senryu

on a hunt with Rich
he wants to be back by noon -
so we turn around

how many guns now?
how many's a "collection"?
don't ask and don't tell

autumn artistry -
not landscape but rather a
still life with dead grouse

the Royal Gun! "That
gun has a pedigree, son"
couldn't shoot for crap

invisible grouse
there on a branch the whole time -
suddenly flushes

my first side by side
L.C. Smith with a cracked stock -
soured me on Elsies

the hunt haiku muse
is as hard to chase sometimes
as a wily grouse

tired hunting dog
a long day of chasing birds
smells of the pasture

had a pheasant gun -
a New Ithaca Double
with mod and full chokes

attempt at tanka

passing of a life
a sudden tranquility
seizes the remains -
I can almost believe in
the transmigration of souls

old hunting coat -
wintergreen lifesavers
worn out shell loops

scenting conditions -
forty degrees Fahrenheit
and light breeze . . . perfect!

gun I miss most? my
beat up Parker 20 gauge -
could shoot it eyes closed

seen on a pickup
"Bambi makes cute sandwiches"
- angry vegans glare

walking silently -
light snow falling through branches
where grouse roost above

number 8 chilled shot -
collisions of randomness
then a bird falling

in cold months it's a
Benelli SBE II -
death to ducks and geese

shotguns I have known

I recall my Rem
11-87
it killed my first grouse

a bloodied deer tag
filled with the vital info -
strings are still attached

shotguns I have known

shotguns I have known
Remington 870
the classic pumpgun

POAS

flush like chickens do
corn just ain't balsam and birch
better than nothing

Northern Wisconsin
Old Tamarack hunting camp
grouse in the popple

Pete's opening day
Manic duck hunter with boat
"Think I'll take a walk"

the sense of regret -
what they don't talk about in
books about hunting

upland detritus -
sticks feathers and empty shells
time to clean the vest

March evening mudbat
peents flies circles trills drops lands -
cruising for some chicks

flattened sodden leaves
creek ten feet above normal
iffy for hunting

Jehovah's Witness
hunting neighborhood converts
bagged one yesterday

desperate turkeys
jumping up for crabapples
they need a ladder

in autumn sometimes
the venison fairy will
leave a gift of meat

withered berries and
leafless hedgerows - now we are
hunting grouse for real

the season's over
waders hanging left to dry
until next autumn

late afternoon snow
grouse tracks under the spruces
suddenly ending

wet leaves -
my boots fixed with
duct tape

'Third Base' - the hot corner -
where birds have congregated
and two have fallen

eudaimonia
the Greek word for happiness
grouse hunting bliss

partly frozen ground
under red osier dogwood -
was that a woodcock?

shide no yama
literally 'Death Mountain' -
the end of the line

the snow all melted -
a road killed deer in a field
eviscerated

six fifteen a.m.
getting the paper, a quick
look around for deer

time for the Zebco -
push-button convenience at
a rock bottom price

#3

spring thicket -
a muddy dead deer
rotting alone

Ending

It is not repose
mourning the pass of season
cleaning fouled barrels.

January thaw
the grouse are spread out now just
living the good life

hunting canoga
is the best because they serve
hot meals in the field

full crop
the bird's last meal of
sticks and berries . . .

wings cupped . . . breathe slowly
and then the pit commander
says to us -- take 'em

sunrise beam of light
I bet they marvelled at it
in antiquity

after today's hunt
"crestfallen" is precisely
the word for goose camp

ducker aesthetics
what's so great about goddamned
bluebirds anyway?

sunny muddy field . . .
you shoulda been here friday
geese were everywhere

"crestfallen"
now there's a word you don't expect
to hear at beer camp

light snow is falling
on the last weekend for ducks
I drink my coffee

decaying apples
dinner for deer as I wait
up in my crow's nest

kamikaze duck
spirals downward cupping wings
with a fatal sound

Lonesome Bay

Two more days of ducks
new L C Smith reigns supreme
miss guys to share blind

taunt the vicar

we got game galore
fur fin feathers you name it
our freezers are full

icy predawn breaths
just then a glimpse of antlers
and neck shot he folds

light on feather
sky on wave
life returns
over sweet waters

Reddening maples

reddening maples
on a hunt not long ago
Pete got a woody

Bag limits

daily limit on
haiku is nonexistent
so haiku away

Addiction

Jimbo's second blog.
I thought that one was enough.
Here I am. How sad.

haiku numero uno

it's january
I should be out shooting ducks
instead I'm right here