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by Loo, Lu
free cee ARE THERE CARIBOU IN MALIBOU
by cohan, jeffry
free cee ArE TheRE CAribou iN MalIBU
by cohan, jeffry
FREE CEE are there caribou in malibu
by cohan, jeffry
View all new Caribou Poems
The Best Caribou Poems
The Flame, aflicker, licks and flays,
illuming evening’s negligees
With braided curls she swirls and sways,
and flits and floats in light ballets
A Flame, to conquer creeping fog,
flew dancing towards a random log
Her flight perplexed a leery frog
beside a silent somber bog
The Flame, a ripple, all alone
alit on leaves where birds had flown
The aching twigs began to moan
A rising breeze began to groan
The Flame arrayed an ancient oak
with torrid tongues and veils of smoke
A beaver bailed, the dam had broke
The leery frog soon ceased to croak
The Flame uncoiled and lashed midair,
consuming crowns with utmost care
A crazed coyote fled her lair,
left in the lurch bewildered bear
The Flame, unfurled, went wild and grew,
enkindled cats and caribou
Remaining... not a residue,
as reeking vapors bade adieu
The Flame revealed her strength unshackled
Flora, fauna crisped and crackled
Fire Witches clucked and cackled
One more forest stripped, then hackled
The arsonists were well aware
the Flame would travel everywhere
The weirs are gone, the land is bare,
and soon you’ll find a city there
Copyright © Terry O'Leary | Year Posted 2012
My silky ivory coat keeps me warm in the artic climate,
my keen senses search for prey in the Alaskan wilderness-
When I encounter the mighty mount Denali, I climb it,
yes, I am an Artic Wolf and am known for being carnivorous.
I savor the flavor of a great
muskoxen and caribou.
The way the twilight sparkles
upon my prey, I feel the
desire for more-
When darkness hovers over
the land, my pack and I
find that there is more prey
than during the day holding
such brilliant light.
Deep chameleon blue.
Here I am, hunting for the fox that I always fight,
we battle and struggle with each other’s strength-
And as I search for artic hares in the middle of the night,
my leap into catching him is nine feet long in length.
As dusk arrives I anticipate
The reverie delivers the taste
I can never resist.
As I run through my territory
of about one hundred miles
I feel the fervor of the fight.
I am ready for the temptation of killing as it arrives,
and as my teeth growl I soon become prepared-
My claws dug deep in the ground as I begin to thrive,
for I have encountered a black mountain bear.
Through the combat of the
battle I have found victory.
I am alone, with no other wolf
in the brawl.
I relish in the taste of triumph
and surmount as being the
greatest Artic Wolf in the
My famished body has been marked with the game,
my prey killed with one grasp from my mouth-
Then I linger on to my cave, fulfilled and tame,
tomorrow it will be the time to travel down south.
Poetry in an Animal's View
January 29, 2017
Copyright © Lu Loo | Year Posted 2017
Alligators, Aardvarks; Arctic fox and hare. Also Armadillos and Asses will be there!
Bobcats, Beavers, Boars; One Blue whale will do! Bovines and a Booby (maybe 2)!
Caribou & Camels; *Cavies & a *Coot; Cottontails, Chipmunks, Chinchillas looking cute.
Dingoes, Deer & *Dik-diks; Dolphins doing tricks!
Elephants, an *Emu; Egrets and a Ewe.
Flying squirrels & Frogs you will find; Ferrets & Flamingos, Felines, every kind.
Goats & Gophers, swift Gazelles & Gnus; Grizzlies & Gorillas; Gibbons to amuse.
Humpbacks;Hyenas,also Harbor seals; Hummingbirds need little; Hippos need huge meals!
*Ibex & an Ibis, and there’s some Iguanas
Jaguars & Jackals & wading birds, Jacanas.
Killer whale; a Kangaroo; Kingbirds and the Koala too.
Ligers, Lynxes, Leopards, Langers; Llamas, Lemmings, Loons & Lemurs.
Manatees & Manxes & some Muskrats; Mustangs, Moose, Macaws ; Mountain cats.
Nightingales & Newts; and a big Naked mole rat!
