None so keen at the hunting of wolves as the dog with wolf blood.
Related quotes
29 What Is Denning?
The helicopter hovered
above the wolf lair
machinegunning
the mammals
from the air
*****
AllCreatures site say:
What is denning?
A helicopter hovers outside a wolf den in Alaska because of Sarah Palin's
scofflaw creation of a loophole in the federal law.banning the
aerial hunting of wolves, moose, bears or their cubs.
14 mother and father wolves were gunned down... landing the helicopter
found 28 cubs and shot each in the head
poem by O. Anna Niemus
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Who’s afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?
Or it is “Who’s afraid of Virginia Wolf”?
Anyway, Palin and lip-stick coated pit bull persona is being attacked again,
From Ashley Judd, for Palin’s defense of aerial hunting of wolves.
Palin has encouraged hunting for wolves that she made a $150 bounty,
For each severed left paw,
What gall!
The hunters fly in airplanes or helicopters to bag their prey,
How daring!
With high powered rifles with scopes they shoot to kill,
I would have them much more on the ground, on foot, if dare I say.
Then I would consider that a hunt.
Not shooting fish in a fish barrel, a barrel with a bunch dead pickled herring.
(2-5-09)
poem by Joe Rosochacki
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Winter Wolves Are Coming
The Winter Wolves are coming
They are drawing ever near
The Winter Wolves are coming
They smell our blood, our fear
The Winter Wolves are coming
In packs of hundreds and more
The Winter Wolves are coming
They are knocking at our door
The Winter Wolves are coming
With teeth as sharp as knives
The Winter Wolves are coming
They mean to take our lives
The Winter wolves are coming
The smell our blood, our fear
The Winter Wolves are coming
The Cold of Death is here.
poem by Tim Vallie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lupus
The Lupus
Wolf, feared animal in folktales, is back in north Europe
it was eradicated, or so we thought, but they have been
observed in woodlands wiser than before, they don’t
like sheep and rabbits avoid humans and dislike dogs.
prefer deer though, and wild boars. As historians tell us
never did wolves kill man. But you can’t beat the power
of fairytales, they eat little children and prowling cats.
If this goes on hunters say there will be no wild animals
For us to kill, get rid of them “grey foot” is our enemy.
And dark tales fill the papers, a wolf has been observed
near a kindergarten, spots of lamb blood in the snow.
Wolves are always seen in the mist just like in folklores
Let’s kill them now before it is too late our children get
eaten by those shadowy four legged, satanic monsters.
A question remains thought, why don’t wolves like sheep?
poem by Oskar Hansen
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You'll live, but I'll not; perhaps
You'll live, but I'll not; perhaps,
The final turn is that.
Oh, how strongly grabs us
The secret plot of fate.
They differently shot us:
Each creature has its lot,
Each has its order, robust, --
A wolf is always shot.
In freedom, wolves are grown,
But deal with them is short:
In grass, in ice, in snow, --
A wolf is always shot.
Don't cry, oh, friend my dear,
If, in the hot or cold,
From tracks of wolves, you'll hear
My desperate recall.
poem by Anna Akhmatova
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Mad Wolves
Wolves running wild
Beast and beauty,
Howling full moon instigates
The dead to rise above
And watch us as to
Try and cause some
Paranoid state so we
Don’t disturb their eternal
Bliss.
These wolves,
Mad wolves, brute in
Nature.
Howling at full moon they
Are transformed in beauty and
Beastly eloquent hunting manner,
The calling of the dead to rise.
These wolves, dead wolves
And humans too kill to
Survive.
Then sleep
When the sun rises over Atlantic
Coast.
poem by Randy Briggs
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Grey Wolves Grey
The Russian march is soft and slow,
Through dust and heat, or slush and snow,
When the Russian skies hang grey and low
To the frontiers far where the Russians go;
And they march to-night and they march to-day
Like the grey wolves grey, like the grey wolves grey.
Nor song nor sound their track reveals,
Save the ceaseless “clock” of the waggon wheels;
But a rift in the mist shows a glint of sun
On the long, dark shape of a toiling gun;
And they strain by night and they drag by day
To a distant goal, like the grey wolves grey.
As the horses toil at the ends of trains,
And the ends of roads on the Blacksoil Plains.
And Ivan digs in the frozen clay,
And he rolls the logs a bed to lay
For a gun that’s five hundred miles away,
But as sure to come as the grey wolves grey.
