imagination screaming.
aroma of sweet pine in the senses gleaming.
Spying anticipation for the markings of deer,
heart pounding sensations mounting severe.
Scoping sites at the bottom of the ravine,
a large buck, big rack, looking serene.
Clandestine stances to retrieve a better view,
mistaken step, a crackle of leaves under shoe.
The big buck breaks from his ponderous thinking,
staring into you, his eyes fixed, not blinking.
Not a thought, finger steady, pulling the trigger,
the bang for a buck, the bullet of vigor.
The hunters excitement about to explode,
falling headlong down, his souls been sold.
His body comes to rest next to the buck of dreams,
warm blood from both, commingling streams.
A spirit comes forth in native Indian form,
healing hands on both, impingingly warm.
Stirring from sleep the hunter awakes,
the Indian and buck are gone--
"there’s been some mistake!"
The hunter jumps up, springing to all fours,
rack on his head-- hell's opening doors.
Scoping his sites to the top of the ravine,
a hunter gun drawn looking serene
Tiptoeing from camp at mornings twilight,
freshly sprinkled snow, twinkles a trail’s delight.
It’s hunter’s first light, imagination screaming.
aroma of sweet pine in the senses gleaming.
Not a thought, finger steady, pulling the trigger,
the bang for a buck, the bullet of vigor.
Ripping through his neck, the warm blood flows,
trembling all fours, the hunters finishing blows.
reasonrhymer
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Biography: I am a mother of two and a student at CSUSM.
JolieH has not championed any arcade games.
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My first husband in Texas was a hunter and fisherman. He lived for it, so I understand a lot of the passion behind this. I am a little confused where the Indian spirit comes in. Was the guy only dreaming, before he went out to hunt?
I think to clarify that might give this poem a little more strength, other than that I think it is written very well. Perhaps you can have it published in a hunting magazine.
reasonrhymer has not received any JPiC Member Awards.
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Benny, Jolie & Nomad,
Thanks for reading this.
Benny, Jolie & Nomad,
The idea I had in mind was to have the Hunter and Dear change places, sort of do a spiritual switch. So the hunter becomes the hunted. The Indian in spiritual form basically does a healing on the dear that has been shot and the hunter who fell "headlong" down the mountainside next to the buck. So both are wounded and the Indian does the spirit switch--aroo. The hunter jumps up with a "rack" and on all fours.
So that is why the second part of the title is "A Hunters TAIL" rather than tale.
I shot a dear when I was about 18, it shook me a up a bit and after that I never shot another animal after.
Hope that helps on understanding this piece, try reading it again and see if it comes through. I don't think a hunting mag would be interested in the viewpoint if you know what I mean.
I hunted for many years, I may again. I enjoy and respect the outdoors. Your poem was especially poignant just now, as our local hunting season gets underway. Archery season is in, gun season is near.
I got the full meaning of your poem first time through. I have put myself in the animals place in my mind many times. I won't justify or debate ethics here, I'll just say you did a wonderful job of portraying a controversial ritual. I think your use of example is exemplary and the imagination and compassion are a credit to your own morals.
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