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Iolanthe Woulff

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Member Since: May, 2010

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Books
· She's My Dad


Poetry
· A British Petroleum Afternoon

· Mom-in-Law

· That P Word

· Organized Religion

· So Long, Mr. Hot Pants

· Slough of Despond

· Malibu Majesty

· Lament for Eden

· The Faithbug

· Rain of Toxic Terror

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  The Trophy Room
by Iolanthe Woulff
Monday, June 28, 2010
Rated "G" by the Author.

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Recent poems by Iolanthe Woulff
•  Purple Pickles
•  La Vieja Loca
•  The Bug
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           >> View all 56


I find the "sport" of killing animals for fun so abhorrent that it makes me look forward to the eventual extinction of humankind.


Ninety-nine animal heads on the wall,

each one endangered, not one of them small.

Lions and rhinos and even a gnu;

an albino tiger! I blasted him, too.

 

That albatross there flew some marvelous flights,

till he came in too low and I shot out his lights.

Cheetahs like that one run faster than trains;

I aimed from a chopper to blow out his brains.

 

Now zebras ain't anything specially hot,

but I shotgunned sixteen, and I left them to rot.

That antelope there took a long time to die,

though I shattered his skull with a slug through the eye.

 

My anti-tank ammo soon finished that buff,

when hollow-point magnums weren't deadly enough.

My round caught that Thompson's gazelle in mid-leap,

and I gut-shot her fawn when I found it asleep.

 

I drilled that gorilla from out of a truck,

but I missed his two pals. (Damn, what miserable luck!)

Then down at the river I stood on a dock,

and shot forty holes in that saltwater croc.

 

I only hunt trophies, don't bother with trash.

Check out that baboon! Boy, I settled his hash.

Those elephant tusks are my favorite prize:

The bull they belonged to was world-record size.

 

An oryx, an ibex, a hyrax or seven;

killing things truly is macho-man heaven.

Bullets and gunpowder sure make my day.

Keep that Sierra Club out of my way!

 

Nothing can come between "Sweetie" and me.

(Don't mean my wife but my rifle, y'see.)

With her I'll never feel sad or depressed.

In me, my Sweetie brings out all the best.

 

Ninety-nine animal heads on the wall.

Gosh, how I love it when I see them fall.

What did you call me? A "murderous fool"?

My feelings are hurt. That's so thoughtless and cruel!

LW

 




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Reviewed by Victoria's Poetry & Voices of Muse 7/14/2010
It turns me that any man or woman thrive to kill life to show such a trophy.
I myself love wild game stock from Mother Nature over store bought slaughter houses
& I firmly believe if you won't eat it Don't Shoot It...
of course I was raised if you kill it you better eat it...

This expression dances with wonderful rhyming I am actually visualizing the SOB gettin trampled in an African Stampead from the circle of life...

Through Visual Scopes...
Vickie
Reviewed by Sage Sweetwater 6/28/2010
You have such a gift for rhyming environmental topics, Lannie...your poetry leaves a mark for conservation and preservation. I appreciate it. Be well.

Love,
Sage
Reviewed by pat medlin 6/28/2010
oh m' gosh! you and patrick granfors need to throw your stuff together....would be the most wonderfully entertaining book of reads....patmedlin....more more
Reviewed by Regis Auffray 6/28/2010
"Bang" on, Iolanthe. I could not agree more. I am often ashamed of being a human because of the manner in which we have treated the Earth and its creatures and natural resources etc. Thank you. Love and best wishes,

Regis

Books by
Iolanthe Woulff



She's My Dad

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