By Kasey Hamric
2nd Block
Coach Hutchins
Chapter 1
Haikus
(10 Poems)
Simile
Shooting a gun Is
like an adrenaline rush
That never gets trite.
Metaphor
Deer are small soldiers
Trying to stay latent from
Hunters in their stands.
Hyperbole
The spasmodic gun
Shot was louder than a bomb
In the silent woods.
Personification
The deer was irate
When he was shot at by a
Hunter in the woods.
Onomatopoeia
As the wind dwindles
I can hear the loud “clank” clank”
Of bucks in battle.
Alliteration
Terminating two
Little lions lives the big
Bear is done hunting.
Personification
I sit in my stand
Being circumspect watching
A duck sing his song.
Hyperbole
Hunting in the woods
I saw a venomous snake
That almost ate me.
Open
I sit as lofty
As the sky and watch a deer
Very anxiously.
Open
Hunting is a sport
That is opinionated
Among some people.
Limerick
There once was a guy named Joe
Who wanted to shoot his new bow
He saw a buck
But his arm got stuck
And he shot himself in the toe
Acrostic
Keeping
All others
Scared
Every
Young animal fears
Lions who are
Intelligent and
Great
Hunters
Extended Metaphor
Deer are soldiers
Surviving a constant war
Working hard to stay alive
Showing what life is for
They live under cover
Worried about being killed
Even for their own survival
They have to be very skilled
Staying under cover
Ducking shots from left to right
It is hard living hunted
Both day and night
Even when they eat
Or run to help a friend
One small mistake could
Bring their life to an end
It is sad for them to live a life
Seeing ones that they love die
But life is the survival of the fittest
For animals that walk or animals that fly
Ballad
Vice President Dick Cheney
Went out to hunt quail
But an accident did happen
That he doesn’t like to tell
He was on the Armstrong Ranch
In South Texas that day
Drinking a beer
And shooting away
His friend Whittington
Who is an attorney
Went out with Cheney
On his quail hunting journey
They had a great time
Until Cheney fired his shotgun
Whittington was in the way
And had no time to run
It was partially his fault
For not announcing his arrival
When Cheney shot at a quail
It was a struggle for survival
42 miles north
Whittington was driven away
The small hospital wasn’t enough
So he flew elsewhere to stay
Whittington’s life was saved
And the gunshot wounds were healed
It is lucky for Cheney
That the 79 year old wasn’t killed.
Article
The delicate and the dangerous meet in the ranch lands of South Texas. In the winter, quail gather in the soft gold of prairie
sedge, but snakes, scorpions and wild-boar-like javelina lurk too. In 1999 a fourth-generation South Texas rancher named
Tobin Armstrong testified before Congress that he sometimes found illegal immigrants dead of dehydration in the
unforgiving brush of his 49,300-acre ranch. It was there that Vice President Dick Cheney, out with a hunting party that
included Tobin's daughter Katharine, accidentally sprayed attorney Harry Whittington with birdshot. What took place in the
hours before and after the Feb. 11 shooting is a largely mundane tale that became extraordinary when, for days, Cheney
seemed unwilling to tell it. The Internet is still excreting rumors.
So, what did happen?
Gentility and blood sport are old friends, but the mix of the wealthy and the rustic at Armstrong Ranch that weekend was exceptional.
Tobin's grandfather started the ranch on family land in 1882, after he won a $4,000 bounty for capturing outlaw John Wesley Hardin.
The Vice President was hunting with not only his friend Whittington, who has advised Texas Governors and plays a monthly card
game with the likes of a retired state supreme court justice, but also Pamela Pitzer Willeford, the ambassador to Switzerland. Tobin
died in October, so his wife Anne Legendre Armstrong, a former ambassador to Britain and a longtime Cheney friend, played host.
For all that, Armstrong Ranch is countrified rather than ostentatious. At the entrance is a utilitarian "bumper" gate, so named because
you nudge it open with your vehicle. Guests usually stay in wooden ranch dwellings near the main house, which are furnished with
antiques but few frills.
Katharine Armstrong initially told a Texas reporter that there had been "zero, zippo" drinking that Saturday. But Cheney later said on
Fox News that he had had "a beer" at lunch. The meal had been served under an old oak, and the hunt -- which had begun that
morning -- didn't resume until midafternoon. In addition to the grandees with their guns -- Cheney's an elegant, Italian-made 28gauge shotgun, Whittington's a 20-gauge -- the party included several guides and dogs. Because of the breadth of the terrain, they
got around in old jeeps and other vehicles. According to the local sheriff's report, it was about 5:30 p.m., as the sun was giving way to
the gloaming, when the dogs located a covey of quail. Moments later, a guide named Oscar Medellin found another covey. When the
dogs flushed the first covey, Whittington fired a lucky shot that hit two birds. As he went to find thedowned birds, the report says,
Cheney and Willeford moved toward Medellin's covey.
