"whitetail" poems
I choose
not to step out
in front of the
oncoming truck
like some flighty
whitetail deer
beside a lonely highway
flat-lining through the Badlands
I hold the perimeter
respect the irrevocable
delineations of love
honor the ground
that roots
evergreen
place my trust
in lapis blue
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 9:26 AM UTC
I live in one of those small
mostly untainted towns
not trendy, just funky and innocent
the kind that’s becoming rara villa en terra.
No Starbucks.
But modern winds bring dust and particles
from larger cities around.
They have infected our fauna
which are morphing before our eyes.
Last week I was at the pond
where the deer come to drink at dusk
and my heart broke.
There was that huge seven-point whitetail buck
the one I so admired
huge, taut and fast
but instead of hooves
he was trod with Goodyear offroad tires.
He saw me see him
and embarrassed turned and sped away into the trees
leaving rubber treadmarks in the loam.
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 4:19 AM UTC
I only shoot to **** my food
Not for pride or pleasure
I hunt the meat we all can eat
Not for a mantlepiece treasure
But late one night I was lying in bed
And someone was at my door
I jumped to my feet like a ninja in heat
And crawled across my floor
It was dark inside my livingroom
But I could see a silhouette
The next thing I saw took my breath
It's something I'll never forget
A deer was wearing a ski mask
His antlers poked out the top
I jumped to my feet as fast as I could
And yelled, "Bambi you better stop"
He turned around and began to charge
I screamed for my wife to get back
He pulled a knife and cut my arm
With another sneak attack
He chased me down the hallway
The bathroom my only hope
But when I tried to get inside
He lassoed me with his rope
He tied me up and robbed my house
My wife was under the bed
He went through all of our dresser drawers
Her underwear on top his head
He finally left, the house was a mess
There were hoofprints everywhere
He took the remote to our color Tv
And even our silverware
Before he left he pointed and laughed
And called me a crazy old geezer
But my wife is scared and cannot rest
Until I put him in my freezer
Aug 31, 2010
Aug 31, 2010 at 5:52 PM UTC
I only shoot to **** my food
Not for pride or pleasure
I hunt the meat we all can eat
Not for a mantlepiece treasure
But late one night I was lying in bed
And someone was at my door
I jumped to my feet like a ninja in heat
And crawled across my floor
It was dark inside my livingroom
But I could see a silhouette
The next thing I saw took my breath
It's something I'll never forget
A deer was wearing a ski mask
His antlers poked out the top
I jumped to my feet as fast as I could
And yelled, "Bambi you better stop"
He turned around and began to charge
I screamed for my wife to get back
He pulled a knife and cut my arm
With another sneak attack
He chased me down the hallway
The bathroom my only hope
But when I tried to get inside
He lassoed me with his rope
He tied me up and robbed my house
My wife was under the bed
He went through all of our dresser drawers
Her underwear on top his head
He finally left, the house was a mess
There were hoofprints everywhere
He took the remote to our color Tv
And even our silverware
Before he left he pointed and laughed
And called me a crazy old geezer
But my wife is scared and cannot rest
Until I put him in my freezer
Aug 28, 2010
Aug 28, 2010 at 2:10 AM UTC
Stark white was the fir in its blanket of snow
worn down was the deer that hunger laid low
gone were the green things clover and all
buried by the dampness of frigid snow fall
harsh became the forest as vast as the sky
leaving whitetail for miles to do nothing but die
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 8:58 PM UTC
Your two a.m. words are my favorite
The way the starlight reflects in your eyes
And your smile breaks your face in half
When you tell me about your homeland
And how you used to sleep in the mountains
I paint the picture in my mind of you
Riding whitetail through the tropics
He's probably dead now, you admit
That horse you loved all those years ago
And it just breaks my ******* heart
But you don't seem to notice
You're talking to the shadows
To the monsters under my bead
Reminiscing of how things used to be
And how you miss the smell of coffee
When your mother would grind the beans
You tell me you miss your home
But you don't ever want to return
Because nothing can restore the past
Because I'm here, now, with you
You tell me that my laughter
Is the only home you'll ever need
And that the mountain bonfires
Cannot compare to the heat from my skin
You tell me you always believed in angels
But I was the first one you ever laid eyes on
You tell me my lips are sweet and my voice
Always hums the perfect melody
And in all these ways
You tell me you love me.
