Best Antelope Poems | Poetry
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Much ado about antelope
by Kayode, KAYOD5
THE BEAUTIFUL ANTELOPE
by Abdullahi, Muhammad
A Barren Antelope
by Oyewole, Abdulhafeez
by hansen, jan oskar
Where The Antelope (Used To) Play
by Hinshaw, Robert L.
View all new Antelope Poems
The Best Antelope Poems
walking gracefully ~
with a pendulum movement
a herd of giraffes ~
the mass migration
crocodiles at the river
food for the taking
gazelles are running ~
a hungry cheetah gives chase
speed is the winner ~
a lone male lion ~
approaches a sleeping pride
the battle begins ~
an elephant herd ~
arrive at the water hole
use trunks to cool down
a swarm of locusts
skeletal branches ~
army on the move
soldier ant battalion
have left a scorched earth
vultures in the trees ~
animals weakened by thirst
death is imminent ~
a downed buffalo ~
lions watch as herd returns
bulls scatter the pride ~
basking in cool mud
the african river horse
laughing hyenas ~
find an unguarded carcass
scavengers feasting ~
at the water hole ~
animals quenching their thirst
alert for danger ~
a crash of rhino ~
hunted for their ivory
extinction looming ~
a small antelope ~
found on the African plains
cute looking dik dik ~
the baobab tree ~
silhouetted at sunset
african icon ~
Copyright © Tom Cunningham | Year Posted 2018
Awaking blithe each morning,
with eyes upon the World,
I wonder, are we mourning
with ebon flags unfurled –
or are they but a warning,
some draped like snakes and curled,
stray stars and stripes adorning,
sent from the netherworld.
I wander through the garden
with nothing on my mind
and say 'I beg your pardon'
alarmed at what I find
as winds begin to harden
and fate begins to grind.
Confused, I watch my neighbours,
they're wide-eyed, unafraid
to halt all useful labours
and join the death brigade;
the ritters rattle sabres,
the frail and fragile fade,
morticians tap on tabors,
the potentates parade.
The military blesses
(in tunics somewhat browned)
its crimson-stained successes,
hell bent and heaven bound.
Such scenes no more distress us:
a bloody battleground,
dissevered heads with tresses
and arms and legs abound;
the fourth estate suppresses
the heaps of bodies found
discarded in a mound).
now living by the sword,
with torture and its stresses
upon a waterboard;
a captive kid confesses,
his innocence ignored -
fallacious facts and guesses,
the guts of justice gored!
With canting vindication
a big brass bully brags
(with pearls of perspiration
and swollen tongue that gags)
of third world subjugation
for gelt and oily swags,
of human rights' castration,
and on and on it drags.
The manifold migration
of refugees in rags
while searching for salvation
soon finds compassion lags;
are fleeing from their flags
else dying of starvation
as naked hunger nags.
With trump cards politicking,
two little hands (all thumbs)
may send the Mad Dog siccing.
Insane! All sense succumbs.
Atomic timepiece ticking
until the Reaper comes
as Geiger counters clicking
drown out the droning drums.
Cast out for not conforming,
I wander day by day
to find the earth deforming
as nature wastes away,
with bees no longer swarming
(expunged with garden spray)
and ocean depths transforming
(neath plastic overlay).
With CO2 performing
the climate's led astray,
the atmosphere's been warming,
the grasses ashen gray,
eternal tempest storming
while permafrosts decay,
and ozone holes are forming
in deadly disarray.
The people profiteering
descend a slip'ry slope
destroying, never fearing
of running out of rope;
instead they sit back sneering
“our wealth’s your only hope”.
Yes, Armageddon's nearing,
it's doubtful that we'll cope,
for Evolution's jeering,
she's scanned our horoscope:
we'll soon be disappearing
with whale and antelope.
The multitudes were jumbled,
some milling ’round the mall,
while politicians bumbled
when bracing for the brawl.
The World around us rumbled,
our backs against the wall,
as bombs were tossed and tumbled
across our broken ball.
My kneecaps creaked and crumbled
but I, too proud to crawl,
took but a step and stumbled
yet found no place to fall.