He is marching on with a purpose grand,
For brother Slav in another land;
Whose tongue, perchance, he cannot understand.—
But he knows the cry from the far-away,
And he smells the blood like the grey wolves grey.
And Ivan’s wife in her den at home,
While hunger looms and his lean wolves come—
With her grey-black bread like the Darling mud,
And her tea-bricks bound with the bullock’s blood—
She shields her cubs by night and day
Like the crouching sluts of the grey wolves grey.
And I march with Ivan where’er he be,
With the foreign blood that is strong in me,
And the love and the hate that is fantasy,
Like the ghosts of a father’s memory.
With the blood that is strange to us to-day
As the strange wild blood of the grey wolves grey.
Grey wolves,
Grey wolves—
The strange wild blood of the grey wolves grey.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Companionship
Two wolves were waiting side-by-side,
At peace, they looked serene,
Yet both their eyes were open wide
With hunting skills so keen...
They looked majestic, yes, indeed,
Yet those around weren't pleased,
For soon it would be time to feed
And tensions were increased...
Wise creatures now remained quite still,
No sounds to make at all...
For soon they knew that blood would spill,
In one almighty brawl.
The waiting game went on and on,
With gamblers here and there,
Beneath the brilliant sun that shone
Without a single care...
Companionship is well and good,
As friends can testify,
Yet these two owned the neighbourhood
And creatures that ran by.
To some, these wolves with pristine fur
Looked awesome without doubt,
But oh what frightful things occur
Each time there's food about...
Denis Martindale, copyright, August 2011.
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Companionship'.
More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
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A Native American grandfather was talking to his grandson about how he felt. He said, "I feel as if I have two wolves fighting in my heart. One wolf is the vengeful, angry, violent one. The other wolf is the loving, compassionate one. The grandson asked him, Which wolf will win the fight in your heart? The grandfather answered, The one I feed.
Three Wolves
Three, lonely wolves once lived together,
each one wished for a separate thing.
The first wolf wished for companionship,
so the moon was created for him to howl at every night.
The second wolf wished to be able to see the paths that lay ahead of him,
so the sun was created and he now walked on without fear.
The third wolf wished to be able to see his past,
so the stars were created and he was told that each one was the spirit of an ancestor.
poem by Louis Parr
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Arctic Beauty
The wily wolf deserves respect.
Some children think it's cute...
But most of us, I would suspect,
Are somewhat more astute!
The wolf is wild, no fast-formed friend,
Untamed by modern man.
It doesn't seek to comprehend
What humans want to plan...
The wolf is wary all the time,
To every sound it hears.
Its instincts are, of course, sublime,
Whenever danger nears!
The wolf survives cold Winter's spell...
Determined day-by-day...
To bide its time, then howl, 'Farewell! '
When Spring is here to stay!
The wolf delights in Summer's heat
With all that this entails -
For then, its speed is hard to beat,
In fact, it rarely fails.
The wolf is known to howl at night,
To serenade the moon...
This wailing noise can cause us fright
And some of us to swoon...
The wolf won't change to suit Mankind...
It's lived without his aid.
A wilder creature's hard to find.
The legends never fade.
The wolf is callous to the core,
Like any hunting beast.
Each bloodied tooth, each bloodied claw
Proves hunting hasn't ceased.
The wily wolf has cubs to feed,
The future to preserve...
It doesn't kill for hate or greed...
Just life upon this Earth...
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Arctic Beauty'.
