Trapper Poems - Poems about Trapper

The Trapper Through the deepest snow, I somehow carry myself forward. In a biting cold wind that blows me back. No other sound to be heard. I have to find an animal to put in my knapsack. With boots of old, made from a fallen foe. The bear that once roared so loudly; roars no more. At ten foot tall, he shrank...

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* * * The trapper looked for the oddly-dressed man, but could no longer see him, or his tent. He glanced around, so supremely confused, now where the devil had that darned fool went? He searched along the whole of the lake shore, but of the strange man he found no sign, scratched his head and wondered if the thin air was somehow...

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Eamon heard the rocks skitter away, scree tumbling down with his every step, descending from towering Mount Gilborne, to a lake below where he could rest. He knew a spot to set up his new tent, where the conifers came down to the shore, vibrant blue waters, the peak high above, a nature-lover could not ask for more. After setting up camp he...

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...Bill passed on back in sixty-nine, and I buried him on that same hill, next to his friend Timlin Rivers, beneath northern lights and the night’s chill. And I know it won’t be all that long until I too will be joining them, the doc said two months, three at most ’till the cancer brings me to my end. I wanted you to...

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He shrugged and said,”If you’ve no home I guess you could stay for a while. But you will have to learn the traps, and that means many cold miles.” Bill answered back, between fast bites, “I’ll work hard if it means I don’t starve!” Timlin answered,”I guess we’ll see, when you’re done feed the dogs in the yard.” Bill quickly learned the trapper’s...

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It was back in nineteen-nineteen when Timlin Rivers checked his traps, by one he found just a weasel skin, did not know what to make of that. Why would bother to raid a trap but leave the pricey skin behind? Who’d take a weasel for the meat and then leave behind the hide? He moved down the trapline a bit, saw the situation repeat! His...

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Sured my inclination To goad trapper's ware For I seek to be strung By the trap that ensnares If only to acquaint With a pardoner's air Thee whom unwittingly Summoned my dare...

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I zip swiftly along on my snow machine, admist a white blanket with spots of green, my trapline runs along this stretch, Alaskan cold makes smoke of breath. The snowpack has been good this year, goes a little way to allaying my fears, but who knows what’s in the traps I set, too early to count my dollars yet. The first trap I...

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III. Dan found himself between the angry mammoth and the cliff. He had no choice but to retreat, though the fall his flesh would rip. Then about six feet down he saw, a tree growing out of the wall, at a slanting angle he could catch, so Trapper Dan let himself fall. He snagged the trunk and hung, his legs dangling free in space. Above the...

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II. Through long hills and dense forest, Slocumb’s dogs pulled the sleigh. Faint traces of Red Billing’s trail guided Dan along the way. He found the frozen Indian, torn apart by many scavengers. He said then a silent prayer, since he couldn’t bury him in frozen dirt. Another day of searching long, and by a stream he found, at last, a small gap in a long...

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I. Trapper Dan Slocumb sat on down in the small Whitehorse café. The gold rush gone, ten years now, he’d turned to furs to make his pay. That day he spotted Red Billings, carving away at a large tusk, Much too big to ever be ivory from even the greatest walrus. He also wore what looked to be a brand new buffalo coat, but the hair...

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Satan is very cunning he tries to trap us at every turn but his schemes I have become to learn he tries to remind us of our past but satans' lies can not last he might try to trick or tempt us from day to day but we have the power to tell him to go away he might try to tell...

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