And no one heard me grumble
although I tried to call,
or maybe I just mumbled,
as strength began to pall.
Well now the World’s been humbled
I seek an urban sprawl,
but since the feuds were fumbled
there’s nothing left at all.
Copyright © Terry O'Leary | Year Posted 2017
The paint recalls, layered and petulant, groans
mindless in its ground, it decomposes.
Granules of hematite, pale traceries of gypsum,
the crevasses of cave wall are soot soothed.
Layered and petulant the palm of man appears
charcoal dusted, amongst the antelope and bison.
Do you hear the drum’s call, the hollow
wail of bone flute, the slap of bare feet,
the drone of chant?
Red-lead or orange crystalline roars atop
the gummy white in Pharaoh’s tombs.
See the deathly desert and the blood of power
as it paves the way; ochre, gypsum,
copper blue, groan mindless in its ground.
Do you hear the drums call, the hollow
wail of wooden flutes, the rattle of the tambourine
the clink of bell, as bare feet dance entranced?
Decomposed, composed, each grain
calls to mind pale traceries of the ages left behind.
Soot-soothed, charred coal outlines the faces
of God and man upon the walls of time.
First Published by Mused 2013
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2015
Author's Note: Recite the following using the rhythm and melody of "Home, home on the range where the deer and the antelope play." The first verse can be used as the refrain:
His income tax structure is strange
Donald will the needy shortchange
The overly rich
Claim their life is a *****
For them he’ll find bucks on the range
A clear planet earth never smokes
But Trump’s cohorts grim are the Kochs
Where fossils remain
They'll tear into the plain
Fracking rigs are their dirty jokes
There's fat upon Miss USA
The Donald says queen you shall pay!
"For my regal job"
She did painfully sob
"Is rehab a roll in the hay?"
Like buffalo once were so vast
Our middle class was unsurpassed
Now they are the prey
While republicans play
And deny the climate forecast
Copyright © Duke Beaufort | Year Posted 2016
I'm as free as the wind as I sway in the saddle!
I love life! There's no clutter, nothing to addle!
I give my faithful horse Wild Lightning free rein,
As we meander across God's magnificent terrain!
My pal Spooks trots ahead surveying sagebrush and crags.
I sense that he enjoys life too by the tail he wags!
I crave no roof - the wide-open range is my home.
Territorial bounds don't confine me - freely I roam!
Well-worn saddlebags contain my earthly possessions.
I don't aspire riches nor am I burdened by obsessions.
My soul abounds with wealth as I view His Creation!
Ah! The grandeur of it all! 'Tis ample compensation!
I pause on a knoll viewing the vast panorama and ponder,
The river, a lake, those snow-capped mountains o'er yonder!
In the valley a herd of pronghorn antelope gambol and play.
At dusk The Master Artist paints a majestic sunset display!
Campfire embers slowly die - Wild Lightning grazes nearby.
Spooks lies at my feet - snug in my blanket I gaze at the sky.
I anticipate being awakened by a glorious sunrise next morn,
When Wild Lightning, Spooks and I continue our vagabond bourne!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2012
I blow here in the prairie wind,
A grass that seems to have no end.
A pheasant asked me yesterday,
"How long you been here would you say?"
I scratched my blades and said, "Who knows?
Ten thousand years or more, I s'pose."
An' then the bird said,"If you please-
When were you really most at ease?"
I laughed at that, the way grass does,
That sounds somewhat like bees abuzz.
Then said,"That's easy friend, why shucks,
Between fences and pickup trucks!
The fences stopped the thunderin' herd,
An' no trucks were yet to be heard.
It was so peaceful, full of hope,
I was knee deep to antelope."
All that thinkin' got me upset -
I told that bird the trials we'd met!
"The Humans talk with grief an' scorn
Of long gone Bison and Longhorn -
Listen, pheasant, and I will tell,
The Buffalo can burn in Hell!
An' Longhorn meat will surely make
A big fat piece of butcher's steak!"
Well, I was through and I calmed down -
The Pheasant, nervous, looked around.
