6-8 hours on a small bottle you’ll burn
when its heat for which you yearn
off grid camping is a breeze
with this heater you will not freeze

Camper warm all through the night
if you time the bottles right
when its deer season
it’s usually freezing

Take it to your box deer stand
feel the heat, isn’t it grand
quiet and handy portable heat source
all without hoses or cords

Just ***** on the bottle ready to go
turn the **** listen to propane flow
match or lighter use to ignite
just watch for the dull orange light

That’s how you’ll now when it lit
and good heat is what you’ll get
small and out of the way mostly
but when it’s cold you’re warm and toasty

Knock to field point
carbon fiber weave
two blue and one white fletch
core muscles engaged

Pulled back on a string
cams broken over
energy ready to be freed
peering through black peep

Fiber optic pins
glow in the sun
judge the right distance
pick the right one

Finger on the trigger
let the arrow fly
watch it home
ten ring, target, good shot

Lightning focus
both eyes open
the bow is drawn

Precise aim
steady hand
solid base

Release triggered
the arrow flies
straight and true

Bulls-eye
this shot accomplished
draw again

There is always
another shot
or another target

Quails in a covey
Hide under cover of brush
Flush unsuspecting

Wet and cold
driving dirt roads
rain pouring down
onto the ground

Water standing in the tracks
and running down every crack
begin to slip and to skid
turn into it in a bid

To regain some traction
it works but only for a fraction
of a second, so I turn the ****
the mud begins to spray in globs

Now in 4 wheel drive I proceed
should be enough to do the deed
of getting me on down the road
so the truck still I goad

Forward into the muck
hopefully and with some luck
we make it to the end
then my frayed nerves may mend

But then the bad news sinks in
we have to turn around and do it again
the cow tracks look like tiny lakes
now out of the truck each step I take

My foot sinks an inch or three
so I step to the side under a tree
try to walk on grass and roots
getting taller as mud sticks to my boots

Almost there I see the door
of the mud I want no more
into the deer stand I climb and sit
a reprieve from the mud for a bit

Three hours later constant rain
back out into the cold mud pain
tripping and sliding back to the truck
for the trip back in the mud and muck

The muds not deep it’s just real slick
depending on the route I pick
halfway back, spin sideways
not into cactus or a tree I praise

Slipping and sliding is great fun
but right now I long for the sun
you see the truck I drive is not my own
father in law’s out on loan

So get it stuck or bang it around
I will never live it down.
back to the gate no incident
onto the road no fender dents

This is day one of the hunt you see
so three days left of this for me
100% forecast of more rain
and those **** dirt tracks don’t drain

Gobbler turkey thrums
Red throat, feathers spread, he struts
Another spring dance

5 AM dark of the moon
early morning campfire
frosty ground
warm cup of coffee

The coyotes sing on either side of me
a long and mournful sound
Orion touching the horizon
Venus is on the rise

Mesquite leaves run across the ground
an army on the move
sheep quietly bawl on the distance
what passes for country quiet

As the sun begins to rise
purples, pinks and oranges paint the sky
and the few wispy clouds ignite
with awesome colors and lights

The sheep, cows, breeze, quiet music
and the fire crackles
as my coffee steams away
on the final morning of the hunt

Brownwood, Texas is the place
Where we go to give game chase
Deer, Turkey, Dove or Quail
That’s where we track them on the trail
From a ground blind or a tree
This is where we feel most free

Drinking whiskey by firelight
Or sometimes it’s Cold Coors Lite

Hot, Cold, wind or rain, we don’t care
To fill our tag is our prayer
Rifle, Shot gun or Bow
To fill our freezer, with, bird, buck or doe

Sometimes we go just to camp
In the morning it is damp
Horse licking dew off the tent
Sometimes this is how night is spent

Flashing lights and UFO’s
No one believes us but we know
Taking Picture’s in Bluebonnets in spring
Lots of Stories about everything

Driving across condemned bridges
Chasing Deer across Fences
Busting bottles on the Sign
Driving through the River that winds

Multiple Jeeps, wheelers, Trucks of all Kinds
But Polaris Ranger is head of the line
When it comes to getting around
Smoothest ride on the ground

Kids, chase rabbits, and lizards galore
Collecting bones, climbing trees and more
20 years on this lease
Sometimes it is good for Peace

