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Odin odin@aflx.com

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Books
· Perceptions

· ECHOSIS

· Prosetry at Work

· Said and Unsaid - Vol 1

· 3 WAY MIRROR


Short Stories
· Patience Waning

· Ladle Lines (A prosetry memory)

· A Gentle Man

· Pacing Love's Journey

· Gratitude

· A Sticky Conversation

· Blazing Now and Then

· Vulnerable Captivity

· The Kite That Would Not Bow

· Time


Articles
· War and Peace

· Desperation Breeds Desperation

· Preference Manifest

· Innocent Guilt

· Barbed Isolation

· A Place...

· Sanity's Loss

· Organs Anonymous

· Fatuous Beyond Absurdity

· Truth is One


Poetry
· The Life-long Pernicious Evil

· Cherishing Sounds of Silence

· Understanding the Unexplainable

· Reality of Another Kind

· Finding Trust Again

· Aromalicious Memories

· A Jungle-rain Pastorale

· Sediment Within the Soul

· Life's Enormous Green Chest

· Roadkill Memoriam

         More poetry...

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Hunters

by Odin odin@aflx.com — Read all 3,869 poems by Odin odin@aflx.com

As Europe continues as the hotbed of threat; weaponry’s history of both survival and conquest may have reached a precipice. (Images Dr. Stangelove/Mikel Uribetxeberria)

Wednesday, March 12, 2014


Poem Artwork
Hunters
by Odin Roark

Hunters
Passing gatherers along the way

Guided missiles
Tucked securely
Beneath wings borne of technology
Embracing payloads of fear

While

Nature’s winged
Eagle and hawk
Raven and sparrow
Continue to know only
Survival

And lest we forget

In the city’s canyons
Predators of another kind
Hunt for identity
Fortunes
Escape
Self respect lost
Long ago
While ignoring

Survivalist trackers
Seeking abandoned fridge boxes
Haunting kindly soup kitchens
Before returning to the darkness

Somewhere in yesterday’s remembrance
The simple provider from caves
With bone
Arrow
Spear
Sought sustenance for
He
She
Little ones
Even pets

Eventually along this hunter line
Man’s hardwired survival instinct
Shorted out
Sparks flew
Minds became chaotic
Lost like downed power lines
Snaking wildly
Helplessly seeking to ground the pain

But

Like our synaptic wonder
Rescuing such out of control escape
Has become something
Only total shutdown might contain

In the meantime

Regret wanders through landscapes
Both internal and external awareness
Like a just born baby
We may have to start
From scratch
Throw some food
Purge our lungs of pain and frustration
Fill our diapers with innocent waste
Look for Nature’s maternal essence
And return to bone and perhaps
A rebirth

Primitive accepted


   


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Reviewed by Ronald Hull
Reviewed on March 13, 2014
Mirrors my poem to be posted soon, Savage. Yes, that instinct to conquer and provide is built into the conscience and is hard to remove.

I read an interesting article on the idea that Crimea really does not want to be part of the Ukraine, but was always a part of Russia from Russia's early origins onward. Hastily thrown up borders by external vectors in wars like World War II have often become unraveled in the course of time because like Czechoslovakia and Yugoslavia, Czechs and Slovakians don't get along very well.

Ron

Reviewed by Diana Legun (Reader)
Reviewed on March 13, 2014
No better message of "Go back, you're going the wrong way," have I read anywhere 'ever,' and the power is in how succintly you have condensed this truth. The hugeness of image that your word selection and arrangement presents perpetually astonishes me. This time it is: "Embracing payloads of fear,"Helplessly seeking to ground the pain,"And return to bone....." Wow! ~~ Diana

Reviewed by Jansen Estrup
Reviewed on March 13, 2014
It will take a special kind of synaptic wonder to survive a worldwide collapse - one able to withstand a Fukashima divorce times 7 billion. Good luck to whatever follows. And yet you have a way of making such survival seem possible, even desirable.

Reviewed by Jerry Bolton
Reviewed on March 13, 2014
Ahhh . . . and the beat goes on . . .

Reviewed by Mr. Ed
Reviewed on March 13, 2014
I still prefer 'primitive' and camping out in the wilderness is what I love best - but I know that I'm sadly in the minority. I'd probably fare very well living in a cave with my spouse and dogs until some damned subdivision moved in and bulldozed me out of my home.

Reviewed by Patrick Granfors
Reviewed on March 12, 2014
It's always about money, hidden from view, politics irrelevant.

Reviewed on March 12, 2014
The person who throws the biggest temper tantrum usually wins because nobody wants to deal with them.


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