Long Hunt Poems

Long Hunt Poems. Below are the most popular long Hunt by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hunt poems by poem length and keyword.


Premium Member Cruise To Alaska Ii

Cold and icy passageway to trudge through.
Ships and warships sailed thru the Bering Strait.
In limbo 'tween two nations, iced, staid too.
When I first set out,  for thrill I await. 
Where ferocious beasts can hunt and roam thru. 

Gray clouds with puffy tops hedge their offspring. 
Calmly shifting layers, like a stack shades. 
Wet and wild park made of stone tectonics. 
Not to mention a beard made of green trees. 
I saw two black wolves on Eagle Brook Road. 

Mountain trails are plagued with random people. 
At the outset, there were rocks and small stones.
There are blooms on the young pink rose jungle.
Here, among green discord of willow vines, 
Aspen trees clump joined, stay comfortable 

Alaska: home to the famed "midnight sun." 
Where kids play and grownups lose track of time.
Reminds them that it is time to wind down. 
When it gets quite dark they call it nighttime 
Bright toughness is a trait with a tough tone. 

The place where the Moon is second fiddle.
 Matanuska vale's snooze-fest of a town
while moose and caribou withal trample 
Move across the railroad ties one side down. 
where the grass is green and soil is ample. 

Alaska: home to the famed "midnight sun." 
The place where the Moon is second fiddle.

Written: June 21, 2022

2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 4 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mark Toney 

Checked by: HMC.COM/ 10 Syllables per line
Rhyme: Rhymezone.
© Sotto Poet  Create an image from this poem.


Premium Member Like a Sparrow

Sits content on the ridge cap 

of your roof, tweeting, mind fleeting

is happy to find a worm, a bug

cares not for the song 

of the nightingale

just as well

you'd place him in a cage

to hear him sing

cares not for the eagles flight

you'd tame him, make him hunt

for you

he is happy to be the sparrow

as that is what he was intended to be

how sad would it be

if there were no sparrows

in the big city marketplace


We humans so get off the track of life

end up derailed, marooned, shipwrecked

but of our own accord

carry too much baggage


What do we care about destiny

so are we caught up in our own

web of consternation

that we are blind to truth


You know that the mighty king,

the hippy, the judge, the baker

and the undertaker, and my dear reader,

even you, and me

we all stem from the same cell, originally

as we were taught at R I, in primary school


Yet all that matters little, cosmically speaking

as the earth spins about itself and about the sun etc.

it does not spin for or around you nor me

but it is so indescribably beautiful

that in the reflection of a puddle

in the street

we can see the moon, the sun, our faces

cathedrals and mountains

regardless of riches or poverty.


Like a sparrow

we ought to accept

what we have

as that is most likely

how it was intended.
© Uwe Stroh  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member Chasing Faux News

For years now, they have survived,
    Through deceitful imitations.
Maneuvering within a landscape they
    Support, with few limitations.

Yet recently, this crazy fox, seems to be
    Running from a pack of legal hounds.
Dodging overgrowth & accountability,
    Through some forested, judicial grounds.

This hunt is a lengthy one, stretching
    Beyond torn fences and dominion.
As the tireless legal canines progress,
    Tailing the scent of lies and opinion.

Ultimately this prey will fall to capture,
    Along with its predatory nature, reduced.
While remaining livestock gains some relief,
    And the appropriate people, can rule the roost.
Form: Quatrain

Hinterland

Hinterland 

 It is not a romantic outpost but a place of survival
The landscape, mountains and forests are war zones
where battles are ongoing.
There are no rulebooks here, it is raw capitalism   
in action, the strongest always wins.
A moose cow’s newborn must get up ready to run
in minutes after birth predators are on the hunt.
Wolf packs fight over dominance; insects kill insects
In this dance of death, the sparrow eats flies.
The talon of an eagle grips a trout and eat it alive.
When the sleeping bear awakes, pity the salmon.
This cycle of life if broken by man, spells disaster.
© Jan Hansen  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member Mother Said

Mother Said 

My Mother said you need to read 
more than Comic books.
I know I’m not the only one.
Some of everything that I read 
from my childhood to adult 
has been made into movies.
Like Hollywood had nothing better to do
then to follow me around,
every time I Pick up a book. 
Someone made a phone call.
What is he reading? 
The Avenger’s X-men and Dr. Strange.
My Mother who was an English Major, 
said Bobby since you hate English in school,
you'll probably end up being a poet.
But you need to read more than Comic books.

In 1968 I was in the 5th grade 
at public school No. 6
when my teacher Mr. Gamble read 
the Lord of the Rings to the class. 
I surprised my mother 
When she caught me reading the Hobbit. 
Grow up and I joined the Army,
got sent overseas on hardship tour.
Pulling guard duty, I had a lot time on my hands. 
So, I read the books of Tom Clancy.
Hollywood found my reading list.
Hunt for the Red October,
Clear and Present Danger
Patriot Games.
Everything that I read from childhood
to adult has been made into movies.
But I’ve also read books on sensual massage,
And you should know, 
they are X-rated movies.


Premium Member Howe Meadow ITQ

Written: January 22, 2024
            _________________________________________

I hear the wild cry as I sleep,
no roaming goats or gulls or sheep.
Tire them out, no trace of dread sweep,
seamless grass is combed by reap.

I heard the humpback cry whale site,
before the day turned into night.
Hunt for krill, girls, and young scouts fight,
boys, singing, as one, of raw dight.