Otters & Opossums; the Ozark Big-eared bat; Ocelots and Orca too. imagine that!
Pumas, Panthers, Penguins, Polar Bears & *Pipits; Puffins, Peacocks, Pelicans & *Peewits.
*Qhetzals, such bright birds to see; also a Queen snake, Queen rat & Queen bee.
Rhinos, Rams & Reindeer need a look! Racoons too, & have you seen the Rook?
Sable, Sloth & Skunks & Snowy owl, Snipes & Swifts & *Squabs are other fowl.
Tigers, Toucans, *Tapirs; and just now born. . .
Utah prairie dogs, Uganda Kob and the only one around, the Unicorn!
Vultures, Vipers, Vixens, and more than that; a Vole & Vervet & the Vampire bat!
Walruses, a Weasel, & the silly *Wallaroo; Woodchucks, Wolverines, Warthog too.
*Xenopus & *Xerus; *Xenarthra & *Xantus.
*Yaffles & a Yellow belly lizard; a Yeti (found naked in a blizzard).
*Zanzibar and Zebra & the *Zebu; Finally a *Zigzag and a *Zoo-zoo!
Definitions of the uncommon animal names in this poem:
Cavies - Hoofed animals Coots -diving birds Dik-diks - type of Antelopes
Emu - like Ostrich Ibex - wild goat Langurs -Long tailed Monkeys
Pipits - small songbirds Peewits -shore birds Qhetzals -jungle bird
Squabs -Birds Tapirs -S. American Swine Wallaroo -large Water buffalo
Xenopus -Frog Xerus - Ground squirrel Xenarthra -Anteaters
Xantus - Bird Yaffles - Green woodpeckers Zanzibar -Gecko
Zebu - Ox Zigzag - Salamander Zoo-zoo -Wood pigeon
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2010
Ah Frontiera, here we are at your last, you've thrown a rod, your life lies black
on oily ground - all this snow and you're a mobile no longer; so I must walk.
It's cold, and now I think of it, that cold that exists in enormous reservoirs
at the poles of our world, seemingly to pass back and forth between,
as if through a secret conduit as the seasons are unfurled.
I will relax, I tell myself, "become one with the cold" as if it can't hurt me,
because sometimes you have to tell yourself things in order to survive.
My soliloquy proceeds as I gather thin paper birch branches and fashion them
into snowshoes with rawhide strings from my pack, a woefully empty pack
considering where I must go - the Brooks Range, even in October, is no joke -
and I can make it to a trapper's cabin, south south-west near Lake Chandalar.
Like the Inupiat Eskimos, I will sing my song, make up my tale, and live on.
Garlock, lord of this valley, seven feet of branch-breaking, tree-scarring,
log-rolling, stump-pulling black bear might, looks up, for the wind was behind me
and his nose is ever aware; my prayer - "You've eaten well, for your
winter sleep comes soon, you are not hungry enough for me" - I repeat it with
calm confidence; Praise God - noble king Garlock, this time, gives me a pass.
Two hundred miles, "Can I make it in three weeks, can I stay alive for four,"
I wonder as I walk, as I fish - pike, char; hard-fought with my hook, still the grayling
cooks on my fire - with a few remaining blueberries I find for spice; over mountain pass,
near the gorge's bottom, a rocky ledge, a rare stumbled caribou with broken legs,
my knife finishes it, oh how warm and rich the liver.
Over the blue cold of a nameless glacier - half the planet's glaciers are in Alaska,
that blue in summer melting is half of all water flowing into all the seas; I exist
with the cold, I'm only a part-day's travel from the trapper's cabin now.
Click-thunk! I hear it before my leg is alive with pain; I've stepped on a trap.
The evening's grim descent doubles and redoubles - I laugh or cry.
Will I bleed, will I freeze, or will my life just vanish into shock,
tucked into the ever-colder onset of night.
Trapper, when will you next check your traps?
December 21, 2016
For Shadow Hamilton's contest - 'Epic'
Copyright © Doug Vinson | Year Posted 2016
...... Part 2 ......
With snout upturned the moon’s discerned
as well as wafts a wendin’
and muzzled growls and shriekin’ howls
mark wolves in quests unendin’.