The Stephen Gayford poems can be viewed here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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SS-3
Ancient crown placed on your head
The hangman of Prague
Seven keys to the chamber
Surrendered to the God
Hunting
Fighting
Killing whore
Wade through blood and spill some more
Hunting
Fighting
Killing whore
Wade through blood and bleed some more
Golden door submits secrets
As this nation falls
Atmosphere of deadly terror
Subservient to all
Hunting
Fighting
Killing whore
Wade through blood and spill some more
Hunting
Fighting
Killing whore
Wade through blood and bleed some more
Burning sense of mission
Assassination
Symbol of oppression
Crusade from exile
Obliteration
Sabotaged campaign
Check resistance from afar
Planning the death of one
When the plot is executed
There will be nowhere to run
Ramafications will be high
A price paid in torment
The end justifies the means
To hell you will be sent
The wolf leader now is the stalked
Expansion state of horror
Guns echo over the grave
A thousand fates are sealed
Murderous power brought to an end
Only to rise again
Cold and ruthless and iron will
Protectorate of the dead
A thorough sweep
Prelude to death
Secrets kept
But no one left
Firing squad
Begins their work
Harsh reprisal
For what you took
Retribution selective terror
The stench of death is everywhere
A severed head
A floating mass
Will give me the answers to what I ask
song performed by by Slayer from Divine Intervention
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lone Wolf
I am a lone wolf
I always was and will be
I feel fine, I am resigned to this
I am a lone wolf
I am a lone wolf
Got my cares
Wrapped up all nice and neat
In my suitcase
Ill take it down the street
To a place with plenty of space for me
I am a lone wolf
I am a lone wolf
It blows my mind
That people wanna try to get inside my tired head
I am a lone wolf
I am a lone wolf
I am a lone wolf
Nobody needs to get too close to me
Youll only see this truth
I am a lone wolf
song performed by by Eels
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fat Dogs Wear Well Fed Collars
the wolf cannot wear your collar
the wolf cannot eat your slave bread
the wolf feels a free wind on free face
the wolf hears all sounds freedom fed
the wolf must hunt for its piece of meat
the wolf hunts mountains where free rivers meet
the wolf will starve to death as lean winter creeps
the wolf paints landscapes scenes as death inward seeps
the wolf licks not the beast man’s hand wolf never weeps
poem by Terence George Craddock
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To my True Love
This moon keeps my heart beatin..
And helps me through my days..
Untill one day I get to her
just like the Wolf trying to get to the moon...
Which they howl at all the time because
To wolves it is like their goddess
To people it is just the moon,
But this special girl is like the moon
And I am like the wolf.
poem by Tyler Anhorn
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3. The Savage Beasts
A howling in the wilderness
Straight after shrieks of pain
The hunters are out hunting
And made a kill again
It started very quietly
Their prey were unaware
Sheep were busy grazing
As the wolves came from their lair
They crept around the grazing flock
Each had a taste for blood
Picked out the weakest of them all
And killed it where it stood
poem by David Threadgold (2008)
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pigs, Sheep And Wolves
Bit and fat
Pigs supposed to look like that
Barnyard thug
Sleep on straw and calls it a rug
Yeah thats a rug, ok
Hes walking down the street
And nobodys going to argue with him
Hes a half-a-ton of pig meat
Up in the hills above the farm
Lives a pack of wolves
Never did a harm
Sleep all day
Hunt till four
Maybe catch a couple of rodents
You know carnivore
Sheep in the meadow
Nibbling on some clover
One of the sheep wanders over
Sits by a rock
Separated from the flock
Hes just sitting by a rock
Whered he go?
I dont know
Well he was here a minute ago
I dont know
Sheeps dead
Got a gash as big as a wolfs head
Oh god
Big and fat
Pigs supposed to look like that
Wallowing in lanolin
Hes rubbing it into his pigskin
Police going crazy
Lets get him
Lets get that wolf
Lets get him
Lets get that wolf
Lets get him
Lets kill him, Lets get him
Lets kill him
Court-appointed lawyer wasnt very bright
Or maybe he was bright
Maybe he just had a late night
Yeah it was just a late night
And he files some feeble appeal
And the governor says forget it
Its a done deal
Election, I dont care, election
Lets give that wolf a lethal injection
Lets get him, yeah get him
Lets kill him, Lets get him
Lets kill him, Lets get him,kill him
Lets get him and kill him
Whew, slow
Here comes the media
Setting up their camera
Asking everyones opinion
About pigs, sheep and wolves
Big and fat
Pigs supposed to laugh like that
This is hilarious
What a great time
Im the pig who committed
The perfect crime
All around the world
France, Scandinavia
Theres a candle light vigils
Protesting this behavior
Its animal behavior
Animal behavior
Its Pig, sheep and wolves
Pig, sheep and wolves
Pig, sheep and wolves
Its animal behavior
Pig, sheep and wolves
song performed by by Paul Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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School Hierarchy
Like the harsh wind's howling
on a lonely summer night.
Wolves in sheeps' clothing prowling,
looking for innocent prey.
Hunting and killing,
taking more then they need,
simply out of Jealousy, Spite and Greed.
The innocent looks,
the violet bright eyes,
hiding the wolf in the sheep's 'guise.
Nobody notices until all is too late,
closing the door,
the thing they call fate.
They do not repent,
for they see no harm,
in the things they've done
like a useless cheap charm.
Learn they will not,
but hunt they will,
like the sun's setting,
bringing the winter chill.
