Best Deer Poems | Poetry
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New Deer Poems
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Devin's First Deer, Part II
by Welch, David
Devin's First Deer, Part I
by Welch, David
A TRUE DEER POEM
by Malla, Lorna
by Arment, Darlene
Did Appear A Deer
by Horn, James
by Jaye, Patricia Opel
by messina, charles
by Dutta, Anisha
Deer rest Glasgow
by QUIGLEY, CHRISTOPHER
The Cougar and The Deer
by Welch, David
View all new Deer Poems
The Best Deer Poems
There is a land where peaceful giants dwell
A magic forest, on a mountainside
Its waterfall carved out a wishing well
Where wishes ride a giant waterslide
An old stone troll bridge leads up to its crest
The pesky trolls were banished long ago
Their sandstone cottage, now a place of rest
For deer who graze on summer grass below
Its summit came for me mid-afternoon
My endless quest for treasure took me there
I stayed the night, cavorting with the moon
The sun aroused me from my lofty lair
The fortune which I found could not be spent
For who knows the price of enlightenment
by Daniel Turner
Copyright © Daniel Turner | Year Posted 2018
How sweet is the southern beauty of a country rose blossom today.
Soft scents that float gently on the breeze through trees that sway.
With bare feet I wander country roads through heavenly display.
Across the emerald meadows on hills where butterflies play.
Skirt held high above knees in crystal waters of the creek I wade.
Sun kissed cheeks, rosy red as I lay 'neath the big oak trees shade.
I gaze up into the great cathedral of blue high above me.
In awe as downy white clouds float lazily along for me to see.
Like tiny feathers from heaven cherry blossoms fall to the ground.
Whilst off in the distance I hear the lonesome train whistle sound.
Quietly I watch a family of deer so shy as the tree line they grace.
Whilst the lonesome sound of the whippoorwill puts a smile on my face.
So thankful am I that these brown eyes can see.
This heavenly picture God has painted for me.
Copyright © Mary Hoose | Year Posted 2017
As the sun arose in the eastern skies
a fairy princess sits rubbing her eyes.
Yawning she glimpses her magical isle
and her tiny lips, curl into a smile.
Standing she stretches in her treetop bed,
anxious anticipates what lies ahead.
She flutters her wings to get them ready,
raising one knee, she jumps slow and steady.
Hovering like, a hummingbird she glides
then races off with both arms at her sides.
With lots to see her day has just begun,
she never stops until the setting sun.
Racing through the forest over fields of wheat
smelling the flowers, is her daily treat.
Talks to the butterflies this sunny morn,
tests the fresh honey and tastes some sweet corn.
Spotting a pond sparkling like a mirror
zooms back and forth each time getting nearer,
watching her reflection, no time to think
crashed in a deer who had just stopped to drink.
Later discovers she’s broken her wings,
Lies in bed knowing what carelessness brings.
Six months of bed rest was taking their toll,
this fairy princess was losing her soul.
Finally the day came to test her wings
her will is determined her heart now sings,
shouts out with joy as she reaches the sky,
nothing feels greater, than when you can fly.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
Contest: Sketch a Fictitious Character II
Copyright © Brenda Meier-Hans | Year Posted 2015
The ranch on which I hang my hat, though short on most the frills,
Is thirteen sections, give or take, of rugged trails an’ hills.
We call it ‘home’, our little world, our very own frontier,
Amongst the cattle, sheep an' goats; the varmints, hogs an' deer.
Today I watched the breakin' dawn an' whiffed the mornin' air,
A time I often set aside for things like thought an' prayer.
A Mockin'bird an' Mornin' Dove, an' other birds at play,
Were there to sing an' set the mood to start another day.
This mornin' saw the strangest thing, like time itself had merged,
An' all the souls who once were here, appeared an' then converged.
In swirlin' clouds of mist an' fog, right off the bluffs they rolled,
Till all had gathered in the glen, the modern an' the old.
The Indians, conquistadors, an' other ancient men,
The soldiers from this country's wars, an' cowboys from back when…
They all had come from yesterday to help me understand
Our link with those who came before, to heritage an' land.
A crazy notion, so I thought, that they could just appear,
But as the morning went along the reason got real clear.
They rode along with me that day to show me things I’ve missed,
The things I’ve seen a thousand times an’ some I’d just dismissed.
Those wagon roads of long ago, still evident today,
Are carved in rock an' rutted earth, not apt to wash away.