But I tell you
I cannot compete with a memory,
And it breaks my heart
Even more.
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 2:44 PM UTC
The hum of the fan
sings a lullaby
as the stress of the day
falls out of the muscles
An angels cloud of a pillow
my head sinks in
covers pulled up high
warm in my womb
The sheep ramble bye
one bye one
and slowly transform
into nothing
The sandmans dust
has been sprinkled
and rapid eye movement begun
falling into the land of dreams
Landing softly
in a newly mown green field
with knee deep patches
of bluebonnets and Indian paint brushes
A creek trickles nearby
its lulling sound
a salve for any remaining pain
brim swim in its cool waters
In the distance
snow capped mountains
haloed by the sun
that hides behind it
Cottontail rabbits
on the move
pay me no mind
on their journey
The purple martins
sing their song
interrupted
by the mockingbird
A whitetail doe
and her two spotted fawns
ease by, head down,
munching on grass
Calmed, and relaxed
breathing easy and rhythmic
eyes dart around
taking in the beauty of the dream
Oct 1, 2016
Oct 1, 2016 at 9:04 AM UTC
Dragonflies and Damselflies
Symbols of good fortune
From water nymphs
To flying orchestra in tune
Beauty in symmetry
Fragile Forktail
Ebony Jewelwing
Common Whitetail
Eastern Amberwing
Autumn and Amber Meadowhawks
The Common Green Darner
Such beauty in variety
5,900 species of wonder
Ode to the Odes
Dragonflies and Damselflies
Another splendid nature code
Filling my skies
r
4 August 2013
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 7:52 PM UTC
*Autumn days along Port wood-row
In search of the morning fiery glow of frosted moors
Recalling the doors of my very soul to the crackle -
of frozen lakeshore , the infusion of frigid visible breath
in resplendent newborn sunshine , the rhyme of windswept
Pine , the rapport of Woodpecker and calling Finch , reflections
of Carolina blue sky o'er Gods placid , mirrored waters
Home of steaming evergreen bottomland and rock bass
river dancers , November leaves sailing the script of the
Alabama western wind , the regal prance of Whitetail Deer
to the Mourning Dove euphonic call and answer* ..
Oct 26, 2016
Oct 26, 2016 at 12:59 AM UTC
Crappie running in beds along the lit docks , bridges and abutments .. Flathead catfish bigger than a grown man at the base of the dam , Largemouth bass hitting shad like battering rams , early morning , late afternoon and darkest night .. Hardwood forest brimming colorful shores , stoic Whitetail Bucks dining on acorns , field nuts and sweet moss , Canadian geese and frozen shorebirds working her tributaries and inlets .. Smokey water silhouettes relayed by whippoorwill hymns , the first angelic beam of the morn striking her poetic surface .. Lake Jackson returning to diurnal joy , across reflective , freshwater twirling plains ...
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 8:59 PM UTC
Late Sunday mornings beside 'Rabbit rock' on the walk home from Scott Lake , across the highway down Hemphill Road toward beautiful Camp Creek ... Blackberry stained hands , prying waters in search of crawdads and mud puppies , jumping 'Bobwhite's' along the Pine forest edge .. Whitetail tracks in every direction , homeward bound through fields of corn and sorghum , summer sky filled with the glorious music of the Bentley Hill UMC choir , reverberating through the wisteria scented countryside ...
