The last echo bounces back at me and then the quiet fills
My ears with sounds of nothingness; of solitude; of stills.
But the smell of powder drifts about and I glance down at my gun
Wisps of smoke come drifting up and I know the hunt is done.

I wait there several minutes, scanning vacant skies
Hidden among the underbrush, moving nothing but my eyes.
There seems to be no other life; nothing ventures out
It appears to me my shot was true; the deer lies dead, no doubt.

I ease into the clearing where soundlessly I tread
The carcass now without a soul; life forces now have fled.
I see where he was standing when the lethal leaden ball
Struck him in that vital place, soon to make him fall.

A wisp of hair, a spot of blood, a frantic cloven track
Bounds a few short paces, before his sight goes black.
An uncoordinated stumble, quite unlike former grace,
Leaves the buck distorted in his final resting place.

I kneel there beside him and thank my stroke of luck.
Mixed emotions powerful; each time I feel struck
By warm thoughts pulling one way and sadness pulling back
Of bright colors on the one hand, with the other hand all black.

My deep respect for other life, my remorse for having killed.
The accomplishment of survival now; but sadness for having stilled
This life to which I've brought an end, this animal of grace,
Is now reduced to something less, to another time and place.

I think it all important for the hunter to understand,
The significance of mortality; causing death with one's own hand.
And not cause undue suffering; clear of waste and of neglect,
And treat the land and all of life with the deepest of respect.


Jack

Nice poem! I'm no poet, so usually refrain from critiques.

Jim

Good message in your poem. It feels familiar to me.

Very nice indeed!!

Anybody with mixed emotions when the deer is down?

Yes sir, Jack I did, and do. I feel it every time , just the way you wrote it. Life, colours, action, then black.

When I shot the oldest, largest buck I'd ever taken, ( Magnusson, I named him), he was just beginning beyond the peak of his fighting career. Huge body, droptines and all, I was transfixed as I watched his silhouette moving in morning dawn light. I almost forgot to shoot him. I still wish I had video of him .

As with the others, I felt sadness , looking down at that powerful beast that , my taxi man later aged him at almost 10 years old.

What a long life he lived. Master of his world, the nicks on his latest set of antlers showing another season of kicking butt.

And I ended all that.

He weighed a ton, dragging him back to my barn in my sled. I make no apology for getting the biggest "bang" for my "buck". Not only did he equal two deer in one for meat, I was also able to enjoy feasting on his lovely antler art , to this day. I figured, at least he didn't die in the forest, never to be admired, nor revered , only to disappear in time from dumb porcupines chewing on him.

My taxi man , in making the lovely Euro mount of Magnusson for me, said that he was doing great to live as long as he did. That more than likely, he would have perished that winter. He said, this way, Magnusson has an artist to appreciate him , always. Along with my photos with him in setting up my camera in burst shots.

I did feel a little better ....but I will never shake the opposing feelings at war in my heart , just the way you described.

Thanks Sharon. I feel a bit let down after every game animal. Like you, it must not be too bad, as I do it again next week, or next year. I think we all should feel a tad of sadness, as a way of showing respect. Also, I wholeheartedly feel that we should show respect by taking the best care of the meat, antlers, etc. as we know how.

Jack

Yes sir, Jack.I feel this way all the time. I still feel sadness. I don’t know how to alleviate that .

On the other hand, I never feel this way when I protect my helpless wee ones from predators. That gives me direction and purpose. I defend the ones I love…animal or human, with all the power and vigor that I can muster. With NO remorse