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Brandon Conway Aug 2018
Out of the dark forest I stumbled
onto the pebbles of a moonlit lake
my languid eyes bumbled
swallowing down philter mistakes

a pale goddess in the flesh
how my stupefied eyes stared
at the beauty of her nakedness
something in me flared

flared and turned and burned
my flesh no longer mine
stag in form standing taciturn
she calls out for my canines

I run and try to yell
nothing escapes my lungs
pattering of legs hungry to quell
come to rip flesh with teeth and tongues

stumbling and tripping over
stones, limbs, roots and mud
left to a new life a stag rover
I hear the ******* and the studs

faster and faster I try to move
from this typhoon wave of carnivorous hounds
but curse these feeble hooves
the claws and teeth came crashing around

flesh stabbed with a thousand teeth
a pack of mouths tear and pull
a stag corpse I bequeath  
to the hunger of my own wolves
Pagan Paul Nov 2017
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Boiling clouds approach the dawn,
a profusion of sinister foreboding,
banking up to obscure the day,
a menacing storm just reloading.

A figure runs across the moor,
panic and purpose in hostile flight,
pursued relentless across the heather,
desperately chasing the receding night.

A treeline beckons promising safety,
a disguise from the hunters view,
open ground slips passed slowly,
the forests sanctuary calls anew.



I wake startled, heart hammering in my chest,
fight or flight images seek my mind to infest.
The pounding in my head, hooves on a forest floor,
provoke shivers, as rivulets upon a dampened moor.
My breathing slows and sweat dries upon my skin,
a sense of belonging starts to grow from within.
Dazed I slip sideways out of my comfort bed,
and stare into the mirror at the antlers on my head.
I return to the bed and casually slide back in,
wondering where my fantasy dreams had been,
but all I discovered was another fitful sleep
as the images form of a treasure I keep.

Memory bubbles up and I am in a glade,
sun shining bright and sat in the shade.
Billhook and bow saw propped by a tree,
the life in the forest feeling good to me.
Peace and tranquility, I counted my luck,
when out of the trees sprang a young buck.
So fragile but already magnificent and proud,
stomping his hooves, snorting out loud.
Brave and insolent he looked at my eyes,
staring me down, holding caution so wise.
A look passed between us, a mute reflection,
an instant mind meld of atavistic connection.
I was He and He was me,
my spirit guide for eternity.
And the sun shone upon us in that glade,
the forest spirits celebrating that bond made.



With failing energy, tired from the chase,
a thought of doom and my senses race.
Taking rest in the heart of a clearing,
a quick twang and the pain is searing.
Surrounded in a trap the hunters prepared,
there is no way of escape, I am ensnared.
The loosed arrows point is sharply felt,
as a crimson flood stains my pelt.
Mind is swooning and my legs bend.
This is not how the Old Tales end ...


The scythe of Death merrily reaps,
lightening strikes, thunder rolls.
The frigid grave waits so silent,
empty, for he whom the bell tolls.

Boiling clouds obscure Dawns pale skies,
as the hunters horn in triumph it cries.
This is the End, when the dream dies.
My heart is still and I gently close my eyes.



© Pagan Paul (11/11/17)
.
Not all stories have a happy ending.
.
Shane Leigh Jun 2017
A stag bold.
Majestic,
his antlers – emblem of his dominance –
perceptive,
his eyes – ever observant and wide.
Instincts, keen and sharp;
his ears know no sounds as crisp as his home;
His hooves know the feel of hard stone and soft dirt
scraping and clotting underneath them;
his coat a shade of amber.
This Stag is the last of its kind.
Yes,
This Stag!
This Glorious and Righteous Stag!
Honor and power;
ah, but ignorance and pride.

A piercing shriek that breaks the wind – shatters the silence;
a deep vibration resonating through the trees.
A moments pause and a vision of red,
then white;
a second of shock and his hooves stagger,
then rest;
an instant passes, his antlers grow heavy.
An image, unknown to him;
this creature, this thing, walks among him;
its weapon aimed at This Stag’s beating heart.
But, right before another crackle of gunfire,
this creature –
this man – would know the indomitable resilience of This Stag.
With his antlers, he breaches the threshold;
plunging into this man’s center like water through rapids.
That Man!
This Stag!

He will never again deny This Stag:
his power, righteousness, dominance.
He will never again deny that the wounded stag
fights the hardest,
and therefore, is the strongest.
This Stag.
© Shane Leigh
Chris Neilson Oct 2016
If you're as good as your last poem
then I'm a rampant rutting stag
but now on a mist shrouded hillside of heather
below a forbidding outcrop of crag

What's my reward and who are my rivals?
could it be a beautiful hind?
or contenders, trenders and Pretenders?
I do have a mind to like Chrissie Hynde
I'm fully aware this piece is as random as it is mad as a box of frogs
the mighty stag wanders nightly
fireflies lighting his forest path
AminieMecho Mar 2016
How can any words I sing with speak louder than the melody within your own soul?

If you hear one note think back on this,
Let you remember that in silence living is recognized.

It is a giver, teacher. Stag.

How can me words speak louder than any thought u might have?

A well of fortune, confidence and poise it mounts the plains.

If u become satisfied with your needs, even if they go unfulfilled, let it rest your nerves.


Let the quiet be your support, it's tranquility heals, it's company can be a friend thru the season of greif, winter.

If you speak with no thought, you mind is unbalanced, and the fire of your hell is fueled by the fear for solitude you hold.

Sing a song, don't just be a witness. Then smile during the pauses between melodies.
Lorenzo Creaghe Feb 2015
i haven't dreamt in a while
and i never dreamed that would happen

i fear falling asleep
because i hate waking up or
at least i hate the outside
that my open eyes reveal

i'm losing my imagination
because all i think of is better
and better is pretty mundane
the more you think about it

i was running down the street today
then saw a bus pull up at the perfect time
i got on the bus disappointed
logic subverts the unique

i stopped at a door today
for 5 or so minutes
thinking about coffee
then strange footsteps unfroze me

i woke up early today
but the more time i have
the more i get done
the more never enough it is
P F Rutledge Nov 2014
I'm walking through the trees of an old wood.
A stick snaps behind me and I freeze.
Slowly I turn to see what is there.
Standing tall and proud is a great stag.
The stag runs at me as I turn to run.
I trip on a branch and fall.
As I stand to face the stag, it runs at me.
It runs into me and disappears into my body.
I realize the stag is me.
I was running from myself.
But no more will I run.
I'm ready to face my demons.
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