Poem for Hunters who have passed

[Wes Schneider]

My Dad passed away March 21 and he was a very avid hunter and fisherman. I was just wondering if anyone out there knew of any poems about hunting that I could use for his memorial program. I have seen one called "the fisherman's creed" which was very good but was hoping for one geared more towards hunting. Please let me know!

[Big Sky]

Sorry for your loss. Losing a father is tough. Eventually the good memories will push away the sadness. As for the poem I've always like this one. I've seen it used before and it works well.

Home Is the Sailor


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.E. Housman

[Rocky7]

Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there, I did not die.


That poem has been credited to a few people; nobody's really sure.

Sounds Hopi to me.

[lone wolf]

Originally Posted by Wes Schneider

My Dad passed away March 21 and he was a very avid hunter and fisherman. I was just wondering if anyone out there knew of any poems about hunting that I could use for his memorial program. I have seen one called "the fisherman's creed" which was very good but was hoping for one geared more towards hunting. Please let me know!

Wes, sorry to hear of your loss, and I can empathize with you. I lost my father just over a month ago to cancer, he too was an avid outdoorsman & fisherman. Remember the good times, and as others have said, the pain will pass.

[Speckle55]

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-poe...g-and-a-truck/

then add we will miss you Dad at the end

Sorry to hear of your loss .
David

[jpohlic]

I'm sorry for your loss.

Eugene, by Greg Brown is a spoken word fishing and outdoors song that may be appropriate.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xwmcz1BY89g

------

I think I'll drive out to Eugene, get a slide-in camper for
My truck, pack a bamboo rod, hip boots, a book of flies from
A Missoula pawn shop, rub mink oil into the cracked leather,
Wonder about the old guy who tied these trout chew flies.
They work good. Take along my Gibson JF45 made by women
During World War II, coffee stained stack of maps, a little
Propane stove, a pile of old quilts, a can opener, kipper
Snacks, smoked oysters, gun powder tea, a copper teapot, and
A good sharp knife.

Sometimes you have to go - look for your life.

I'll park by some rivers, cook up some rice and beans, read
Ferlinghetti out loud, talk to the moon tell, her all my
Life tales, she's heard them many times. I'll make up some
New juicier parts, drink cold whiskey from a tin cup, sit in
A lawn chair and fiddle with my memories, close my eyes and
See. Sometimes you gotta go not look for nothin'.

The Northwest is good, once you get off I-5 and wander up
And down the Willamette dammit, on the back back roads. I
Know a few people who'd let me park in their drive, plug in
For a night or two, stay up late, and talk about these crazy
Times - the blandification of our whole situation. And then
Back to the woods. A dog is bound to find me sooner or
Later. Sometimes you gotta not look too hard - just let the
Dog find you.

Then head south and east, maybe through Nevada, the
Moonscape of Utah. Stay in some weird campground where
Rodney and Marge keep an eye on things. Everybody's got a
Story, everybody's got a family, and a lot of them have
RV's. I'm on my way to the Ozarks, to the White River and
The Kern. Those small mouth are great on a fly rod. And
They're not all finicky like trout. Trout are English and
Bass are Polish. And if I wasn't born in Central Europe I
Should have been. Maybe it's not too late. Sometimes you
Have to dream deep to find your real life at all.

I might go on over through Memphis. I played a wedding at
The Peabody Hotel once twenty odd years ago, and everybody
Danced. Usually they just set there and stare. A few at
Least sway. The roads are stupid crowded everywhere. Kids
Coming along are used to it - all wired up and ready, or
Wireless I guess, and even readier. World peace is surely on
The horizon, once us old ****ers die. I'll do my part, but
First I wanna to go across Tennessee into North Carolina.
Fish some of those little mountain streams, catch some brook
Trout which are God's reminder that creation is a good idea.
The world we've made scares the hell out of me. There's
Still a little bit of heaven in there and I wanna show it
Due respect. This looks like a good spot up here. You can
Try me on the cell, but most places I wanna be it doesn't
Work. Sometimes you got to listen hard to the sounds old
Mother Earth still makes - all on her own.

[archer8]

Wes /Lone Wolf

Sorry to hear of your Losses -- I lost my father over 20years ago -I still rember our 1st hunt and fishing trip together -- the smile -the laff always works --Dads are always a great loss but a true friend -- the pain will pass but the memories will never fade --trust me
Ill talk about him with anyone anywhere and anytime --if you ever want to chat or have a fellow hunter listen let me know

Happy hunting

Cheers

Ian

[u_cant_rope_the_wind]

I know you liked to hunt dad,
I got to see the pictures.
You shot a few nice bucks you did,
and gave me lots of lectures.

