"trappers" poems
the walls of the inside passage
look the same from sound to straight
tugs and plugs dot the coastline
as the quartermaster rolls
giving time for evening glare
pods are in sequence
as the high tail smashes and jaws at the krill
white bellies and sea cows bob and weave
as bow heads glide over haida gwaii
northern lights dance
and tlingit chant
as the tide settles softly on savory shores
their getting hungry in hoonah
as the blue back and beating drums
mark the life blood of the sea
driftwood nets
and sitka spruce
surround the cook house
ravens and tinhorns
man the scullery
kerosene lamps flicker
as clam shells roast
on open flames
villagers stroll
on pebbled sand
*in the harbor of souls
where ships set sail
on might and mass
into the steady winds
of the golden skies*
ice fields (to the north)
of kryptonite blue
cutting hills at
a glacial pace
knuckle clouds
above the snowline
where warlocks
craft a hidden trade
trappers, skinners
muscle shoals
grizzly feasts
in kodiak bowl
determined pilgrims
on a dead horse trail
in search of gold
the holy grail
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 11:52 PM UTC
Aussie Aussie Aussie
I am a fair dinkum a Aussie
And I love life every day
I hate this panic shopping
I think it is ****** stupid
That isn’t loving life
I hate this ****** virus
It is trappers (the devil)’s
Way of stopping us
But I love how people
Are taking to social media
To spread love to this great big world
We need to find a cure or a vaccine
For the caronavirus
To make us all love life
I am an Aussie Aussie Aussie
I am a fair dinkum a Aussie
And every day I love life
The shops are taking desperate measures to keep the stock lasting longer
But it causes frustration amongst
All sorts of shoppers
And it doesn’t make them learn
I love the footy and I still want to cheer them on
In these hard times
So if you want to rid this virus
So Aussie Aussie Aussie
Fair dinkum a Aussie
I love I live my
I love life every day
I live my life in every way
Mar 20, 2020
Mar 20, 2020 at 1:57 AM UTC
Deceiver, desiring only to ensnare another, in webs of selfishness.
Thief, lurking , luring innocent victims into the pit of darkness.
Murderer , robber, you smile believing to have conquered any doubt with lies thicker than honey.
Priceless moments of life led astray by trickery , laid upon chambers of the innocent heart
Slowly, slowly, murderous betrayer, fulfilling an ego with self love that will forever be unsatisfied.
Experienced trappers should be aware, not to allow their feet to stumble in a trap set for others.
Wickedness befriending the liar, balance the scales, ravenously tearing breathing flesh from their bones.
Till nothing is left , nothing, but the shell of insatiable unrighteousness
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 6:57 PM UTC
To the wicked widow that ***** the life out of her mate
To the tiny little fellow that crawls through my window and greets me with a goodnight kiss
To the brown girl with long legs that's sitting in my driveway
To the acrobats and the practical jokers
To the boy I saw at midnight looking for food in my kitchen
To the beautiful yellow girl who I used to see hovering over my swing set when I was a child
To the fast runners, the trappers, and the waiters
To the dangerous, and the harmless
To all the tricksters in the world
*I ******* hate you.*
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 3:53 PM UTC
Daisy, Daisy give me your answer do........
boy! That Cadillac was one hell of a piece of engineering.
Burned a long time, like it enjoyed the pain of the flames.
He smiled at the thought.
Handmade by union men the way it should always be.
Not those ******* up ***** like Jimmy Hoffa either.
That ******* probably a ****** like hoover.
The image of him in a basque stuck.
Made him angry, but he soon reined it in.
Lecter was never angry. Not in the books.
He prefered the books, no change-the -ending for the mass appeal.
******* movies.
He was cautious now, the fake i.d. for the rental would fool most.
He was pushing things, her blood in the trunk even burnt black worried him. Next time will be better.
In Daisy's book was a circled name with hearts drawn around it.
Louisa. Her address as well. Nice and easy. 200 miles to go.
Make like Rutger in The Hitcher, move west....
