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The hunter’s bullet lodges in my side
like the pin bones of salmon wedged
in the back of my throat.

My life balances on the border
between my favorite comfort foods,
and the blade of the taxidermist.

You would make me into a trophy,
gutted and cured to become an ornament,
in your seasonal hunting cabin.

Raw honeycomb, Caribou marrow,
salmon roe stuck to my tongue,
psalms of my home made flesh,

call me back into my survival
instincts for my sleeping children.

She who outruns deer & devours
strong bucks with antlers the size of sequoias
could not outrun the champion sprinter,

American made bullets.

But when you realize your rumpus
disturbed wild things, there is no time to reload.
You brought a potluck into the den
of a slumbering mother with cubs.

My teeth are agonizingly real
And my jaws are in your belly,
rooting for the lost rib of Adam.
Tommy W Sep 2016
I was in the dorm
During a very bad storm
As I sat on my chair
I gave my friend a dare
He walked out with one final glare

Out of my window I saw two bears
With alarm I ran down the stairs
I opened the door and what I saw was not fair
Blood dripped from the bears
My friend’s father would have no heirs

I followed the bears
Back to their lairs
When they went to sleep
I would leap
When I was done there was nothing but a heap
Of bodies in the keep
I really love rhyming poetry which is why almost all of my poems rhyme. I've started to make more poetry lately because I'm in a Creative Writing class now and it's becoming fun again! Anyways, these poems are just for fun, they have no serious deep meanings behind them. Hope you enjoy them! :)
Posted 9/22/2016
Martin Narrod Aug 2016
I've harkened dark trails, nonexistent of earth. If we went across the spring or across the Snake we'd be bush whacking for sure. I had been on packed earth, trails of dirt on the daytime, not the late midnight snack of predators as I slowly moved past their game trails. Moose and black bears hovered in the willows, while my footsteps fell out beneath me, up to my knees, up to my calves, couldn't somebody have stopped this. Our spotlight blew out, but later I found out the batteries hadn't died. It was just the hold button was locked my fearless spotlight alive, like three small pots of honey, we slowly moved through the thicket, not a creature moved its digits, not even a cricket stridulated. Oddly peculiar we crept around each bush, only to find horse, bear, and cat ****, the bear's so fresh I could squish it. Heavenly fodder, please lead me astray, from everything that's bigger than I, living on these back-trails. Because all I've got is my OKC should a grizzly be hot on my tail. If I bleed I know evil should find me dead or eat me for certain.
Ovi-Odiete Jul 2016

Who can tell why a Child cries?

It's in the spun of his thoughts
In the thoughts of his mind
The mind of his soul
In the vibes that he sings
The voice of the Night
It's in the night that he fears
In the fear that he holds
The shadows he sees
It's in the cuddle he miss
The rain that he feel
The heat that he bears
The morrow that he threads

It's in the scream of the nights
In the plights of the owl
The ***** on his skin
The noise of the cars
The images he conjures
It's in the things he cannot see
In the words he cannot hear
The strangers he cannot near
It's in the reach of his heart's tears
The heart of his life
The life of his soul
The innocence where he dwells

Ovi Odiete* ©

All rights reserved

The WHO CAN SERIES is a series of Poems that uses a back and forth writing/comparison to explain the depths of a poem created by myself

Ovi Odiete©
All rights reserved.
Jodey Ross Jul 2016
As the little minds drift off to sleep with a strife,
the unsung heroes of the night come to life.
Protection from the succubus of the eventide,
using their powers of whim with a glide.
Stitched smiles and button eyes defend the adolescents
under the shine of crescents.
While the nightmares attempt to emerge,
the guardians uphold with a surge.
Unable to pirate their minds,
they dissipate with a wind.
The unsung heroes take their win with a fain,
therefore the children of the world are safe again.
A whimsical poem about teddy bears. I felt as if I didn't have enough fun poems in my book, so I wrote one.
Ana S May 2016
The polar bear died.
I cried.
Jonny Apr 2016
I'm here to read and here to listen
Learning the ways of your intuition

You were here and now you're there.
It's just not something I want to bare.
Speaking of bears, yea you know I'm scared.

Love you
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