The Mystery of the Hunt

T
It’s the mystery of the hunt that intrigues me,
That drives us like lemmings, but cautiously—
The search for a bright square cloud—the scent of lemon verbena—
Or to learn rules for the game the sea otters
Play in the surf.

It is these small things—and the secret behind them
That fill the heart.
The pattern, the spirit, the fiery demon
That link them together
And pull their freedom into our senses,

The smell of a shrub, a cloud, the action of animals

—The rising, the exuberance, when the mystery is unveiled.
It is these small things

That when brought into vision become an inferno.

45
Rating:

Comment form:

*Max text - 500. Manual moderation.

Similar Poems:

Nosce Teipsum: of Human Knowledge by John Davies
John Davies
Why did my parents send me to the schools
That I with knowledge might enrich my mind?
Since the desire to know first made men fools,
And did corrupt the root of all mankind.

Read Poem
0
74
Rating:

Of Being Numerous: Sections 1-22 by George Oppen
George Oppen
1

There are things
We live among ‘and to see them
Is to know ourselves’.

Occurrence, a part
Of an infinite series,

The sad marvels;

Of this was told
Read Poem
0
59
Rating:

Darwin’s Bestiary by Philip Appleman
Philip Appleman
PROLOGUE

Animals tame and animals feral
prowled the Dark Ages in search of a moral:
the canine was Loyal, the lion was Virile,
rabbits were Potent and gryphons were Sterile.
Sloth, Envy, Gluttony, Pride—every peril
was fleshed into something phantasmic and rural,
while Courage, Devotion, Thrift—every bright laurel
Read Poem
0
48
Rating:

Interferon by Miroslav Holub
Miroslav Holub
Always just one demon in the attic.
Always just one death in the village. And the dogs
howling in that direction. And from the other end
the new-born child arrives, the only one
to fill the empty space in that wide air.

Likewise also cells infected by a virus
send out a signal all around them and defences
are mobilised so that no other virus
Read Poem
0
43
Rating:

Passion for Solitude by Cesare Pavese
Cesare Pavese
I’m eating a little supper by the bright window.
The room’s already dark, the sky’s starting to turn.
Outside my door, the quiet roads lead,
after a short walk, to open fields.
I’m eating, watching the sky—who knows
how many women are eating now. My body is calm:
labor dulls all the senses, and dulls women too.

Outside, after supper, the stars will come out to touch
Read Poem
0
38
Rating:

A Vision of Poesy by Henry Timrod
Henry Timrod
PART I

I
In a far country, and a distant age,
Ere sprites and fays had bade farewell to earth,
A boy was born of humble parentage;
The stars that shone upon his lonely birth
Did seem to promise sovereignty and fame—
Yet no tradition hath preserved his name.

II
’T is said that on the night when he was born,
A beauteous shape swept slowly through the room;
Its eyes broke on the infant like a morn,
And his cheek brightened like a rose in bloom;
Read Poem
0
75
Rating:

Baseball by Gail Mazur
Gail Mazur
for John Limon The game of baseball is not a metaphor
and I know it’s not really life.
Read Poem
0
55
Rating:

The circle game by Margaret Atwood
Margaret Atwood
i

The children on the lawn
joined hand to hand
go round and round

each arm going into
the next arm, around
full circle
until it comes
Read Poem
0
50
Rating:

Oystering by Richard Howard
Richard Howard
“Messieurs, l’huitre étoit bonne. Adieu. Vivez en paix.”
—Boileau Secret they are, sealed, annealed, and brainless
And solitary as Dickens said, but
Read Poem
0
46
Rating: