Today I am feeling dark so I am sharing a dark poem.
WARNING: May evoke bad thoughts about hunters. Not my purpose as I am a hunter. It is a tale of the first successful hunt with my dad.
THE HUNT
*
Touched softly with my toe
It did not move
The deer's eyes were open.
*
My bullet had spoken
Traveling in
Taking Life out.
*
With tear-moistened eyes
I turned
And played at checking my rifle.
*
My first trophy
I should be proud
But I could not look.
*
Dad understood
And
Closed the eyes.
9 comments:
I, too, grew up hunting...and I understand this poem completely. I remember my first [a turkey].
I grew up helping my great grandpa clean traps of all sorts of animals - but this was how they were fed and made money [from pelts] He was sure to "teach" me to get over it really fast. He was no nonesense.
I don't find it dark as much as I see your heart - your empathy.
Hugs!
We knew "Get Over It" before The Rolling Stones sang it!
I haven't ever been hunting but I know it will be like this the first time I butcher on of my animals.
As you know, my hubby and son are hunters, and I think that this is an excellent poem!
I have been trying to comment on your blog for days, but it wouldn't let me. I can't tell you how many comments it ate...lol!!
I want to make a limerick, and I wanted to double-check that we have until Sunday, right?
Yay!!!! The computer didn't eat my comment this time!!!
What a touching poem! It shows great respect when a hunter feels emotion. It means we respect the animal, feel for its loss in the wild, but understand what that animal will provide for us. Great job capturing that emotion!
My 20 yo ss got his first deer this year, I think you phrased it perfectly, an accomplishment, and a loss...
Gail,
I don't think this is dark..just a child hood memory of getting food..which was death for another. I grew up with my father and brother hunting..as did I..it was never an experience I enjoyed taking part in..but your poem just shows your empathy for nature..life and death. Smile, it was a comment on reality.
Such power a human wields while holding a gun, eh?
Enough to snuff out a life that was alive...breathing, living....just second ago.
So, you're a hunter, Gail.
With that comes great responsibility.
It seems that you accept that responsibility and respect it, too.
Beautiful, though, deep and dark poem, my friend.
~Lisa~aka~Rapunzle
Post a Comment