"In our hands is the future of all wildlife with whom
we share this earth. They cannot speak so we must."
Quote by _ Constance
My mother saved up years for a long Lynx fur coat,
oh, she was so proud to wear it;
I thought nothing was wrong,
when I was young.
But now,
I find it distasteful;
eleven Canada Lynx,
to make but one fashion fur coat !
Sadly, I inherited that now old coat;
it is in my storage room for I cannot sell or look at it.
I think of those beautiful Lynx that are harvested,
perhaps as they sleep in their caves;
in a secluded boreal forest,
do they kill babies ?
For a hat maybe,
that is sad;
as they do not harm humans ever,
being nocturnal dusk to dawn hunting.
In my mind they are walking in the snow;
their huge feet leaving footprints as they silently hunt.
Light
big eyes
watch hidden
behind a bush
waiting for a chance,
stalking a nice prey
a wise lynx
calmly
shines
THE LYNX
That black cat, I spy - he licks the puppet all over.
The fox’s red fur feels not the imposition nor
the puppetmaster’s paw, but the red fox,
my prey, feels the crunch of its bones, insanity bleeds,
after the toilsome run from my teeth.
My teeth chatter, cold and cruel, terribly hungry
to rip up a carcass, to chow down
a soul. I eat the meat raw.
Its blood is my foundation -
I powder my nose. The cries of my prey
with stuffing and gravy. Yes, let’s do
Thanksgiving. Like me, the black cat
defiles a fox. We are both satisfied.
The leopard, jaguar, puma and lion had their own queen.
Lynx wanted one too; one with shine, sparkle and sheen.
The granter of queens told him he could have one in frost.
He gave him an ice queen. Her name was Mad Grost.
But she is cold and mean, lynx argued to the granter of wishes.
She is what she is, she will come around slowly like the fishes.
Lynx was unhappy as was Mad Grost, who did not like Lynx.
She said to the granter, why don’t you turn that little cur into a spinx?
Dangerous North American lynx
Gave the female cats a giant wink
They heard wedding bells
Fell over themselves
His romantic life is in the pink
You can be a turtle, a deer, a buffalo, a dog, frog or a sphynx,
But you never know true love until you have fallen for a lynx.
I have a pair of them, and they adore me upside down and inside out.
They give me joy and companionship; they truly make me shout!
You may refer to them as bobcats, if you grew up seeing them this way.
No difference to Hansel and Gretel, they still hunt down their prey.
Their silent padded paws help them hunt with the best of the beast.
When they drag in their carnage, we have a wonderful meat feast!
They were found by me as babies after hunters got their mother.
They are happy with me, and even more happy with each other.
A brother and a sister, they like to prowl and hunt at night.
I sigh a relief when they come home, knowing they’re all right.
They can run fifty miles an hour, faster than most cars on our road.
I like watching them skedaddle, when they are in chase mode.
They like to curl at my feet and listen to stories, and sigh.
And no burglar has ever bothered me. Don’t you wonder why?
Glorious green eyes, of the lynx, engage me from the unfinished sketch.
Never had much luck with women
Until I tried this stuff I was given
Now they just flock around
Love to smell me as I get on down
Chorus
This lynx effect is just perfect
Pulling power I've no regrets
I just spray this on and hit the town
Sure makes those girls hang around
Now I buy it every week
I spray it on to make them freak
Some guys think I'm just a jinx
But yeah' I'm cool cause I where my lynx
Chorus
This lynx effect is just perfect
Pulling power I've no regrets
I just spray this on and hit the town
Sure makes those girls gather round
And yeah I’m out every night
These girls argue, fuss and fight
I buy them just a single drink
Then I spray on my sensual lynx
Chorus
This lynx effect is just perfect
Pulling power I've no regrets
I just spray this on and hit the town
Sure makes those girls hang round
Copyright 10th March 2014
K.C.Leake
All Rights Reserved
Light like shrapnel dancing in every direction,
Bemusement and fear alike are born from this celebratory waltz, as often are with you.
A pang like hunger, growls low from the bush with leering, darted eyes,
Averted and illuminated only by the light which jabs scant through the air.
Still, skiddish at the light and sound, it lurks waiting for a chance.
How peculiar, now, that you would run from it, avoid it's foray fervently,
as chilly air sweeps the burning embers swiftly still.
Hunt; it will if it must, but how odd the chase seems now in this mocking distant light.
Light like shrapnel dancing on a lynx.
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