After searching for his birds for a bit, Whittington returned to the vehicle where Katharine Armstrong was. She "told him to go and
shoot the second covey," the report says. Whittington walked toward Cheney and Willeford but, as Armstrong later told reporters,
didn't announce his presence. "Your first responsibility is to let the other guy know where you are," says Texas A&M professor Dale
Rollins, a quail-hunting expert. But Cheney too had a responsibility to know where Whittington was. "It's critical, especially with more
than two hunters, to stay in a straight line," says Rollins. Cheney turned toward the setting sun to fire at a bird from the covey
Medellin had discovered -- and that was the shot that felled Whittington. The ambulance that always accompanies Cheney took his
friend to a small hospital 42 miles north, and he was then flown to a big Corpus Christi medical center.
According to Cheney, Katharine Armstrong suggested -- and he agreed -- that she be the one to make the incident public. Cheney
was traveling without a press aide, and anyway, the thinking was, she had witnessed the shooting. Armstrong is also a wellconnected GOP lobbyist, and she doubtless wanted to help shape the story. It was decided that she would approach Jaime Powell, a
reporter she knew at the Corpus Christi Caller-Times. But why wait until the next morning to call? Cheney later said his first concern
was ensuring that Whittington's children were notified about the accident and getting accurate information about his condition.
Cheney was in for a fitful evening; he was "just crushed," another guest told the New York Times. The paper says the hunting party
somberly ate roast beef for dinner and got periodic reports from two guests who had gone to the hospitals along with Whittington's
wife Mercedes. The Secret Service notified local authorities, and a traveling aide to the Vice President gave a heads-up to the White
House Situation Room. Bush adviser Karl Rove called Armstrong between 8 p.m. and 9 p.m. to ask about Whittington -- who, like
Armstrong, is a friend of Rove's -- and learned of Cheney's role in the accident.
At about 8 a.m. Sunday, a Cheney aide called strategist Mary Matalin, who regularly advises the Vice President. The aide read her a
statement about the accident that Cheney had considered releasing before he decided to encourage Armstrong to go to the CallerTimes. But the statement "didn't say much of anything," Matalin says -- not even that Cheney was the shooter. Matalin then spoke
with a second aide and with Cheney's family and heard different versions of what had happened in the shooting. She decided no
statement should be released amid the confusion. Matalin spoke with Cheney, and, she says, they agreed that "a fuller accounting,
with an eyewitness," would be preferable.
So Armstrong finally phoned the paper, which posted the story on caller.com at 1:48 p.m., 20 hours after the shooting. It could have
taken five minutes to get the story out. A communications official can tell a White House operator from anywhere on the planet, "I
need to make a wire call," and within minutes, the operator will call back with wire reporters on the line, ready to flash the news
around the world.
Wildlife officials say the most common cause of hunting accidents is a shooter's swinging on game outside the safe zone of fire, as
Cheney did. But as generic as the incident was, there are some unanswered questions about that day. For instance, why hasn't the
Secret Service released its report? And why hasn't the local sheriff released the text of the depositions his office conducted? There is
also a small and geeky but persistent debate over whether Cheney might have been closer to Whittington than 30 yds., the figure in
the sheriff's report. Some gun experts say from that distance, it would be unlikely that birdshot could penetrate Whittington's clothes
and chest wall. Others agree with Jon Nordby, an analyst with Final Analysis Forensic of University Place, Wash., who says, "It is
certainly possible, and I've seen it. I had a case where a BB went through a jacket at 90 ft. and through the pericardial sac and
caused death."
Fortunately, that wasn't the result of this mishap. Three days after the shooting, Whittington, who turns 79 next month, experienced a
minor heart attack caused by a piece of birdshot that lodged in or near his heart. But by Friday he was well enough to leave the
hospital. A lifelong Republican who is also respected by Democrats for helping reform Texas' prison system, Whittington needled
reporters as he left. "This past weekend encompassed all of us in a cloud of misfortune and sadness that is not easy to explain,
especially to those who are not familiar with the great sport of quail hunting," he said. Whittington was dressed immaculately, as
usual, but had bruises and pellet wounds where he had been shot. "Accidents," he said, "do and will happen."
