Best Wolfed Poems
Look closely, feel the harmless heat
enveloping black-diamond
petals in the glistening
garden of glossy geraniums.
There, sprouts rosemary dreams
from an untouched silhouette,
eager to be seen beyond
her perfumed pigments.
Her universe was sprinkled
with starry streams
of gleaming rays,
as she swayed to symphonic
serenades filled with hazel dust.
They may gawk with greedy
glares as wide as the night sky,
marking her with lecherous
objects that only please
shameless eyes.
She was never
in need of a sixth sense
to understand iron glances
that travel in nefarious packs,
with sugar-burnt hunger
washing all over her
unblistered flesh,
judging her concealer
as a manipulative facade,
seeking uncalled-for affirmations
that she never solicited,
misconceiving her thin lines
of red-river lipstick.
Her summer physique allowed
no consent for invasive intrusion,
yet carnal cravings become
unwelcome toxic trespassers.
Their immoral thoughts
believe shallow words
give them wanderlust wings,
while sinister stars in their sky
label her a soulless mannequin,
objectifying her
cinnamon-glazed skin,
sun-kissed hair,
and pecan-powdered~
caramelized voluptuous flare,
with their vehement
voracious desires.
Swinging penetrative thin blades
of opinions from miles,
oblivious to the fact that
she is the sanguine strength
that strolls in silver silence
across spiky swards,
suppressing the pain her
bones have endured with
every whiskering
whistle they wolfed.
There, if the mauve moon and
crystalline constellations look closely,
they would find versatile
mirrors of meaning
reflecting the times
she parades a smile too
comfortable to wear,
for they have concluded
her bed to be a shrine
of blenders and
overflowing thickened blades,
cursed by the biological
sins of Adam's ancestors.
Categories:
wolfed, deep,
Form:
Free verse
soak up the side streets of Montmartre,
Paris, Pigalle on Boulevard de Clichy
class less art combusts then drips
- street beggars & tourists cant
writer Rubbish pastes lace traceries
ala mode decoupaging decay
his cut-paper layers grace anoint
no longer anonymous walls
stencilist C215’s “simply a cat”
defies sourpusses not to smile—see
heaven art yes art with style
the banality of poverty held at bay
pureed souffléd life wolfed-down
colors synced
spray-cannoned Lothario’s like David Walker
entrance Picasso’s on the brink,
Romani-hearted paint peddlers
of the Republique
- street beggars & tourists cant
Thom Thom’s décollage rip-cuts
the billboard scene titillates the unseen
—culture-lovers—can-canned Lautrec’s
bedded with Che Guevara politics
come tilt with the masse
come play your part
in Montmartre
near Pigalle on Boulevard de Clichy
where wicked pissers defy
cliché
First Published in Clockwise Cat January 2015
Categories:
wolfed, art,
Form:
Free verse
In the dog-days of summer of so long ago
there were bear-hugging moments I like to recall
Like leafing through pages of ram-shackle books,
that are dog-eared, and faded, wearing hound-tooth worn seams
I had a bull's-eye encounter with puppy-tail schemes
There are cat-walks through memories, over turkey-trot trails
wearing pigtails, and Mother Goose, and laughter would peal
Where pony-tailed hairdos would swing like a bell,
and where kids could play leap-frog, and happiness dwells
We would run like the roosters and bull-doze the grass,
picking puffed dandelions, to blow with our breaths
Spreading the catnip and watching it gasp
Grasping the wind, while it wolfed-down the rest
Blooming sweet dogwood would bend in the breeze
Elephant-ears would line every path
With cattails and polly-wogs, we would bunny-hop home
for chickpeas, and monkey bread, and gooseberry creams
Then hug little teddy-bear, in our goose-down reclines
while dog-days of summer would live for all time
Categories:
wolfed, child, childhood, nature, summer,
Form:
Free verse
It is not often realized
that between two opposite things
lies a razor's edge.
It could be love and hate,
faith and unbelief,
or happiness and sadness.