I never understood them then,
I was way too young and you knew,
That someday I'd remember,
and use that knowledge too.

I went up to your favourite spot,
first time,..when I was just fifteen.
That one room cabin, way up north,
the neighbor kept it clean.

I knew the story of your day,
but it never crossed my mind.
This day was too exciting you see,
for it was finally my first time.

But as I hiked out to the beaver-dam,
My Son and I stopped.
I just stood their, looking at a log,
then to my knees I dropped.

He asked me what I was looking at,
didn't look like much at all.
when I slowly turned to look at my son,
He saw a tear, swell up and fall.

I said this is the spot you know,
where Granddad last sat down.
To watch that long point over there,
while we were pushing ground.

We were only gone an hour, I said,
and when we all came back.
There was laying Dad,
with his gun across his lap.

He stood there,speechless not a word,
just looking at that log.
It must have been ten minutes in all,
my mind was in a fog.

Then we both wiped off our face,
then turned and started walking.
Their was nothing on my lips to say,
so we never did much talking.

I shot three woodducks in that swamp,
those pretty ones..
Dad.
I thought of you the whole darned time,
the good times you must have had.

I haven't seen that spot in years now,
the families kind of scattered,
I know you liked to hunt Dad,
that's all that really mattered

[greylynx]

Wes:

I am no poet but you have my condolences for your dad.

Do you want to say anything about your dad on the AO forum?

We sort of like to hear about our old timers on this forum.

[Jimboy]

For many years he sought the beast
A hunting man whos now deceased
He roamed the hills , and valleys far
Now he hunts upon a star

Many years before his pass
He lived a life of simple task
No fancy car or truck did he
Two muscled legs is all that nee

Many nights he spent alone
Thru wind and rain snowy blown
His skin was brown like leathered hide
This man had nothing but his pride

He had a love within his life
An angel woman was his wife
She guided him thru hard and thin
And raised the children just like him

As l sit here and l speak
He was my Dad , a soul to keep
Them days are gone , l miss him so
A hunting man , with dog in tow

This man was loved by all who knew
His family ,friends , and children too
l am one , and very proud
Of my Dad , l say out loud

Rest in peace Dad

[sunsetrider2011]

The Range

A place in the world
where a cowboy calls home.
Back in the olden days
the mighty buffalo would roam.
For many a miles
one could see far and wide,
many a day and night the cowboy would ride.
The hills and the valleys,
the mountains and the plains,
the cowboy is the one
that understood and
loved the range.
The range was a place of wondrous sight,
with mirages in daylight,
and the beauty of the northern lights in the night.
The cattle would spread about and wander,
and the cowboy would set upon his horse and ponder.
He pondered the times when life was so simple and plain.
When the only worry was
when the heavens would open up and rain.
The cowboy in this day, this time of life,
is so filled with worry and unendable strife.
He worries about the cattle
and worries about the rain,
he worries about when he'll see his wife again.
Life used to be so simple in the cowboy lot,
but a lot of the olden days were simply forgot.
Times are a changin
sometimes for the better, or for the worse.
Now a days the cowboy frets with fillin his purse.
There is one thing in this life
that a cowboy always wants to remain the same,
that is the glimmer of hope and the flicker of light
of the horizon, and that he'll continue to ride with no shame.
The range has changed as the seasons have passed by,
the wet of the spring, the heat of the summer,
and the fall of the leaves
in the autumn,
brings frost, cool in the night.
As December approaches
we be gin to see the glimmer in the night
There is one place in this world
in this time of year,
when the time of Christmas is so very near.


The cowboy sets his horse
upon a hill,
he looks into the night and hears the call of the Whippoorwill.
He sees the distant lights of home,
as he feels the cool winter wind begin to moan.
He begins to feel a warmth, deep inside his heart,
as the northern Lights begin to start.



His time on the range
has seemed to come to an end,
and now there is a
new era to begin.
There is one thing in this whole world
that will never fall apart
that his love for his family and the love for the range
deep inside his
heart.