One cold winter morning
I got in the boat
After wading up the river
I put on my coat
Free Style
I sat in my stand
Waiting for daylight
When I heard the first “bang”
I knew the time was right
Two woodies whistled
And I got my gun ready
When they flew over head
I just held my gun steady
They would circle again
Like arms on a clock
I did my duck call
And here came the small flock
Two by two
The wood ducks flew in
I had to take them now
They wouldn’t circle again
I put down the call
And picked my gun up fast
Down went the brace of ducks
With a big “splash” “splash”.
Line 7& 24, 3 types of Onomatopoeia
Lines 2 and 4 in each stanza rhyme
Line 9 alliteration
Line 13 and14 simile
Alliteration
The wind whistles wildly
Through the tree stand
Stinging the side of my face
And burning both my hands
The air is so frigid
Freezing me with wind
It is especially so cold
Sitting still on the river bend
On and on I wait
Watching every tree
Thinking that a big buck
Would come in front of me
Gradually and gracefully
Two dainty does danced about
One was wandering off
And the other followed her out
All at once both babies
Dashed out of sight
Two big bucks were after them
Giving them a fright
Waiting wasn’t an option
Both bucks bounced toward the two does
I picked up my gun
And opened the window that was closed
I sighted in my scope
Through the two trees
And shot my first 8-point
My dad was so proud of me
You saddle-bound Hunters
Are you saddle-bound hunters just waiting until
The last flash of scarlet has gone from the hill?
When the last horn has sounded, the last hound has cried,
Will you wait till the echo has finally died?
Standing all in a line will you shooters just wait
For the end of your sport in a Commons debate?
Will you wait till the moors and the coverts are bare,
Until only the magpies and crows take the air?
Can it be that you fishermen don't give a jot?
If your fishing's allowed to continue or not?
Will you wait till its prison or maybe a fine,
When you're seen catching tiddlers or casting a line?
If you run with the beagles or fishing's your fun,
If you course with a whippet or shoot with a gun
If you hunt from a car, on your feet, or are mounted,
For God's sake, don't sit there - STAND UP AND BE COUNTED!
-Christopher Curtis
Poem
‘YONDER HE GOES!'
ALWAYS our fathers were hunters, lords of the pitiless spear,
Chasing in English woodlands the wild white ox and the deer,
Feeling the edge of their knife-blades, trying the pull of their bows,
At a sudden foot in the forest thrilling to ' Yonder he goes! '
Safe for the space of a summer the cubs may tumble and play,
Boldly from April to August the dog-fox chooses his way;
But soon as the beech leaf reddens, soon as the chill wind blows,
He must steal, cat-foot, listening, ready for' Yonder he goes! '
The sound of a horn in the bracken, the sound of a cheer in the ride;
Fourteen couple running for blood as though to the I brush of him tied!
Fourteen couple screaming for blood, and every hound of them knows
This is his right from the ages - the heart-stirring ‘Yonder he goes!'
Not for the lust of killing, not for the places of pride,
Not for the hate of the hunted we English saddle and ride,
But because in the gift of our fathers the blood in our veins that flows
Must answer for ever and ever the challenge of ‘Yonder he goes!’
-WH Ogilvie
Poem
Poem
Little Foxes
By Phil Stevenson
I dreamed, and lo! In this my dream the cranks had had their way,
Fox-hunting was forbid by law for ever and a day;
No more across the English grass might English sportsmen ride,
No more the scarlet coats be seen at winter covert-side.
But what of “Master Reynard” whom this law was passed to save
From the death that so befits him as a brigand wild and brave?
Alas! I saw quite clearly what must now become his fate
With none to stand between him and the chicken farmers hate.
The
The
The
The
shot at dusk, the shot at dawn, the snatched uncertain aim,
wounds that only slowly kill, the wounds that only maim,
bitter gripe of poison and the burning rending pain,
broken teeth and bleeding jaws that bite the trap in vain.
The roly cubs in summer dawns that scrapped and played amain
Are dying now by inches, for their dam comes not again;
She is lying at a dyke back with a gin upon her pad,
A broken bleeding sacrifice to sentiment run mad.
I woke and new it but a dream; for yet old Reynard ran
As he did before the wolf-pack ‘ere ever there was man;
I woke, and breathed a little prayer for fear of what impends;
‘God pity Britain’s foxes and save them from their friends’.
The Hunting Trip
(rhyme.......serious)
Daddy went hunting.
Mamma went too.
Daddy got a deer,
but Mamma got two.
Mamma told her story
while Daddy stood by
looking like at any time
he was gonna cry.