Meadowlarks wave wings in the breeze,
hunt flies in the sun, fly with bees.
Breathe fresh air as lowly birds tease,
tweet, and perch on red tussock trees.

Meadow wrens chirp as streams dry out,
fly high to low till storms cross route.
© Sotto Poet  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member What Mama Forgot

Mama never told me that I should not get caught
She taught many lessons well, but this one she did not

She never told me that I must lead heat to the chase
Or to be an enigma with an angelic face 

Mama never told me that I should keep love in store
Try to be mysterious or risk being a bore

Mama never told me to stay just out of his reach
How to be coy and demure, my Mama didn’t teach

She didn’t say wonder was a big part of the game
That to give a man your heart will make you really tame

Mama didn’t tell me to keep some things locked inside
She didn’t say that when he seeks...I should go and hide

Mama didn’t tell me every man desires to hunt
Or that in speaking to him I must be shy not blunt

She didn’t say the chase is the driving force of man
Or that you must prolong it...just as long as you can 

Once he has caught his prey and has feasted at his will
Your body he will discard, another prey to kill

Always try to stay ahead, let your scent lead him on
Let him paw you for a while, and then arise…be gone

A man’s nature is to chase; it’s the air that he breathes
Let him think he’s captured you, give in by small degrees

But let your soul be ever free, don’t you dare get caught
Oh Mama, you didn’t teach me this, Oh mama, you did not!

Eileen Manassian Ghali
Form: Couplet

Premium Member Musings of Love

“You try to be faithful
And sometimes you're cruel.
You are mine. Then, you leave.
Without you, I can't cope."
Rumi


in the kingdom of love,
nothing is simple,
not even musings,
so tell me:
in your annoyance
do you still think of me
or am i just another
common cliché 

in Rumi's philosophies 
for cosmic connections,
must we be a 
contradiction of circumstance 
when our story has been sung
beyond the reach of stars,
so despite the dystopian demons,
i keep hope in the invisible
golden harp strings,
yet to compose our swansong

oh mistress of medusa
in splitting seasons,
when serpents spit venom,
your British horizon soul,
coupled with your 
climate change heart,
procreate porcelain patience,
where rhythms of rage
lead to breathless silence,
but i never forget you

it can be tiresome
battling against 
ebony lashes from
metaphorical daggers
when vertigo eyes
hunt for their prey
and i wonder if i
was at shooting distance
would you pull the
trigger to rip my
heart like shredding
secretive documents

but despite bonfire breaths,
my samurai spirit has 
become immune to
momentary flames,
adopting a mermaid mind,
finding sanctuary in
deep waters until
the last ember dies,
as at the end of each storm,
when rainbows reappear,
i resurface upon your
ivory shores,
for what am i,
but a sea urchin and
you the empress of the sea,
so each time you are cruel,
i wait for the return of
tender gestures,
as i know it is your 
veil of vulnerability

you hide from the world,
but in the intricacies of conflict,
i am still the moonlight
glowing upon your ripples,
as i know the code to
your handcrafted heart,
floating in wandering waves,
as you still ignite intimate spiritual
sparks of soothing sensuality,
so never abandon me - forever

in the imperfections of love,
in my abundance of flaws
i know you adore me
internally and externally,
for we are refuge and 
safe haven for the broken,
like a masterpiece of
alliterative adjectives
glowing like gems
in topaz textures upon
mookaite mosaics 

I know I'm no 
Leonardo Di Caprio,
I've never been as 
romantic as Romeo,
so love me for 
what I am today,
I am not your past
of wasted sunsets,
so ascend with me like
tomorrow's sunrise
© Silent One  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member Has he Found a New Country Yet

Edwin the explorer bunny trotted along on a daily quest
Whispers said, “he is different than the others, quite unlike the rest.”
Handsome though, many a fair bunny maiden had to allow.
“I can see it too,” stated a well-brought-up mama cow.

Edwin was unaware of them, family was not on his mind.
He was exploring new places, a country he needed to find.
They have not all been discovered! He told his friend Pan.
Together they looked for a new country, as hard as you can.

“Has he found one yet?” asked his mother on Easter day.
“Not yet,” said his brother, ‘maybe he is on his way.”
But Edwin was on the hunt and could not slow down or stop.
He spent his whole life looking; probably will until he drops.
Form: Rhyme

3000 Ad

As the orange sun dives 
below the horizon
The bushman long back 
from daily hunt 
and rested
Now tells the clan the 
legend of the ancient 
noon:

'The earth', he says, 'was 
not mostly flooded
The earth, indeed, was 
once densely wooded
The earth was a beauty, 
sublime and quiet
Till man became god and the 
earth his diet.

Man built great caves from 
rocks, sand and 
water
He became a great bird and 
flew the clouds
Became a fish and roamed 
every ocean
His whispers could go 
anywhere all times.

Man became a long snake 
that spat out 
soot
That ate vast forests and 
plucked hills from root
Then air became strangled 
with smoke and 
died
And soil became poison and 
flowers dried.

In anger man turned a ball 
of fire
Consumed himself and 
unlocked the oceans
This island was once the 
highest mount top
The ancient ruins lie 
beneath these waters.'

His tale, though old, still has 
its cold venom
As all lament over man's 
lost kingdom.

Get a Premium Membership
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a Premium Membership.
Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace