Poems of the Mad Hunter


I fear my grandchildren are beyond

the redemption of the hunt.

Which worries me.

They may never know the primal truths

that hone a soul to be a person –

hard enough but more so when removed from trees

and hills and stream, learning game,

reading sign.

All necessary to being better today than yesterday.

Lessons that can be taken in.

I hunt and fish religiously.

In ways sacred, where knowing and honoring

and deciding in a split-second matter

as the metaphysical realities they are.

Metaphors full of meaning the wilds give

what no cities can. I worry what kind of stories

my grandchildren will tell sitting around a fire.

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