Said," I been eatin' a little seed."
I laughed, said,"Friend, take all you need!"
April 29, 2016
Copyright © Larry Bradfield | Year Posted 2016
Copyright © Sienna Muniz | Year Posted 2010
Where the antelope used to play is now shopping malls and plats.
Man in his insatiable greed has encroached upon its ancient habitats.
Not so very long ago on the plains just a few miles out of town,
Were herds of these graceful creatures that now have dwindled down.
Also, pushed from the verdant plains are the mighty buffalo,
That grazed upon the lush, green grasses not so very long ago.
Upon these sacred grazing grounds are now concrete parking lots,
And densely cluttered cookie-cutter houses on quarter-acre plots.
Where have all the magnificent wild turkeys gone,
That used to preen and strut about at the break of dawn?
Even the lowly prairie dogs, their burrows they've had to flee,
To accommodate covetous developers who've gone on a building spree.
Of the wily fox and skulking coyote, there are fewer to be seen.
They were forced from their hunting grounds and have fled the scene.
Desperate flocks of grouse and pheasant have also taken flight,
To raise their young elsewhere, escaping mans' spreading blight.
Deer and elk that once peered shyly from almost every copse;
Their environs now occupied and overrun with tacky shops.
'Twould be novel if man would recall that these creatures were here first,
And consider them when pursuing their unquenchable expansion thirst!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2010
It is dark! I could not see
I grasp on the night and I held on to objects that I know not of so tight
Dark! I hear strange voices from afar
but I see not their faces
Because evil is upon our land and darkness
covers so many places
And our knowledge is limited
because we live in darkness
Like the colour of our skin
Our heart is like charcoal and we are blinded by selfishness and greed
And we hinder ourselves from reaching the ultimate goal
We are consumed by hell's fire
Because we have decided to trade our soul
Like the great hunter that sets a trap for an antelope
It is dark and he is caught by his own net because he lacks
He lacks the wisdom
But one day we reached the cross road between darkness and light
And good and evil
We met angels whose skin were as white as snow
These men of ivory have seen the light
And their eyes shone like the sun
Oh! see how it glow
And they exposed us to those alien ways
And we cherished those good old colonial days
Because our minds were dark
Our ivory brethren soon depart and left us to take charge of our fate and again
Greed and selfishness
Consumed our thoughts and these brought corruption, decay and rot
It is dark and the more we try to be like the creator
The more we met our destruction
Why conceive the monster of Frankenstein
Capitalism is like a wild fire or a flame that burns a corpse on the funeral pyre
When it is unguided it will burn its maker
And the corpse will one day bury the undertaker
And the whole world should be warned
For in a 1000 years from now
Great poverty and corruption will be reborn
The dehumanization of the entire human race
While the rich and the powerful will migrate to a safer place
To a planet which was once desolate and deserted
While our beloved earth becomes a hell and there nothing these dark minded ogres can not sell
Animals and planets are all extinct except for the man made mutants
The genetically created
Dolly was a sheep and there is no use that cloning should be debated
it is dark and I have nothing to eat
And I try my hands on suicide
But I can not cheat
And eat jelly fish for supper
How long will we suffer?
It is dark and capitalism rules
Africa becomes a market and a land of great fools
Where foreign made trash are dumped like heaps of sand
And the future is turned backwards by the hands of man
It is dark and natives never try to think
Listen carefully to me my children may be what I am about to say will sink
It is dark!
Gold is plundered and taken away from Africa
And diamonds are sold for under valued currencies
It is dark because we have let mundane things take control of us
We destroy the delicate balance of nature for the sake of profit
So that we can create a ladder of status and wealth
we take for granted the best things in life
Such as the fear of God, happiness, love and good health
Copyright © Olusegun Akanbi | Year Posted 2015
Out here in "Colo-rah-dee"
It's dry as dry can be
Dustbowls do get rowdy
As far as you can see
Ranchers cook upon the fire
Some coffee and some beans,
There something to admire
Have been many movie themes
Buffalo Bill did travel here
Many years ago
Drive up to see, have no fear
There's lots they have to show
Travel up to the plains
Where buffalo and antelope roam
You will never be the same
It may become your home
For out here we live simply
Our clothes and boots are worn
Our middles may be dimply
Our shirts they may be torn
Mountains may surround us
And blaze in summers sun
Gold has caused many to fuss
That's how the west was won.
