Best Hunters Poems
I am the swan
with a broken wing —
Not knowing where
my old flock has gone.
I drift now amidst
embracing lilies, who
Have long and dearly kept
my pleas for close company…
Thus, whenever hunters near,
The lilies ask along with me,
If
Angels still come
To wipe away
Tears of tragedy?
(c) sally eslinger 2/2025
The deep red
Blended with the flowing stream
A shallow pink memory
Below earth, streams release the arteries
of the undersea teeming with precious
abalone, granite and shells,
as a roulette of lotus defies gravity
soaking on the chlorine of a wind
only piles of sand can bestow…
and gentle the wavelets murmuring
hymns of serenity , somewhat delicate
as ocean mouth is to fish lips in the moist pulse
of swelling spaces for wooden fleets
to beckon the blue.
Like so, guardian of water observes the cruise
of a ship rustling a masthead…
intrusive vessels are aliens
to the underworld: greedy eyes, black hands
that rake mothers of pearl and babes of dolphins.
Fierce dugongs roll along, shaking the basement
of hunters’ boats on inlets
to pound doors of Neptune’s bed,
reflecting mirrors of an island scented
with coconut and tresses of women
bathing along coasts of such innocent gulfs.
Below earth, a divide between friends and foes
is honored; that beyond words,
a sea keeper rises to acknowledge
the kindness of strangers,
if they are kind enough to respect the gift of privacy.
10/2/2015
Chase Trevi's Contest:
Open Sea - Sailing, Creatures, Treasures
Years have passed
time upon time
civilizations have come and gone
and this truth remains:
Men are still hunters
The hunt remains
as long as the prey escapes
Once caught
and the hunter devours
the pursuit is on for another....
Women are still gatherers
The gather words
Thinking them precious
nourishing for the soul
They still gather
caresses and kisses
Tender words
affection's bliss
Women are still gatherers
gatherers of hunter heads
Eileen Manassian
From my home on a living oak branch, I viewed
birds and rodents food focused with much ado.
A wise, elder acorn approached me to say,
“buffet, café – either way, son, we’re an entrée.”
Pure fear sent me to securely clutch a branch stay.
When my alarm calmed about being critter food,
I wished to be with others in an upbeat mood.
Seeking all acorns, I searched tree high, ground down
and all around before concern earned me a frown.
What mystery had vanished acorns from this tree
leaving just one to be found – the searching me!
Needing to look for all fellow nuts now gone,
I got my brave on and dropped down to search on.
For days, I dodged jays, woodpeckers and one duck
before wild bears, deer and pigs wiped out my luck.
Such hunters forced me to hide in a leaf motif
and there I was eyed as food prized by a thief
who plucked me into his mouth – rude squirrel!
To my relief, it buried me - death deferral.
Many seasons of sun and moon danced to time’s tune
while my roots produced health in a growth boon.
My squirrel thief must have died, (hopefully pan fried.)
Searching for family and pals will never end
but older, mighty oak trees now call me friend.
It seems the future will record us as done for
by failure to score seeds as easily bore before.
This world inside
filled with dalai lamas
composed of double layers,
light spirit rivers of nutrition
discerning dark flowing soul Source.
This world outside
vibrations of octave spectral light,
echoing morphology
ecosystems of desperate joy
and all primal elements between
betwixt
among
within
without soul vibrations echoing ecowokeness,
Earth's trans-ego
eco-symbiotic expanding integrity.
Our in/outsided nondual mindbodies,
vibrating warm souls
haunted by hate
shepherding external relationships
through ego's gate
of transparently shared soul identity.
This species multiculturing kosmic christ,
shepherd guardians hunting paradise safety
through haunted health forests
cut and sliced into label doors
into ego hells hunting Earth's co-vegetating skins,
muting ecological echoes
feeding on heavenly root systems,
vibrant deep down shaking spirit souls,
searching our primal co-gravitations
mutually defining Earth's fully abundant neurotic rivers
spiriting nutrient light
streaming out
dreaming in
screaming out
breathing in
becoming bodhisattva hunter warriors
for Peace.
BiHemispheric
intelligent designers transporting deep
rich
dense
polymorphic muses
of Earth's future vibrant TaoTime
ReGeneMentor Messiahs.
EarthMother outside in
light spiriting dark soul
EarthTribe ReSource.
I Just want to rest
from my long migration
Find a sweet oasis
Many nets and traps
full of dying songbirds
adorn the route
An army culls us
millions migrating south
hunted to extinction.
Will silence replace
The birdsong each morning
Remember us.
Hunters in the Snow
Slowly, the hunters break stride through the snow,
Hunched over in failure, their heads hanging low.
Below the hill where villagers at play
Will soon be sad with no food on the way.
The meagre kill slung across one’s shoulders
'Tis barely enough, let alone for others.
But there at the inn a boar on the spit,
Pork and ale for them who can pay for it.
A band of crows meets the depressed procession,
As a magpie flies by in food exploration,
While those perched in the trees caw incessantly,
As if to mock the returning party.
