Luck is not empty
It's skill and precision
Right there on target.
For Papuans
Fish archery
Is way of life.
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.
Bard nocks Black Arrow, barebow thrills and kills ~ a ripple in Smaug’s armor
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
Leather gil quiver, loaded to the brim
Goddess mink Milda, silk coat cylinder
Poison spore auburn myrrh lassoo arrows
Immune audine preened, unwitting Otto
Seduced by sadist, dart sought embargo
Incapacitated poderoso
Discharged firearm, struck futile, fratenised
Love liege embalms gun powder, satisfied
Ninth February
Hijacked by
Milda Audine
Spears piercing through all of the pears,
Taper as they pin to each paper.
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 knock
And you don't miss
Executing every nuance I've caught
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 flew
He ended up with a bruse
That took awhile to heal
It did not matter to him
He enjoyed the sport
Queen of poetic Archery Andrea
Shoots she graceful poems that exudes charm from her quiver of ingenuity!
7th OCT 2016
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 with a spade
It's time to pull the curtain on my show
The perfect Swedish angel in the snow
The sickness that I still feel to this day
There are far too many things that you don't know
I loved you then I love you now and so
Painful that it has to be this way
It's time to pull the curtain on my show
Complacency and solemn still the bow
The quivver and the arrows won't obey
There are far too many things that you don't know
It's time to pull the curtain on my show
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