They linked the missions, forts an' towns those many years gone by;
An' left their mark for all to see, as modern times grew nigh.
The artifacts an' weathered ruins attest to yesterdays,
When others came an' lived their lives in very different ways.
We've seen their skill in arrowheads they honed from fired stone,
An' craftsmanship in beads an' tools they fashioned out of bone.
At ever turn and trail we took was something to remind,
The Maker must have had a plan laid out for humankind.
The Earth He made’s been feedin' us a half-a-million years,
An' used it's wonder, force an' change to challenge pioneers.
I do not know if they'll return or if they’ll feel the need,
But I’m prepared to ride the trail, where ever it may lead.
We all are spirits ridin’ time with bodies of the Earth,
Whose time has come to take the reins an’ offer up our worth.
The land has been the legacy we cultivate an’ reap,
The life has been the heritage our father’s fought to keep,
An’ we are bound throughout our time with those who came before,
To put our hearts and souls to it, and make it something more.
Copyright © Jim Fish | Year Posted 2009
I Death Wood
My skeleton, the trembling tree,
hit by the axes of ambulances
due to the decay of disease.
My muscles languish as wilted leaves.
My organs are rotting red apples.
My soul is the searing wind, while
my thoughts tick like termites.
The ivy of MS illness wraps with
waste around my twisted trunk.
Suddenly, spiders of suicide
descend onto my branches.
They crawl across my broken bark,
crackling my rustic eyesight.
The sun, a golden unicorn, gone
into the forest of healthy laughter.
My wilted wood wanes in a cloud coma
with no moon, stars or watercolor sky.
Where are my wildflowers?
Where is my green gleam?
I wait and wish for black lighting.
II Birth Wood
My family, the fog where most
float in the underworld as veiled
ghosts along the grassy grounds.
My thirsty roots reach for them
like wild hands hungry in ebony soil.
Sometimes their memory perfumes
and pollinates my heart with prayers.
My friends are a flock of birds that
become singing bracelets upon my bark.
Their feathers grace me like silk hope.
Their beaks devour the suicide spiders
on my weak wood, and their cheerful
songs encourage me to bloom once again.
Full moon flashes as a white wizard,
wearing a cloak of competitive clouds,
while moody night smolders as his black hat.
Spirals of opal light make my bark bright.
Spirit moonbeams weave within my wood,
healing hollow shadows, and allowing me to
taste the monthly midnight milk of magic.
III Rain Wood
Spring steams with saturating rainfall,
sealing my splinters, washing away webs,
and the dirt of daily depression.
My sap slides like a slow moving sea.
My tree bends and bows in all
directions, sprouting with joy.
Jade fire erupts along my branches.
Raindrops beat like crystal hearts
upon my boughs and my blossoms.
These clear spheres of nature inspire
rebirth and germination of all life.
My apples sing as flutes, my leaves
clap hands, and my trunk plays harp.
My lover, the lone eagle, appears and flaps
his feathered wings upon my wooden nest.
Our love is best lived in traveling weather.
My limbs taste the last drops of dissipating dew
as the crocheting clouds release final rivers.
Deer court in the fermenting forest,
while golden unicorn grazes upon me.
February 7th 2008
Sponsor: A Poet Destroyer
Contest: 100 in a ROW contest--3
Copyright © Chantelle Anne Cooke | Year Posted 2015
I envy those living as part of the wild
For I too, once heeded its call
A smoldering ember since I was a child
Urge, and belonging all part of the thrall.
I’ve enjoyed the fresh taste of a sparkling stream
Felt the tremble as you push through your fear
Stood high on a peak admiring Gods scheme
Felt both delight and remorse for taking a deer.
I’ve walked for weeks through valleys and trees
Traversed mountains with lush native grass
Felt the warmth and the cold of high country breeze
Navigated tussock, forests and high country pass.
I’ve smelt autumn rain as it mingles with dirt
Enjoyed the isolation of me and my views
Valued crude shelter while nature unleashes its hurt
Watched forest birds doing their best to amuse
But I’m now destined to be one of societies slaves
In a world where worth is measured by cash
Where worry and stress are delivered in waves
Where those without are regarded as trash.
I felt most alive in the middle of nowhere
Now dead when hemmed by city and streets
Nothing compares with fresh mountain air
Living free, no money, bills, or receipts.