The VW Rabbit was a ****** car after the Caddy.
The two kid's didn't want to give it up easy, but they did in the end.
They looked so silly, tied back-to-back in the rear seat, legs broke to squeeze them in.
Made him smile all through the night.
No blood this time, not yet anyway. Playing Slipknot to **** him off, little *****
Well write a song for these two, clown boy.
He had looked on their lap-top at the poetry site.
Saw the latest post from the pub landlord. He was a little confused, this poem didn't seem to be telling him his next move.
He dragged them out into a ditch before dawn, stood on their necks to **** them, like the coyote trappers did, cruel ********
No blood, just **** all over each other as they died.
Maybe he'd get a reward poem for doing it, in the meantime finding Louisa would keep him occupied.
The vw had a cheap sat nav, hope she's home.....
Jan 27, 2011
Jan 27, 2011 at 3:20 PM UTC
They will soon be down
To one, but he still will be
For a little while still will be stopping
The flakes in the air with a look,
Surrounding himself with the silence
Of whitening snarls. Let him eat
The last red meal of the condemned
To extinction, tearing the guts
From an elk. Yet that is not enough
For me. I would have him eat
The heart, and from it, have an idea
Stream into his gnarling head
That he no longer has a thing
To lose, and so can walk
Out into the open, in the full
Pale of the sub-Arctic sun
Where a single spruce tree is dying
Higher and higher. Let him climb it
With all his meanness and strength.
Lord, we have come to the end
Of this kind of vision of heaven,
As the sky breaks open
Its fans around him and shimmers
And into its northern gates he rises
Snarling complete in the joy of a weasel
With an elk’s horned heart in his stomach
Looking straight into the eternal
Blue, where he hauls his kind. I would have it all
My way: at the top of that tree I place
The New World’s last eagle
Hunched in mangy feathers giving
Up on the theory of flight.
Dear God of the wildness of poetry, let them mate
To the death in the rotten branches,
Let the tree sway and burst into flame
And mingle them, crackling with feathers,
In crownfire. Let something come
Of it something gigantic legendary
Rise beyond reason over hills
Of ice screaming that it cannot die,
That it has come back, this time
On wings, and will spare no earthly thing:
That it will hover, made purely of northern
Lights, at dusk and fall
On men building roads: will perch
On the moose’s horn like a falcon
Riding into battle into holy war against
Screaming railroad crews: will pull
Whole traplines like fibres from the snow
In the long-jawed night of fur trappers.
But, small, filthy, unwinged,
You will soon be crouching
Alone, with maybe some dim racial notion
Of being the last, but none of how much
Your unnoticed going will mean:
How much the timid poem needs
The mindless explosion of your rage,
The glutton’s internal fire the elk’s
Heart in the belly, sprouting wings,
The pact of the “blind swallowing
Thing,” with himself, to eat
The world, and not to be driven off it
Until it is gone, even if it takes
Forever. I take you as you are
And make of you what I will,
Skunk-bear, carcajoy, bloodthirsty
Non-survivor.
Lord, let me die but not die
Out.
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 7:08 AM UTC
When I pretend everything is what I want it to be
I look exactly like what you always wanted to see
When I pretend, I can't forget about the criminal I am
Stealing second after second just cause I know I can but
I can't pretend this is the way it'll stay I'm just
Trying to bend the truth
I can't pretend I'm who you want me to be, so I'm
Lying my way from
If you feelin like a **** ***** go and brush your shoulders off
Ladies is pimps too, go and brush your shoulders off
****** is crazy baby, don't forget that boy told you
Get, that, dirt off your shoulder
I probably owe it to God, props to His Son of course
Tryin to hustle some things, that tranquilize a horse
Feelin no remorse, feelin like my hand was forced
Middle finger to the law, better read up the psalms
All the ladies they love me, but the Preachers they screamin
All His Body is bouncin they like the way I be Beamin,
All the trappers be hatin, off the sack that I'm makin
But all the shamans they love it just to see one of us make it
Came from the bottom the bottom, to the top with pots
Yeshua Son of Man, of His plan I talk
Like a running back, get it man, I'm straight off the block
I can run it back ***** cause I'm straight with His rock.
