Poems of Archery,Bowhunting by Trad-Gang members

[ken denton]

I just read A Hunting Poem by Stan "sequoia" and thought it would be great to hear some poems by Trad-Gang members on Archery and Bowhunting;
I will start and don't worry if it sounds corney;

An Arrow Song To A King Lion

If I had a chance to meet the king,
   I would meet him face on,
and I would say; This is your day,
    I would draw my bow an then,
the arrow would spring and,
     straight to his heart it would fly.
Then with a great leap he would roar,
      and fall to the earth to roar no more.

I wrote this many years ago and was inspired by Art Young and Lion. Ken Denton  

[LimBender]

Thanks for that Ken, but I don't have any contributions.

[TooManyHobbies]

I wrote this way back in my compound days, but it fits us with one word change.

The days have come,
The time draws near,
When we will go hunting deer.

We will use a TRADITIONAL bow,
To shoot a buck,
Maybe a doe.

Through the woods
The deer will bound,
It will be dead when it is found.

When the work is done,
And it's cooked just so,
We'll remember the deer we took with a bow.

Brian Mongeau

[Mark Baker]

How about song lyrics?   They are poems....

I wrote this one for those souls who like hunting alone.   Monty Browning was the inspiration, but it fits many others too...like Mike Mitten, or Monty Morevec.   It's about finding solace in wild country....and aptly called "Solitude", like the stories that Monty penned.  


Dawn brings the day, homes so far away
But I'm determined to stay....alone.

Exile by choice, heading my inner voice.
An escape from my life, at home.

Wondrous vistas surround, and heighten the mood.
Instictive urges abound, in Solitude.

Drawn to the cheek, not a time to be weak.
Arrows contacting meat...blood on the ground.

Drama ever so high...to live something must die.
But in the blink of an eye, roles turn around.

Walking a dangerous line, feed or be food.
Moments in life are defined, in solitude.

And though it may seem I'm gone for a long, long while.
Getting my feet back on the ground.
Each night I'll dream of you and gaze at a star-filled sky...
'Cause dreaming of you, helps me get through,
These days of solitude.

Times nearly done, Wild re-birth begun.
The Lords will has won, I'm soon to return.

Alive another day, survived a primitive way
My cares melted away, campfires burned.

Wandering landscapes so wild, with no attitude.
Just one more natures child, in Solitude

Walking a dangerous line, feed or be food
Moments in life are defined in Solitude

Wondrous vistas surround, and heighten the mood
Instictive urges abound, in Solitude.


Many have heard me perform this, but it's not yet been recorded.

[DesertDude]

cool stuff here........

[Steve Clandinin]

Dedicated to a fellow Archer and Buckskinner.

  There is a Man we know so well,
  He could scare you with his stare,
  A Gentle giant,archer superb,
  Hes known as Ronnie LaClair,
  His Shrews are Legend,they shoot so true.
  They can be had by one and all,
  Our Legend Ron at 75,
  Still shoots and rides so tall.
  He can spin you yarns,and poetry too,
  He will dazzle you with his look,
  We just wish for once,
  He'd spend the time,and write us all his book!

[Jon Stewart]

After my dad died I was going thru his things and found this poem that he had written.  I joke with my brothers about dad being a poet.

  REMEMBER ME

Remember me in the spring when your after trout

Remember me in the spring when the mushrooms are out.

Remember me  in the summer when the weathers fine.

Remember me in the  summer when the bluegill is on the line.

Remember me in the fall when you are in your blinds.

Remember when when we had our good times.

Remember me in the winter when its nasty and cold.

Remember me in the winter about the stories I have told.

But most important of all, remember me not about the bad,

but most important of all, remember me about the good times we all had.

E.L.S. 6/5/03


RIP dad we sure miss you around the old camp.

[adkmountainken]

it is not bow hunting necessarily but i have bow hunted my favorite mountain for my whole life.
 

[Herdbull]

I wrote this one for the conclusion of our film Essential Encounters.

"Romancing the Bow"
Mike Mitten May 5, 2010

Through pine boughs and aspens a sun-ray slivers,
Birthing life in the cool mist of high mountain rivers.

Forbes and sedges provide herbivores to eat,
But to those who walk upright, the requirement is meat.