We all thought ''He's jealous
he only got one.''
But, Daddy had a reason
he didn't shoot his gun.
The buck was at his blind.
He seen him at close range.
The path was clear and all at once
Daddy felt something strange.
He knew that she was waiting
over in her stand.
He had bagged so many deer.
Her fate was in his hands.
He tossed a stick to scare the deer.
He sat and watched it run.
He prayed she wouldn't miss her shot
(OR HER HUNTING DAYS WERE DONE!)
He sat patiently waiting
for the gunshot near her stand.
When he heard her yell ''I GOT ONE! ''
he finally unclenched his hands.
The deer was his gift to her
although she never knew,
why Daddy only got one deer
and she got two.
Mary Nagy
Poem
The Hunting
Tide
As the young hunter then brings home
The evening’s meal raw,
And as the moon shines silvery-chrome,
He rips it with his claw;
This is the tide of strength and pride,
As hunters seek you out,
Discreetly you must try to hide,
For death is still in doubt.
As those young hunters wish you meat,
You know the end is near –
For you’ll no longer be discreet,
A sound you make – they hear;
You cannot run, nor can you hide,
Round corners dangers lurk:
There is nobody on your side,
As you hide in the murk.
As time then moves and tide then fl ows,
You fl ee; you know your foe,
Right then you hear the sound of crows –
You look down and you know:
So green’s the lawn in lights of dawn
As clouds and sun appear,
Your foes then charge, loud sounds the horn
–
And round you they draw near.
(Winter 2004-2005.)
Jonathan Howard
Poem
We'll all go a-hunting today
What a fine hunting day, it's as balmy as May,
When the hounds to our village did come.
Every friend will be there, and all troubles and care
Will be left far behind them at home.
See servants and steeds on their way
And sportsmen in scarlet display.
Let us join the glad throng that goes laughing along
And we'll all go a-hunting today
[Chorus]
So we'll all go a-hunting today
All nature looks smiling and gay
Let us join the glad throng
That goes laughing along
And we'll all go a-hunting today
Farmer Hodge to his dame says, I'm sixty and lame
Times are hard and my rent I must pay;
But I don't give a jot if I raise it or not
For I must go a-hunting today
There's a fox in the spinney they say
We'll find him and have him away;
I'll be first in the rush, I shall ride for his brush,
For I must go a-hunting today.
As the judge sits in court, he gets wind of the sport
And he calls the whole court to adjourn
As no witness had come and there's none left at home-They have gone with the hounds and the horn.
He says, Heavy fines you must pay
If you will not your summons obey.
It is very fine sport, so we'll wind up the court
And we'll all go a-hunting today.
And the village bells chime, there's a wedding at nine
When the parson unites the fond pair.
When he heard the sweet sound of the horn and the
hound
And he knew it was time to be there.
He says, For your welfare I pray,
I regret I can no longer stay;
You've been safely made one, we must quickly be gone
For we must go a-hunting today.
None were left in the lurch, for all friends were at
church
With the beadle and clerk and aye all,
All determined to go and to shout tally-ho,
And the ringers all joined in the rear.
With the bride and bridegroom in array
They one to the other did say,
Let us join the glad throng that goes laughing along
And we'll all go a-hunting today.
There's the doctor in boots to a breakfast that suits
Of home-brewed ale and good beef
To his patients he says, I've come once again
To consult you in hopes of relief.
To the poor, his advice he gave 'way;
To the rich, he prescribed 'em to pay.
But to each one he said, You will quickly be dead
If you don't go a-hunting today.
And there's only one cure for a malady, sure
Which reaches the heart to adjure
It's the sound of the horn on a fine hunting morn
And where is the heart wishing more?
For it turneth the grave into gay
Makes pain into pleasure give way
Makes the old become young and the weak become
strong
If they'll all go a-hunting today. -W. Wilson
Song
The Hunting Song
By Tom Lehrer
I always will remember,
'Twas a year ago November,
I went out to hunt some deer
On a mornin' bright and clear.
I went and shot the maximum the game laws would allow,
Two game wardens, seven hunters, and a cow.
I was in no mood to trifle,
I took down my trusty rifle
And went out to stalk my prey.
What a haul I made that day.
I tied them to my fender, and I drove them home somehow,
Two game wardens, seven hunters, and a cow.
The law was very firm, it
Took away my permit,
The worst punishment I ever endured.
It turned out there was a reason,
Cows were out of season,
And one of the hunters wasn't insured.
People ask me how I do it,
And I say, "There's nothin' to it,
You just stand there lookin' cute,
And when something moves, you shoot!"
