Best Call Of The Wild Poems
I envy those living as part of the wild
For I too, once heeded its call
A smoldering ember since I was a child
Urge, and belonging all part of the thrall.
I’ve enjoyed the fresh taste of a sparkling stream
Felt the tremble as you push through your fear
Stood high on a peak admiring Gods scheme
Felt both delight and remorse for taking a deer.
I’ve walked for weeks through valleys and trees
Traversed mountains with lush native grass
Felt the warmth and the cold of high country breeze
Navigated tussock, forests and high country pass.
I’ve smelt autumn rain as it mingles with dirt
Enjoyed the isolation of me and my views
Valued crude shelter while nature unleashes its hurt
Watched forest birds doing their best to amuse
But I’m now destined to be one of societies slaves
In a world where worth is measured by cash
Where worry and stress are delivered in waves
Where those without are regarded as trash.
I felt most alive in the middle of nowhere
Now dead when hemmed by city and streets
Nothing compares with fresh mountain air
Living free, no money, bills, or receipts.
Jack London's Call of the Wild
First brought to our attention in the year 1903
by a name that somehow jolts illusive memory
but how can we recall something so long ago
when we were never born, how then could we know?
Perhaps nature revealed the need to study more
black wolves upon our land reaching on to shore
or was it but an interest to avoid daily routine
the fascination of wolves that we have never seen?
This calling of the wild could it be an illusion
a mere excuse to escape then lost in delusion?
whatever the reason feelings scream beware
always be afraid of the wolf who isn't there!
Tall pines line the misty mountaintops
Crusty ridges surround the hilly wonder
The sun sets with a spectacular amber dust
Night covers the lonely valley
With the wild call of loons
Mystery and life flow here together
Above the stars whisk through the skies
With the illusion that they can be touched with a stretch of the arm
The moon sits with its eyes beaming on the land
Its shadow turns the lake into glass
Glowing eyes of the night appear in the brush
The air changes as the night is settled in its deepest hour
Cool breezes brush the tree limbs as they dance
Hooting of the owls can be heard from a far
Night brings rest to the weary
A hush falls upon the early morning
As the sun creeps its way behind the mountain
The first light of the day has brought warmth to my face
I am in touch with nature
hardy timothy, beware of me ~
for I am out to trample thee
Sharp fangs flashes as he growls
threatening to bring death
the eyes flames in fury
looking for an escape
He once ruled in his kingdom
the predator in a solitary wild
strength was his armor
never feeling sorry for his fights
One day a trap caught the king
in an iron throne, a crown he was given
yet he rejects the admires
for it is not what his heart desires
he longs of his life back
he was a beast, fierce and wild
freedom is his definition of love
one the master will never understand
The death that echoes in every flight
the chase that severs wretched life
the danger of the wild
now he cries his lonely howl in the night
My house bound kitty sits beside
the tightly closed back door.
I cannot let him out for fear
he may come home no more.
Bold coyotes watch our country home
for any chance of seeing
an unwary duck or chicken
or any warm blooded being.
My neighbor's cats were slaughtered
right in front of her startled eyes.
So I have to turn unhearing ear
to his imploring cries.
I do not blame the coyotes.
Their hunger must be sated.
Most of the land where they once roamed,
has now been fenced and gated.
My kitty has never been hungry, but
he still hears the call of the wild.
His mother was a feral cat
and he is his mother's child.
By: Joyce Johnson
Written October, 2015
Trashed # 3 contest sponsor Broken Wings
Canis Lupis, your silver coat’s, light
Reflected by moonlight’s eerie glow,
Sheds glimpses of you in hunt of night
With your pack in quiet stealthy show.
The mystery in your feral song
Enchants the heart of this solemn soul,
As the pack chimes in to sing along;
To feed your young, swells your lofty goal.
Respected by the Native people
Who knew you helped the balance of life,
Long ago you hunted together
Until settlers filled your life with strife.
They killed you off in such great numbers
Your species almost became extinct.
But once protected you've multiplied
To roam the woodlands by your instinct.
Now once again we hear your wolf songs
As you call out to your pack in tune.
And they respond and the hunt is on
Engulfed by light of the silver moon.
© Connie Marcum Wong
Note: I forgot to enter this in Casarah's contest after writing it especially for it!
http://www.bing.com/images/search?q=Wolf+Howling+at+Full+Moon&view=detailv2&&id=39986E9F42C2B3777805B2129B0C96D8E62240B9&selectedIndex=10&ccid=Ubg7mKFX&simid=608032967450167630&thid=OIP.M51b83b98a1579d2379402034fa9a59b2o0&ajaxhist=0
The forest wilderness calls when autumn arrives,
It is the call of the wild beckoning to me;
Of brilliant foliage across open swaying meadows,
Of the ducks seeking food in reflecting rippling water.