Copyright © Mark Woods | Year Posted 2015
There are things I don't understand
And would really like to know
Such as why they call it rush hour
And you move so freakin' slow
How come you get a learner's permit
To get a license to drive a car
But they don't give one for a marriage license
Now I think that's going too far
Why do they put deer crossing signs up
Do you believe there is really any need
In all my years of driving
I've never met a single deer who can read
I was reading a map in the park
And it definitely astonished me so
It had a red X that said you are here
And I was wondering how they know.
Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2006
Autumn comes with light rain and fallen leaves,
We sit on benches admiring the lake,
While pretty doves shelter under the eaves,
And humpback fish swim, twisting like a snake.
Up on the hill, a stag deer roars its call,
The rutting season has truly began.
Such is the exciting time of the fall.
Barks attract the young bucks to join the clan.
Meantime in secluded heath, youngsters meet.
Time for conkers traditional fun game,
Lovers and fans all urge and shout and greet
The champion will surely relish fame.
Youngsters prepare their main annual fare,
Halloween is near, trick or treat beware.
Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2018
- A Most Irish Fairy Tale – Merry Christmas to All
It’s not just Santa Claus who we meet in the very cold of December;
There is “Carolina,” and she’s the beauty of a winter picture perfect
With luscious long, coal black curly hair far down on her back, and
As a true fairy princess, Carolina is quite beautiful with such bright
Blue eyes and that certain incandescent glow for all to see and
Dressed in a sparkling white robe made of angelic content with
A glossy coat so radiant and sprinkled with pearls and diamonds.
Out of the woods she walks so quietly in the night’s fresh snow
With a glimpse of two deer and a fox on hunt walking carefully,
Carolina hopes the deer will walk around with an angelic guard;
The secret is that beautiful Carolina speaks the animals’ languages
And this is an enchanted reality known only to the forest animals;
The birds play in all their splendor so fine without sorrow and they
Fly while Carolina—the “Fairy Maiden of this Enchanted Forest,”
Keeps watch carefully on the evening horizon while the snow falls
Now apace in the hope and wish for such a marvelous and majestic
Christmas—while in the distance the ground is now frozen frosted
Hard and like shining and sprinkling silver in the mist until the very
“Rays of Enraptured Sunlight” break in the morning mist—this most
Wondrous image is at once so divine and fabulous to behold and
Cherish as the annual “Spirit of Christmas” now comes alive again.
The Reindeer come alive and begin dancing joyfully together and
Create such a melodic sound almost like bells ringing aloud—
And then all of the Reindeer are here in their resplendent glory:
Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, Blitzen,
And Rudolph, with his “Red Nose” so beautiful, and oh so bright—
And the sounds the Reindeer make stay in the minds of the little
Children—just like sweet-sounding little voices wonderful so in
Dreams singing such celestial tunes while a bright light appears
So magically on the horizon while planes from all over the world
Begin landing with such precious cargo like loads of neatly written
Letters from good little children—and with this joyous occurrence
Santa Claus begins calling his elfin troops into quick action while
The “Leprechauns” do the heavy work as they are much tougher
But all the while the “Old Fighting Irish” in them reflects a softer
Side while the Leprechauns drink a drop or two or three of some
Fine old fiery Irish dew to keep them both warm and smiling like
The very wee Little Devil in them—so mischievous and all—but
So content and happy to be part of such a delightful moment of both memories and joy for “The Little Children of the World.”
The Leprechauns do all the heavy work
Merry Christmas to All!!
Anne-Lise Andresen, Liam McDaid and Gary Bateman – A Collaborated Poem,
Copyright © All Rights Reserved (December 9, 2014) (Free Verse)
Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2014
I am one
nation under God
I am many
ethnicities together in a melting pot
blending to encompass positive traits
Finding strength in diversity
I am all
to escape tyranny
immigrants sought my New World promises
I am few
times startled like a deer in headlights
blindfolded even after 9/11
but still carrying a torch
Lady Justice and Lady Liberty
the dreams of founding fathers
promises of yesterday and hopes for tomorrow
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2010
Where forests stretched for miles, and Spirit Lake
lay at its foot, there stood a rebel peak.
One day the earth beneath began to quake.
What havoc Mother Nature was to wreak!
The tremors kept occurring till the day
two craters which had formed began to merge,
erupting ash. Wise folks left right away,
for that volcano soon would surely surge!
Some met their death that eerie Sunday morn
of May eighteenth. The deer began to flee.
Then from the mount, a burst of cloud was born -
a mushroom cloud which bellowed boisterously.