I was sick for a long time
thinking of your departure.
Sadness is a disease,
it leaves a bad taste,
a despair for better things.
A fever that burns the soul.
Then I decided to take a different path.
I found myself afar from lands forlorn
into a sunlit sacred valley.
I felt irrational happiness,
don't ask me why
it could have been
the sun coming out suddenly
out of dark rain filled clouds.
Or the smell of freshly baked
Italian lasagne my mother had prepared,
to be wolfed up
with a ruby spring scented wine.
In the end who cares why?
I am so happy now.
Categories:
wolfed, anxiety, happiness,
Form:
Free verse
The legs of the tigress were the first to go;
torn from her in a single vicious bite,
then left, helpless, to watch the rabbit;
bop and boogie around the once fierce cat.
The lion met a similar grizzly fate;
head torn from body upon gleefully which
the monkey did his dance macabre
in front of audience of tailless sheep.
The elephant, and ram, sans legs, of course,
performed a rather rhythmic limbo dance
under a cunning arch of bison, bear, and fox.
Followed by a mystery shape, we'll call a dog.
The turtle and the owl went in one quick snap,
and missed the seal's famous party trick;
balancing a kangaroo, half-eaten,
on his nose while standing on a cow.
The camel eventually broke in two;
beneath the weight of two donkeys and a horse,
causing hyena to start its manic laugh,
but not for long; it, too, was swallowed, whole.
The toucan crumbled under rhino's charge
and fell beneath the hippo's headless feet.
Then just as things were warming up, I found, alas,
no more Animal Crackers left in the box.
Categories:
wolfed, animal, food,
Form:
Blank verse
Through the creek of the door there sneaked in a silent messenger of Lucifer,
A breathing man sneezed till the last breath, and was shrouded with chillness,
It was a soothing flame of fire choked the chamber in and out,
Rapidity was a trait of the silent messenger which breathed its force mysteriously,
And there was coughing, sneezing and spitting with rising temperature,
The stigma of Covid-19 had its recycle with its mutated psychology.
The victims succumbed to the predator’s double-bladed scalpel.
The illegitimate entry of Covid -19 into an Oriental province is an infamous history,
The silent messenger then turned to an untamable monster that devoured the ‘innocents’,
Clinical staff ran helter-skelter to fight with the devouring monster,
The malicious hunter with his hunting dog wolfed breath in minutes.
The mammoth giant in miniature form of virus wielded his weapon ‘cross the horizon,
And multiple lives were dragged thro’ the tunnel of darkness,
The malicious organisms with short span of life-expectancy breed countless generations,
And enjoy themselves with the crown of sinister leaves.
Who will chase the messenger of Lucifer and shall redeem the world?
Day in and day out chemicals and antibiotics run under microscopes,
Vaccines are tried in every corner,
But experiments and efforts seem to be a fiasco.
So Who shall chase the messenger of evil from the face of human lives?
There is One Who made man and creations,
So, let’s seek His Providence to walk in His Word,
And Life on earth shall be a way unto the Life of Eternity.
Shall we all….?
,
Categories:
wolfed, bible, blessing, christian, christmas,
Form:
Free verse
Covid-19: A Silent Messenger of Lucifer!
Through the creek of the door there sneaked in a silent messenger of Lucifer,
A breathing man sneezed till the last breath, and was shrouded with chillness,
It was a soothing flame of fire choked the chamber in and out,
Rapidity was a trait of the silent messenger which breathed its force mysteriously,
And there was coughing, sneezing and spitting with rising temperature,
The stigma of Covid-19 had its recycle with its mutated psychology.
The victims succumbed to the predator’s double-bladed scalpel.
The illegitimate entry of Covid -19 into an Oriental province is an infamous history,
The silent messenger then turned to an untamable monster that devoured the ‘innocents’,
Clinical staff ran helter-skelter to fight with the devouring monster,
The malicious hunter with his hunting dog wolfed breath in minutes.
