Archery Poems - Poems about Archery

Luck is not empty It's skill and precision Right there on target....

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For Papuans Fish archery Is way of life....

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JOHN BANISTER TABB 'Archery } --> ...

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Clout on target Eye you can't forget A dot like a tv set No winking eye you let Aiming high or low Stretched or loose you throw Arrows you release or blow Prize you do not show. Archer you know in you With bow and arrow of you Archery is your life in a game Name in flame you lit without shame....

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Bard nocks Black Arrow, barebow thrills and kills ~ a ripple in Smaug’s armor...

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Pushing cascades crest bastion, stomach lost Largesse spread wafts orange blossom bridal Bestows clouds let go to marshmallow moss Fearless flight crinoline crash vertical In gospel gothic deep chasm, drunk mink swims Stirring fate, bleeding tea leaves bewilder ...

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Spears piercing through all of the pears, Taper as they pin to each paper....

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Line up the front post Cheek pressed to the stock Call me Paparazzo I'm taking the shot And I don't miss I've been enamoured with the way that you talk Between you and me I've been incendiary Blowing up hot You've been a tracer round, Splitting dark, and shooting me down Line up the front post Cheek pressed to the stock Call you Saxton Hope Loosing every arrow I...

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Two friends go camping In the wilderness They bring a target board With bows and arrows The target is up They all get ready One at a time wait For each of their turns For a perfect aim One friend aimed- then let go The arrow did not go far Only a short distence The other friend tried The best he could Only he got bruised When the arrow...

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Queen of poetic Archery Andrea Shoots she graceful poems that exudes charm from her quiver of ingenuity! 7th OCT 2016...

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There are far too many things that you don't know The revelry and squalor tucked away It's time to pull the curtain on my show A million little boxes in a row To bury or to swallow was the game There are far too many things that you don't know Choked it down the prickles of my throat Then replaced my shovel...

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The archers’ line was straddled, By many a shapely calf. The Marshall called the nocking, And winked at the pretty lass. The Maiden drew the bowstring back, To her ruddy cheek, As she fired her fledgling flights; They heard the fair Maid "Eek!" Chorus "Sing Hey Ho, best beware! Hey Ho have a care, If ye've any pretty parts, Ye'll keep them out of there!" The bowman smiled...

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