It grumbled and it rumbled, rocketing
for fourteen miles to sky its ice and ash.
Land slid. An avalanche was covering
all things within the path of its mad dash!
By 10:15, a wall of water rushed
down to the river, tearing up the trees
along with boulders as the ash still gushed.
Destruction had been wrought with greatest ease.
The news said Mount St. Helen’s lost her head,
and trees, like matchsticks, lay upon the ground.
Amazingly, despite such loss and dread,
there is new growth of beauty all around!
Written Aug. 13, 2014 for Wordscapes Contest of John Hamilton
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016
The look of pity on the saleswoman's face said it all
my paint spattered clothing, however the jeans fit
just didn't have that panache, chic pizazz, tongue hanging
inspiration for desire a young woman out to have.
The car dealer took one look at me, led me to the far
corner of the lot, showed me the used hot rods
the beater four doors, the budget cutters like I'd rode
but I wanted glossy black, silver hood ornament, brand new.
Paint is supposed to sit on top of your nails, but underneath
is advantageous when compared to oil, to muck, to dirty guts
so I was a step on the ladder of the working man,
I could even afford to buy hose, which I still don't wear.
There's something to be said for the over glasses, safety
glasses look, white paper coat, something comical
one supposes, but the purple overalls worn for skiing
which suddenly I could afford, made me my nephews joke.
At times I waited for a date who preferred the bar
called and said maybe later, because passion rumbled
between us when we kissed but I didn't want a flit,
disease, broken promise, I wanted to be embraced
Cozy now, body motion are promises and content
passion is beyond me, the bar on the patio in back
the hand I always hold a missing app that answers
more lonely than any mistaken wish that he'd be the one.
Stars, too, I climbed to them in my dream, climbed
the Space Needle and found my self with no safety net
I always avoided those climbs the dreams more nightmare
even though I do what I am told, to reach, to soar.
Sometimes now I wear black on gold dresses which fit
to the nth inch, so I can barely sit, hold champagne
to watch golden bubbles float against the elegant
white linen against starry night event, that's rich, success.
Dump it gladly for a romp on the beach, the missing
something like threads through a woven maze,
like an angel's hope. When I dump it all and seek
there's grace lying on the shores between the rocks
a pooled place where deer come to lick minerals,
boulders come unglued and sail down river
and think, maybe I could do that. Maybe I could
unglue all the expectations and rearrange the world.
Copyright © Sheri Fresonke Harper | Year Posted 2014
Mountains come alive;
deer, trout and conifers thrive. . . .
Springtime’s scenic drive.
As ridges grow dry -
climb the verdant trails toward sky. . . .
Hear the eagle’s cry.
Cooler, shorter days -
highland’s gold and crimson blaze. . . .
My nostalgic gaze.
Snow-capped giants loom.
At the peak of winter’s gloom. . . .
I await spring’s bloom
For the Mountains Poetry Contest of Julie Rodeheaver
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2011
amble across my path
on a city street. . .
Written 2/25/16 for the Fragment Of Life Contest of Broken Wings
*Note: This happened to me just this week. There is something so fascinating to me about such a simple thing. My kids always got so excited to see this kind of thing too.
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016
Up with sun
at the crack of the dawn
Bluebirds are playing
and singing sweet songs
Two deer are feeding
on the edge of the field
The west wind is blowing
all my cares away
Mist is rising
off the shimmering lake
Lost in in the glory
No more can I take
Looking around at
all the beauty and grace
I can only imagine
the look on your face
The time I first met you
The stars shone so bright
The full moon was rising
Illuminating the night
That look in your eyes
When I leaned in for a kiss
The words that you said
On the falling star wish
Daydream of that night
as I look at the lake
Come into my dreams
and we'll never wake
Copyright © Tim Smith | Year Posted 2014
Welcome , Dear Carolyn, we finally meet,
Please come in , won't you have a seat.
Let's sit on the deck and we'll watch the deer.
There's no need to whisper, they have no fear.
I'm so glad you're spending your vacation with me.
We'll get to know each other over this pot of tea.
I am so looking forward to showing off my home town.
Did you bring comfortable shoes for our running around?
Dear Carolyn, I know such good friends we'll be,
So just tell me 'everything' while I pour the tea.
for the Michael's "First words over coffee" contest
by Francine Roberts, about the wonderful Carolyn Devonshire, whom I would
absolutely love to meet
Copyright © Francine Roberts | Year Posted 2011
I wish I could walk without feeling pain
I wish I could live my life again.