With fragrant hint, the wolf’s a’ sprint,
the pack begins t’ rally –
in swift descent they’ve seized a scent,
that’s flowin’ down the valley.
The wolf moves on behind the dawn
and shades the pale horizon
as she-wolfs vet his silhouette
each time they lay their eyes on.
With trek discreet, a trail is beat
across a river frozen –
when day’s complete, just mice to eat,
a choice despised, but chosen.
A stillness jeers the shaggy ears
(one droopin’ down, hung over),
while caribou, with much ado,
drift, seekin’ blades o’ clover;
the wearied pack picks up their track
(with stony stomachs pangin’)
through endless seas of barren trees
with ice like daggers hangin’.
The wolf invades forgotten glades,
the pack stays close behind ’im;
the caribou, in his purview,
seem far too far to mind ’im.
Above, a baleful moonbeam wails,
“oh god he’s gonna’ catch ’em”;
the scene is grim, the Reaper dim,
the night has gone to fetch ’im.
A moanin’ mynah’s crying loud
as birds of prey are preachin’
to cravin’ ravens prayin’ proud
and wide-eyed owls a’ screechin’.
The wolf, unrushed, is breathin’ hushed,
his hollow eyes a’ narrowin’
and focused hard in fixed regard
on herds they'll soon be harrowin’.
The morning breeze is ill at ease,
a surge brings sudden silence –
then haggard swarms launch poundin’ storms
and hurricanes of vi’lence;
the herd’s surprised and paralyzed
all over hell’s half acre –
the leadin’ buck’s run out of luck,
he’s soon to meet his maker.
...... Continued in Part 3 ......
Copyright © Terry O'Leary | Year Posted 2012
Oh that I could speak with the Northern Lights,
And commune with the Spirits therein.
Or dance to the tunes of the Arctic wastes,
Return to a life - sanguine.
Oh that I might commune with Wolf and Bear,
And hear of the tales they could tell!
To share their life in the cold barren North
Which Southerners think of as Hell!
Oh to swim neath the ice of the Arctic seas,
And fish with the leopard seal:
To cavort with Orca the Killer Whale,
On a hunt for his daily meal!
Oh that I could bask in the Midnight Sun,
With a Walrus taking its ease:
Or soar with an Eagle through ice blue skies,
On a flight to wherever it please!
Oh that I could run with the Caribou,
Or watch the Musk Oxen grazing.
That stoically stand with backs to the storm,
And show patience most amazing!
Oh that I could play with Sea Otter pups,
Or feast on the flesh of a clam.
Or watch a litter of Arctic Fox cubs,
Play close by their vigilant dam.
Oh that I could see flocks of Geese and Ducks
That feed on the lush Arctic grass.
Or to quench my thirst from waters cold,
That flow from an icy crevasse!
Oh that I could return to that pristine land,
Which my anguished heart calls home
To the land where I was born and raised,
That calls to wherever I roam!
Oh ‘tis true, my travels of far and wide
Have shown me worldly delights,
But the Arctic is where I’d rather be,
Under the glow of the Northern Lights!
