The newborn wolves, March babies, cannot see.
They need their mothers, like all creatures do.
In just two weeks, they crawl; then wondrously,
they view their world through open eyes of blue.
A few days pass; and it’s not too long when
they stand and walk; they whimper and they yelp,
then learn to fight while playing in their den,
but in the meantime, they will still need help.
Fed by their pack, the grey wolf pups get strong.
With family, they’ll never be alone.
The months go by so fast. It won’t be long
before the winter when they'll be full grown.
When new March babies come, they’ll do their part,
for in the pack, the grey wolf shows his heart.
Written 3/28/2015 for shadow Hamilton's Canis Lupus the Wolf Contest
Whilst walking through the woods one day
A crystal brook there, shone so gay
The sun was shining oh' so bright
As brook reflected all it's light
Buzzing insects all around
Oh' they made a delightful sound
Birds flew upwards to the sky
These parrots made a hue and cry
Carpet of flowers with lovely scent
It seemed this morn way heaven sent
The flowers opened to the sun
This walk for me was so much fun
Sheep bleated from far away
Oh it was such a lovely day
Your dad, a Dachshund once stuck in Chihuahua.
The best of both in you, with that expectant
Confusing carpets for the lawn enigma.
I know….the raining….getting wet….you can’t.
As coldness chills the room, a sheet for you.
The perfect tucking of in, but you moved!
I ponder, just how crazy is my Boo?
The sheet’s thread count too low to be approved?
Your dance in circles, spinning on the floor.
Rewards and treasures known upon the racks.
Induced by meals and that one pantry door.
In such a fury, choking on the snacks.
I know what God’s book says, I’ve searched it whole.
But still, I hope you have a little soul.
My Molly May
I had a little pony
I called her Molly May
So often I would venture out
And feed her bales of hay.
So then she’d frolic
Kick her heels up high
Round and round she would run
Looking sweet as she passed by.
She’d run until she was worn out
Then to the stable she would go
I’d bed her down then for the night
My love for her each day would grow
She was my, cutest Molly may
This pony always made my day.
25 September 2014
The moon is full and white, and chill, this night,
it cascades past my open window sill,
and all the color fades to dark from light,
a monochrome of gray which can't be stilled.
The armoire's shadow strays across the floor.
I watch it from within my canopy bed.
as a nightmare gallops through my open door,
a Pooka* black as coal with eyes which bled.
Its jaw agape red gore froths from his maw,
and it slowly paws the cover from my bed,
a scream freezes in my throat to bird-like caw,
it dips for me to mount, as I am led.
Upon a demon spawn, I scour the moor
'til dawn descends to end this foul glamour.
*The pooka is a primarily a creature of Irish folklore. Considered to be both bringers of good and bad fortune. The creatures were said to be shape changers which could take the appearance of black horses.
Uplifting morn by the lake
As I sit here beside Lake Joondalup
With silent morn as yet not woken up
Green parrots sing from gnarled old wetland trees
As leaves they dance and whirl on the morning breeze.
A tiger snake he comes, a swimming by
As gulls they screech and fly into the sky
Two kangaroos, so big, and strong, and grey
They seem so happy on this perfect day
The air is filled with so much mystery
I sit and watch filled with serenity
As the sun peeps through the clouds there in the sky
From its orange hue, I hear a raven cry.
As Morning silence Fill’s my very soul
The dawn, arrives and make’s me feel so whole.
30 June 2014 @ 1432hrs.
For Elly's Sonnet contest.
It is the laziest of all creatures,
It could eat and eat filet all the day long.
Investigative eyes is a feature,
And it will sing to you its forlorn song.
It will avoid you like the plague by day,
Skulking, running, bounding, from room to room.
By night it searches through the halls for its prey,
The hunted will meet its impending doom.
The whisper of whiskers against the door,
Tip-toe, pitter-patter, sneakily creeps.
All at once bounding across the floor,
Whoosh goes the paw across the mouse hole deep.
“Drat!” says the cat, missed the mark once again,
Once more the mouse hunt will have to begin.
The thicket moves, my aim must not waver;
with strengthened arms I bend my bow of yew:
My eyes pierce the brush, intent to savor
the sights of a good hunt, an arrow true.
The bracken parts, rattling, empty sighs;
My draw fingers quake from the constant chill.
My quarries' breath floats to the clouded sky,
my own breath muffled as I track my kill.
Overhead, an arrow in deadly arc
speeds toward the bear I'm seeking, still as stone;
A shadow moves, the arrow strikes its mark.
The hand that loosed the shaft was not my own.
I am a man shadowed; death comes knocking:
The hunter hunted; the past comes stalking.