Sunsetrider Dec 24 1998 Daughter April Dawn

[sunsetrider2011]

The Mountains are his home

They are a place he likes to roam
With lakes of glass, meadows so green
Its where he goes to wipe his mind clean

His heart is trouble and full of pain
The mountains will help to keep him sane
His a throw back from the wild west
He goes where he can think the best
They are a cooling balm on his trouble soul
They help him to put his ducks in a row

He is a man of few words and when he is down
He dosn"t smile, He wears a frown
His heart is heavy it carrys a big load.

He hopes that God will help ease the pain
To keep him from going insane
The Mountains are his home.
They whisper Orin please come home

We will heal your soul and ease your mind
Give your heart that healing time
For you are strong and it will pass
There is a true love that will last
For the mountains are your home
They call to you when you feel alone
But remember this from the heavens
Above you are truely missed and dearly loved
So when you want to come down from your mountain side
We are waiting for you to be at our side
As We came along for the long ride.


Was Written By My close Friends Wife After he passed, He is Surley Missed

[gunslinger]

This poem was read by tim docherty at his dads funeral last wednesday and it truely touched my heart and said everything that he was all about . A hunter and outdoorsman in his yukon cabin. Earl docherty is a legend in the yukon, give me my first ever guideing job and will dearly be missed. As will your dad, I hope you enjoy the poem.



Robert W. Service

O dear little cabin, I’ve loved you so long,
And now I must bid you good-bye!
I’ve filled you with laughter, I’ve thrilled you with song,
And sometimes I’ve wished I could cry.
Your walls they have witnessed a weariful fight,
And rung to a won Waterloo:
But oh, in my triumph I’m dreary to-night –
Good-bye, little cabin, to you!

Your roof is bewhiskered, your floor is a-slant,
Your walls seem to sag and to swing;
I’m trying to find just your faults, but I can’t –
You poor, tired, heart-broken old thing!
I’ve seen when you’ve been the best friend that I had,
Your light like a gem on the snow;
You’re sort of a part of me — Gee! but I’m sad;
I hate, little cabin, to go.

Below your cracked window red raspberries climb;
A hornet’s nest hangs from a beam;
Your rafters are scribbled with adage and rhyme,
And dimmed with tobacco and dream.
“Each day has its laugh”, and “Don’t worry, just work”.
Such mottoes reproachfully shine.
Old calendars dangle — what memories lurk
About you, dear cabin of mine!

I hear the world-call and the clang of the fight;
I hear the hoarse cry of my kind;
Yet well do I know, as I quit you to-night,
It’s Youth that I’m leaving behind.
And often I’ll think of you, empty and black,
Moose antlers nailed over your door:
Oh, if I should perish my ghost will come back
To dwell in you, cabin, once more!

How cold, still and lonely, how weary you seem!
A last wistful look and I’ll go.
Oh, will you remember the lad with his dream!
The lad that you comforted so.
The shadows enfold you, it’s drawing to-night;
The evening star needles the sky:
And huh! but it’s stinging and stabbing my sight –
God bless you, old cabin, good-bye!

[topgun2269]

worked hard all my life

married to my sweetheart , my beautiful wife.

the outdoors is where I will always be.

many memories I will cherish for I was free.

getting up early to see the sun rise

trying to outsmart that buck who is truly wise

sitting in my tree stand or having a quiet lunch

its these times I will miss so much

most people will never truly value what us hunters see

these memories will always stay with me

i leave this place leaving nothing to chance

i will now ask the lord "may I have this dance?

I will now hunt and fish everyday

for it was Gods wish for now to stay.

dont cry or feel sad for me.

I will be the one flying up in the sky for you all to see....

[hayseed]

Some great poems folks, Wes my condolences.

[Rocks]

My condolences Wes.

Some good poems there.

[Wes Schneider]

Thank-you all for your kind words and great poems. I may write something up for my Dad a little later for the forum, once I get through the memorial on the weekend. Thanks again to all of you.

[Big Daddy Badger]

My Father's Death
By May Sarton

After the laboring birth, the clean stripped hull
Glides down the ways and is gently set free,
The landlocked, launched; the cramped made bountiful--
Oh, grave, great moment when ships take the sea!
Alone now in my life, no longer child,
This hour and its flood of mystery,
Where death and love are wholly reconciled,
Launches the ship of all my history.
Accomplished now is the last struggling birth,
I have slipped out from the embracing shore
Nor look for comfort to maternal earth.
I shall not be a [son] any more,
But through this final parting, all stripped down,
Launched on the tide of love, go out full grown.