I used to be
an enthusiastic lad
an energetic gad
about town
but time and tide
let me down
can't do the things
I used to do
who knew
it would come to this
with aches pains
spasms and strains
I'm running out of steam
it seems or so I've found
soon they'll plant me
in the happy hunting ground
with no midnight oil
or candle ends left to burn
then at last I'll be past
the point of no return
tried to clear things up
he would speak eloquently
straighten out the mess
truth wanted to tell
on would ramble and ramble
never being clear
we would search and search
find answer to what he said
we were left hanging
were at a rally
rounded up all of our things
carried them with us
happy hunting ground
what we had been looking for
heaven in itself
while we were walking
what we should be proposing
we will change our shoes
he had been driving
terrible so it would seem
did drive us crazy?
heard the frog croaking
so it soon would be raining
we will get all wet
tree leaves seemed so still
wind through them started to blow
followed by raining
we had to advise
you always should be carful
would relieve your mind
Happy Hunting Ground
David J Walker
I wonder
If a campfire is
Burning bright
In the Yellowstone
Tonight
Two men
Buckskinned
Fur hats
Made of martin
Black powder in a keg from
The trading post
A sack of beans and
5 pounds of cured bacon
Sitting cross-legged
Across the blazing pit
Swigging whiskey
From a crock
Telling stories long into the night
If the tales are tall and told by
The light of a campfire
It might be
Father and Jim Bridger
After a day of hunting elk and buffalo
In two feet of snow in the
Shoshone forest
As he was leaving
Father told me tales of
The happy hunting ground
That’s where mountain men go
To my dear Ruqiya(Bu Bu),
Up in heaven
Happy hunting ground
And we are all sending our prayers.
To my dear Ruqiya(Bu Bu),
We all miss you today
You're not dead, you still alive our heart
Your life is so long.
To my dear Ruqiya(Bu Bu),
We close our eyes and see you
Your smiling face and love
We always remember it.
To my dear Ruqiya(Bu Bu)
Although you are not here
We'll keep you our heart forever
May Allah grant you the highest level of paradise. Ruqiya! Bubu
Ruqiya Binti Waliullah, She was a poetess From Myanmar (Yangon),
She was educated and degree holder (B.Sc Chemistry), She loves to write Burmese and English poems, Write is her passion and reading her habits, Her poems were published in many national and international. Finally , She feel with a cancer disease since 7th Aug 2019. She was massive humble, honest and respected person. Unfortunately, She passed way in the life and her death date 17/10/2020. Her ambition was to shine her son(Osama) like star for the sake of Allah, O Allah fulfill her desire, Ameen . May Allah grant her the highest level of paradise, Ameen.
An old, Indian woman sat high on the mountain all of red rock.
Her grieving mind experiencing, a heartbreak shock.
Her most beloved, and cherished deer,
Was killed instantly by a mindless huge boulder.
Then, to the golden sunset, her wise eyes did happily spy,
Her beloved deer, going to the Happy Hunting ground in the skies.
August 30, 2020
7am PST
Edited...., original title was Till We Meet Again
Shark waits in the bushes, for his opportunity. I am watching the scene in horror, because I feed these birds. There are many robins, sparrows, wrens, cardinals and my bluejay. They all trust me. I try to get out there in time to scare the cat away from his prime spot, but alas, I am too late. He has captured an unsuspecting baby bird. Trots off with his prey into the forest while the other birds continue to feed, unaware they are now in Shark’s own secret happy hunting ground.
cat takes flying leap
little brown robin escapes
feline grab in air
Miss Poetry
E. P. J.
E. P. J. – a cousin – forth removed, of mine,
who lived in long-ago days – a different time –
who created a world for herself, beginning with rhyme
that took her from the obscure and into places sublime.
E. P. J., was a woman – before her time – with many a hue.
E. P. J., was once, a woman many, many thousands knew.
E. P. J., today, is known by very, very few.
E. P. Js., spirit – in March of 1913 – took wing and flew
to a world / plane beyond the lonely hours, the excruciating pain.
To a world beyond – to the Happy Hunting Ground – to gain
greater insight and freedom from a life filled with the strain
of adventures lost, enlightenment for many, a heart filled with rain
as she cries – within – for all the losses, only memories remain
to tell us of a woman who was far ahead of her time.
Now told to us in prose, in biographies, in rhyme.
B. J. “A ” 2
February 13th 2006
(The voice of a Native American)
I am Angry You See
I am angry you see
Do I not have a right to be?
You and your kind took everything from me
Before you came my people were free
You took my home, my food,
Finally you took my land
I will never understand
You made up reasons to kill
Your ruthlessness to fulfill
I’m Angry you see
Do I not have the right to be?
As General:
You led soldiers in battle
You treated men like cattle
While you sat upon a horse
You had no remorse
You watched your soldiers die
You didn’t even cry
I am angry you see
Do I not have the right to be?
Your soldiers killed our braves
But this wasnot enough for you
You did what was a common to do
You raided our camps, killing the wise
With no reason my people you despise
Our homes you ravaged
And you called us the savage
I am angry you see
Do I not have the right to be?
Years have come and gone since those days
You have not changed your warring ways
You seek land not your own
This bountiful land you have abused and overgrown
I watch you from the Happy Hunting ground where I now reside
I see floods and tragedies your treachery provides
I am angry you see
Do I not have the right to be?