dismal, thrust, meandering, ball, horses, rose locks, spot, plant, bullets, signal, edge
on a dismal rainy morning
in a spot near the channel locks
meandering among the roses
came a group of hunters on their horses …
though a rainy autumn day
they thought it would be fun
to fill the world with bullets
on the edge of the darkened woods …
at a signal from their leader
they set the ball a rolling
they thrust into the glen
with their rifles and their dogs …
no plant nor creature was safe
from our modern happy hunters
they shot a stop sign full of holes
to test their lovely glocks and rifles.
Yesterday morning I heard the first rifle shots. Hunting season has begun here in my area and though we don’t have horse riding hunters we’ve got some who shoot stop signs in frustration. There’s little to hunt. Small birds mostly. But nothing stops the hunter … even when they shoot each other.
How I hate hunting…except for the pot, of necessity. We’ve lost cats to trigger-happy hunters, and it’s soon to begin again here. When it does. we daren’t pick blackberries!
Same here in Italy … One doesn’t even go for an early morning walk in the woods … and it’s so rediculous as here there really isn’t anything to hunt and hunting for the pot is just so much rationalization as I’m cure the store bought birds are problably better, there’s no necessity for hunting.
What a contrast between the beautiful photo and rhythm to the gun shot at the end…woke me up for sure…subtly explosive write
I heard the shots out in the woods near my house as I began to write the poem …
My father used to go deer hunting every year. He let me try his shotgun once…that one time was enough. The shooting of the stop sign brings a lot of perspective to your poem.
We lived in Alaska back when I was a kid and my dad was a hunter and fisherman. We lived alot on gae and salmon … did his own smoking and the freezer was usually full. We also picked berries and stuff like that. We were also 6 kids. There was some sense back then and in that particular place to hunting … just makes no sense at all here in Italy. No game to speak of.
I enjoyed the rhythm of this poem.
Thanks … 😉
I love the feel and tone of this poem — the guys are all dressed up and loaded up with nothing to do and nowhere to go!
Here in “Peeay” the opening day of hunting season is practically a holiday. Ugh. Drives me insane. They don’t need the meat — they just love to get their guns and shoot stuff bloody. Occasionally one another. And they go NUTS with the deer scents (gack!), gear, etc. Insane.
Funny you should put it that way; “all dressed up and loaded up” … in Italy now days there’s a huge market for “sports clothing” including for hunters. These dude are more fashion minded than a debutante. They kill each other here too. It’s just crazy.
Whenever there are people – hunting – there is often death – whether through mindless accidents or just plain stupidity – usually involving alcohol.
Yep .. pretty much.
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Sports clothing fashion? That’s kind of comical, really…. here it’s like, “let’s see how grubby and stinky we get before someone passes out – or we get kicked out of the Denny’s, har har har ….”
But oh how they love their toys. Their guns, their lures, their gizmos and gadgets … ugh.
Different strokes … here they love their gizmos too but do they ever love their high fashion hats, jackets and what not just right for the proper hunter 😉 You should see the bicyclers .. they’re another foppish group.
This is making me chuckle …..!
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Soon here, the different seasons will begin – depending on the area. Where I live, there is an abundance of game — over populations of deer (simply not enough natural predators, which perhaps wouldn’t be the case if it was illegal to kill the wolves) and myriad other creature – wild turkeys, moose, bear. etc.
I’m not a fan of hunting – unless it is completely respectful. There is *NOTHING* that infuriates me more than the damn fools who hunt, kill and then parade around with the bloodied carcasses on full display – no thought or respect for the animal or soul. All those jackasses (pardon my language) care about is the “kill” and who has the biggest prize of the season. It’s absolutely disgusting.
For those who are respectful and to be fair, there are more than just a few – hunting is a viable means of providing for the winter months – deer, moose, caribou etc. is delicious (so I’ve been told on many occasion) – and with those who behave and consider it in a traditional and respectful manner – I have no problem. But I really hate the site of the hunters geared up and walking around with rifles. Bothers me and makes me nervous as all hell.
I agree with you whole heartedly. When I was growing up in Alaska we lived on game throughout the winter. My father was a hunter and fisherman, but the sort of idiocies your talking about here had nothing to do with hunting, though I think we probably had some of those hunters too who came up from the lower 48. I guess there ar hunters and hunters.
Here in Italy though, there is little game. Europe has been hunted out deer and larger game are protected for the most part and you can’t hunt them. So there really is no sense at all and no excuse either for hunting … especially in Italy.
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Testosterone imbalance, I guess.
LOL .. who knows.
I respect only the hunters that use what they take. Not the joy riding destructive and as you say frustrated riders.
This type of scenario happens, unfortunately – everywhere.
I agree … and I imagine it does .. they seem to be a strange breed.