Copyright © Denis Barter | Year Posted 2016
forced separated instinct
lost my caribou
~Written By: Laura Loo~
~Date Written: February 14, 2016~
Copyright © Lu Loo | Year Posted 2016
For the soon to be boom
Between the sun and moon
And any flowers that do or don't bloom
During morning, night and afternoon
Lifeforms becoming unglued
Nobody is immune
Acting like a buffoon
And being rude or lewd
Just because you think there may be doom
And are full of rue
So many different moods
Near and far from any lagoons
As well as any sand dunes
Leaves being pruned
And work getting called off or resumed
Among items old or new
Mass amounts of food
Being used and consumed
Angles, straight and skewed
While opportune chances loom
Leading to a possible boon
Or a crash that will or won't balloon
Among glyphs and runes
Before, during and after many monsoons
And any typhoons
Despite their being room
Among materials considered pure or crude
Beside folk and animals like baboons, caribou, kangaroo and racoons
Or anything else that does or doesn't use a cocoon
As time flies by and zooms
For me and you
Tombs and other areas becoming exhumed
Among locations with traces of toxic fumes
Which is just one example of why life is no cartoon
Meanwhile questions remain and answers elude
Across any longitude and latitude
At different altitudes
It's about time I turn it up to a higher notch of amplitude and magnitude
By using aptitude
As I continue to display gratitude
With no attitude
Towards changes that ensued
Where souls had swam and canoed
Below black skys and water light or dark blue
I'll tell you something true
At times I didn't know what exactly to do
Until I focused and looked at it with a different view
So that I could find the most efficient way through
What I may get into
While I continue
Of not making moves
During any issues
I realize not everything has flesh and tissue
Near and far from areas with igloos
And buildings that teach martial arts such as judo and jujitsu
The end of this was written at six oh two
As the wind blew
Above a field with some plants having mildew
There was a film crew
Making the occasional miscue
During a scene involving the use of a didgeridoo
Different species of birds flew
As darkness grew
Closer then eventually drew
But only the skilled few
Were able to show and prove
While in or out of their groove
Before, during and after any rendevous
By: Dalton Ogletree
Copyright © Dalton Ogletree | Year Posted 2017
After Eight Mints
Black Bean Soup
Brussels Sprouts and Lamb
Chocolate Pudding !!!
Cinnamon Raisin Bagel
Garlic Roast Chicken
Green & Yellow Peppers
Green Leaf Lettuce
Hashed Brown Potatoes
Jellied bouillon with frankfurters
Melba Toast Crackers
Milky Way Bar
Smoked Chicken Sandwich
Turkey Pastrami on Rye
Weight Watchers Chicken Enchiladas
Whole Wheat Bread
He comments Beuys’ art
they hang to his dentalia
in slimy appearance
menus on wrapping paper
note the mental thing
yes, yes, he said so,
and where are the nuts
the crackers, the slow food
a cookie with my coffee
still harvests thoughts
wrong war thoughts
so wrong during the war
warms a sanitary finger
and goldfish in my hand
hidden under fallen leaves
in brown memories
Joseph Beuys is a controversial artist, one of his
works is called 'food for thought'. I saw this at
the museum of psychiatry when I guided some folks;
theme of the exposition was "lost in memory".
Next to the museum is the garden where 3 of my
sculptural works can be visited. We did so.
Copyright © Jan Delvaux. | Year Posted 2009
Hereafter in the times of tomorrows yesterday,
Came the development of an exhilarating Christmas holiday.
Sometime earlier than the present time,
This holiday was old fashioned through out mankind.
World-wide festivities nowadays have come,
All the wonders of advancement has finally begun.
Santa's automobile has but only two wheels,
Placed on each side of his shatter proof shields.
No longer are there caribou with bells that jingle,
A 2031 stainless steel V-8, red and white shingles.
Santa is not plump and white bearded like he used to be,
Now he has a shaved head sporting a black goatee.
The good girls and boys get emails on the Eve,
Announcing his arrival and what time he will leave.
There are ramps starting at the base of the exhaust,
Sliding presents down the chimney a lil' crisscrossed.
No more elves working tirelessly at the North Pole,
But electronic robots made of silver and gold.
Tall green pine trees decorated with sheets of red ice,
No more LED lights, now there's something more precise.
The snow used to be white, fluffy and soft,
Now a tiny hue of pink intertwined with blue frost.
The stockings have no gravity, they float and linger,
Special sugar cookies made with a snap of my finger.
Opening gifts using the new electronic scissors,
My whole family wakes up wearing matching knickers.
My son and daughter build snow forts with excavators,
And all through out December we have curious spectators.
I sit here and look back to when I was thirty-five,
I wonder how in the world did I ever survive!
Some say the first Christmas was in December 336ad,
Based on some chart, oh how I strongly disagree.
I miss that chubby old man and his beautiful reindeer,
And his red sleigh while brushing his long white beard.
Oh my, how things have altered so ridiculously fast,
I never thought so much can change from many Christmas's past.