Their plumage magnificent in the sunshine,
I like to hike the forest trails where red maples blaze;
And birds perch on mossy river boulders,
Of a creek that twists and turns through the fall forest.
Nature's patterns repeat in endless variations of flowers,
In meadows, thickets and open areas;
A wind whips my long hair and a lone tree clings to a cliff,
And polished rocks line the banks of the creeping creek.
That twists and turns through the autumn forest,
Leaves decorate every turn with enchanting scenes;
Lichen covered tree trunks punctuate the fall foliage,
And ferns are withering and dying amongst the glory.
Water thunders over the polished rocks in the creek,
And fall finery clads the hillsides so beautifully;
With golden red of the maple tree, yellow aspen and birch,
And the stained glass leaves fall in quiet still places.
A worn picnic table covered with multi-hued tones,
And a weathered old oak witnesses the passage of time;
I explore the cliffs and meadows where marigolds bloom,
I am a hiker who relishes the sweeping views of the wild.
___________________________
October 20, 2015
Verse
Prompt - Call Of The Wild
For the contest, Triple Prompt - Hear The Calling
Sponsor, Casarah Nance
First Place
Fiery nostrils flaring sniffing for danger
the mustang checks his kingdom
he can smell something, a stranger
eyes glinting he heads for freedom
He stands in silhouette at the top of the hill
and screams his defiance for all to hear
the men gathered for the round up thrill
to see him standing there without peer
The mustang whirls and from sight he flees
mane flapping, tail streaming what a picture
the men follow but its like they are on donkeys
they pull up and watch him go in rapture
For yet another day maybe much more
he's free to roam where he desires
he heads off to pastures new on the moor
leaving men to dream around their campfires
Deep within the forest
wind across the mountains steep
The waves that don't sleep don't rest
atop the briny deep
The shadows always calling
the wilderness that pleas
The dreams in which you wake up falling
the fear that makes you freeze
The force that crawls within your mind
ever since you were a child
The urge to fly, leave your own kind
to answer the call of the wild
Being as wild as wild comes,
he came and Tucked his
weary head INTO MY BED!
My, what fun we had.
with his popsicle,
we ate ravenously.
was it real or was it in fun?
I had, yet to find out!
What would he do
if he only knew,
what his love meant?
True or False, we felt!
As the crow flies
'Cross the teal skies
And the moon dines
On the night
As the dog howls
Across the town
And the last cloud
Fades from sight
As the darkness breaks
And your skin
Crawling with the evening
ghosts
starts to freeze
When the moon has turned to blood
And darkness feasts on the sun
I'll be calling you, calling you
Madness
I'll be calling for you, calling for you
Insane!
Well I sharpened my tongue
On the angel's wings
To try to pierce the sound
of my own laughter
Darkness knows
no throne but my soul
I am the devil's
glorious bastard
When the moon has turned to blood
And darkness feasts on the sun
I'll be calling you, calling you
Madness
I'll be calling for you, calling for you
Insane!
You asked me for a rose
As pretty as your nose
So I searched and I found if
Right before my eyes
I hung the fool moon
round your thin neck and you
Rose
into the sky
Do not ask me why
Cos I've lost all reason tonight
and I'll be calling you, calling you
Madness
I'll be calling for you, calling for you
Insane!
Wild are the free ones
Freedom's no place for the timid
The free ones live wildly
And the Wild has no limits
Fighters are the free ones
Never squelching what they've earned
Rising from the ashes
Of the broken dreams they've burned
The free ones live loudly
Freedom doesn't whisper
Not concerned who sees or hears
Free functioning transistors
The wild ones live freely
Despite what the world becomes
Free are the wild ones;
Wild are the free ones
Swifter than dawn to dusk
He runs, his body fluid with the transition of night.
His silver fur glistening in the pale moonlight.
Whining he paws the ground
Searching for the familiar smell.
She stands hidden in the dense foliage.
Her eyes tucked behind a camera lens.
Waiting for the perfect pose
To catch the essence of the wild.
Capturing the king of the forest
Silent and still he freezes
The wind ruffling his fur
He feels the eyes of someone watching
Instinct tells him to run
The call of the wild tells him to stay
Careful to not make a sound
She moves a step forward.
A branch breaks and she stills.
Instinct tells her to stay still
The call of the wild tells her to walk forward
He sees her reveal herself toward the forest
Vulnerable and afraid
Growling a sense of warning
He tenses and crouches low
He feels another set of eyes on him
Frozen she feels the forest quiet
Behind her wolf, the pack joins his beauty
Surrounding him they stare
Her wolf tilts his head back and croons
She captures the call of the wild.
10/24/2015
Sponsor: Casarah Nance
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.