An old northern bruin stalks quietly on air,
No sound is made, no rising of hair.

Flesh tearing claws, while growing long in the tooth,
These legends and folklore are based on the truth.

Indigenous people live by spirit and prayer,
It’s the land they’re connected to, same as the bear.

Poetry is simple to those dreaming by day,
Waiting, just waiting, on nocturnal ones to prey.

The setting sun triggers an ancient impulse to feed,
While predators acting on instinct, lurk in the timber and reeds.

Naked man can catch no meat or no marrow,
Lacking fangs and claws, he relies on his arrow.

Technology embraced has given us plenty,
But full stomachs without heart, leave some feeling empty.

Taking too many enlightened our education,
Now relying only on surplus, is the root of conservation.

The hunter inside us is no evil foe,
He’s generations united, romancing the bow.

[robtattoo]

I wrote this yesterday.......

I think it sums up the whole traditional hunting experience very succinctly.


"Just my longbow & me,
sitting here, up a tree.
With nothing occurring,
and not much to see."

[ken denton]

These poems and songs are great. If you don't have one, just write one today and put it here.
I just wrote one today and here it is;

Arrow For A Buck
I am waiting for the buck, and I hope with some luck,
he will travel close to my tree.
I have chosen the longbow and broadhead arrow for me.
So he has every chance to escape if he may.
Something inside me makes me shoot the bow and arrow each day.
It is so strong this Archery thing that I live for it each day.
Wait, here the Buck comes
I must be quiet for he is the greatest of trophies.
My broadhead is razor sharp as I draw,
At full draw I focus on the spot.
The bow springs and the arrow is on its way.
A great shot and the Buck is down.
What a great trophy for me.
                       Oct 24, 2012 Ken Denton

[SheltonCreeker]

Good Stuff.

[Ron LaClair]

The Legacy ...by Ron LaClair

In days of old when Knights were slain                
with iron tipped arrows through mail of chain      
And Indians,.. on horseback who,...                                
shot buffalo, through and through.                            

The bow and arrow of days gone by                        
lives still today through you and I,                                            
For every time we take a breath..  
for every heart beat in our chest..                                

For every time we loose the string                                                          
to send the feathered shaft to wing..                            
We keep the spirit of the bow..                                      
alive...so all today will know..
                               
THIS is the kind of archery
passed down to us through history,
and It's up to us, you and I,
to keep this Legacy alive,

So teach a child to shoot a bow,
then watch the joy within him grow,
and someday when he is a man..
he'll surely pass it on again.

We share our love for archery
by passing on this Legacy
So even after we are gone....
the feathered shaft will still, sing it's  song.

[Ron LaClair]

The Love Of Archery  by Ron LaClair

What is there about this simple thing that captivates us so

It's only a simple stick and string, it's only a simple bow


Is it the feel of the bow in your hand when you draw it to your face

using your strength to bend the limbs, sending the arrow on it's race


Is it the sight of the feathered shaft as it flys straight to it's mark

or is it the soft low hum of the bow that is music to your heart


Is it the sight of a white tail buck as seen over top of the shaft

Is it the thrill as you kneel by him and know he is your's at last.


Is it the Archers of long ago that speak to you still today

Is it the feelings that fill your heart when you hear what they have to say


It's all of this and even more, it's clear for all to see

It's the love we have for archery... the way it was meant to be.

[Ron LaClair]

The Ghost Of Armstrong Creek
                         by Ron LaClair


Armstrong creek is a special place
where Whitetails get real old
No one ever goes there
for it's haunted, so we're told

Years ago a man named Armstrong
came to pan for gold
Hostile Indians took his scalp
and left him naked in the cold

They say his ghost is still around
that he's looking for his hair
Most folks believe the story
and no one ever hunts there

I don't believe in ghost and such
my bloods not made of milk
I just know there's bucks in there
with horns as big as elk

Come this weekend, I'll be there
just me with my stick and string
No ghost is gonna scare me off
I'm gonna do my thing

Saturday morning in pre dawn light
I crept along the creek
The smells were old--I heard a noise
I felt my knees go weak

A MONSTER buck suddenly appeared
through the trees upon a rise
I drew my bow, the cedar shaft
flew just like it had eyes


THE BUCK WAS DOWN...his rack was HUGE!
I'd need help to get him out
I turned to leave...but somethin..
made me stop and turn about.