I dream of a time when I could run like a deer
I could jump like a gazelle with nothing to fear.
I could climb like cat and swim like fish
I can not do these things and yet I can wish.
I can dream of a day many years gone by
I could dream and pray for that bus to pass by.
I could dream my mum missed it and didn’t get on
I could dream she forgot my vaccination had not been done.
I can sit here and daydream day after day and wish that jab had gone right
I can dream I am fit, but I’m not, it went wrong, and now I have learned how
I can if not careful, wish and dream my whole life away
But there is no point in that, that’s what I say.
But the vaccine went wrong, and no wishes or dreams can it change
I just have to get on with my life, there is no sale or return or exchange.
Wishes are for kids and dreams are for bed
I wish I was a kid and could lay down my head.
I am tired and fed up and the wind is so cold
I wish I did not suddenly feel old.
I am reading this back and thinking boy, this isn’t me
I am going to get up and with a certainty
I am going to fix that toilet for once and for all
Even if I have to rip it off, that bloody bathroom wall.
Self Pity is over and I feel a bit of a nit
And my last dream is I am back in bed with Brad Pitt.
Copyright © Mandy Tams The Golden Girl | Year Posted 2011
Early in the mourning she rose
She wood fined her boat
Wear she rose across the see two the sure
Their she mustard all her mite
And toad the boat on the beech
Butt if the thyme was write she tide it two a boy
She could hardly weight
Four she nose she will sea her suite sun
They wood sit on a bolder, brake sum bred
Then they eight a hole pair
Her sun called her a deer
He tolled her when he urns enough doe
Ore got sum tacks witch was dew
He wood by her a flour at the bizarre
Witch could be tide in her hare
The cent of the rows wood bee sew sheikh
One knight he said she wood prophet
If she past buy a different root
He new the currant could get ruff
The whether was no longer fare and getting two chilli
She road away into the missed
Aisle meat ewe next weak he balled until he was horse
He trussed he wood see her next weak
Only Homo’s ‘Aloud’ – Jerry T Curtis
23rd March 2015
~awarded 1st place
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015
Among a stand of pines I lived my life,
blissful in the ignorance of my own fate.
Tall and proud, my fellow trees and I
stood along a ridge that overlooked a lake -
its crystal surface mirroring our beauty.
Underneath big sky
and seeming to lean against a mountain,
we reveled in the gifts of our mother nature.
Oftentimes we felt the breath of breezes at our backs
and cooling downpours in the summer heat.
We saw and heard the scampering of squirrels and rabbits;
We watched as deer and other woodland creatures
stopped to drink at the clear lake or came to visit us.
Birds of many sorts serenaded us both day and night;
Crickets, bees and other insects came to see us too.
Seasons came and went.
Still young, I kept growing on the south fringe of my stand.
This winter as new snow glistened on the ground,
there came intruders to our happy spot.
Wielding axes, two men chopped me down.
Now I stand alone, uprooted and separated from my stand.
No birds adorn my limbs.
Instead I’m wearing garlands of garish gold
and big red bulbs are hanging from my arms.
No moon or stars of night shine above me,
but a silver plastic star is tacked on top my head.
I’m suffocated by this too-warm room
with blinking lights everywhere around me
And myriads of gifts brightly wrapped
piled high and pressed against my trunk.
No longer one of many, I am one alone
And the lovely stand of which I was but one small part
has been replaced by an old and rusty stand for Christmas trees,
a stand that now contains me,
for I no longer stand as one part of a whole.
Rootless and wondering what will become of me. . .
Written 9/15/12 for Debbie Guzzi's "Stand" Poetry Contest
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2012
I relate this story from my room in the Quiet Vale Giggling Academy
A reader might find my story hard to believe
At one time in my life –
As a matter of fact quite recently –
I had just finished Dr. Doolittle’s great study
‘Talk to the Animals”
And after several months of following Doolittle’s observations
Found I could actually understand animal talk
Which was really just grunts growls and bodily motions –
Things such as that
Quite by accident
While walking in the woods one day
I happened on a scene
A robin told me was ‘animal court’
Resided over by Judge Grump
At once I noticed a huge lion
Seated on a stump
His heavy tail thumping the back of the stump
“When Grump thumps the stump court will come to order
And when Grump thumps the stump all better listen!” sang the robin
There were a number of spectators -
All chattering at once
So that Grump had to thump the stump many times
Growling horrendously till they stopped chattering
There was no jury
Just this marvelously striped tiger
Standing in front of Grump seated on his stump
I assumed the tiger was the defendant
The lion judge began with a thump of the stump
“You are accused of eating your best friend
Is that correct?”
