standing in a field
covered in deer urine
hunting unexpected
(“Enemy of the State Merit Badge”, 2011, original oil)
- Ship of fools, on a cruel sea
Ship of fools, sail away from me
It was later than I thought
When I first believed you
Now I cannot share your laughter
Ship of fools -
Tide so high, the fleet just sails on in
Like at the beach of Normandy
Only now it’s no liberating force
But a farce of laughing mothers
Coming to claim what we now value
So cheaply as to have no worth at all
Wave after wave they come
Laughing all the way
No care for customs, no care for culture
Just here for the hand out
A little anchor in the storm
The storm that rages the whole world round
Let me into your homes
Let me into your schools
Let me into your halls of power
Because they are all mine now too
The whole world together, united
In this ship of fools.
(7/1/26)
He dwelled in depths I dared not enter
Satan the landlord; he the renter
He packed his things but left behind
a lidded box he hoped I'd find.
It was not of the Pandora kind.
Curious as to what he'd put inside...
Yes, I was inquisitive enough
to know if its contents had the power
to devour me whole or leave me sour
over the promises he didn't keep...
the vows he broke that made we weep.
He'd stolen my heart and I wanted it back
I the prey, he the hunter.
Sunset descended behind willow trees
before it felt right to open the lid,
for in darkness, he'd left me in sorrow,
grimly haunted by the memories of him.
In stygian shadows is where he often hid.
How fitting the hour of midnight appealed
to me to unseal the box, its cover to lift.
Therein I found his silver wedding band
and felt I should thank him for this final gift.
In the box of dreaded darkness, I found light.
A gift I understood as I held it in my hand.
He the giver, I the receiver.
??KING GUNTHER THE HUNTER??
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In the grand theater of the cosmos, he rules,
With a crown of flames scattered in dominant hues.
Thirty-three battles fought, and not a single defeat,
His record shines bright at 33-0, what a great feat.
Beneath his mighty throne, the vanquished rest,
Warriors who fell, their dreams turned to dust.
Yet he continues to rise, powerful and immense,
A tempest of glory destined to endure as he rise.
No need for titles or gold to display, but eventually did,
His strength resonates across the WWE
Gunther stands tall, the echoes of battle ring,
On the fields of war, an empire crafted without a sling
The story continue as pen bows, his legend expands,
King Gunther conquered 33, yet with 0 he still stands.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
VICK MANUEL POETRY {VMP}
FORM: Rhymes
Copyright ©?2nd March 2026.
So much of what we do – what we are – is atavistic. We remember, deep in the hippocampus, when we were as free (and as vulnerable) as horses in the field. Predators we, we are also prey, and we can’t forget it. We still inhabit Cape Fear. That’s why we cheer. Gregory Peck tires of being The Hunted and becomes The Hunter.
fastidiously
on fragile stilts of frail cane
stealthy crane stands poised
A seal hunter walked on a frozen lake,
not knowing that the ice would break.
He drowned and then he froze,
sunk down before he rose.
A passing seal would say, "ooh, that's nice",
as a face peered up from below the ice.
She was about to adorn memory’s wings,
She would conjure the most wondrous things.
This life has shrunk to a mere fleeting trace,
It was meant for a journey of much grander grace.
She sold her sleep to buy herself dreams,
She who even in dreaming slept, or so it seems.
She who can never return was once a part,
That dwelt in the corner of my heart.
In longing and desire’s yearning embrace,
Her innocent light was fading from grace.
What comfort remains in pain now that she’s gone away,
She who once wept so softly is lost in dismay.
In the bird’s eye glistens sorrow and tears,
The hunter’s gun will soon sleep for endless years.
I was mesmerized by his blonde hair and blue eyes
He was a teen idol in the fifties, where I lived
A teen heart throb, adored by most of us
When Damn Yankees came out, I was thrilled
He was innocent, enticed by big bad Gwen Verdon
Though I was a child, I wanted her to leave him alone
I felt he was mine. Loved seeing his photos in magazines.
He was in comedies and musicals, and good in both genres.
I feel I could melt looking into those blue eyes.
Tab Hunter, a gorgeous man, loved by most of us preteens.
Adored as much as we liked Frankie Avalon, maybe more adored.
I take a deep sigh as I remember his blue eyes and lovely smile.
The hunter becomes the hunted...
What if there was a role reversal?
Let's all just get along ~
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
In a race on the savannah
fleet of foot is the cheetah
at up to 75 mph
no animal can beat her
and with a top speed of 50 mph
lion is the second fastest cat
tho' at
38 mph a leopard can't change its spots
the lion can do that
cubs are born with them and later lose
to become lion spots have-nots
an ostrich third place will land
at up to 43 mph
if it takes its head out of the sand
tho' cheetahs don't have racing stripes zebra do
(Burchell's, mountain and Grévy's)
but they're no boon for at 40 mph
they're only 10 mph ahead of a yellow baboon
however no matter how fast they all run
none can beat the speeding bullet
fired from a hunter's gun
Once we were hunter-gatherers
tribes grouped outdoors
before the days of yore
now we're hunt and peckers
each cooped indoors
on personal computer keyboards
and way back when
we'd communicate
banging on the drums
yes since then
we've progressed
today we're all
fingers and thumbs
black panther
two eyes in the night
hunter on the loose
AP: 1st place 2025
An owl does not need to see its prey
He can hear a mouse six miles away
He dives through the night air with talons down
Nocturnal eater, the best hunter in town
Deep in the forest where various monster beast abode
The hunter dares himself to enter the dangerous zone
To hunt for games that is rich for gains
Under the big Iroko tree lies the little animal
Having a soft and fluffy coat designed with bright colors
A bright orange and white color patterned with black stripes
They call it a tiger
"No it's a cub"
The hunter allured by its beauty
Smiled and have a deal with the forest god
He took the cub to his home and decided to foster it
At first, the cub shares little part of games with it's owner
Gradually the share begin to increase
And a pint of discomfort found a room in the hunter's heart
"Treat an animal like human for thousand years, animal will still be animal"
The cub grows big as the clouds shifts
And soon turn to a tiger
A day came that the hunter couldn't narrate
It was the day of his death
The tiger turned to a monster overnight
At a bright dawn, the sun shines brightly at the hunter's pool of blood
The monster had teared it's owner into pieces
Pieces that wouldn't have a chance to rest in peace.
A cat is in the yard
While walking smells the ground
He is searching for a mouse
The cat is hungry
His head is bent to the ground
He is trying to catch a m pouse
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.