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NOLWAZI JOUBERT Aug 2015
I would rather have you throw insults at me,
than you thanking me with insults,

all my dedication wasted,
i never did it for love but passion,

you nailed it just this day,
and am glad it happened soon,
i have been longing for this distance and it has now come to pass,

you know that you have a larger crowd to cheer for you,
but honesty lies between you, God and I,

i shall not be apologetic
today i just wont swallow my pride to make you happy and feel that you are right

let your loud voice increase in volume,
while i lock myself in the room and listen to you talking,
you are not the first hunter,
and i shall keeping on fleeing as a prey to  many that are still chasing,

when you have realised how much i was worth to you,
it will be too late for i would have migrated to a peaceful land.

I am not afraid to lose you for i have lost more friends than you in the times gone by.
Patrick Sugarr Jul 2015
And the hunter lost his desire to hunt
He was lost to the moon's humanity -
     full of imperfections, yet still beautiful.
He surrendered in to the haunting sound of the wolf's howl,
     as he runs to the cliff
          for there's where he belongs now,
               close to the stars.
He takes his time staring in the midnight blue sky
     and sings his life - a confession.
For he is now the deer
He is now the hunted.



                                                                                             ☪
Cori MacNaughton Jun 2015
Bonnie, Bonnie Burning Bright
Patrols the wilds of her yard
Where frogs and lizards live in fear
And fearsome squirrels must ever guard

They shrink from Clydesdale for her size
Though Bonnie is the faster
Perceiving her as less a threat
Unknowing, court disaster

When Bonnie gives in to the chase
A shining blur of black and white
Yet in the sun stretched eyes half-closed
Seems farthest possible from flight

For Bonnie's vices stem entire
From being fully cat
As clearly all her virtues do
And Clydesdale's too, at that

My Bonnie is my wayward child
My friend belonging not to me
For even purring in my lap
Her tyger soul is wild and free

14Apr99
My nod to William Blake, in the form of an homage to my favorite among his poems.
I have read this poem in public on numerous occasions and it first appeared in print and online in Stash Magazine, St. Petersburg, Florida.
PrttyBrd Apr 2015
Buffalo abound
Providing all with one hunt
Sustaining the tribe
42515
10w
Aaron Curry Apr 2015
I am the hunter left on deck
To watch over this train wreck
Judgement tries to pierce my armor
But I could never ever harm her
I'll be here, each day
Loyal to her in every way
This attraction is beyond skin deep
My heart I gave her to keep
Perhaps this charade won't always last
And I can be future, present,
Proud of the past
Poetic T Mar 2015
Let those that shoot for fun be
The hunted, let us shoot them not
A death shot, that would be a hunt
Over to soon where is the fun.
  
It will do as they bleed to death, not
Knowing why, or by who, but the last
Breath is of blood and regret this is
Not fun.  

Let those that hunt in the name of
fun, let us get are arrows our rifles,
Teeth or guns.

Watch them run, through the woods
As they know now what they did to
those defenceless ones, now coming
Full circle Watch,
"BANG"
Missed, plenty of ammo left, its just
The start of this fun.

The trail we take, we find are prey
scope to the eye,
"BANG"
Grazed is this hunter become the hunted
O'well they,ll bleed out a little easier
To hunt my prey.
  
Blood drops easy to follow to find
Where you have gone, injured you
Are slower no where to run.

Easy when they can not run, I find
You slumped next to a tree,
Screaming,
Pleading,
Shouting
Out profanities, why me what have I done,
I smile this is an easy ****, as the lion roars
Rips out your throat the deed is done.

The hunt over I did make it quick you
Died in minutes, now feel the pain of
Those you used to hunt to die alone,
To choke on your own blood
Nothing did the animals do,
They did nothing wrong
Just on the wrong side of an idiots
Power trip with a loaded gun.
Ellis Reyes Mar 2015
Happy Unicorn Poem

Prancing in the meadow,
Warm sunshine on her face
The happy unicorn did not see
The hunter’s hiding place.

Eating rainbow candy,
Smiling ear to ear
The happy unicorn did not know
The grim reaper lurked so near.

Singing gentle lullabies
To the butterflies,
The happy unicorn did not know
She’d cause them all to die.

Lapping at the trickle
Of the crystal, sparkling stream
The happy unicorn did not hear
The hunter’s arrow ZING.

A chipmunk tried to warn her
Squeaking out in fright
But it was simply much too late
With the arrow fast in flight

A pretty yellow songbird
Tried to knock the arrow off its path
But the arrow’s razor edges
Cut the songbird right in half.

Then a fuzzy little bunny
Jumped as high as he could jump
When the arrow passed right through his throat
He fell down in a clump.

A brightly colored butterfly
flew into the arrow’s way,
the arrow was not diverted,
It was not her lucky day.

Only three feet later
The arrow found its mark
Extinguishing forever
The creature’s living spark

The hunter popped up in delight
feeling quite a thrill.
That he would soon be famous
for his magical creature ****.

He bounded through the meadow,
running toward the woods
yelling out in victory
“I always knew I could.”

He kicked aside the chipmunk,
He stepped upon the bird
He booted the bunny’s body
into a pile of mud.

He was almost to the butterfly,
When he stopped.
Dead in his tracks.

What he saw before him,
Caused his body to go slack.

He did not see a unicorn,
Lying lifeless there,
But it was his precious daughter
his own arrow in her hair.

The Old Enchanted Meadow
With deep magic all around,
Teaches lessons to all of those,
Who trod her sacred ground.

Today the hunter learned the most painful one of all,
A man who would **** a unicorn does not deserve beauty at all.
Tryst Jan 2015
From hordes of fresh cut saplings that abound
The hunter will devise a trusted bow
Discarded remnants rot above the ground

In early spring when winter chills rebound
The hunter builds a shelter in the snow
From hordes of fresh cut saplings that abound

Through summer months, the hunter's meal is found
By streams and brooks that through the forest flow
Discarded remnants rot above the ground

As summer wanes and autumn comes around
The hunter lets his stock of arrows grow
From hordes of fresh cut saplings that abound

At autumn's end, two mighty kings are crowned
Their armies feast before the final throw
Discarded remnants rot above the ground

In winter when the archers' drums resound
And hunters pull the string and loose the blow
From hordes of fresh cut saplings that abound
Discarded remnants rot above the ground
First published 13th Jan 2015, 20:35 AEST.
Ronald J Chapman Dec 2014
Manes sneaks!

Where is the king?

King stalks!

Sneaks quietly like a slow breeze.

The wind dies with a big roar.

Love is a strong cat.

The lion endures like a hot jungle.

Strong,  giant quietly fights a rifle's bullet.

Wow, courage!

Roars die!

King falls like a brave soldier...


Copyright © Ronald J Chapman All Rights Reserved
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