There he stood...beside my buck
he was ghostly pale and thin
His scalp was GONE..his naked body
wore nothin but a grin!

I was frozen in my tracks
I couldn't move or speak
I was standin face to face
with the Ghost of Armstrong creek

He spoke to me, ..the sound was strange
like nothing I'd heard before
"Good Shot old coon" he said to me
I thought he might say more....

but he turned and vanished in the shadows
My legs suddenly found life
I flipped that buck upon his back
and pulled my hunting knife

A slash...a pull...his guts were out
I grabbed him by a horn
Two hundred pounds of whitetail
pulled as easy as if new born

Now they's more big bucks back in there boys
but they're  not for the meek
If you think you're brave my friend...
try hunting Armstrong Creek.

[Ron LaClair]

The Ghost Of Armstrong Creek
                         by Ron LaClair


Armstrong creek is a special place
where Whitetails get real old
No one ever goes there
for it's haunted, so we're told

Years ago a man named Armstrong
came to pan for gold
Hostile Indians took his scalp
and left him naked in the cold

They say his ghost is still around
that he's looking for his hair
Most folks believe the story
and no one ever hunts there

I don't believe in ghost and such
my bloods not made of milk
I just know there's bucks in there
with horns as big as elk

Come this weekend, I'll be there
just me with my stick and string
No ghost is gonna scare me off
I'm gonna do my thing

Saturday morning in pre dawn light
I crept along the creek
The smells were old--I heard a noise
I felt my knees go weak

A MONSTER buck suddenly appeared
through the trees upon a rise
I drew my bow, the cedar shaft
flew just like it had eyes


THE BUCK WAS DOWN...his rack was HUGE!
I'd need help to get him out
I turned to leave...but somethin..
made me stop and turn about.

There he stood...beside my buck
he was ghostly pale and thin
His scalp was GONE..his naked body
wore nothin but a grin!

I was frozen in my tracks
I couldn't move or speak
I was standin face to face
with the Ghost of Armstrong creek

He spoke to me, ..the sound was strange
like nothing I'd heard before
"Good Shot old coon" he said to me
I thought he might say more....

but he turned and vanished in the shadows
My legs suddenly found life
I flipped that buck upon his back
and pulled my hunting knife

A slash...a pull...his guts were out
I grabbed him by a horn
Two hundred pounds of whitetail
pulled as easy as if new born

Now they's more big bucks back in there boys
but they're  not for the meek
If you think you're brave my friend...
try hunting Armstrong Creek.

[Ron LaClair]

The essence of archery by Ron LaClair

The stick and string will always be
the essence of true archery
a simple bow of wood or glass
with classic lines as in the past

arrows fletched with turkey wings
give voice to shafts and make them sing
There's something about the arrows arch
as it leaves the bow to find it's mark

it stirs the soul like nothing might
when eye and hand guide arrows flight
It's path is beauty to the eye
the thrill will linger til the next will fly

Who knows what stirs our passion so
this love to shoot a simple bow
we only know it's deep within
our very being, until life will end.

[ken denton]

The Master Archer of poetry Ron LaClair has shared with us beautiful poems of bow and arrow. Thanks Ron.
Hope some more of you will share some more. Ken

[perry f.]

I'll be headed west this fall with my stick and string,
Gonna climb a mountain with my packgoat string.
Headed way up high where the elk bugle and the trout fishings good.
I'd live there year 'round if my wife and kids would.
But that's ok,  I'm not sad,
Caused I get to spend two weeks there with my cousin, two close friends, and my dear ole dad!!!

[Ron LaClair]

The song of deer camp........

The Ballad of Shrew Hollow by Ron LaClair

Down in Shrew hollow by old Armstrong Creek
sits a little log cabin with wood floors that squeak

In the evening the soft glow of gas lights are there
while outside there are whitetails, gray wolves and black bear

Up on the oak ridge the acorns are falling
the bucks they are grunting, the does they are calling

So we slip in our stand and we wait for a buck
if the wind is just right all we'll need is some luck

Now come hang up your buck on our deer hanging rail
then sit by the fire and tell us your tale

For the stories of hunting is why we come here
to hear the stories and to hunt for the great whitetail deer.