Of the soul and of the mind
A great place to escape the grind
Miles, Years, Family and Friends
It has paid in dividends

I'm just sitting here
waiting on a deer
wishing I had a beer

Or better yet some 40 creek
some 7up to mix I  seek
hoping the stand roof don't leak

In the driving rain
it would cause some pain
cold rain down the neck causes disdain

**************
In my coveralls
made by Walls
Coleman heater warming my *****

Bushnell binos around my neck
looking out, what the heck
oh it’s just a speck

On my lense
I feel dense
but I used uncommon sense

It wasn't a ghost
it was at most
something from the post

Where my binos sat
right next to my hat
and above the mat

Where my boots are
drying out from walking far
most people would drive a car
***********

Now sitting in the camper
feeling a bit hampered

By the cold and rain
it's the mud that causes pain.

Slippery and wet
a mess you get

with every step
cannot move with pep

It's like walking on wet glass
you will slip and bust your ***
then a muddy mess you'd be
wouldn't want anyone to see

The deer’s breath in cold
Is a cloud of sun lit smoke
Eyes dart back and forth

off season digital hunting

Dove, quail and deer
Eat corn at the feeder

Two turkey fly down from the roost
All heads come up as hogs walk by

Batteries in my pocket and SD card in hand
No rifle in hand for a reason

Currently nothing is in season
Just came to swap batteries and cards

In my trail camera
It watches and reports silently

Day and night
The comings and goings, natures delight.

The ***** and squirrels are frequent visitors
Robins and cardinals, titmouse and woodpeckers

All come for a bite
All captured digitally.

Hunting in a box stand
on a piece of  leased land
waiting, buck to walk by
wind and rain from the sky

Feeder goes off, throwing corn
day after thanksgiving morn
little six point walks by
it makes you want to cry

Because he's not 13 inches wide
waiting, shift in the chair side to side
check out the windows, all directions
ones bound to walk by, expectations

Pair of doe hop in feeder
disappear behind a cedar
waiting is hunting
hunting is waiting

Antlers is all you see
coming from behind that tree
stops and smells your doe scent lure
supposed to work simple and pure

Be still now, move real slow
slide your rifle out the window
calm your breathing look through the scope
with buck fever now you must cope

Aim behind the shoulder, hold your breath
pull the trigger hope for instant death
takes a few steps, down he goes
more points than you have fingers and toes

Pack up your stuff, go get the truck
bring it back, load the buck
gut, skin and quarter
do it in that order

Don't forget the tenders and straps
into sausage but those perhaps
in the cooler all that goes
become fried steak with potatoes

How bout gravy and some beans
sounds like dinner know what I mean
what you hope for every time
doesn't always sitting in the blind.

Back in the stand for evening hunt
doe ***** scent and call that grunts
binoculars to take a look
**** the time, a good book

Feeder throws at 4:25
be ready now,  look alive
here they come, three doe's
eating on corn they go

All three heads come up and look
ready haunches about to book
relax again, another doe
hoped for a buck, all is woe

Look through binos, scan around
just a bunch of cactus mounds
waiting and watching, patiently
called hunting, not killing you see

Wait, and wait some more
fox walks by the stand door
doe's look up, they are spooked
I get ready to aim and shoot

Big eight walks out in full stride
has to be twenty-four  inches wide
look through the scope, see a drop tine
not an eight but a big boss nine

He's not stopping, I grunt the call
turns broadside, ready to fall
squeeze the trigger, feel the kick
he kicks once, dead right quick

Work begins once more
break out the knife start the chore
gut and skin And quarter again
thank goodness I brought my friend

Fill the freezer for the year
day is done time for a beer

Hunting dove down on the backroad
way on back only the rancher knows
he doesn’t care so we wait for flight
12 gauges ready to start our plight

Ring necks, white wings, and mourning’s are game
chichi birds make us swing all the same
listening for the whistle and the beat of the wing
one of us today, will win the brass ring

Limiting out is what we’re hoping for
but if not, you couldn’t hope for more
outside with friends and family alike
kids getting bored, gone on a hike

Men at the truck with cold Coors Light
relaxing outdoors, no one’s uptight
suns getting low, they are about to fly
here they come, hear the wings sigh

Draw a bead and a lead and fire away
one bird down, hope there’s more we pray
birds on the tailgate at the end of fight
get em’ all clean before the black of the night.