~A Futuristic Christmas Contest~
Sponsor: Mystic Rose
Date Written: November 16, 2015
Copyright © Lu Loo | Year Posted 2015
Seen, and unseen, white in, stars out
Snow slices air.
Seal Mukluks shuffling, toes in seal hair
Electrons knife into ice, tangentially chill
From aurora’s greenish lights dancing a whistle’s will.
Clothed inside out, and outside in by caribou hollow hair
Feels belly sweat trickle, get sucked in by air
From steady dog team gait
Across the tectonic tundra plate
Of Mother’s molten gut.
Shafting silver frost, stalagmites up
His eyes stare through slits of bone
Crossing frigid fault lines of stone.
He listens to language of snow and of gale
Senses ancestral tongue speaking from drifting trail.
The snow squeaks of density, depth and of place.
Homeward bound in swirling might
As frozen asteroids in cosmic flight
Crater his pupils in lunar impact
Nothing but blue pained light
Seen before the end of sight
In a day of night.
Copyright © Wallace Du Temple | Year Posted 2016
The gloomy days of winter
And soggy clouds of rain
Make me wonder if sunshiny days
Will ever come again.
I am so tired of galoshes,
Umbrellas and rain coats.
I'd like to carry only bottles
Of sun lotion in my totes.
Mr North Wind take your icy blasts
And blow them far away
To where polar bears would say welcome
And walruses and caribou play.
I am sitting by a heater
With a blanket on my knees.
I see my garden through my window
As it slips into deep freeze.
The sports of winter don't amuse me.
I have never learned to ski.
I'd like to winter in Hawaii
Or in sunny Italy.
Now that Santa Claus has gone back
To the land of ice and snow,
I must tell you Mr. Winter,
It's also time for you to go.
Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2013
ARE THERE CARIBOU IN MALIBU?
The frail I fail to reach
The elderly with so much to teach
Those older whose shoulder brushes mine
And yet each and every eye still to shine
Those tangled up by values and vine
The ones who feed squirrels in some secluded square
Those with remembrances to relate with reverence, relevance and a touch of flair
The old and the better ones
The cold and bitter ones
Those who fear to do what they could never dare
Those who dare not do that which they fear
That elder on a bench was once a tailor in a shop on Main Street in Malibu
The one over there used to do conservation work for the caribou
Because every elder once was………….
Everyone once was something
Something of worth with value assessed
Everyone has been caressed
With lamentable last times and blessed by first times
Bed times, bad times and the worst times
Rain shower times and feathery flower times
Times of weakness and power times
Repressing and depressing times
Most had lovers to whom they were inclined
Sorrowfully one fell well behind
Still others had delight definitively defined
Some of them, on occasion, rose to the occasion
And most once had a viable vocation
Everyone did something kind
Everyone had vengeance weighing on their mind
Everyone tried to kindle a spark
And some were left deeply in the dark
Yet sadly only a sacred few will die and acutely, with acumen, leave their memorable mark
© 2012…copyright PHREEPOETREE..~free cee!~
Copyright © jeffry cohan | Year Posted 2013
Eskimos know 68 shades of snow
They count every flake
Green blue ones fill children with delight
Parents frozen like the dim light of day
Wait with edges of a knife for prey
They dare not move during the hunt for food
Faces etched like leather on fierce weather
In calmer times they sing
Pound igloos into shape before the pending storm
Mukluks on their children’s feet are old and worn
But keeps them warm on moonless nights
Against all odds for life
They hold together chanting on the wind
Stretching across all time and land
Singing about their past and colder weather
And yes, about the color white
Sentry huskies sway left to right in fear
And think of caribou
Soon the ice will cover everything
Settled in the deep
The people sleep
And dream of whale bones by the glacier sea
Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2014
Alaskan wilderness, a beautiful sight, holds grave danger when you go it alone.
It was freezing cold one night when Frank’s unwanted adventure began.
He had left early that Sunday morn, before an unexpected blizzard moved in.
In daylight he had traveled miles across pristine splendor; thick snow made vision blur.
The flurry came so quickly; it took him by surprise. Wolves howl imposed death’s cries.
He had traveled 150 miles past Wendell Winthrop’s summer cottage.
The next closest shelter was 200 miles away where the year round trapper lived.