Yonder mountains rise with icy-capped peaks,
Where at the cliff’s base a castle is seen.
Across the dam an ox-drawn cart lumbers,
While men on ladders douse a chimney fire.
Off in the distance, a tranquil scene reveals
A village with its clock and a church steeple.
All around the town are fields covered with snow,
And below the troop, the millpond froze over.
Everything looks cold ‘neath a green-tinged sky
That signals a storm gathering be nigh.
There on the bridge, a hag totes afaggot,
Fuel for the stove to keep herself toasty.
The hounds look unnaturally thin and worn
And, like their masters, hopelessly forlorn.
Back from the hunt and home from the forest,
Hunters and dogs are badly in need of rest.
***
Note:
“Hunters in the Snow” is an ekphrastic poem describing the painting “The Hunters in the Snow” (1565) by Pieter Brueghel the Elder (c.1525/1530–1569).
The gold diggers of this world search for their fortunes
in all the wrong places. Because the richest treasures
can only be found in the Holy Bible where God's wealth
waits to be discovered. Every word a gold nugget
enriching the Soul.
Ghosts of buffalo hunters
on galloping horses
leap across the plains
against the autumn sky,
dust clouds mingle with
specter shapes,
shrouding the hunter and
the hunted.
Spears soar in deadly flight,
aiming at prey who are
singing their death song
while hearts of men rejoice at
the kill.
When amber sunset meets
shadowed earth hunters
and buffalos turn into nomadic
dust devils which join other spirits
as they sweep across the prairie,
leaving the sacred ground as
seen in the eyes of the all-knowing
aged chief.
Inclement weather stalk the horse riders,
Unprotected they move with the street traffic,
While the stormy clouds play in the backdrop,
Teasing the cycle rickshaws and the tram cars;
A touch of adventure in body move,
Seek yellow metal trail to the valley,
Wish to camp on river beds panning sand,
In the gold rush with pure lust for quick wealth;
Followed by the outlawed treasure seekers,
Living of the land in their killer’s joy,
Gun trotting masqueraders on cold tracks,
Heat up the riches race for a lion’s share.
It seems like fall is on it's way.
A hunter's dream to catch their prey.
The leaves have colored then they die.
The bucks in rut it's doe's they spy.
Bucks hunt does down to do nature's thing.
So the doe's have fawns when it comes spring.
They give them time so they grow up.
Then hunt them down when their in rut.
This cycle goes from falls to springs.
They never know what each year brings.
Some will be proud they got their buck.
While others try and have no luck.
So hunters wait from year to year.
In hopes that they will bag a deer.
After a long hunt,
Man’s best friends in fun horseplay,
While the masters chat…
Radiance sifts through the crinkled foliage,
as the shadows mimic the gently oscillating
leaves. For the full yellow-white moon has risen. A brook cascading over stones
is embraced by grassy banks,
as it flows through an Early Autumn.
The runnel captures the shimmering gleam;
it is a glittering diamond bracelet
wrapped around a woman’s wrist;
she may pleasurably touch,
twist the glass-like gems-
like the falling leaf that flutters,
twirls in the breeze,
lightly grazes the surface-
'til it is lifted again by a gust in the night.
A bird nesting over the moonlit rill
wears its luster
on its grey- green speckled wings.
They are tucked to sleep.
The coloring leaves rustle,
continue to sway...
Fred has been working with an agency called Hunters for the Hungry for five years. During that time, his food bank has received thousands of pounds of venison to feed the poor. This year, however, when Fred received no call from the agency saying it was ready to deliver the meat, he called the organization himself.
The answering machine was full and Fred never got through. Finally, he called a state officer for the agency and to his dismay he found out what the problem was.
Fred learned that the state’s governor, in an effort to balance the budget, had stripped $100,000 from the allotment to Hunters for the Hungry. In past years, that money had allowed donors of deer meat to have it processed free of charge. The meat would be put in one lb. rolls to be given to non-profit groups that operate food banks.
Fred was told the state now requires hunters to pay for the processing costs as well as donate the meat. Many of the hunters are unwilling to pay for processing. The cost is not cheap.
The staff at Hunters for the Hungry is upset with this new rule as are the food banks that won’t get the meat. As a result, food pantries and soup kitchens across the state have a big problem this year they can do nothing about.
After all, as Fred says, if the goal of private enterprise is to make a profit, and it is, then the goal of government is to take care of people. And in many states, government does a good job of doing just that.
Balancing the budget is important but cuts should not be made, Fred says, to programs that help those already down on their luck.
Fred and others would like to know how the money allegedly saved by the governor’s action is being used. Roads in the state are still crumbling, schools are making drastic cuts and those in need remain in need at a basic level—food.
Meanwhile, the staff at Hunters for the Hungry is trying to locate other meat for Fred’s food bank. They know the demand for food is exploding among those with inadequate income.
The missing deer meat means charities all over the state must spend more for food. This money would normally be spent to help pay for utilities, medicine and other necessities for the needy.
Something’s not right with this cut in the budget, Fred says. What’s worse, he adds, the next election is a long way off.
Donal Mahoney