The truck stops.
Dust settles.
The rifle is loaded and ready.
Earplugs and binoculars
already at hand.
Feeders devoid of corn,
soon to be filled.
Armadillows dance
beneth palmettas.
In the wind.
Leaves russle.
Mouth goes dry.
A sour scent
and fear;
on the wind goes by.
The Beast emerges.
Greasy and black.
With yellow teeth
and Demonic Eyes.
Uttering a violent cry.
Breath quickens
in surprise.
A sound.
The Beast falls.
All fear is gone.
Eyes no longer bright.
Rifles are put up.
The Beast is loaded in the back.
Dust stirs.
The truck pulls away.
The Dust settles.
Author notes
Hunting trip,I didn't kill it.
Is there anything wrong with the poem? Let me know so I can fix it.
Comments
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Well the hunter sure did if you didn't. Nicely done, you had me aborsed in the words until the very end. What kind of animal is it supposed to be, or is the beast a metaphore for something?
Very nice, and if the hunter has the extra meat he should make a barbaque lol. -
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Hey
The animal is wild boar my grandpa has to shoot them because the destroy the deer and turky feeders.
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I'm a vegetarian and an animal lover so this was a bit sour for me but i love how much imagery was in here! Goodjob!!
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