Being immersed in my book project, I’ve neglected this blog and some other writing projects. Now that the manuscript is in, it’s time to get back on track and my vehicle for doing that is just around the corner.
April is National Poetry Writing Month–30 days, 30 poems, 30 posts. I did it last year and had a great time, and managed to squeak out a few verses that I really liked. Had some fabulous feedback from you folks too, so that was pretty darn rewarding.
See you back here on Tuesday, when we kick of NaPoWriMo with…well, I don’t know yet.

In the meantime, because it’s ThrowBackThursday, here is last year’s “winner”, the verse that garnered the most views, the most responses:

Moose, Meet

Autumn morning, rising sun
burnishing barrens gold
Father and son wait patiently
For glimpse of brown through brush
Moose steps into field of sight
Son shoulders .308 with steady aim
He finds his mark

Bull turns its massive antlered head
With regal grace and pride of place
And for a moment gazes lock
Soft brown eyes look into blue
Fingers tremble slightly
On trigger, squeezing tightly

Father exhales softly “now, son”
The shot is clean, right through the brain
Majestic animal collapses, down
On legs surprisingly spindly
Dead before it hits the ground

The meat is quartered, packed and hauled
Nothing left but blood stained leaves
This animal did not die in vain
No wastage here, no trophy kill

And though he loves his mother’s stew
The moose meat braised to tender turn
The boy, he will not hunt again

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