Frank was all alone; to survive the night, he needed to bury himself in snow.
The next morning he woke up alive! Hurray! It was a great start for the new day.
He brushed the snow off and got on his snowmobile, all prepared for a brisk ride home.
To his disbelief, the snowmobile would not start. No repair brought even one spark.
What would he do? An unwanted adventure was about to begin…unprepared.
He collected a few supplies and warm clothes, which he carried and started walking.
In the distance he heard hungry howls followed by a fallen caribou screaming.
After two days of surviving eating snow, he knew that he had to find some meat.
But he was in for a God sent treat. Behind a snow mound he heard a wolverine.
There it was. Food! Wild kill; a part eaten moose with no bear or wolf to be seen.
The wolverine shared, without a choice; a gunshot wound in her side made her weak.
It all made sense. Noisy guns scared the bears and wolves off during the blizzard.
Poachers must have shot the wolverine while trying to get out of the storm safely.
Having a concerned heart, Frank wrapped a shirt around the bleeding wound; Blood stopped.
The injured mammal seemed happy and so did Frank. That morning they ate together.
He built a makeshift stretcher; then, lifted the wolverine onto it, like two friends.
Mile after mile he trudged before he and “Wolvie” were hungry again; he made camp.
Three ptarmigan flew close to the fire. Pow! Pow! Pow! Frank and Wolvie ate that night.
He had gone a long way before camping again. His friend seemed to be much better.
It was a miracle! She lived; after five days she walked, but stayed right by Frank’s side.
Almost there, a black bear cornered Frank. Wolvie lunged at its throat; the bear ran.
They made it! The trapper came out, raised his gun. Frank shouted, “Don’t, shoot!”
The trapper could not believe his ears. Frank and the wolverine were co-heros.
Copyright © Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen | Year Posted 2017
D Doctor Michelle Oakley, Yukon Vet
O On Nat Geo, best animal show yet,
C can bring the thrills of taking care of tamed
T to wild species, with her strength and famed
O operations handling moose and yaks,
R red foxes, musk-oxen, huge elk with racks.
M Michelle, a rugged lady, there on call,
I in helping animals both large and small,
C can teach an injured hawk to fly once more
H healing wings so one day it can soar.
E Even ailing porcupines get cured.
L Linx, when spotted ill, are gently lured
L letting her perform her healing skills
E ensuring we who watch enjoy the thrills.
O Often she helps out a local zoo,
A and mountain goats, mule deer, and caribou
K keep her busy if they're hurt or when
L land in danger birthing, because then
E every newborn life is nature's prize.
Y Yearly vaccines often can comprise
Y yielding into schemes to bring them close,
U upon which she will shoot a dart with dose,
K kindly making sure it hits the spot;
O often quite involved to give a shot.
N Nothing more exciting than to see
V vast Yukon plains with creatures wild and free,
E entrapped, when needed, by a blowgun dart
T to be repaired by this vet's healing art.
Sandra M. Haight
Premiere Contest: Your Favorite Habit-Forming TV Show
Sponsor: Tom Quigley
This TV series, 'Dr. Oakley - Yukon Vet' is aired on Nat Geo Wild, usually in the spring months. I have watched Seasons 1,2 and 3, and looking forward to Season 4 next spring. I love this show!
Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2016
We spread these wings in dreams which fly....
Beyound the ambient hieroglyphic sky; our heritage
This coign of vantage; etched her silken starry
Night an ancient cavern carnelian hues ? Ancestral
Meek as the mink and caribou; banal their mischief-makers
Carved a stone this image one million years her matriarch..
Barbaric schemes times kings; confronted by she, mono y mono
Exposed love's fiery minx iconic; ironic while the tables turn ?
Pelion, hand writing with scenic wings; empowered by Genial, we deem.
Copyright © Johnny Rhinem | Year Posted 2013
You want it all.
The lakes and tar sands
Fresh water and fish
Pipelines that confine
And make the hunt ridiculous.
Forests for the churning
Of lusty, gossip press
And row houses
Like card houses
In six figure excess.
You set the price
You peg the share return
You fudge prospectus
Upon contingent prospectus.