So come on out to see
The country at its best
I chose to live here for me
Because I love the West.
Copyright © Jennifer Marie Oliver | Year Posted 2013
The Dik-Dik is an antelope
Who longs to be a misanthrope
But since he “pronks”, instead of lopes,
He doesn’t really have a hope …
* “Pronk” is the name of the dik-dik’s jaunty little bounce when he runs.
It is an Afrikaans description.
Copyright © Frances King | Year Posted 2009
'Tis often said that the best things in life are free.
Open your eyes and keen those ears and I think you would agree!
When Old Sol gilds the eastern skies then settles in the west,
We're awed by the Master's Artistry and we are truly blessed!
Note the magnificence of a rainbow arching across the sky;
In the ebon universe, the celestial bodies silently passing by.
The sight of skeins of geese winging their way to points unknown;
The sound of soughing winds through the pines so stately grown!
Dew drops on crimson roses at dawn that grace a pristine lawn;
The gamboling nigh yon copse of a graceful doe and her fawn.
Hear the laughter of little children cavorting in the park,
And the cheery song in the lea of a very contented meadow lark!
Sounds of water playing its hymn rushing o'er stones in a stream;
The sight of a majestic eagle soaring high and its clarion scream!
Mountains reaching for the sky are a magnificent sight to behold;
In the autumn, the trees all cloaked in crimson, yellow and gold!
Herds of buffalo and sleek antelope grazing on the rolling plain;
Awesome displays of lightning to be seen during a pouring rain.
There are so many things that are free, too many to really measure,
That don't cost a cent if we'd only take the time for them to treasure!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2015
Hank had rode the range a-punchin' cattle fer nigh on fifty years,
Ridin' through Texas northers and brandin' cantankerous steers.
He'd herded ornery longhorns along the Chisolm Trail to Abilene.
He'd signed on with the Triple D Ranch when he was about seventeen.
Hank had broke many a wild bronc and a heap of times was throwed,
And ridin' the saddle all them years, his legs was grievously bowed!
He put his loyal hoss Old Dan out to pasture and decided to retire,
To take quill in hand, reminisce and toss off verse by a glowin' fire.
He wrote about pullin' cattle-guard on dark and stormy nights;
The grandeur of the starry skies and the spectacular Northern Lights;
Splendid risin's of the sun and its magnificent settin's at end of day,
And sleepin' 'neath the mellow moon when it was time to hit the hay.
Hank wrote of the meager pay and many suppers of beans and bacon,
And the same for breakfast with acrid-tastin' java when he'd awaken!
The evenin' campfires with his pards a-singin' 'long with the harmonica,
And, yes, he wrote of a long-lost love, his dance hall queen, Suemonica.
He wrote about long, hot and dusty days in the saddle a-mendin' fences,
Of buffalo, antelope, tumbleweed and the beauty of God's great expanses.
His last poem spoke of the epitaph he wanted etched upon his stone:
"I ain't one to moan, But, Lord I was hopin' this ride You'd postpone!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2014
A new life it seems
Has come my way
In the mountains
And plains of Wy-o-ming
I look out of my window
And Antelope play
Go out to the kids place
Where the buffalo stay
The rain has been plenty
And the winds not still
If you call blowing
A 500 lb ol’ lady down a hill
I exaggerated a bit
But how would you know
You ain’t ever seed me
So I’ll just let it go.
