10 Famous Poems About Hunting

Poems about hunting

Poems about hunting can be a great way to show your love for hunting. Hunting is one of the most famous activities in the world. It is the type of sport that the majority of people enjoy. At the start, hunters search for birds and animals in the wild.

Whenever they find birds or animals, they kill them with a gun. It is also called the game of a bird or an animal. In the United States, hunting is known for both shooting and hunting. In addition, most people enjoy hunting and do it daily. Hunting is the oldest activity.

It is also an opportunity to discover the beauty of nature. Hunting needs experience because it cannot be done without it. Today, I have collected some poems about hunting. I hope you people will enjoy these hunting poems a lot.

The Hunt Showdown

Yes yes yes
We got those 1800s vibes
Men with moustaches
Women with moustaches
You ready to Hunt for your lives?

Get ready cos the Showdown’s begun
Men, Women, lock ‘n’ load up your guns
Snub nose for up close, it’s a must

Hunting Down Love

I tried hunting down love, but it always slipped away
Never getting caught in my snares.
I found I had to sit quietly and wait for it to come to me,
Trusting and willing to give me a chance

Hunting Season

       By Anonymous

Hunting season is coming up
and deer is your main prey
Wear bright colors, so you won’t get stuck
taking your life away

Where to catch from the noise

Ignite the light
Ablaze the fire of delight
To which stars could beam from the sky
As the night could walk
In the darkness
It glows
From fireflies that search for wavering sea
It might catch a feeling of despair
Deprived, detach from the noise that you hear from the outside world.

Deer Hunting

       By Randy Johnson

When my friend and I went deer hunting, I accidentally shot a doe.
If you’re wondering if I got away with it, the answer is no.
It was a bad day for me to lose my glasses.
The game warden saw us and he kicked our.
We got the crap beat out of us even though it was two against one.
After beating us to a bloody pulp, he put a second hole in our butts with my gun.
We had to sleep on our stomachs for weeks, it was terrible to go through.
We went through all of that misery and we didn’t even get some damn venison stew.

Rabbit Season

is it too much to ask
for someone to look for me
when i run and hide?
but what i think of as love
would probably be
better phrased as hunting.
so, please, pursue,
rifle in hand,
pull me from my burrow;
at least i’d know you want me.
pretty as a picture –
strung up, throat slit –
anything’s better than hiding,
better than a fear
best described as paralyzing.

A Hunters Prayer: S Elliott

“We pray our sights be straight and our aim be true

We pray for no pain to the game we pursue

We thank you, Lord for this land

We thank you for the sights from our stands

We pray for safety one and all

We pray we may return in the fall.”

Home Is The Sailor

       By A.E. Houseman

Home is the sailor, home from sea:
Her far-borne canvas furled
The ship pours shining on the quay
The plunder of the world.
Home is the hunter from the hill:
Fast in the boundless snare
All flesh lies taken at his will
And every fowl of air.
‘Tis evening on the moorland free,
The starlit wave is still:
Home is the sailor from the sea,
The hunter from the hill.

 A Dying Tiger—Moaned for Drink 

       by Emily Dickinson

A Dying Tiger—moaned for Drink—
I hunted all the Sand—
I caught the Dripping of a Rock
And bore it in my Hand—

His Mighty Balls—in death were thick—
But searching—I could see
A Vision on the Retina
Of Water—and of me—

‘Twas not my blame—who sped too slow—
‘Twas not his blame—who died
While I was reaching him—
But ’twas—the fact that He was dead—

Hunting Song: Richard Hovey

Oh, who would stay indoor, indoor,

When the horn is on the hill?

With the crisp air stinging, and the huntsmen singing,

And a ten-tined buck to kill!

Before the sun goes down, goes down,

We shall slay the buck of ten;

And the priest shall say benison, and we shall ha’e venison,

When we come home again.

Let him that loves his ease, his ease,

Keep close and house him fair;

He’ll still be a stranger to the merry thrill of danger

And the joy of the open air.

But he that loves the hills, the hills,

Let him come out to-day!

For the horses are neighing, and the hounds are baying,

And the hunt’s up, and away!

For more Hunting poems visit here.

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