Poachers

I ask myself a question

how it is that people will

spend their lives on this here earth

just trying to kill

animals what kind of creeps

work in the city lights

in their concrete glasshouses

and grow into such shites

out there in the wilderness

the place each of us share

with Nature and creation

thats why it is there

the peacefulness of various

trees

their leaves of subtle hue

the ferns and hollies shrubs and plants

all put there for you

and then the Deer

the Bears the Hogs

the Rabbits and the Hare

the faery people everyone

its place of course is there

they wouldn’t hurt a living soul

they live where they were placed

they roam

they comb

the silent worlds

they breathe

and they all taste

the wildness all around them

the certainty

of sight

each with their conviction

of living in the light

bathed in pure enchantment

and serendipity

a rhapsody of spirit

with all its mystery

in their world

their orcanum

such messages they be

affirming and rewilding

with  true veracity

the shites the bloody poachers

who call themselves by names

like hunters even sportsmen

to those names they lay claims

but, they have no bloody rights

to hunt

to kill

to be

the city dwellers

buyers/ sellers

drunk on falsity

pathological perjurists

disingenuous dicks

untruthful lying rabid fakes

who go out in the sticks

camp up by their 4×4’s

camouflaged to the hilt

city bankers

purile wxxxxxs

their ears filled up with silt

swindling skulduggery

deceitful lying sods

who hide hoping to ambush

some of the wildest gods

their insidious persuasion

deluded after all

hoping to bag an angel

the errand of the fool

on the pretence they are honest

caring and the rest

ethical and thoughtful

someone should arrest

their vulgarity and tastelessness

their impropriety

their unwillingness to be willing

their reluctance to grudgingly

just pursue the innocent

by entering their domain

to slaughter them in cold blood

 somehow just to gain

their power they go and kill them

a pre requisite source

to waste another’s spirit

the most malefic force

a malignity a malevolence

irredeemably sad

loathing and detestable

and altogether bad

unthinking just to kill or maim

a creature in its prime

its flawlessness, its perfection

its nobility, its rhyme

its value to the wider world

surpassing those who dare

to take aim and to murder

any soul that’s there

to cut them down

to end their lives

all paragons of power

taken out by violence

by puttrescence just an hour

of vileness, insalubrity

morbific then back where

they morph into their city jobs

robotic and unaware

of the curse they have left behind

the pestilence they’ve caused

the precariousness of the guideless

and they never paused

for  action and inaction

the inventiveness and guile

and  their savagery and naivety

and undesigning style