The tiger swished his tail
“A dachshund named Stretch
Is that correct?”
The tiger swished his tail
“Sad” the lion judge continued
“You were reported to have done everything together –
Even wrestled together
Such fine friends
What could have caused such an action on your part?”
At this point the attending group began chattering vigorously
The lion judge Grump thumped the stump
As thumping the stump wasn’t loud enough he growled
Finally the crowd quieted
“How could you do such a thing to your friend Stretch
The tiger looked around
Gorgeous stripes undulating blazing in the sun
Tail swishing in manner of reply
“I was hungry” he said
“Case dismissed!” said Grump
With a thump of the stump!
Copyright © daver austin | Year Posted 2009
The meadow’s breath a gift to all, the mist, the morning dew,
a silent sigh, a heartfelt call, a prayer to me and you.
Green and warm, full of life, the forest's skirt, the Maid's delight,
where rabbits dwell in lovers’ dells, a dream in morning light.
Gold and bright, full of life, the forest's skirt and Knight's delight;
life lies in grasses high, where lovers sleep and passion cries.
White and fair, full of life, the forest's skirt of pearly white;
burrowers sleep in bowers deep, hearths alight on chill nights.
The meadow's breath a gift to all, the mist, the morning dew;
a silent sigh, a heartfelt call, a prayer to me and you.
The men have made the meadow home, no rabbits now play there,
no deer appear so near the roads for cars bring them dispare.
The meadow was home to many things, butterflies, birds on wing,
yet, few can dwell where men reside, the forest's skirt swept aside.
The meadow’s breath a gift to all, the mist, the morning dew,
a silent sigh, a heartfelt call, a prayer to me and you.
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2011
Memories Episode 2 ... continued from 'Memories' (Episode 1)
Unaware of my surroundings but knowing it’s a dream
Instead of lulling me into a fake sense of calm
It accelerates my ominous dread even more
Intensifying the fear factor through my core
Adding to the creepy dark sinister feel
I glance nervously behind - Yes they are still in pursuit
Dark silhouettes following - that I know are male
They take their time unhurried and unfazed
And I sense that whenever they want
They can bridge the distance between us
They seemingly glide - one glide to every six
Of my swift fairy like running steps
Regardless I push myself harder
Fear radiates from every pore of my body
What do they want from me?
Why do I fear them? Who are they?
Why have my memories not returned?
Aren’t some memories best to be forgotten?
Connected to these shadows that remain to haunt?
Will tomorrow’s sunrise bring them back?
The self-destructive memories so misbegotten
All these fear riddled questions seemingly hasten my flying feet
When I glance behind they seem to have fallen back somewhat
The cliché tugs my mind - ‘You can’t see the trees from the forest’
As I see a thickly wooded area up ahead
In spite of a somewhat bad fairy tale edge
I intuit it might be the means of escape that I seek
I run hard to the low slung branches
They seem to reach out a welcome to me
Some five minutes into my running
A strange sound reaches my ears, crisp, crackling,
I realize it’s my own bare feet, slapping
The dry earth and the leaves crunching below them
I sense a shift of energy, although welcoming at first
These very same branches now seem to be trying to ensnare me
I pray that this dreadful nightmare will end.
A finale to this strange dream is what I seek
I skirt and duck and just as I think I am getting proficient
A protruding root trips me
I scream and swear as heavily I fall
I pull myself up, determined to get away
But survival instincts so strong trigger
A warm sticky flow of blood trickles down my leg
Can’t stop and even as I run I figure
Stop I must not
Yet another shift, I hear water
My feet seem to be laboring
Looking down I perceive that I am on a beach
It is arduous running on beach sand and so tiring
In an angry crescendo - waves roar and crash to the shore
The images I have swirling in my head
Roll in and out like those endless waves
That I would like to keep at bay
That a part of me wants to resist instead
Adding to the fear that I feel knotted in my stomach.
Gasping - panting I take another furtive look over my shoulder
THEY are not THEY anymore - JUST ONE
One figure seems to have peeled himself away from the crowd
He runs fast gaining speed at the rate of knots
Running towards me
Silly fool that I am I seem to have stopped running
Hypnotized like a deer? - Waiting for him?
