While April 1 is most commonly celebrated as April Fool’s Day, it’s also the first day of National Poetry Month. And because there are just never enough poems on these F&S blogs (I’m sure we all feel that way!), I’m taking it upon myself to make up for that literary injustice with a few verses on hunting. You’re welcome.

First up is a stanza from “Song of Myself” by the iconic American Poet Walt Whitman:

Alone far in the wilds and mountains I hunt,

Wandering amazed at my own lightness and glee,

In the late afternoon choosing a safe spot to pass the night,

Kindling a fire and broiling the fresh-kill’d game,

Falling asleep on the gather’d leaves with my dog and gun by my side.

For a contrasting perspective, here’s Ohio-born poet Eleanor Wilner with an excerpt from “Hunting Manual.” The piece imagines the fisherman’s hook and net will disappear and the trapper’s “metal jaws” will go “blunt with rust.” It ends with this wish:

Look then for the blank card, the sprung trap,

the net’s dissolve, the unburdened

line that swings free in the air.

There. By day, go empty-handed to the hunt

and come home the same way

in the dark.

And for a humble contribution of my own (this will be worth millions some day):

I live in the city,

I think deer are pretty.

I like when it’s sunny,

and turkeys are yummy.

I hope you’ve enjoyed your healthy daily dose of poetry. Now, go forth and rhyme. -K.H.