I've had many pets in my life.
Right now two cats and I abide
In my small house the size for us,
But I can't let this pair outside.
They're feral cats that I rescued
When wild coyotes invaded nests.
Wild coyotes on our rich farm land
Have become real cat-nab pests.
A neutered tom and spayed kitty
Have the full range of my loved home.
Their antics keep me entertained
And none of us now care to roam.
They run and play amicably
And gladly share their lives me.
The fierce, graceful tiger
(a fearsome, wild beast)
is not meant as dinner
for someone's lavish feast.
The giant, harmless whale
(a great, ocean mammal)
won't survive or prevail
against ruthless people.
All Earth's feral creatures,
of land, the sky, and sea,
are here as our teachers
and life's diversity.
Save man's endangered worth
and restore God's good Earth.
A Spenserian Sonnet
(Mr. Snake falls in love with a garden hose)
Today I slithered up a grassy hill,
wet from the creek and eager to explore.
The urge to snare a mate devoured my will,
could not this be the day for me to score?
I spot you there beside the garden door,
your slick green shape pervades my hungry sight.
Your golden head criss-cross my eyes before
your trim tight coil peals visions of delight.
Yet when I push my moves into the light
your body squirms and grows before my eyes,
and dread arises in a burst of fright.
You spit at me in angry spurts, surprise
me with a gush of clear and liquid spray,
while I make haste to scuttle fast away.
Post coitum omne animal triste est,
sive gallus et mulier*
Yes, no cockerel who rules the cackling roost
Will stomach slander from Latin master;
But who will stand aside and let the ghost
Of hints slur old motherhood’s register.
Manhood must of needs hang its head in pain
After all the sweat and toil in loins of love;
After millions of squiggly soldiers in vain
Drop their lean tails at the egg wall alcove.
Only the fool who dares call woman’s bluff
Shall learn hard way positions in bedstead;
Virile pride will sink in the depths of fluff
While smooth gym-trained muscles rage instead.
As they say hereabouts sur le vieil Continent
La différence, Mon Sieur: lip’s shade content.
· * “After the sexual encounter every animal is
excepting the cock and the woman.”
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2005-2012. From the collection:
Poems Omega Plus, 2005. Rev. 2012.
We still face the test of absolute truth
As creatures of the wild roam on a vast field
The sun burning through their earthy pursuit
Within this mind, a darkened haze concealed.
I watch their shadows, deepening a leer
My fingers grip waiting for the light of dawn
While mossy scent pervades on woods’ frontier,
Restraining a planned scheme as moon grows long.
Daylight wakes and I seek the open trail
Across the range, a moose nibbles on weeds
It’s curve -like silhouette fine like handrail
Now, desire for prey claims a game sullied.
Then noises ring, and noises ring again
Deafening the echo of silent glen.
Seven Stones in the Crown & other Gems
Sponsor: Debbie Guzzi
by nette onclaud
He has been beside me for fourteen years
Compassionate and wise, he always cheers
Once, as a puppy, he played happily
An older dog, he’s a sleeping beauty
He snuggles close to me when I’m sleeping
Always aware that we’re both now ageing
Giving up longer walks for shorter treks
Growing old, it seems, is a bit complex
He still wags and nags for bits of good food
Hoping for the bites that I always stewed
He has his treats, his sleep and he is loved
More than words could reveal he’s beloved
With all of my heart and all of my soul
I love this little guy who's my console
Pets Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Shadow Hamilton
Date: November 21, 2014
Cling to the last fragments of your credence
Forgetting all mistakes and faults
Forgiving the critics of their impotence
and slandering those the world exalts
They can lock an animal in a cage
Depriving it of its God-given right
However can never take away its rage
So they instead put it in a vexatious plight
Despite this all and control of a tyrant
Driven by a claim of purity
A claim of which he needs to recant
I would have pity for one with such calamity
But for those who hope wrongdoing on another
And receive from it some sick sense of pleasure
I wish for you a long life and pain in which you smother
For they are great and to them you are of no measure
As comforting the song of an angel calming the rage of the caged animal and setting it free
That same angel's song heals the enraged caged animal's wounds inside of me.
Part I – Plow’s New Home
He was squiggly and fat with dark round eyes.
The auctioneer held him up, but no ayes!
HE MUST HAVE BEEN ABLE TO READ MY MIND.
Five dollars, do I hear $10? …. A real find!
“He won’t get much bigger than he is now.”
My ticker was beating faster and how!
I held up my card; my heart did a jig.
Before I knew it, I had bought the pig.
Ruth had a cage; so we brought the boy home.
He was so much fun and he loved to roam.