No - curiosity has taken over me
I think I would like to see my predator
One of his arms hangs slightly lower
I think he is carrying a weighted pole of sorts
Oh dear God - what am I doing just standing here?
He draws nearer and I catch a glimpse of his face
Handsome and arrogant - But it’s the set cold line of his lips,
A snarl, a sneer, a lip upturned
Like a wild beast about to rip apart its prey
It’s this expression that chills my blood to ice
I scream as I turn to run once more
Intuition tells me that it’s as futile as before
Run run as fast as you can
I can catch you
I’m the Gingerbread man
What a chilling cold thought to have pop into one’s head
An incongruous rhyme in this fear riddled moment
The brain- such a complex thing
Trying to protect my sanity
A nervous giggle escapes my lips
The reality is grim
HE’S GOING TO KILL ME
I wake to my favourite nurse shaking me asking if I am alright
My nightie is soaking wet with sweat and I am sobbing
She enfolds me in her arms reassuring me it’s just a dream
I look to the window - a new day is dawning
So much for a New Optimistic Day for me
So much for my memories returning
Do I really want them back is my plea?
Stay tuned for the next episode
continued in ... 'Wistful Expectations' - (Memories Episode 3)
Episode list in consecutive order:
Memories - Episode 1
Blind Terror - (Memories Episode 2)
Wistful Expectations - (Memories Episode 3)
Deception - (Memories Episode 4)
Run Run As Fast As You Can - (Memories Episode 5)
Running - (Memories Episode 6)
Music Video clip – ‘Jungle Chase’ - Jason Lam OST
Published on Nov 5, 2015 for JasonLamMusic
Copyright © Maria Williams | Year Posted 2017
The psalmist and the deer which pants from thirst along the brook....
As a treasure sanguines heart, hidden within this field called life?!
Arriving upon another day in hopes of finding its perfect place inside
Sacred; sitting aside the world outside with this longing spirit of mine
Always closing these eyes that they may envision, the purity of its prize ~
Desiring to hold such clarity within these fortuned palms; illuminations
Essence as a cloudburst of beauty; aneath loves waterfalls....
Drenching rains pouring upon myself these reasons that we live
If in fact we live, beyound superficials realms painting temporals canvas!?
This spectrums array of glittering things yet like the wind or that a dream
They'll all disappear amid a breath to be swept away when, one awakens....
Unto the tangible truth of these phantoms in hard to touch and fathom
A masquerades jeweled metaphors; their jubilee within this box of lured dust?!
Aqua; when I arise unto the gift set afore my eyes aside this world, outside
Sanguines sought after heart; the treasures that I have longed for aneath
Purities waterfalls of illuminatings beautiful cloudburst upon my spirit ~
To be soaked in loves drenching rains as a deer whom pants amid the forest....
....“Hidden, Along The Brooks of Sacred Waters” *
Copyright © John Rhinem | Year Posted 2012
Here lies a grave,
a conglomerate headstone
without a name
weeds and webs
wrapped tight around the heartless edge.
Caretaker rides his rusty deer
pretending he's a nascar stud
waking the dead and stirring mud.
He take's his lunch beneath a tree,
eating twinkies with green fingertips...
and for his love he'll steal a wreath,
and place it gently on a grave
that bears a scar called, long forgotten
a grave he calls
Copyright © Anthony Slausen | Year Posted 2011
My door is open
I welcome you
To my Highland lands
Off heathers and hue
Cross the bridge
Of centuries old
To my castle of grey
In it's regal fold
Stand with me
In the great hall of my past
Us Fraser's will last
Climb spiral stairs
To a turreted tower
Look out on my lands
As the northern lights shower
Turn to the left
Look out to the fields
They stretch for miles
Many harvests they yield
The moat leads off
Into a river so pure
With it's salmon ladder
Caught to mature
Lets take to the horses
To forests of pine
They carpet the glens
In greenery fine
Camp fire and cheer
Chasing the deer
The welcome we received
When we reached home
Venison and pheasant
From our Highland roam
Off the great hall
To the room of the past
Where tartans and paintings
My ancestral past
Open great fireplace
Lights up the room
Claymores and armour
In past battles bloom
The evening draws
Arrival of guests
To feast on the roam
For the food we are blessed
Bedtime retire for all
As i look out my window
In awe at it all
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2009