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 11:15 AM UTC
I'll mostly sit on walls dangling my feet
To tease the swarming trappers
Who nip the dead skin that falls from my soles
Like feeding fish alone in the tank
Who are submitted to the distorted faces
Of their peers amidst
The crashing waves of the surface world
Above where God and his friends are
Smoking cigarettes and listening
To the sounds of Getz
The Golden Boy
While ignoring me until they meet
The one who sits on walls
Dangling his feet.
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 12:22 PM UTC
Shed so many tears for my peers too many candle lights so many peers ain't surviving this year, how many ****** got to die before we make a change, terrified by the gunshots little kids get shot blood staining the concrete yellow tape around the neighborhood, it's cold out here in these streets killers got heat murders chargers they can't beat, mother fathers daughters and son all taken by hand guns crying tears wearing rest in peace shirts ain't fun put down the guns, be a man fight with your hands take a stand against police brutality he ain't have no gun what you mean you scared another son done died, another crying mother that need a hug not all black males are thugs
We need to spread love black lives matter, but ****** pull guns at parties everybody scatter, get praised as a badass he ain't the one to **** with you should hear the chatter, songs of your favorite rappers you celebrate the trappers until your cousin or bestfriend get shot I just being real, lost my dad to same deal found his body in the streets he was dead for 2 days thats what happens when you drug deal, a heartless reality I was only 15 when the detective told me a chilling memory that's a fact you ain't know about me,
This year another young life cut short life ain't fair shed so many tears sharing loving memories on a street corners Shed so many tears for my peers living in fear, but seem like some ****** don't care I just being real say a little truth ****** hating you, stop the misuse of your life you only get one, my heart can't take the blood shed so many tears for my peers drowning in tears, Lord we need a rescue shed so many tears this year
It's the same story on the news ain't nothing new I'm terriozed by the fact that I'm getting use to it, recorded violence on the Internet, dear GOD why am I not crying nomore? Getting tired of the violence Lord , my spirit having a riot I can't sleep the lost is too deep in these streets
Shed so many tears
Shed so many tears
People stuck in fear
Tears for my peers
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 12:32 AM UTC
(1)
They depend on one another
The daughter
Walking her blind father.
(2)
Skin full of prickly heat
He pulls the cycle van
Loaded with pedestal fan.
(3)
He stops before the first bite
Can’t forget
His pariah mate.
(4)
He wants dark clouds’ gloom
For when they break to rain
His hopes will bloom.
(5)
She has no time for the mirror
Works for hours
As the water carrier.
(6)
She hides her pain
Spending herself up
Seems such precious gain.
(7)
Knowledge’s weight on the back
The kid goes to school
Like a yielding mule.
(8)
On her bed the newly wed
May not find the one
For her made.
(9)
The male calf suckles his mother
He doesn’t want to grow up
And be slaughtered.
(10)
The mother fights the trappers’ might
Not knowing their net
Has sealed her chick’s fate.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 2:29 AM UTC
Good trappers worked off their own instincts,
could collect nice pelts all day long,
bringing decent wages.
But it was the great hunters who studied the habits of their quarry,
learned how to trap the finest furs,
and once they got one,
would be done for the rest of the season,
for the bounty on such a prize catch,
would last long into the winter,
sometimes longer.
And quite often, they retired.
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 6:55 AM UTC
We will be claimed
named
framed by the windows
in time,
it all comes to him
that waits,
the red eyes are fine by me
but don't cry indefinitely,
a pointless exercise
when everyone dies
feed the memories
they live forever.
Sep 10, 2017
Sep 10, 2017 at 3:16 PM UTC
of recent times
we've had a mouse invasion
in our small township
we're seeking trappers
to rid their big pestilence
before we're ousted
Jan 14, 2021
Jan 14, 2021 at 8:49 PM UTC