Dram and Blast
 

They're not exactly known for publishing humour.

Jayne, you have just chilled my blood. Can't we start a trend in the right direction?

Jock McSporran, whose intake of drink
Was tending to grow not to shrink,
Fired his rifle one day
At a beast which, they say,
Had no antlers, but tusks, and was pink.

:D

I really think you should give that a go, Spindley one.

John, I will, I will.
Here's one from the archives that may also fit the bill, more in Jerome's right direction:

CITY NIMRODS

Two city Nimrods - call them Bob and Bill -
with loaded shotguns cocked, are tracking spoor
far out beyond the 'burban spill but still
in GPRS range. A rabbit's roar
alerts them and they move in for the kill.
Bob makes the classic tyro shooter's blunder
and leaves the safety-catch off; in the thrill
of chase, he trips and blows his toes asunder.

Bob faints; Bill checks his pulse and, finding none,
hits triple-oh and, to a cooler head,
yelps, "Help! What should I do? I think he's gone!"
"Stay calm," says Coolhead. "First, be sure he's dead."

A moment's silence, followed by a shot,
then Bill comes back: "Okay, that's done. Now what?"

oOOo

That's very funny, Peter! :D

It had me laughing out loud, Peter.

Susan

Thank you, Jayne and Susan. I'm hoping the editor is equally amused, and I'm left laughing all the way to the bank.
Jayne, a question: must the title be "Stalker" or can one choose one's own, with the assigned theme evident from the context of the poem?

Peter

You can pick your own title to go with the theme, Peter; the Speccie and The Oldie don't bother with titles, which suits me very well - I usually find the most difficult part of writing a poem is what to call it!!!

the couch potato's nightmare
 

BLUEBOTTLE

The dark blot on my screen won't go away,
an outsize fly disrupting Film On Four.
I swear, get up and tip-toe for the door
to fetch the kitchen swat, not liking spray.

I catch it on a sill. As Chandler wrote,
it's 'shining and blue-green and full of sin'.
I strike, I miss. It has me in a spin
It settles on the looking-glass to gloat.

Ignoring it, I'm buzzed, as if King Kong.
Am I on its case or is it on mine?
Next it's invisible and mutes its whine.
I cannot stand this deadlocked pause for long.

I grab the aerosol at which I'd balked,
an ugly canister of gaseous pus,
and spraying wildly poison both of us,
not caring who's the stalker, who the stalked.

Stalker

They dog me like a stalker in the night
Or even in the daylight, each a fly
Forever buzzing in my ear. I try
To shoo them off. No use. Turn on the light

And scribble quicker than the beat of wings.
Like bugs on flypaper, they watch in fear
As I roll over. Yet again my ear
Is filled with words. This dreadful rumpus rings

The final drops of dream from my grey matter.
I go out to the kitchen for some water.
My muse keeps bugging me. I’ve never caught her,
Since she’s a shapeshifter. Gawd, how she’ll chatter

Into my mind when it wants to relax!
But when my muse is done abusing me,
She exits like some trickster full of glee,
Then eagle-swoops again in sneak attacks.

Yet sometimes she is gone for days and days,
And I get rest and reinvigorated,
Then start to miss her. While we’re separated,
I’m ineffective, shrouded in a haze.

Is she now on Olympus having a bash
Ingesting lots of drinks and lots of hash?
I hope her leave is only temporary,
And dope her high is only hemporary.

well, this is an oldie.
 

The Pursuit

I’m mountain ranges from my home,
and heat is dancing up the road.
I can’t recall what made me leave,
was it a bur, a bar, a goad?

A wandering scholar sang your praise,
extolling stations on the way;
how steep the trail, I didn’t ask,
how long the trek, he didn’t say.

Unnumbered times I’ve cursed that bard
and damned each dark, abandoned shrine,
each woman who forbad a bed,
each inn where they refused me wine.

Contesting for my forward foot
distracted me from how I went;
better I never noticed that
the path began a slow ascent,

Until at last I felt you near,
like some pursuing, taunting elf.
I hurry on, now, in a sweat
and keep my curses to myself.