Poetry

Sam’s Last Brace, Part II

May 11, 2026 | John Russell, Poetry, Quail Championship Invitational | Comments

The first hour filled with action Sam’s dog Rip was reaching well Liked this country with its edges Rip found quail twice With style and good location His manners perfect at their flush Read more

Sam’s Last Brace, Part I

May 9, 2026 | John Russell, Poetry | Comments

Sam woke Monday ‘fore dawn Rolled over, found the lite switch Squeezed it on, slipped off the bed Shuffled to the bathroom Relieved himself, pulled on his clothes Boots last, then out the door Read more

Woodcock

May 1, 2026 | Poetry | Comments

I love woodcock pure and simple Not because they are tasty or pretty But for other virtues aplenty They are amazing for their hippy life style And courage in flying many miles Read more

Lament for a Sport

April 12, 2026 | Poetry, Remembrances | Comments

I long for the days When quail abounded Wild and ubiquitous On much of the Nation When tracts with edges And corners and fence rows Gave food and cover To hide, nest and hatch on Read more

Lesson From a Storm

March 17, 2026 | Poetry | Comments

Third cutting Fine and bright I had mowed raked hauled and stacked it With schoolmates just Two months before Also that summer We had dug a deep well Run a pipe to the barn Plumbed in a frost-free spigot Through it we now filled buckets of H-2-0 for the ewes Read more

Season Over

March 4, 2026 | Poetry | Comments

Well, the season’s over Quail paired off for mating Tack and chaps hung in the trailers Points tallied, Gulf fishing boats awaiting Trialers take stock Of the season just completed Count the pluses-minuses Is the glass half full or empty? Read more

Last Call

February 3, 2026 | National Championship, Poetry | Comments

’Twas at the National Championship in 20?? After all the entries ran and failed to make a case Not a single covey had been stood, bumped or chased The three distinguished judges were disgusted with the place At lunch they called a huddle to decide what now to do One had a flask of whiskey, one a flask of gin The third a batwing of brandy if you can believe that sin The senior judge said call ‘em back till we get one worth the win Read more

Category: Poetry