Long Cubs Poems
Long Cubs Poems. Below are the most popular long Cubs by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cubs poems by poem length and keyword.
"Fantasy ~ Imagination Are Twins. Having a fun time playing together in our dreams." By Poet
As I look into last night's "Dream,"
I see a "Visualization" downstream.
I see a huge bear and cubs dressed in lace of red and cream,
that is a crazy color scheme.
Is my "Imagination" going up in steam?
The bears looked very "Whimsy" like out of a daydream,
has this "Hullucination" gone to the extreme?
"Reverie" by this cold water stream.
In this wild dream I found no self-esteem,
just a large bright overhead laser beam.
No more eating ice cream with triple whipping cream.
Two wolves played together courting
gently the male licked and nuzzled
romped together enjoying
Now bonded they were so loving
for eternity they joined
two wolves played together courting
In great fun each other chasing
until they together swirled
romped together enjoying
Like all lovers closely bonding
unlike us they never battled
two wolves played together courting
They raise their cubs with good teaching
the cubs before them grovelled
romped together enjoying
Full cycle their lives swinging
yet still with each other dazzled
two wolves played together courting
romped together enjoying
My name is Mrs. Spring
I can do some pretty wondrous things
And
Hidden beneath my heart felt sprinkles
Are dew drop star wishes of morning light twinkles
My all time favorite color is every bit of green
And my magic allows me to change from winter into spring
But
Master Winter cannot seem to do anything in rhythmical flow
And he even turns my precious rain right back into hellacious snow
Birds begin to move once again and I love to hear them whistle
Mamma bears and cubs cautiously appear making spring become official.
Buds branch out from leaf baring trees and then flowers fall from the skies
Children begin to grin again splashing in puddled rainbows; precious sparkles in their eyes.
She's quite the sight to see; is that seasoned Mrs. Spring
Earning her keep to remain Queen Mrs. Spring, loving mother to nature and goddess of green.
You can always see why I mean just by the way we all turn green whenever we step outside, about to be greeted by the majestic, Mrs. Spring!
The end
3/19/17
the baby seal is crying, as the hunters come with clubs and sack,
the mother barks as if to wail, she grabs her pup and pulls it back,
nearby the polar bear is hunting, for his hungry cubs who play,
seeing the seals, he charges, as the hunters quickly run away.
she gently grabs her baby pup, and slides into the icy water,
the bear has lost it’s prey, but did prevent the useless slaughter.
the angry hunters empty handed, walk in search of some new prey,
the ice has cracked below their feet, they sink into the freezing bay,
the cost has now been paid, for tempting nature’s wrath,
the hunters at the bottom, their only fame, their epitaph.
The woods were covered with sprinkling of new snow
gleaming and sparkling as if covered with diamonds
low laying mist covered the ground hiding things
into the clearing slinking crept the large wolf
He slunk down onto his belly as he got closer
well known as the ghost wolf or spirit wolf
few had seen him though many heard him nightly
always alone singing out his heart to the moon
Preferring a solitary life he ranged far and wide
right now he had an elk in his sights for dinner
a flash of silver as he pounced, the deed done
blood dripping from his nuzzle he howled and howled
A full belly and afters stashed away for another day
his thoughts turned to other things, a tantalising smell
a she wolf nearby was in oestrogen her scent lingering
tempting and teasing. he followed her trail, love in his heart
Finding her they played and flirted chasing each other
with her not sure it needs two or more to raise cubs
teasing her until nature had its way they mated at last
now you hear a pair of wolves serenading the bright moon
I wolf down my food
in a gluttonous way
chomp chomp slurp slurp
Gnash gnash slurp slurp
A throwback to a previous incarnation
When I actually was a wolf, or a werewoman?
Tummy full, I rumble off into the night.
Howling now at the moon, on my favorite granite slab.
Am I scaring you, Luna? I ask, showing my red teeth.
Full of cherry Koolaide, but looking much more fierce.
Luna laughs, exposing my truth, then she winks.
She recognizes me no matter what form I take.
Her recognition causes me to slow down and pretend niceness.
Okay to be myself now, I wait for my cubs, who are struggling to keep up with my fierceness.
