"Poetry"

There were some funny incidents that inspired dueling poets, but none so much as the guys that liked to go hunting, and most everyone who didn't hunt, thought that guns were phallic symbols, and that the Hunters just like to go and play with their phallic symbols.

As follows is some of the poetry that pro. or con. should not be lost to posterity.


Untitled.

The alarm clock dances on the shelf,
It's time for him to rise,
He peers out of the window
As stars light up the skies
He reaches down beside him
He's up north now where men are men,
And, he came to hunt the deer.

Darkness slowly fades away
And the sun will feed the sky
He longs to shoot himself a deer
And watch it bleed and die
He, curses to himself,
Cause the weathers cold and damp
For he knows he's getting older now
And his bodies getting cramped

But hark, he hears the footsteps
That he's heard, many times before
He knows the goal is very near,
And it's time for him to score
Theres a clearing in the under brush,
And his game comes running through
The hunter cries, {he must be a newfy} come to me son,
Because it's me or you.

The gun recoils,
You can see the fire, spew out the end,
The deer will fall as he'll recall,
Time and time again.
When he's back home, and on the phone
Telling his friends
Of the time up north, for what it's worth,
Next year he'll be there again

Iggy C. 1984


There was a young fellow named Miloff
Whe deemed, a claim as the rest of the day off
But he couldn't get far in the Company car
Cause with it someone had just fucked off

Iggy C.

A boy from the Bay came Austin
To the big city came, and got lost in
Of Toronto were not talking, but Austin went walking
And Maples where Austin got lost in.

From Saskatchewan Mike D. came
With only a wee bit of brain
Doing nothing on his job, like a silly old knob
Till his brain became mostly lame.

From Hamilton a fellow named Stu.
Would occasionally come down with the flu
Mostly on cold days, and times when the hiways,
With me and with you.

There was a car tracer named Nick
Who did nothing all day, but pull prick
Leave the phone off the hook, to the switchboard he'd look
And say how do you like my good trick.

There was a young fellow named Perks
With others he'd go out, mostly jerks,
To see the birds fly, through the po-luted sky
Oh the young jerks, and their quirks.

Allan and Aubrey R.

Untitled

Clubbing seals is so much fun,
It's far better than using a gun
When using a gun, it's over to fast
But with a club, their pain seems to last

A two handed swing between the eyes,
It scatters their brains,and the blood really flies,
They flip and they flop, and then they quiver.
The blood flows out like a raging river,

For a minute or so, they they screem and they cry,
But soon they rollover and die,
The fun seems to end in such a flash,
Quickly, you find another to bash.

Aubrey R.

Untitled

Blood and guts and seals aquiver,
Gets you cleanj through to the liver
Squeels of anguish hurt and pain
Upon your ear drums seem to rain
But don't despair there's some nice fellow
Who is often heard to bellow
Skin that seal before he dies
And then you'll see the blood it flies
All of this for Broads most vain
To put upon their backs the pain
Of baby seals , those little critters
Savagely torn from their sweet litters.

Allan

The following poem was sent to us by Anon., but we had a strong suspition it was Walter L from Mimico, and I was just told a few days ago, that Walter died a few months ago, and that is to bad, he wasn't so old and was one of the nicest guys around.

Retribution

The day is coming of retribution
When through time and ageless evolution,
From a tiny, innocent, little, nub
A seal will grow a great big club

Then you'll be more wary killer hunter
As you stalk among the cows
For the odds will be more evener
When they can club you in the balls.

Walter L

Reply

Walter your poem was so urbane
One would almost judge you sane
You are a fellow, nice no doubt
But also, you are a bit of a lout
If seal pups grew clubs you see
It would be swell for all and me
Clubs I'd no longer have to buy
With their own clubs I could let fly
And bash their brains all over the place
And eliminate without a doubt or tace
Of seal pups and their mothers too
Oh what fun to say you slew,
And eliminate, them off the face of the earth,
And say it with undying mirth
The moans and groans from you we'd hear
When we do the same to the fucking deer
We'd load our guns with dum dum shell
And blow their brains all to hell
Blood and gore and ruptured livers
Intestines hearts and blood like rivers
Inside the deer he'd have to crawl
to take the guts out heart and all
Once inside he was heard to yell
Send in a light it's black as Hell
Iv'e got something he said with a sigh
Leave it go you have it's eye.
Your to far up.

Allan

The Weaker Sex

There's poetry in most ever one
But most of it is terrably dumb
The Broads think that they make words rhyme
The way they write is a fucking crime

They feel their poetry is a smash
But most of it is just plain trash
On occasion a line or two may bud
You can bet it was stolen from Miloff or Rudd

At copying or typing they do many words
But the poetry they write is for the birds
Some day they may see the light
And face the fact their not to bright.

Allan

Eerie

The bush is silent, and serene,
The mist enshrouds it like a dream,
A Deer stands in the shallow water,
Beneath the ripples, swims an Otter
A bird upon a tree doth sing,
Anice day forth it seems to bring,
Ared Squirrel chirps, as if to scoff,
As I turn and blow his fucking head off.

Allan


With apologies to blake

Hunting down the valleys wild
Shooting guns with pleasant glee
On a hill I saw a deer
And the thought just comes to me
Shoot the deer between the eyes
And so I shot and hit his leg
Hunter shoot that deer again
And hit him with your trusty Kraig
I hit the other leg he fell
Ah Jesus what the hell
I walkied to him and kicked his gut
He'll roam around no more to rut.

Tramping the bush for Ruffled Grouse
With an itchy trigger finger
The thoughts just come that your a louse
But I'll wait around yes linger
When the thundering grouse appears
Down your barrel you will peer
Take straight aim and hit that bird,
In twelve hours flat he'll be a turd

Baby seals are best of all
For if you wish to make them fall
You do it with a baseball bat
You hear the skull, it goes like splat.
It's a sight you shouldn't miss
You get so worked up, you just piss
Hunting makes one very funky,
Although some tend to think your skunky

The moral of this tale is clear
If in the bush you see a deer
Without a machine gun, don't get caught
Or as a hunter, you should be shot
Oh, just think exquisite pain
Baseball bats and baby seals,
And not even for a meal.

Allan

Ode to a Robin

As I awoke this morning
When all sweet things are born
A Robin perched upon my sill
To signal the coming morn
The bird was fragile, young and gay
And sweetly it did sing
The thoughts of happiness and joy
Into my heart it bring
I, smiled softly at the song
Then as it paused, a lull
I gently closed the window
And crushed it fucking scull

Anon.