The mammoth giant in miniature form of virus wielded his weapon ‘cross the horizon,
And multiple lives were dragged thro’ the tunnel of darkness,
The malicious organisms with short span of life-expectancy breed countless generations,
And enjoy themselves with the crown of sinister leaves.
Who will chase the messenger of Lucifer and shall redeem the world?
Day in and day out chemicals and antibiotics run under microscopes,
Vaccines are tried in every corner,
But experiments and efforts seem to be a fiasco.
So Who shall chase the messenger of evil from the face of human lives?
There is One Who made man and creations,
So, let’s seek His Providence to walk in His Word,
And Life on earth shall be a way unto the Life of Eternity.
Shall we all….?
,
Categories:
wolfed, evil, scary, sick, sin,
Form:
Free verse
“I don't care what anybody says about me as long as it isn't true.” -Dorothy Parker
“Beauty is only skin deep, but ugly goes clean to the bone” -Dorothy Parker
Angels connecting
in real live
Thinking reflecting
and keeping us strive
'Say no to consensuality
that's your best quality
You've the audibility
so keep on your prosody'
Always on time
Mr/Miss/Ms/Mrs I'm...
'Shhhhhhh'
with an eye rhyme
"That heinous crime"
Jumping off the metrics
Holy sculls!
Writing isn't mathematics
Such as friendship
Do everything intensively on your trip
If you stumble in the footpath
It's just a turn on
High in raciness
No Life Span
In the wrath
I am You Sylvia Plath
Nightmares and Dreams
In your life
You were anarchical
one of a kind
my new heteronym
named Wolfed Golf
because is worth being Virginia Woolf
In my paintings: pastels oils pencils and markers Paranoia(s) converter(s)
In being a reporter
In my disorder
sometimes being dark and darker
I am you,
Mrs Dorothy Parker
Categories:
wolfed, how i feel, poetry,
Form:
Rhyme
I am a basset hound and I love to play
I can run and jump all day
I really love magic and tricks
I also love chocolate bics
Yummy! They are so good
I would eat a packet a day if I could
My name is Lady and here is a story all about me
I'm a funny looking dog you see:
Lady was home alone
All she had was her green plastic bone
Her owners had gone out for the day
And Lady really wanted to play
Miserable, she lay on the ground with her long floppy ears
With watery eyes, it seemed as though she was about to burst into tears
Suddenly she perked up when she heard a squeaking sound coming from the house
Lady became excited, she hoped it was a mouse
She barked out loud and ran towards the sound
Lady was such a clever basset hound
With her long nose, she sniffed out the little mouse in his hiding place
The whole morning turned into a playful ‘dog and mouse’ chase!
The mouse was too fast for her and escaped through a small crack in the wall
He was terrified of this funny looking dog who stood two feet tall
Exhausted, Lady flopped down in her basket to rest
She had tried her very, very best
She closed her eyes and had a long nap
And dreamt that she managed to squeeze through the scary dog flap
When Lady woke up, her throat felt dry
She needed a gallon of water to drink and she alone knew why!
The sun was shining and it was hot
She found her bowl and gulped down the lot
Lady looked at the new dog flap
She lifted up one of her paws and gave it a sharp tap
She took a chance and pushed herself through the gap
Relief flooded through her, she had made it out of the flap
Out in the sun
It was time for more fun
Lady headed to the beach
It wasn’t far, within her reach
Calm blue sea with the tiniest of waves
Grottos and amazing caves
Lady’s paw marks were all over the sand
She loved to play by the sea and on land
Cool air blew around her as she splashed around in the sea
What a great feeling it was to be free!
The aroma of food was all around
She was always hungry, this hilarious hound
An ice-cream van was parked nearby
Lady drooled and just stood by
A young couple spotted the little dog sitting down on her own
Her sad brown eyes caught their attention, they each bought her a cone
Lady wished that she could shout
She clenched both cones in her mouth
She licked off the chocolate ice-cream and wolfed down the rest
Categories:
wolfed, adventure, children, dog, kids,
Form:
Limerick
He seemed very much like those white dogs before,
With a raggedy coat, pointed ears and much more.
