Yes, I’m the cute little pooch,
You treat like a substitute child,
Domesticated and to some extent,
By breeding, I’m pedigree styled,
But don’t ignore my ancestral line,
For I still listen to the call of the wild,
And in my heart I’m still a wolf
And this wolf can be easily riled.
As the light entwines with the shadows fine
Feeding my fire..I believe.! Is The Lord Devine; who takes us
Higher.' I've no axe to grind..As was in former times.'
I am open to listen.'
I can see a rich glisten.. at the periphery of my
Indeed Limited vision.' Was that a wolf.' Or a
Brother.? May confusion not smother.' the
Sharing of visions,i let there be faith not
Derision...All humanity He made them..From
One Word." truly amazing.)
something is howling
more than one wolf and his mate
yipping coyotes
excited yipping
coyotes cornered something
not a wolf I bet
her auburn hair spins out as she flails around the studio
dancing with the largest of the wolves, because she can
wild knows wild, and they are definitely both earth animals
The he-wolf is not the alpha, but a mighty fine dancer
His enormous legs are prancing during this tango
They circle each other with light steps, not making eye contact
Both have amber eyes, his are huge, with deep brown centers
Hers have touches of silver and green in the corners
The audience holds their breath, waiting for the finale
Hoping it will not involve teeth or blood or death
majestic dog gave me wolf eyes
amber yellow, intense, fierce
showing me his carnivore self
I would have been intimidated
if he had been a stranger
We're goin' out to Idaho where the potatoes grow
honey we're leavin' quite soon
but if you call it quits then I've had my chips
and like the wolf I'll be a-howlin' at the moon
I'm over this Sunshine State yeah I can hardly wait
baby we're leaving at noon
but if you say 'No way!' and you wanna stay
like the wolf I'll be a-howlin' at the moon
if we don't go to Idaho where the potatoes grow
darlin' don't know what I'll do
I can't stand the strain it's drivin' me insane
and like the wolf I'm a-howlin' at the moon
if we load the luggage in the car
and hit the road it ain't that far
no it ain't so far to go
we'll be there before you know
and I won't be a-howlin' at the moon
please don't let me down don't turn this dream around
'cause you don't need to hear me
howlin' like the wolf a-howlin' at the moon
On a makeshift lounge in the wilderness he lay.
He knew he was dying and sensed this was his final day.
Atop of this mountain is where he wanted to be,
so he could have one last look at nature's wonderous scenery.
The local wolf pack emerged from the brush and surrounded him.
He smiled as they all gazed, he found their presence comforting.
The alpha male approached him with a pheasant locked in its jaw,
and dropped it on his lap but he could eat no more.
He pushed the dead bird off onto the ground.
The alpha male began to make a whimpering sound.
With what little strength he had left, he pet the wolf's head and said good bye.
As his lifeless hand fell, the alpha male howled as the pack joined him in his cry.
The wolf pack was in mourning, their wolf man had died.
sunflower eyes,
honeycomb gaze,
symmetrical features,
beautiful face.
i want to get closer—
to erase the space
that exists between
your surface level sex
appeal
and celestial
grace.
Alone,
the dog outrides the flock,
warning away the terrors of night.
He sees
the cheery glow of the shepherds’ fire,
murmured talk and quiet laughter
float past him softly
on the chill autumn breeze.
He longs
to sit with them beside the light,
sharing avidly
(tongue lolling,
slyly smiling)
in their good-natured jokes
but that is not his place:
He is a dog and no man
and his place is outside
in the dark, a sentinel.
He sees
the sleeping flock,
pressed body to body to hold their warmth,
and longs
to lie in their midst as one of them,
dreaming sheeply dreams,
but that is not his place:
He is a dog and no sheep
and must remain awake outside
to guide strays back to the fold.
The flock stirs anxiously and bleats.
His ears prick, he hears it too,
the tugging untamed howl
of wild wolves in the night.
The ancient wolf in him
longs
to melt into the forest,
romping with them
on their feral haunts,
but that is not his place either:
He is a dog and no wolf
and his place is beside the flock.
I'm a really hungry wolf
One that’s never satiated.
Your heart isn't enough
I need your whole arm off
I'm a truly gentle wolf,
Feeding on your bounty.
Maybe flesh is all I need
Not the tears you cry with doubt
What a lucky sheep you are,
Well-fed, with plenty of wool
Yet your eyes are full of fear,
Fumbling blindly in the dark.
"I mean no harm,"
The wolf insists.
He has no claws to wound,
Just teeth sharp enough to cut.
Day is done and night now comes;
flowers fade and birds sleep.
Hear the wolf, he sings a love song;
through the darkness deep.
Hear the shadows weave their lullaby;
weave a soft melody.
As you dream, they sing their gentle song;
sing for you and for me.
As the day fades, and night begins;
let your dreams arise.
Watch as the starlight dances along
through the midnight skies.
Hear a howl at the silver moon begin;
hear them cry so mournfully.
As you dream, you'll hear them gently sing;
sing for you and for me.
Written: June 10, 2025, for contest by Brian Strand
************
h
o
w
l ing out
v_i_e_w f
r
o
m w - i - n
my | | |
d - o - w
m
o w
o of the o l
n f
They brought them back in the Age of Dust,
when crops failed and gods went quiet.
With DNA teased from marrow’s crust,
they rose--reborn, and violent.
In glass-born labs beneath dead cities,
the scientists whispered hope.
“Guardians,” they said, “not beasts nor pity,”
as they cut through time’s old rope.
But the wolves remembered ice and blood,
the hunt, the pack, the kill--
they moved like ghosts through ash and mud,
with a hunger time couldn’t still.
The world grew wild beneath their gaze,
old fences fell to claw and fang.
The sky turned gray for endless days,
and silence bloomed where children sang.
We learned to speak in signal fire,
to tread the earth with care--
for the alphas ruled from mountain spire,
and no one dares go there.
Now laws are written in howl and tooth,
in scent and scar and chase.
The price of playing God, in truth,
was the loss of the human race.
They roam where cities used to burn,
where glass lies sharp in bone--
and every full moon, we return
to pray they leave us alone.
I'm the flicker, the flame, the spark when you can't see,
I'm the moonlight in the dark, a mystery.
I'm the rustling in the leaves, the breeze and the trees,
And maybe the wolf's howl on the wind whispers, "That's me."
A long, drawn-out sound, both wild and free.
My roots run deep, a Cherokee decree,
And when I stomp the earth, its strength flows into me.
The river flows onward, a path my spirit knows.
Where in its cool depths my true reflection shows.
I don't know if I'm the beautiful wolf or the woman,
Yet, I know I have them both running through my veins.
I stand here, cursed.
Soughted upon a brim of hope.
Yet darkness be it me for swallows.
My site is blinded by my blood red soul.
My hands are numb by the sharpness of my beastly nature.
The wildly hairs, knitted to my’th skin.
My ivory gates, beckoned me to crimson devour.
I..
I am forever doom, by the blood red moon.
Chains my existence keeps. Yet held tightly to my essence beneath.
Thus thou never to escape..
The fate of being a
Wolf..
—E|
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