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 12:07 AM UTC
*Swaying Pin Oaks wave to me from
my window perch , a veritable sea of gold
and green in contrast to this dark living room
I remember these majestic Water Oaks as
seedlings , held upright by kite string and wooden
stakes
Cedar trees standing o'er twenty feet tall , Wild Plum
trees congregating for a quarter of a mile
Dirt roads at each intersection , a lonely state highway
for riding bicycles and collecting empty pop bottles
Watching afternoon Whitetail Does from July cornfields ,
carving walking sticks from Hickory , climbing
Crabapple trees for midday snacks , canoeing trips on
the Indian Creeks
Where do memories find rest as the body quietly withers away*
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 12:48 PM UTC
Along Peachstone Shoals
Morgan horses have seized the first light -
of the spring morning
Wild Turkeys call in unison , scratch -
hurriedly along wild rose , bramble berry -
camouflage
A stoic Whitetail Buck crosses the shallows ,
disappears into hardwood spring shelter
Fog steadily burns along the holler as red winged -
blackbirds gather for the noon feast o'er purple clover
passageways , tinted with silver-gray ballooning -
spiderlings , moistened by the warm breath of the -
promising new day harvest
Farm tractors scurry county roads in route to -
awaiting plowland , Longhorn cattle vie for the sunny
hillside ..
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 12:11 AM UTC
*Rejoice upon the subtle murmurations -
of angelic voices , gaggles of blackbirds performing
within naked hardwoods , Whitetail companions
dwell o'er living , wetted pasture , wintered neighborhoods
Novembers invisible strength racking evergreens ,
cold cover mingles with tall Pine canopies
Fall turned , brown sugar fields with calling Herefords ,
bound for eventide shelters* ....
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 10:38 PM UTC
Beautiful Whitetail bucks , resplendent in Winter coats , statuesque along the hillside , ever alert in morning fog , complacent in the heavy cover of the Georgia woodlands , courteously striking a pose at Dusk , quite aloof in my own front yard ..
A crown prince of the ruminant kingdom at the edge of suburbia , revealing their breath on cold Winter mornings , leaving their signatures with rub marks and snorts ..
Commanding the fields of Spring and Summer , gorging themselves on brown oats , green grass , blackberry , fig and wild plums ..
Our wondrous native 'Knights of Hill Country' , panning green , picturesque pastures at the close of day , grazing for edibles along quiet country lanes , peacefully bedding beside creekside , Sun warmed hayfield , placid pond and mirrored lake ..Along Moon lit valley's , apple orchards and fire breaks ..
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 10:48 AM UTC
*Magenta clover fairways
Southbound airplanes
Forest green cover shading -
old lovers
Crows speak of the return to summer
with cobalt canopies , jasmine perfume ,
the afternoon call of orioles , crying doves , whitetail
mothers , late night shooting stars and morning dew crystalline cover*...
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 7:07 PM UTC
Dig
We were nearly back to the house
when the front end loader shattered
the silence and back filled the hole
drove off some vireos and cowbirds
amped up seven whitetail browsing
the pine break above Calusa Way.
American Spirit *******
a new moon **** of mouth
the operator feathered the lever
while gathered together we grazed
potato salad, deviled eggs, sliced ham, rain
from the Gulf over to Melbourne
soaking the operator’s boots
ducking into his pickup truck
for the long drive home to Pedro.
It hammered the tin roof shed
out back where your tools
tarps, trouble lights, line trimmer
home brew insecticide in unmarked
milk jugs, old spark plugs
a lifetime of nuts, bolts and washers
huddled warm and dry on shelves
ball peened the tamped sand lozenge
on the ragged fringe of the silent ranks.
It’s hard to find even with a map
Calusa Way coiling through the bahia grass
flowing past stone faced theater goers
house lights up well past their final act.
Vireos and cowbirds
even the whitetail browsing
the pine break pay me no
mind down on hands and knees
undoing the honest work
of the operator, sifting handfuls
of sandy backfill for something
I might have missed.
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 7:27 AM UTC
Vivid Cottonwood images lay across my natural muse ...
Lake dancers sway in the shadows , Georgia red clay
bears earthen testament to her aquatic wonders , teeming along
every living shoreline ..
A prayer before bucolic entities , Bream , Shellcracker and Gopher tortoise , Whitetail Doe and Cottontail rabbit ...