But the likeness soon ended to those dogs gone away.
For he'd never known kindness or love in his day.
He didn't know words, didn't even know stairs.
His nose, from the kennel, was chaffed of its hair.
Boredom was passed licking fur from his paws.
The pads on his feet bordered long, ragged claws.
He paced back and forth mostly all of each day:
Slept in a tight ball to keep cold nights away.
Wary of children and grown men alike:
Startling sounds made him cringe out of sight.
He was hungry and thin: I could feel every bone.
He stayed by me like glue and was scared left alone.
He wolfed down his food in an uneasy rush.
He didn't know combs and felt fear of the brush.
But time has now passed since the dog came to stay
From that harsh, lonely kennel on a hill far away.
This little white dog now seems mostly like them:
Those former white terriers, my sweet, loyal friends.
He now spends his time . . like before . . by my side.
But something has changed, for he's not there to hide.
With all of this good there is even much more.
He now plays with his toys and will ask for the door.
He eats with good manners, sleeps sound in his bed:
Stretched out in contentment, fun dreams in his head.
He loves his car outings and with each early spring,
Explores the old pathways our daily walk brings.
I'm so happy to have him, as he sits on my lap,
Or sleeps by my chair for his afternoon nap.
He never will know all of the bad things again.
His life will be happy with me as his friend.
Yet as good as it's been for this dog to find me.
To learn love and to trust and from anguish be free.
I too have been blessed one more time from above,
By Him sending another white dog here to love.
Categories:
wolfed, abuse, dog, happiness, pets,
Form:
Narrative
In the night the wolves howl in the distance,
As the spring lambs bay, with the first stirrings of life,
Close lies the pack of humanity, those for whom hunger for the
Fresh taste of the blooding’s first strike, at the throats of innocence
Most pure!
Have they gone suddenly silent, these yearlings tender lambs,
In the stilled quiet amongst the melting snows of winter,
The mountain fields run crimson, and an eerie stench oozing
Upon the winds of distain!
The cannibal lies within the forest of the towered halls,
In the giant fortresses of mankind, he does stalk amongst his own brethren,
No wolfed bite of treachery could leave such a mark of
Terror, as he the beast, whom would feast upon the raw flesh
Of his kindred kind!
A gentlemen chamleon blending amongst the tailcoats
Of learned men, sheathed within the amour of intelligence's,
A humanistic wolf moves flawlessly, within the herds of the
Meek and mild, to pick his victims of the city flock
At his leisure of desires pleasure!
Underneath the outstretched wings of the red dragon,
The bubbling caldron pot of truest evil, does runneth over,
With the gravy’s leavening's of the corruption and violence,
Welcoming this creature of the demonic to the dinning
Table of the unrighteous and wicked!
Black sheep, black sheep, do you have any wool,
The whittend lamb does ask, nay but in the woods
Therein, lies many go within the wolves din and take
What you like at your own risk of course, my innocent
Friend, but beneath the blackened skinned wool the
Wolf does smile, with a sheepish grinning!
In an extravagant restaurant a well-mannered gentlemen,
Orders the specialty of the house to go, later he adds
He adds his special ingredients, spiced to the taste
Buds of the cook himself, it sizzles with an unusual
Oromia of well-cooked human flesh, the cannibal
Smiles with delight at his culinary masterpiece,
As the police knock at his door, with a missing
Persons report!
In the jail cell of the lost souls, he the cannibal known
As Hannibal Lector has no regrets, except say one,
The meal he never got to finish!
In the night the wolves howl in the distance,
As the spring lambs bay, with the first stirrings of life,
Close lies the pack of humanity, those for whom hunger for the
Fresh taste of the blooding’s first strike, at the throats of innocence
Most pure!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Categories:
wolfed, dark, fear, halloween, holiday,
Form:
Free verse
Crumbling crinkly, cracker crumbs
into salty, seafood stew,
Mother made our midday meal.