From a big house
With no spare room
I now live in a trailer
Just a little bit closer to all of my treasures
I’m trying to fit in and believe me
I say it with a grin
I’ll just give you an example
At the Arena Football Game the other night
My son-in-law got bored
He took out his great big knife
While I watched them make a next score
Next thing I knew folks
Folks were falling off of their seats
And when I turned around
The same thought hit me
He had cut if the bottoms off of two plastic beer bottles
And was holding them up to his eyes like a pair of goggles
And just about then
All around started to sing
Billy’s got his beer goggles on
Only his name is Fred but what the heck
You see him ‘n me gits ‘long great
Our only goal in life
Is to see which of us
Can out do the other
I went garage saleing
With them the next day
And I bought two air conditioners
And when we arrived
Back at my place
We stuffed one in my pickup
And the other in his truck
Remember I told you
My house is quite small
It’s almost impossible
To walk in the door at all
It was late
And the wind and rain
Made installing them
Something for another day
I guess things can’t be too bad between us
Cause I gave him permission to use my lawn tractor
But dog gone sometimes he can be to nice
Making me feel like he’s my baby sitter
But the day he hollered, “Do you want your coke ‘n cane”
Shirlee hollered back, “Fred, don’t use those two words so close together
The neighbors might hear
And get the wrong impression”
So as the sun in the west
Shines in my eyes
I’ll close for now
And wish you all a good night
Copyright © Marycile Beer | Year Posted 2008
My heart is in the Adirondacks
And day by day i drink the courage
captured in these mountain heights.
The trail winds across the slope where bramble
lies like Tangled Truth--Blending Berries and Briars
--Bold challenges for hungry wanderers.
The great white pine leans low in mountain wind--
but lifts its top again--the living hiding place
of antelope and bear--and little things
the birds and scurriers finding safety
in the needled limbs.
The contradictions here abound,
The breathless height amid hollow crevices,
The stillness--absence of humanity--amid
a cacophony of Nature's jumbled cries;
the barren rock 'tween rooted evergreens;
the toxic elder hiding almond scented mushrooms;
the dying elm that shades the sprouting oak;
The tumultuous roar of naked storms
Belied in the quiet tumble of mountain streams.
All these things--these contradictions
do but mirror the tortured passion
in my breast. Nor in the madding cities
or steepled churches hiding frightened people--
nor yet, in tenuous arms of would be lovers--
do i find peace. But only here--
where trembling deer dip cautiously
into the water's edge; squirrels scold
in unquiet trees, and wild turkeys
strut unfrightened across the wind-bare
rocks. Here--on a mossy bank--
where the current curves in gurgling smiles
around the jutting stones; here
in the flickering welcome of mountain shadows
the human spirit finds release.
Copyright © Karen Ruff | Year Posted 2014
I am Africa, I am man
Hear my drums, know my heart beat
My sorrow is not metered in iambic lines
Life does not speak that way
So artificial this enumeration of joy
So false this constant rise and fall of tone
I fish the tides
Sometimes the water rises above the rock
And stay a long, long time
Like a dream that won't give up
Sometimes the water recedes far out
Lingering at the bar
Waiting for the moon to show her breast
Watching silently like a star
For one ear Nana Oba to divorce me
From this culture that is my hell.
I am Africa, I am man
My fingers running fast on antelope skin
Cross the bata light and sweet like a caress
Like rainfall on the Serengeti
Like bird call for Nana Oshun's memory
So when I put my hands around your waist
Sliding my finger over the contours of our embrace
Searching for lake Nakuru under your dress
Down from the Kilmanjaro of your breast
And whisper my feelings in your ears
In cross-rhythms, kora and mbira playing
Hot like khamsin, passionate like the yamo
Sucking on your tongue for life
Seeking the umbilical water for my pain
What care for anapestic sentiments
Trochaic promises, dactylic stories
I need you in all the wonder of your loveliness
In all the moods that living tell
In our orbiting exodus of earth and hell
No time now for phony precisions
I speak as I am, as I feel emotions
Dancing on my finger tips
Dancing on the velvet smooth of drums
Ladling at your Nakura, lapping at your lips
All tribal, my body hums
For the stolen glory of my history
For the cinder of theories
That make me victim twice in my misery
I am Africa, I am man
Hear my prophecy, I will succeed!
Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2010
Listen to poem:
(African human populations are being killed off by war,
famine, disease, and neglect...much like many rare
other species...when will we pay attention and try to
stretching out, encompasses curtains,
on distant savannas, of shimmering heat.