Stark Arctic vacant for centuries
habitat white fur bears epoch
prom's on ice sheets breeze
cubs in search for mama's barrack
concurring ice surrenders whistle
remark the scent of sea lions
nurture's th' cubs haunting an angel
in freezing water bathing, stuns
cleans thou fur splash'd blood mud's
with a long wooden ice pick stick
Eskimo Indians with leather studs
an a husky right beside slick
Eyes wide fur fluff an irresistible speed
chilled they stay like family like bear
Different worlds apply suitability
passionate to live in thou world
leave mine an find solidity
among masters of ice pearl'd
like dolphin's feel in th' wide ocean
free spirits eccentric in this world
visual glitters under water at dawn
an sleep by morning sunlight furl
having such power an strength
thou art can't by any means measure
th' Arctic distance in length
memorizing thou atmosphere's odour
never enough for my passion to feather
my moral says i have to live there
an you'll probably wish me good luck
SONG TO THE RUINS OF AMERICA
With the Glyn Ford’ eyes:
"Fascist Europe-The Rise of Racism and Xenophobia"
I see with horror how from an american country to another
Racism and Xenophobia are cultivated in ist fields
Inspecting the growth of fascism and its relationship
With the capitalist families’ domain
As Daniel Guerin saw in his “Fascism and Big Busines”
When Fascism was flourishing in Germany and Italy
For nothing.
Cities and fields returns to watering the river Biederitz
Feeder of the river Elba
That brings the Hitler and Eve’s cremated and crushed remains
Together with others of theirs on the studio couch
Where they were found suicided
Perhaps the same couch of love where Neville Chamberlain
the British Prime Minister was sat.
River that joins and, at the end, matchs to the river Potomac
In Chesapeake Bay, Atlantic Ocean
Rested in backwater of the White House’ pool
Built in its foundations and frames
by slaves and Irish and Italian workers without papers
that tomorrow will come to call "Trumpbunker".
He’ll walk in the middle of the garden
Arrogant his figure as a God with joke eyes, body to much he-man
And penisly classic figure
whose Te Deum will be of the Asses and the Marquis of Sade.
Heil¡ He’s the “Uro of Heck" big, robust, with long horns
a brown copper hair, with skin of a certain form
with fierce behaviour.
Heil¡ He’s the new Thartac, God of the Hivites with Ass-headed
well known and loved by priests and parish priest.
Nor the snow neither the wind will lash, that they believe
The angry figure of this God-man who loves life
As a desolated tyrant with dizziness of sex just nasty
running towards the void of a great National and Global Zoo
upon which will erect a statue to the Ass
to which will come the souls of the Eve’s terrier breed scottish dogs
and the Hitler’ German Shepherd Dog with her cubs
to piss lifting up its leg.
And Fabius will sing near the doors of the White House
The new "Trumpbunker"
the Rodrigo Caro’s paraphrased song to the Ruins of Italica:
"These, Trump, poor me¡ that you see now
Lonely fields, gloomy hill
Were a time great America”.
Because the crime, the evil, the cruel and bloody
Assembly of wars against another peoples and nations
Ever returns, sooner or later, against one and another.
Wilderness
Moonlight stretches into the clearing,
intangible ...but offering comfort.
She is dying now, pining to be rescued,
her breathing jagged, her endurance spent;
the bullet had lanced her stomach
therefore prolonging agony.
Behind her lies a zick-zacked trail
of red, splattered death, her own.
She had been born a lone wolf
but now seeks release in moonlight's arms.
A terminal breath, a final flick of death
while her cubs, confused cries, wing the night .
Eventually moonlight drifts;
shadows lie down beside the lone wolf
as hunters scour the ground;
they, like wolves, seek life out of wilderness.
I hear a whine, I hear a call
I thought I was asleep
I'm sleeping no more
I hear a cry, I hear a pain
I can't just sit by, I can't just remain
Through the window pane, through the frosted glass
I see a slow moving shadow, I see a slow moving mass
The moon is bright, the ice is cruel
The dark night is alive, it's nowhere for fools
The sky is black as space, a moon the only the face
The Stars hide far away, this lonely space where no one plays
I hear a lonesome cry, I hear a sorrowful whine
With torch in hand, I decide I will find
I follow the icy caws of the gathering murder flight
They wait for the calls to fade so they can feed tonight
I follow instinct under torch light
The cries are weaker now, he thinks no one can hear his plight
I see a shadow of mass moving just out of sight
I quicken my pace and call, I've heard your plight
Now near the dark road, now near the cold stream
I move the bushes, I move the shrubbery to see
Him sitting by her side, her body shaking in the savage night
I wrap my coat around her, I tell him that she'll be alright
He looks into my eyes and knows I'm here by his side
I run back to my house, car keys I do find
I rush them to the vet, I sit and wait by his side
Like we've known each other all our lives, we pray for her to survive
After some time he settles his posture and rests his head on my thigh
I tell him it's going be alright, I tell him she's going to survive this night
An hour goes by, we sit together waiting side by side
The door opens and he hears her call telling him that she's alright
He jumps into my arms, he nudges his face into my chest and looks me deep in the eye
The vixen is the love of his life and they are now friends of mine
A field in my land I give to them, I make sure they have food to survive
I build a shelter for them, so they know that they can survive the coldest night
I hear a whimpering cry, a howl, a sound that wakes me in the night
With torch in hand I follow where I heard the cries
Amazed I am, I cry tears of pride
Four Cubs are born under the stars tonight.