Each morning, Plow would follow me around.
Rooting under bushes where snacks were found.
Plow worked in the garden everyday.
But then one day, the boy ran away.
Part II – Plow’s First Adventure
My heart was sunken and my fear took flight.
He was growing bigger, a yummy sight.
Suppose he had wondered deep in the woods.
Or worse yet, plundering the neighborhoods.
I loved that pig and his little pig snout.
Apple in my hand; Plow would take it out.
Sometimes the dog would race him for the find.
The pig and the dog seemed to share one mind.
What would Ginger do without her pig friend?
After three days gone, would our sad hearts mend?
He had grown so fat, safer if thinner.
I prayed to God he would not be dinner.
Riding to town down the winding dirt road,
We saw Plow confined; good fortune bestowed.
Part III - Courting the Sow
Down the way, there lived a pretty pink sow.
She must have been shocked when she first saw Plow.
He was eighteen inches long, not at all tall.
Yet, there he was flirting her in her stall.
The sow was huge, ready for the slaughter.
My piglet had roamed and become a squatter.
The landowner said his sow was in heat.
And there stood Plow with his head at her feet.
High ambitions for a pot-bellied pig,
He went half a mile for his courtship gig.
Running through the woods, he wanted to stay.
But we caught him and took him home that day.
We had to build him a special pigpen.
His days of free roaming came to an end.
November 13, 2014
P.S. Thanks for the Contest! I've finally started my book, today. This is a true story...and there is much more to come. Big Smiles.
(A Cornish Sonnet)
Behold new green enchants the distant plain,
where once the hooves of hundreds thundered on,
as braves drew aim in hunger for those slain
and eagles soared aloft through purple haze.
In drumbeat's pulse, flames flickered near the dawn,
outlining dancers shadowed in the blaze.
Where spirit wind played priest to man and beast,
a pale moon's face exposed betrayers' lies,
and red man's rage clawed forth to find release.
Dry dust storms swept the ranchers' dreams aside;
throughout the land echoed the victims' cries,
in land that once ramped up a home-born pride.
Behold new green enchants the distant plain,
where spirit wind played priest to man and beast.
cfa © 5/14/2010
One thing that spiders always love to do
Spin their webs of mastery just for you
Beauty of their fine, silvery web strings
Holding each drop of water in its rings
The center holds the granddaddy of all
Creator of this masterpiece installed
He sits just waiting for the naive bug
Then he kills it with his engrossing drug
The spider can build this web in one night
Some webs are quite the incredible sight
Web makes it through many types of weather
Even powerful storms could not bother
Spider spins all of its webbing just right
Web and spider work together with might
Contest: Along Came a Spider......
Sponsor: Suzanne Delaney
one-legged-bird stands stressless
heron shows no restlessness
one momentum of movement
nature's fair plan will reveal
my goldfish goal of his steal
with a fish he will abscond
leaves frostbitten edge of pond
the moment is history
shocking feelings felt lively
my goldfish – our ponds first fish
ending life on heron's dish
no moments to wave goodbye
goldfish airborne sky high
Note - I have re-written the earlier version into this sonnet.
Each morning, when I first awake;
a daily vigil, I will take.
I arch my back and I stretch out long;
this helps my body to grow strong.
To my box, I take a walk;
release a stench, in lime-like chalk.
I dine in silence, savoring;
the tasty flavors…mouth-watering.
Upon my favorite stool, I sit;
paws tucked beneath, belly and chest.
‘till I transcend, my physical home.
I am a Buddha-cat, you see
And a Bodhisattva, I hope, to be.
Great barnacled leviathan of the deep
Do on shifting pelagic currents forge:
From the shadows rolling giant lids peep
In chase of fish, of squid, of krill to gorge.
Beneath the waves in echolocation
Breaching bulls and cows dive the feeding pod,
And from the depths of ocean migration
Lie in wait the harpooner's deadly prod!
Now age-old haunts and breeding grounds die out,
But not the chilling whalesong far reaching:
Only cavernous mouths unmade to shout
Trapped by time and tide on remote beaching.
Cease the killing hunt and let us atone
The ancient catch of oil, meat, and whalebone.
(A Blank Verse Sonnet)
The moon creeps through the barnyard's busy night
where ducks chase bugs on top of pond's still face
and mother hides her chicks beneath the barn
with clucking sounds to warn and soothe them still.
A pair of marbles shift from side to side.
From shadows they emerge with dry mouth thirst
to trot toward the water's edge and drink
with thoughts of rabbit-fare a fading dream.
But ducks in statue stance evade their doom
as coyote splashes in the cool, wet pool
and drinks his fill before he hunts again.