And animals vanish:
ibex and antelope;
Here once, now going or gone.
And time vanishes now.
With animals gone, one has no focus.
Moldering greenery, mute,
moves mainly in wind --
pliant life, submitting to breezes,
passive in sun. Rooted in spots
not chosen or won.
Plants do not vanish.
We do not prosper.
We vanish, as animal,
and go hardly noticed.
A dirge, as animals vanish.
We vanish unnoticed.
Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2011
September is aging with a cool beauty
and the Missouri seems to be hurrying the expedition
into a world of natural splendor that is impatient to strip our spirit to it's bare light,
in my silent moments of strategy I feel the birth pangs of winter in the air
and know that an emergency of shelter will soon be the crucible,
more days than not the river wind has aided the Corps of Discovery's adventure,
rarely have we had to pull Destiny along by ropes
and today I'm off the boat, hunting a fleet and mammoth goat
the pronghorned antelope, unlike the buffalo and deer herds
that have easily been in excess of 500, these shy creatures
move about in small groups, seemingly familial in manner,
a hide of short, soft white and brown hair
which stripes the throat, and vicious charcoal horns
that could impale a man in a single jolt, none of us has ever seen such an animal,
these damn goats bolt like bullets every time I creep near
they must be catching my scent for I am stealth and camouflaged,
they are so agile and swift, unafraid to speed through the most dangerous ravines,
getting back to camp with no hooves to show for my time
I see that John Sheilds has sacked a peculiar hare,
he calls it a jackrabbit, it is a monster rabbit no doubt
20 pounds dead and can leap like a rock across water, 20 foot spreads at full speed,
we all laugh and agree this place is becoming more of a jungle than a prarie,
any moment we may encounter apes and wherewolves,
its good to see Private Shanon chuckle well since returning
from being alone along the river for sixteen days nearly starved and maddened,
the fires be hot and the kettles be kickin with the right stuff
most of us are consuming 5, 000 calories per day including several pounds of meat each,
the mission is teaching the men's' bodies new extremes, the exertion is remarkable,
sunburn, blisters, rolled ankles, sprained wrists and backs, inadequate sleep,
mosquito bites, spider bites, ant bites, hours of tedious paddling and foraging,
no woman love, gaurd duties, chores, the stress of Indian encounters and ambush,
the only thing familiar to us is eachother,
sharing our sufferings, sharing our survival,
Copyright © Justin Bordner | Year Posted 2015
Oft' I've traveled on interstate highways to reach my final destination,
With white knuckles grasping the steering wheel in great trepidation!
I whiz along at seventy-five and for my safety offer a fervent prayer.
'Tis akin to driving the Indy 500 speeding like a bat out of you know where!
I prefer to whiz along at 25 miles per hour on a quaint country road,
Enjoying scenery sans billboards and such in a more relaxing mode!
I can stop by an eatery for good ol' country grub run by Mom and Pop,
And browse among other peoples trash at my leisure in an antique shop!
I stop by to fill up on gas and happily discover something rather rare;
The man fills the tank, cleans the windshield and checks my tires for air!
Fields of amber grain gently wave at me depicting a scene so bucolic,
And a herd of deer in a yonder copse contentedly graze and frolic!
A farmer waves to me as he tends his field of melons and cantaloupe,
And I'm thrilled to see across the way a magnificent herd of antelope!
I enjoy the witty verse of poets on Burma Shave Signs along the way,
And faded Mail Pouch Tobacco signs on barns filled with scented hay!
At the whim of each vagabond breeze, old windmills turn and creak.
Timbers rumble as I cross a wooden bridge above a rippling creek.
Although my automobile gathers dust along a road that is graveled,
How I relish traveling along quaint country roads that are less traveled!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2016
The work I did was playing with the angels
We read and painted, dressed up for Halloween as rangers
The Universe so close from dry, paper mache
With older kids we even wrote an Etheree
The work I did was traveling to Europe
With twenty of my students and an antelope
We colored windows facing the lights of Paris
and even opened a brasserie "Gateau de Bliss"
So, Carolyn, you made me smile opening this album
When asking "Where the Wild Things Are? " Ka-boom!