Fast for favorite food we flew.
Gluttony Glenda gulped a glass
of Linda's lovely, lemon tea.
While Will wolfed down whole walnut meats,
carefully crunching kernels free.
"Savages", sister Susan said.
"Politeness, please," our papa pled.
7/4/14
For Dr. Mehta's contest
Categories:
wolfed, parents,
Form:
Rhyme
Trouble was caused by love of sausage,
Summer sausage by strict definition,
Which is any sausage loved by masses
That can be kept without refrigeration.
Until a day when a man arrives
Walking into a home, his destination,
The sausage was waiting, calling
His name, how could he avoid the temptation?
He lost his vision of all other tasks
In a quest for this pork perfection.
Who is to say it wasn’t true love?
Who can resist the salty pig parts?
The slender casing surrounding the
Tube of leftover scraps, like hearts.
The exact ingredients are makers secrets,
No recipes, or measuring, or charts.
The love in the hands of the artist
Who takes the whole pig, and some parts.
Often mixed with beef or venison
In secret combinations, takes smarts.
The magic of putting it all together,
Mixing and cooking and chopping,
Is wasted on a young man’s greed,
Who never even did the shopping.
Lost in the quest for food and drink
Shoving food in, there’s no stopping.
Heartless abandon to those around
Staying for free, just flopping.
Sausage created a wall for him
Between starving and groc shopping.
Did he even taste the subtle tang
Of a creation with just the right fat?
Does he even know the time it took
To get the ingredients where they’re at?
Did he miss the testament to the hog,
The life of the pig for just that?
Does he even have a clue that all meat,
Fat, salt and herbs, must be so exact?
He couldn’t have wolfed down a log
Of chorizo, for it would be too hot.
He couldn’t have handled the extra
Garlic in one, he’d faint right on the spot.
The mustard seed, black pepper
And salt gave it just the right shot,
Of spices, then add in a grace
Of sugar, to make it the best he got.
Dried or smoked, he grunted right through
Gone in a whisper, it was not.
Categories:
wolfed, food,
Form:
Ode
THE CHILDREN
Their tiny legs run to find no place to hide,
The children cry again as dark moves in,
As the shadowy sneer, evil’s grin
The children’s untimely fate, of being plucked from mother’s side,
And the children tried to but they slipped, that’s when the children slide
To be wolfed down in a world that has given up, a world worn thin,
The empty playground now, no laughter coming from within,
As the children cower, smaller and smaller for somewhere to hide,
When their mothers search feeling for them in the dark,
Distraught, forlorn, their mothers are ripped, their mothers are torn,
Children of their womb, children so close to every beat of mother’s heart,
When the children cry, cries of regret at having been born,
Shredding of innocence - stories unbelievable - the gut-wrenching part,
Up, and out of the nightmare - and the children still can’t be found in the morn.
Categories:
wolfed, abuse,
Form:
Rhyme
Title: Severine Veins
Since Chris and Tamra had to jet
without much plan for the future,
I was bestowed the family pet
who then proceeded to suture
my couch, my drapes, the front screen door
before dashing to bolt outside,
returning in moments with gore
that once held a rabbit inside.
That gray tiger gave me a swipe
each time I tied to intervene
as he revealed his greedy stripe
by picking that poor morsel clean
just like a child at Easter-time
holding a fat, chocolate bunny,
he wolfed-down the fruit of his crime
except the tail, which proved funny;
one little poof of evidence
could convict my treacherous friend
so he hid proof of his offense
by batting his only loose end.
Such is the tale of Severine:
he chose to hunt on his own terms
even if fate plays violin
when he gets infected with worms.
Notes: written for Sharon Tideswell's "Pet-Sit Panics" contest. Please feel free to let me know what you think!
Categories:
wolfed, funny, petsme,
Form:
Rhyme