The Goddess of the moon-lit summer sky,
calls forth the clouds to move beneath the moon
and hides the swimmers in the ripple's ruff.
She stalks the garden looking for a feast
Once she gets one, she can bite or incite
Gaze into her playful eye for instance
Quickly am caught in her magical trance.
As the sun sets, she comes out of her den
Cycle of life goes on from dusk to dawn
Espoused to live by the light of moonshine
With nocturnal visits of joy consigned
She’s the lower cavum nester’s delight
And don’t excavate her own nesting site
Managing for food and warmth for winter
Taking vantage of other’s living quarters.
Known over the world, a flying squirrel
As dawn breaks she plays in dim auroral.
Dr. Ram Mehta
Fifth Place Win
Contest: Impress Me (Sonnet)by Giorgio V.
Flying from the deep blue sky up above
Lilac colored butterflies come evolve
Encircling me and my delighted trees
There's no greater beauty than what you see
All have brightened at the sight of nature
I don’t think that there’s a better answer
Trees alight to the wonderment therein
Delightful presence as breeze on the skin
The cloudless sky keeps firm its blue color
And the grass holds its ground, we all want more
The birds take flight into the bright cool air
Shadows of them skirt the floor everywhere
Nature, a wondrous sight each time you see
You just have to get out to find it’s free
THE BRIDLE OF LOVE
Put on the bridle of love, or the dark places
Will inhabit your soul like a dream of plunder:
Put on the bit of desire, lest the old faces
Merge in passionate moments and betray wonder.
You pledge only with the combat of the hours
Your words fall in the silence, like coins jingling
Into the hand of the fortune-teller, who scours
Your reverie of love on your palm, tingling
Of a stranger. You are an actuary where a shadow
Turns fascination to death. Put on the bridle
Of tenderness - forgiveness, sad and low,
Can whistle with the raindrops, idle
As witnesses of profound truth. Curs
Snap at gentleness when their hunger stirs.
To them most stealthy, most noble, most fierce,
Chased and trophied by a mightier foe;
Striped jungle beast leaping whose time is less -
O white coated emperor in the snow!
Now 'tis the hunter turned hunted great cat
Whose lone prowl is driven to higher ground,
But this I shame to hear, and more than that,
No man should follow where Tigers are found.
The ghost of legend in the forest cage
Will not save or give us back to cherish;
'Tis the irony of our futile age,
For that which makes you great makes you perish!
A world without all is a world less grand,
And I mourn the Tigers in Tigerland.
Dedicated to all those unsung people who
Protect and preserve the natural world.
Sheets of rain, lit up sky, flapping wind,
relieve my angry atmosphere.
She smiled twice and all was clear.
Once for no reason, and once more,
to ensure it was over for sure.
The weight of my sadness, that
heaving load behind me, reminding me,
making me cautious, awkward and
anxious. Caught in an animal trap.
I cut off my nose to save my face.
And ran for the nearest hiding place,
to vanish and bleed without a trace.
I am haunted now, searching for peace
condemned to go on, casket of unease.
Upon a tree, the one tree, in the field,
Branches and leaves hang loosely from the trunk,
Providing protection to those concealed;
A soft leaf provides an egg with a bunk.
The small white shell sits in the settlement,
full of distrust, remorse and betrayal.
It has been abused by the elements,
one of mother nature's fallen angels.
Close inspection shows a crack on the side,
seemingly abandoned by any kin,
it fell far from home with the wind's high tide,
yet a small noise can be heard from within.
The white shell splits at the crack with a cry,
Now free, the little green hummingbird flies.
Written: March 21st, 2015 at 11:00 EST
Joyfully the lambs bucked leaped and sprang
full of merriment with life and freedom
a lush green meadow for them and mustang
the maiden walking towards them buxom
Carrying buckets of pellets for them
running towards her hopping and skipping
in their excitement and causing mayhem
listen to them do you hear their bleating
Nightfall is fast approaching soon be dark
slowly the lambs return to their mothers
the ram watches over them like a monarch
he will keep them safe from any ambushers
Now night has fallen peace and quiet reign
just the whisper of the wind through the grain
Requiescat for Briton Riviere Free Poetry Contest
a paladin placed upon a bier
passed away in his armored harness
his gundog a statue of allegiance
and his unarmored musketeer
sustained guarding his lord and master
his brown eyes so sad but riveted
reflecting his utmost intense sorrow
and his absolute disaster
grievous gundogs' breath at nose' length
near to his masters' unarmed cold hand
only waiting for the requiescat
eternity unites their strength
the masters' voice silenced for ever
with his gundog on eternal endeavor