To Bear Creek , cascading mother of Port Lake , to deep western forest as far as my eyes can bear witness ...
The deep blue eyes of my creator , juniper green cover and songbird filled canopy , to the sweet ambrosia of native grasses singing in the afternoon winds ...
Mar 5, 2016
Mar 5, 2016 at 5:59 PM UTC
Joy and similar discontents
break wheaten on the all-weather
radial steel-reinforced sidewall hum,
on the defog rasping for a service call;
Break on the near treeless plain
stitched loose to the sky with rivets
of silos and grain bins - clouds
dive porpoise behind the rise.
Joy and similar discontents
hang like flowers on a bleach
wood cross surviving another winter
to tread sobbing on the green ditch water.
Every X and Y coordinate of the plains
etched by gravel side-ways and field
entries too rutted and ragged
to suit the conglomerate need
or the tilt houses and stripped clapboard
banging against the thistle, milkweed
and swallowed dreams in the foxgrass,
with turkey buzzards circling thermal overhead.
But the crows plunge faster into red
fresh carrion sloughs of whitetail and ****
to breach at the presence of a larger scavenging -
and each bent marker tells its own tale.
Count the bullet holes and shotgun splatter
in the stops and yields when the road was empty,
when the night was dry, when the callous boys
had time on their hands instead of hog blood
and badger-eyed girls that left after graduation
for the starless haze, crowded parades,
sidewalk shops, umbrellas on the rain side
of things keeping each at arm's length.
But it was never about the city,
never about the glitz and pizzazz
of everything running baffled into gridlock;
less about the thick dumb flannel boys.
It was always about that low fog,
the night eyes in the beams, the manure, chaff
and split seams of the midwest furrows,
the haybales that bob like rafts over the horizon.
Jul 30, 2019
Jul 30, 2019 at 4:38 PM UTC
All hail the dragonfly, master of the sky.
Master of the swamp.
Master of it's prey, be it orange, white or grey.
Perhaps the common whitetail, zooming all about,would choose to dress in the blues and hues of the dasher and wallow in the clout.
Don't mistake him for the damselfly, he'd rather die, he wouldn't be seen like that.
Even through the magnificence of his multifaceted eye.
All that structural coloration makes him look like a Christmas decoration.
All hail the dragonfly, master of the sky.
Master of the swamp.
Master of it's prey, I'll hail it each and every day.
Dec 23, 2020
Dec 23, 2020 at 12:45 PM UTC
In the brown dead brush
We lock eyes and his tails up
Locked in the cold trees
Jan 5, 2017
Jan 5, 2017 at 1:55 PM UTC
*She's the width of an average driveway , about a five mile walk
Lined with sugar white sand and slick creek rock
Girdled in Water Oak roots and red clay embankments , a summer quick retreat , swift running with occasional pools no deeper than
a few feet
She's teeming with small fish , tadpoles , crayfish and
mud puppies , ruddy bank boulders and thick grassy shoulders
Lined in cattail , brown eyed susie's and monkey grass
Home to cottonmouths , alligator snappers , raccoons and
opossums , king racers , swamp rabbits and cottontails ,
whitetail deer , wild hogs and bobcats and a million childhood tall tales
A sister to the South River flowing into Lake Jackson , a mother
to abundant wildlife , a brother to an inquisitive youngster* ...
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 7:44 PM UTC
*Whitetail Does crossing my front yard
Thank you Mama Kuhn , Granny Wilson -
and Grammaw for warming my heart* ...
Jun 27, 2016
Jun 27, 2016 at 10:23 AM UTC
*A perfect time to be together
To gather and imbibe honeysuckle nectar
Walking the woodland edge in the
company of kindred spirits
Whitetail's keenly observe every action
from young pine thickets
North winds crackle dry brush , bronze
fieldrows rush through my every vessel
Dove gather along the power lines as
piedmont sun begins to settle
Tall shadows with bobwhites imploring the rise
of the moon along the terra cotta horizon*
Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 5:19 PM UTC