You eyeball Brazil’s rubber
And the yen’s stability.
Look for bottom line
In a bombshell.
You feed the college factories
With student debt
You ruin IT marvels of innovation
With the barbs of bribed analysts.
You forestall needful medicines.
Your food franchises gorge your towns
And starve your staffs.
You stuff the sanctuaries
With hype and lifestyle
And trendy powerless slogans.
And dandle politicians
Like Punch and Judy.
But no one is laughing.
Moving jobs like pawns off-shore.
Buying justice by the pound.
You are the ravening
And the implacable.
You kill this place
Chanting with pounded fist
“Business is business”.
And the odd one of us
Builds a cabin in the bush
And marvels at the night music
Copyright © Doug Blair | Year Posted 2017
Bergs dot the ocean, even in June, and
Thick fogs clothe the Labrador shore early each morning.
The sea ice rocks slowly in the harbor from wind and sun.
As I roast my fish on the warming gravel beach
The air grows clear and crystalline for miles to the horizon
And I hear only
The seagull cries
Over the lone level water
And tumbling streams laughing their way over mossed boulders old as time,
Streams known only to me and the fish.
We know the splendor of the yellow arctic poppy in bloom in the long days of July,
The wild goose arrowing south high above the shore before the sun-dogs of October,
And the incandescent rainbow of the aurora in bloom in January.
Polar bears hunt ringed seals along the coast, whales call in the bay,
And caribou herds migrate to their calving grounds among
The ankle-deep turf of tundra with mushrooms in an abundance of sizes and colours,
Bilberry, red mountain cranberry, and crowberry, which bears graze in late summer.
There is life here - and pristine growth, primeval and pure.
I need only a simple cabin - black spruce for walls and white birch bark for roof,
And a boat - and my trap line mended.
And I shall have peace here
Among the evening green and white of this cold coast
With unnamed summer streams running warm into unnamed bays and hidden coves
Between high cliffs rising straight from the sea,
Their wind- and wave-scoured faces looking straight east over the foggy Atlantic.
Copyright © Sidney Beck | Year Posted 2013
The elk is just an Eastern moose,
Or else a Western caribou …
But if you chance to meet one,
He will be polite and nod to you.
Copyright © Frances King | Year Posted 2009
Three young kids sit on the double swing
In nearby woods nightingale will sing
As kids swing on the swing
They talk about everything
They talk about adventures in distant places
Light of joy lights up on their faces
To the south tropical beaches
To the north cold breezes
The animals like polar bear in frozen tundra
Mongolian death worm in distant Asia
Wolves chasing caribou following the alpha
Komodo dragon, ropen from New Guinea, and Indian king cobra
View from the swing is far towards north, south, east and west
Each of brothers will have his own quest
The swing is place where they will rest
As they will expand their families crest
The swing reaches far to the air to great expanse
The vastness of that expanse
Makes children’s young souls with joy dance
It is like a dream a romance
But as fresh air reaches the lungs the vision inside it will turn to transcendence
The vision of to universe counterbalance
The spirit that will begin as one writing universe laws and end in brilliance
Equal radiance at the end from base and planetary destiny absolute eminence
In worlds most distant waters children want to swim
But for now let them dream
Swing so small so large to a child will seem
They will remember the wonder years when one day they realize their dream
Copyright © Patrycjusz Kopec | Year Posted 2014
SPRING WILL COME
Small birds in draughty nests behind my brick chimney know that spring will come.
Fixing the gutters in leaky boots, my son knows that spring will come.
Herds of caribou hurrying to cross the still-solid Mackenzie,
Bearcubs with mum in deep-ice caves on Baffin Island,
Trees in the garden with rows of dormant budlets,
Ducks beaking the ice on frozen pondlets,
My tiny grandson wrapped like an
Eskimo as he plays in the snow,
All know spring will come.