Again it's "Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs"
...but empty are long gone Elementary School halls...
Copyright © iolanda Scripca | Year Posted 2010
I was off to hunt some Antelope;
I taught I saw one down the slope
Not So-ugh-ugh nope-!
Instead it was a Jackalope!
Momma Mia! What a dope!
Copyright McCuen 2008
Copyright © MC MC | Year Posted 2008
As the only large cat with a voice I roar from within my solitude
Prowling with swagga and a side of attitude
My voice is wild game's command
Order in the kingdom is my superior demand
Backed clearly by my teeth and claws
They call me Wisdom and I'm here to lay down the law
I stalk the cantelope
Terrorize the antelope
"Why in the world..." you may ask
Feeding my cubs is my task
I roam from Argentina to the African Safari
My name is bigger than the historical Atari
To mankind I am a beast
In my pack I am a leader at the very least
Upon my hunters i seek revenge
Upon these lands I shall avenge
Less fortunate creatures line the shore of the creek
Stir not as this black panther speaks
For I am the most fierce of all
Disobedience shall be their death call
Copyright © Sara Beaderstadt | Year Posted 2012
Blossoms fall like snow
where deer and antelope play
and spanish moss hangs
Copyright © jeanine dejesus | Year Posted 2007
The wind blows through the ocean between waves and the sky
Through the islands where dragon of Komodo lives it will fly
Wild tiger the soul of India it will pass by
While arctic wind with it is on collision course if they meet they’ll form hurricane with an eye
Arctic wind has story of its own
All the way from where polar bear rules it has flown
Where aurora borealis shines and it has grown
Coming from place when nights lasting half a year are known
It gain strength in Scandinavian ocean above whales
It gentled by Baltic as it moved ship with sails
It whispered land and sea tales
But as it moved towards Russia its fury once again would tip the scales
As it moved past the Russian onion shaped domes
Through where saiga antelope roams
Past Northern Indian catacombs
It meets up with southern wind right above yoga practitioners’ homes
The hurricane formed will go through desert of Arabia
With even more fury then it had at Scandinavia
Living behind Asia
Turning gentle again by the Nile and pyramids last wonder of ancient era
Then across Atlantic Ocean it will soar
After it comes ashore
Ending up before American Congress’s front door
But as it flies west it will continue to roar
Through Appalachian Mountains badlands and sea of Kansas grass
As it flies through Grant Canyon it will make a fuss
After the canyon it will surpass
It will end up in south western desert its last stop on this landmass
There it loses all its power and furious tone
All day in the desert sun scorched every stone
Now surreally beautiful sunset above cactuses has grown
The eerie violet hue of clouds moving gently not with fury of cyclone
But desert extremely thirsty is
And if wind would bring rain it would be bliss
As gentle and slow dreamy sunset is
Equally suddenly scary lightning crosses the sky carried by remaining breeze
But it is all in vane
Heavy cloud but no rain
The true magic is there but still great pain
The eerie violet sunset is beautiful beyond all abstract but it can’t yield rain
The day turns to night
In the desert stars shine incredibly bright
To the eye it is delight
But lack of moisture kills desert’s soul and it is sad sight
Finally in echoes beyond echoes of continuity
Perfection of Great Eye is the key
As California condor spreads its wings with majesty
Welcoming divine life giving rain that in this second coming down will be
Copyright © Patrycjusz Kopec | Year Posted 2014
there lies in lovely mountain glen
protected from the harsh north wind
meadows of such gentleness speak
volumes of love from those therein
provide life with abundant scope
promising peaceful love and hope
cradled beneath snow covered peak
food for bird, man and antelope
the Fraser fir, long is its shade
among the trees deer parade
hidden beyond a pristine shore
lies this protected alpine glade
the call of whippoorwill and dove
perfect blue of blue sky above
a home among all this and more
I’m sure, also filled with His love
© Apr 17 2011 For John's contest
Copyright © Charles Henderson | Year Posted 2011