And there's ten stuffed heads in my trophy room right now,
Two game wardens, seven hunters, and a pure-bred Guernsey cow.
Song
Three men went a-hunting
But nothing could they find
Till they came across a mouldy cheese
And that they left behind
The Englishman said "mouldy cheese"
The Scotsman he said "nay"
"Bedad," says Pat, "its your grandpapa
And his whiskers are blown away
Three men went a-hunting
But nothing could they find
Till they came across a sailing ship
And that they left behind
The Englishman said "sailing ship"
The Scotsman he said "nay"
"Bedad," says Pat, "its a laundry tub
And the sheets are blowing away
Three men went a-hunting
But nothing could they find
Till they came across a milestone
And that they left behind
The Englishman said "milestone"
The Scotsman he said "nay"
"Bedad," says Pat. "its a plum pudding tree
And the currants are blown away"
Three men went a--hunting
But nothing could they find
Till they came across a tollgate
And that they left behind
The Englishman said "tollgate"
The Scotsman he said "nay"
"Bedad." says Pat, "its the end of the world
And the others have run away
-Robin Williamson
song
Song
The Hunt
The hunter and the hunted
They hunt for you they hunt for me
The hunter and the hunted
They hunt for you they hunt for me
The hunter and the hunted
They hunt for her they hunt for him
The hunter and the hunted
They hunt for us they hunt for them
Whenever I’m awake I look, out
Never know when I’ll get took, out
The hunter likes to sneak behind, you
Waiting just to undermind, you
Any chance he’ll get he’ll blind, you
Anywhere you go he’ll find, you
There really is no other op-tion
Caught up in the new contrap-tion
To get away is the objec-tion
He smells the scent of your attrac-tion
The predatore will get the prey
Pray for your life that you get away
Weigh out the pros and then the cons
Confusion will just lead you on to the slaughter, by
the hunter
The hunter and the hunted
They hunt for food they hunt for fun
The hunter and the hunted
They hunt to see the hunted run
The hunter and the hunted
They hunt the strong they hunt the weak
The hunter and the hunted
A friendly game of hide and seek
The hunt is better than the kill, real
Close your eyes and try to feel, the steal
Cold metal to your grill, kneel
Wish it was a sleeping pill, peel
His wig and watch watch his blood spill, dead
The hunt is better than the kill, they said
The hunt is better than the kill, they said
The hunt is better than the kill,
The hunt us the thrill and the kill is just the reward
for the chase
You never get to see his face, you race
You get away but you leave a trace, a clue
The fox is smarter than the hound, true
That’s exactly why they hunt him down, caught
You hear his little heart pound, fear
Murder on the battle ground, dead
The head hunter takes the head
Yeah he was meant to die before he fled, ha ha ha
A good hunter don’t hunt for the kill
A good hunter hunts for the hunt
Now that’s a perfect hit right there
That’s a perfect shot
That’s a clean kill right to the heart, see that
The runner running from the gunner
The gunner’s gonna, wanna
Kill him when he see em
Done away with
Almost captured one of these days I will master the
get away
Got away clean I mean
There’s not a way out
I mean, no means, no hide aways, no routes
What’s this about the hunt
What’s this about the hunter
What’s this about the hunted
Now some will hunt to stay alive, and survive
Others hunt to kill a tribe, and divide
You can be on either side, of course
Extinction in the hunters eye, no remorse
-Aceyalone
Hunting Song
WAKEN, lords and ladies gay,
On the mountain dawns the day
All the jolly chase is here,
With hawk, and horse, and hunting-spear!
Hounds are in their couples yelling,
Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling,
Merrily, merrily, mingle they: –
"Waken, lords and ladies gay."
Waken lords and ladies gay,
The mist has left the mountain gray,
Springlets in the dawn are steaming,
Diamonds on the brake are gleaming;
And foresters have busy been,
To track the buck in thickets green;
Now we come to chant our lay: –
"Waken, lords and ladies gay."
Waken, lords and ladies gay,
To the green-wood haste away;
We can show you where he lies,
Fleet of foot, and tall of size;
We can show the marks he made,
When 'gainst the oak his antlers fray'd:
You shall see him brought to bay: –
"Waken, lords and ladies gay."
Louder, louder, chant the lay,
Waken, lords and ladies gay!
Tell them youth, and mirth and glee,
Run a course as well as we;
Time, stern huntsman! who can balk,
Staunch as hound, and fleet as hawk:
Think of this, and rise with day,
Gentle lords and ladies gay.
– SIR WALTER SCOTT
Song