Bushcraft Poetry

[Ex-member PaganBushcraft]

inspired by boatnosepanbow to do a bushcraft poam.



The winter woods
by D K Eastwood

I stand in a wood, Golden leafs at my feet.
A crecant Moon and the Sun do I see as the twilight of the Gods draws near
Weasten horizon bathed in fire bright.
Golden clouds do gilded glow, still now the World
The winter wood it's trees are charcoal black now against a flaming sky
No creatures sture the Gods have come to see the day that has past
and to take thows that will never see another to Averlon
Where the Summers never end to rest and heal and to be reborn anew.
Turning my head as the sun go's down
night draws it's hood over the sky and a miriade stars do i see.
Each one has a World of it's own, where the twilight of the Gods do's apear
the night has come.I rape my cloak about me
as i site down at the campfire by my feet
and the golden flames is all that i can now see.

The end

Please tell me what you think as it is my first poam and I want to get some feedback

 

[Imagedude]

What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.
No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.
No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.
A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.


W. H. Davies
Leisure

 

[Ex-member PaganBushcraft]

I like it it's very good how long did it take you to come up with it I did about 6 drafts

What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.
No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.
No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.
A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.


W. H. Davies
Leisure

 

[boatnosepanbow]

An inspirational poem my friend. Very deep as well as soothing. I hope to hear more from you paganbushcraft

 

[Ridge Runner]

For those that like to canoe or kayak.


The Song My Paddle Sings

WEST wind, blow from your prairie nest,
Blow from the mountains, blow from the west
The sail is idle, the sailor too;
0! wind of the west, we wait for you.
Blow, blow !
I have wooed you so,
But never a favour you bestow.
You rock your cradle the hills between,
But scorn to notice my white lateen.

I stow the sail, unship the mast:
I wooed you long but my wooing's past;
My paddle will lull you into rest.
0! drowsy wind of the drowsy west,
Sleep, sleep,
by your mountain steep,
Or down where the prairie grasses sweep I
Now fold in slumber your laggard wings,
For soft is the song my paddle sings.

August is laughing across the sky,
Laughing while paddle, canoe and I,
Drift, drift,
Where the hills uplift
On either side of the current swift.

The river rolls in its rocky bed;
My paddle is plying its way ahead;
Dip, dip,
While the waters flip
In foam as over their breast we slip.

And oh, the river runs swifter now ;
The eddies circle about my bow.
Swirl, swirl !
How the ripples curl
In many a dangerous pool awhirl!

And forward far the rapids roar,
Fretting their margin for everimore.
Dash, dash,
With a mighty crash,
They seethe, and boil, and bound, and splash.

Be strong, 0 paddle! Be brave, canoe !
The reckless waves you must plunge into.
Reel, reel.
On your trembling keel,
But never a fear my craft will feel.

We've raced the rapid, we're far ahead !
The river slips through its silent bed.
Sway, sway,
As the bubbles spray
And fall in tinkling tunes away.

And up on the hills against the sky,
A fir tree rocking its lullaby,
Swings, swings,
Its emerald wings,
Swelling the song that my paddle sings.

E. Pauline Johnson [1862-1913]

 

[Imagedude]

By Gizmo of UKC forums -

What life is this if in our prime,
we have no time to walk or climb.

No time to traipse across the hill,
forgetting all about that bill.

No time to tick in our Rockfax,
all of the classic gritstone cracks.

No time to crimp or fingerlock,
upon our favourite type of rock.

No time to quell with a quick smear,
that momentary sense of fear.

No time to sit and chat with friends,
in the pub when the daylight ends.

A poor life this, if in our prime,
we have no time to walk or climb.

 

[Silverhill]

By Gizmo of UKC forums -

What life is this if in our prime,
we have no time to walk or climb.

No time to traipse across the hill,
forgetting all about that bill.

No time to tick in our Rockfax,
all of the classic gritstone cracks.

No time to crimp or fingerlock,
upon our favourite type of rock.

No time to quell with a quick smear,
that momentary sense of fear.

No time to sit and chat with friends,
in the pub when the daylight ends.

A poor life this, if in our prime,
we have no time to walk or climb.

Nice verse! It's a pastiche of W.H.Davies too!

 

[boatnosepanbow]

i like the bushcraft poems my friends
Boatnose

 

[merrygold85]

Like a nipple from the sky
The great desert burned,
Road warriors unaware of it's bulge
As I walked across the sun.

 

[Realbark]

IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son

Rudyard Kipling.

i love this one and have a framed copy in my home.

 

[boatnosepanbow]

My woodland pals,

for it has been a long while since ours bows have touched horn knocks, here is my most recent poem.

The elegant breeze of the moorland Heath,
they say it's a bushman's delight,
oh wonderland wind brings the scent of stew
foraging the bushes for a rabbit, or two.
For this is the beauty of the night.

a bushmans lantern glows so strong,
his path outlined ahead,
the wood kestrel flies,
so gracefully by,
I'd rather eat pigeon instead.

A yew wood bow shines like diamonds
hunting for prey on a faraway island
I can see beasts running on the horizon
grunting around like the beast of Poseidon,
i fire an arrow,
room for error is narrow,
then I stalk the retched beast,
until it falls in the shallows.

for I have foraged my feast,
the great, woodland, beast!


Thanks guys, I hope you all thought my poem was fantastic!

bnpb

 

[woodpoet]

Mother nature
To see the trees in blossom.
to see the grass so green.
To see the sky above us.
To witness natures scene.
The beauty of the rainbow.
the grace of birds in flight.
The fragile single snowflake.
The sparkling stars at night.
The power of the lightning.
The gentle breeze that blows.
There is no end to nature.
Her wonder grows and grows.
she feeds us when we're hungry.
There is nothing she can't do.
And all she asks in payment.
Is love from me and you.

woodpoet.

 

[boatnosepanbow]

A tremendous bush poem, woodpoet! Have you read some of my other woodland poetry? It's fantastic! Search 'an ode a bow'? It's about a very special bow I once crafted.

Here is a line from something I'm currently working on:

'my instinct to hunt is innate, ancestral,
my grandfather was the first man to slay the great kestrel'

Have you wrotten any Bowetry yourself woodpoet?

Thabks,
BNPB