hunting the Rue Saint-Honoré
leaves me no breath
when women brawl for fashion
with warrants of gold
we become lions
every eye looks
taking hunter's aim
in piteous chase
the hares we hunt
are the new, the hot, the exclusive
not the lower marked
cry havoc
for animals heave fewer groans
only wars, revolt and poisons
attend more frightful chaos
one could come to hurt
but fault no villains
that is not our hunting language
we are confederates in chase
seeking the swaggers of success
.
.
A song for this:
Baby You're a Superstar by Mark Roberts, Paul Fletcher, Patrick Sturrock, Emily Taylor & Dan Whitfield
Like the leopard
which not a spot can change
or zebra their stripes a-one
a mother's love
for her tiger cub
in winter snow
or summer sun
may never be undone
but when out tiger hunting
in all kinds of weather
far from the calm of an ashram
for bait a goat is often tethered
its fate... a sacrificial lamb
Muddy paw prints, feathery tufts
Last night's adventures across my stuff
A cat whose wondering
Led to unknown murdering
A crime scene on my kitchen floor
A fluffy tail swishing out the door
they were in the wilderness hunting deer with a stick
I know this sounds like a corny joke, but it is no shtick
the hound led his master through brambles thick
while the deer laughed their antlers off, hard and quick
dogs in rear seat
looking out windows for deer
waiting for a response
barking wildly
deer freeze like statues
waiting for silence
Treasure hunting
glossy objects--
as glorious
Easter Sunday ends.
Thanking Jesus,
for some eggs,
chocolatey wabbits,
Heaven's cream gems.
Mow, mow let me out of this place
I want to go and hunt til I’m off my face
Put the birdies, the mice’s and the rats in their place
Watch out your gonna die
Misty puss is back on the fly!
Beware dear mousey
cat D is stalking
primed to pounce
and visit devastation
upon your nest
of velvet down.
I've plinthed my claws;
a linen napkin
is coiled
round my neck
to mop red gravy
and sumptuous fat
when they dye
my twitching whiskers.
So, nestle close
little mouselings
make haste to scurry!
Went on hunting with revolver and gun.
I was zealous and wished to have some fun.
Took snacks in haversack: Bread butter bun.
Leisurely walked, whistling: Took a turn.
Met roaring tiger and started to run.
Lost all enthusiasm and vigor.
Trembled as followed by dreadful tiger.
Yet to make a friendship, I was eager.
I was civilised but tiger was vulgar.
It didn't care but rushed to me in anger.
Got puzzled to confront danger.
I didn’t know, how to press the trigger.
Forward - backward : impossible to step !
Absolutely no way to escape !
End of the story ? Curious ?
Answer is simple, oblivious.
Tiger swallowed me: I was gone.
Our old friend Elmer Fudd
thinks he’s quite a stud
points his gun square at Bugs Bunny
‘wascawwy wabbit’ not so funny
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
The hunter and the hunted
Animal instinct is confronted
Eyes of a hawk, and Indian walk
Blending into the sound of nature
Silence, patience are no virtue here
It's a way of survival it may appear
Many brave men have tried to tame the land
A few have fallen while trying to stand
As the sun touches the horizon
It ends the battle between man and beast
Nature calls the wild home to rest
Soon the sun will appear in the east
The pages are forever being written
Of legends great and small
The truth maybe stretched
And wearing many veils
As the stories grow tall into tales
........see you next year
high up in the sky
scouring the field for its food
the red hawk circles
On a hunting trip Yosemite Sam
shot up a loose can of spam
didn't taste like his usual venison
so took for precaution a spoonful of medicine
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
peregrine nosedive
swooping in whirlwind spiral
~ lark's last aria
AP: 2nd place 2026
raven glides in sight
disappears behind oak tree
rabbit under bush
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