I, too, know that long
After I am no more,
Copyright © Sidney Beck | Year Posted 2011
Moon-bounced light, flint-hard
meets my eyes
cold air, sharp as a shard
slices my nose and sears
Yet this is warmth, the arena of life’s race
the cosmic granule on which we breathing
not the absolute, the devastating
cold deep space
Not a soul was once aboard
No heart soared
and sang its beauty, marveled its force
Mary Celeste sailed time’s ocean
with no crew to mark her course
At the still bucking caribou calf I see the grizzly gnaw
yet of nature’s splendour I cannot lose my awe
Copyright © Robin Brown | Year Posted 2016
Alaska, The Last Frontier
Alaska; the wilderness state, the last frontier:
Where majestic mountains,
Deliver streams into flowing rivers:
Down slopes covered in forests
Of Sitka Spruce and Western Hemlock
That dominates the landscape.
The name Alaska originates
From the Aleut word 'Aleyska,'
Meaning the 'mainland' or literally:
'The object toward which the action of the sea is directed.'
Home to barren-ground caribou, lemmings and polar bears,
Willow ptarmigan, moose
And the stately Chinook King salmon,
And home to the nation’s only herd of wood bison:
Thought not to exist but, reintroduced
And brought back from extinction!
Hence, ages ago when glaciers grew and melted,
A land bridge was formed between Siberia and Alaska:
Where the ancestors lived and eventually walked over,
To settle the great land and coastal waters.
The indigenous peoples of Eskimos and Indians
(Aleuts and Yuit; Athabaskans, Tlingit and Haida.)
Believe all places, objects and creatures;—
Possess a divine presence and Shaman:
Are spiritual healers who can meditate with them.
Under the aurora borealis,
From the North Pacific to the Arctic Ocean,
They conduct their way of life.
Engaging in hunting, trapping, trading and fishing:
At peace with the world!
March 30, 1867, marks the day history changed,
When the Alaskan territory was sold,
By the Empire of Russia to the United States of America:
An area twice the size of Texas,
For seven point two million US dollars.
And for the next three decades was given little attention,
Until gold was discovered near Nome in 1899.
Then a stampede of sourdoughs left the Yukon’s
Klondike gold fields for richer claims,
Of placer and bench gold,
In the streams and soils and rocks of Alaska,
Via the American only route and Canadian trails.
Today, gold is the State’s national mineral.
—And when war came to the Aleutian Islands;—
After the attack on Pearl Harbor,
Alaska proved its worth and came of age.
Due to its strategic importance in the war effort;—
Growth took place at a rapid pace:
Roads and towns, naval bases and airports appeared overnight;
Alaskan pride in the fight for freedom prevailed!
Every March, since 1973,
The Iditarod (the last great race on earth) is run:
From Anchorage to Nome,
On a trail just over a thousand miles,
By mushers and their Alaskan Malamute and Siberian dogs.
North America’s highest Peak
And the world’s largest rise
Is Denali (formerly called Mount McKinley),
Located in the Alaskan Range:
And a lake (Ilamna Lake), the size of Connecticut!
The state flag bears the North Star and Big Dipper;—
On a background of blue that waves in the wind.
'North to the Future'
As its citizens sing 'Alaska’s Flag Song!'
And pays homage to the early prospectors
In their quest for gold,
And in honor of achieving the forty-ninth statehood,
On January the third, 1959;—
As the ‘Forget-me-not' flower blooms in Spring,
When the season of love begins.
Today trawlers leave the ports to catch
The prized Alaskan King Crab.
And the Iñupiat spear the Bowhead whale
In managed traditional fishing waters,
And net Coho and Sockeye
Swimming upstream to ancient spawning grounds.
While a bustling oil industry thrives,
With offshore drilling and land exploration.
Alaska, jade of the North, in the twenty-first century!
Copyright © Dennis Spilchuk | Year Posted 2018
The life and death struggles of predator and prey
is nature's poetry in motion in its most bittersweet way.
I challenge anyone not to feel compassion for the predator's victim.
Compassion is what seperates us all from all other species.
It's the very quality that defines us as being human.
A fully fed grizzly bear may witness a pack of wolves slowly take down a caribou.
Not once will that bear think, "I wish that poor prey victim's suffering was through,"
and yet we who feel compassion for the predator's slain prey
continue to murder each other each and every day.
Copyright © Billy TheKidster | Year Posted 2010