Poetry: Nature, Surroundings and the Rights Thereof

Ode to the Deerhunter

Among the blossoms
Runs a fawn
The breath of winter
A chilling air
A lapse of food
Small fawn despair

Just beyond the field it's in
Lies a plentiful source of food,
And later yet the hunter will argue
That death's what nature intended to do.

But nature cannot take its course;
A twisty yin yang sway,
For in the depths of the darkest forest
A human predator lay.

Poised with 'power'
He takes his shot
Feels like he comes
From a God-chosen lot.

First the fawn sees
As hunter watches and laughs,
Animal running
Its unfortunate last.

And what's to say more of the hunter?
He turns and leaves.
A brutal killing,
Even torture deceived,
For now the animal rots.
Had he eaten it,
Guilt would have ridden his belly;
This murder and torturous hunger
Must forever stop.

The Glass Bottles

Into my grandparents' house,
Getting to the heart of my family
Within my grandmothers' organized
Drawers,
Shelves to the ceiling, photographic
Memories that could use a little dusting,
Even if just dusted.
Atop the shelves, the glass bottles,
Blue like a deep sea sky conversion of
Green
Into something it feels natural
to become.
As my eye follows blue glass,
It falls upon clear Waterford crystal,
And just below
The black and white picture
Of green Ireland.

The Shotgun

It rests unused above the door,
Though I know he used to use it.
It guards above the creaking floor
Beckoning someone to move it.
Served sickly purpose
(killed some deer)
Now looks at my bed
Instilling fear.

Coyote- a true story.

The mother raised her babies well,
Just as any good mother will do.
First there were three small tangles of fur, newly grown,
holding onto each other for warmth.
Their mother brought them food.
Depending so often is overlooked.

She protected them from rattlesnakes,
Sheltered them from storms
In a small, abandoned house
bulit by a human years ago.

One day she went out in search of food.
Nothing unusual.
She took a while.. a long while.
Her children searched for protein rich insects,
Wandered out of their range when time and hunger
Became too great
For a wait.

They came upon a border
A boundary
A fence.
The very men that had constructed their shelter
Must have built this fence,
Lined with sharp wires, never releasing caught flesh.
On it was caught flesh.
Something sweet, familiar, something like home to them.
They approached it, comforting it, cuddling it.
The carcass did not respond.
It was so familiar,
It was the Mother Coyote, and she was gone.
Her teeth now bared as the children had not seen,
Her flesh shrinking wrinkles together in an undignified manner.
They were so attracted, so relieved to see her
Then so repulsed.
They knew not to scavenge.
Panicked and instinctive, they ran far away,
Searching for solace in hills, for sustinence in nature.

Their journey of desperation seemed to end.
A metal cylinder, clanging lid
Cautioned them when they moved
Into another fence
Another backyard.

Out came a bipedial creature,
Not a bird,
But something that yielded a barreled object.
It made the children curious, but cautious.
Such little experience, such innocence
Shot at by an angry man
Because he would not share his dinner scraps
Of the land he reaped
And raped.

Some how they lived,
Even the one who now limps,
For one paw remains infected with the disease of humanity
A sharp bullet painful reminder.
Their mistrust is justified.