The Lone White Wolf: The Hunt
As the first day of the new moon creeps into the trees, no wolf among the pack gathers to see the light overcome the darkness to bring in the new day except the lone white wolf. This peculiar wolf is almost solid white except for the black along the length of his nose. It watches over the pack as they peacefully sleep, unaware of his eyes that could protect everything that was soon to come.
Today was the first day of the long hunt for the white wolf. He must bring down an animal that could feed the whole pack for several days, so he could become an official member of the pack, but more importantly, he must prove himself to be one with the pack instead of running alone.
The leader of the wolf pack slowly raises his head like a turtle to look around to see who’s awake. He sees all the wolves are still asleep in a tight circle except the outcast. The leader doesn’t understand why this wolf sleeps alone nor does he understand why the wolf was born white instead of gray. The white wolf stirs from his wakeful sleep. The eyes of the self-proclaimed leader stay on him before moving off to look into the distance searching for all the answers to his questions among the countless trees.
The leader of the wolf pack slowly gets up and walks to the lone wolf and nudges him to sound the morning howl. It was customary for the leader of the wolf pack to do this, but for reasons unknown to any wolf besides the leader, the wolf chose the outcast to sound the howl. The white wolf understands and gives a howl to stir the remaining wolves out of their deep slumber.
Once all the wolves are fully awake and able to comprehend what today is and what it means for the outcast, they realize it is the first day of the new moon. It is the first day of the long hunt. All of the wolves first look to the leader, then to the outcast, then back to the leader wondering who is going to give the special howl to begin the long hunt. No wolf willingly howled the beginning of the long hunt because if the howl was bad, the hunt would go badly, but if the howl was good, the hunt would go smoothly and the hunt would be short. The answer is soon apparent when the eyes of the leader look over the pack to see whose eyes would meet his. None but one pair kept his gaze.
The leader gave a sign, and the wolf began to prepare to give the special howl that would determine the outcome of the hunt. A wolf could not open its muzzle and give an ordinary howl since the hunt would also go badly. To give the special howl the wolf must pull back its hind legs and brace itself to make sure all legs are securely anchored to the ground so that the wolf, while giving the special howl would not slide backwards during the middle of it.
The lone wolf was ready mentally and physically to give the special howl. Once his feet were securely on the ground, the wolf began the howl. The lone white wolf put everything in his howl: the pain of being an outcast his entire life, the anger at his individuality, everything was put into that howl. Wolves stepped back with their fur standing on end; birds flew away squawking bloody murder. The others started yipping and snapping at nothing in particular remembering everything they’d ever felt. After the lone wolf was done, he realized the effect his special howl had on the wolves and he noticed the disarray and confusion that he had caused.
The leader is satisfied and gets the pack into order; it was time to begin the hunt. The wolves began running, their muscles rippling beneath their skin. Nothing could stop them. Their destination was a mile and a half down the road where the large game was located. Running freely among the wolf pack, the lone wolf didn’t feel like an outcast, but whenever he began to get too close, a shallow snip on the shoulder would shove him away to a safer distance.
The game was just ahead; it was time for the lone wolf to prove himself to the pack. The lone wolf went ahead of the pack and picked one of the biggest caribou he could find and slowly approached while the pack followed. The wolves lurched like a bullet from a gun onto the caribou with the white wolf clinging to the exposed flesh of the neck bringing it to the ground but not before it got one last kick in. The kill was successful; the caribou was dead. It was then that the white wolf noticed the bloody mess of the leader of the pack. The last kick of the now dead caribou landed on the skull of the leader, and he was dead instantly. The sight was a grizzly one with his skull caved in and blood gushing out of the wound.
The self-proclaimed leader was dead with no next-in-line to follow. Every wolf looked to the now dead leader, then to the outcast, then back to the dead leader, and then back to the outcast. The white wolf met the eyes of each wolf and got an unspoken request from each one. It was unanimous; the previous outcast of the pack became the leader. For the first time in history, a white wolf was chosen to lead and will lead the wolves to a prosperity the wolves have never known.
2009 October
poem by Matthew Bresette
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Li'l Red Riding Hood
[howls]
Who's that I see walkin' in these woods?
Why it's Little Red Ridin' Hood
Hey there Little Red Riding Hood
You sure are lookin' good
You're everything a big bad wolf would want
Listen to me [howl]
Little Red Ridin' Hood
I don't think even big girls should
Go walkin' in these spooky old woods alone
[howls]
What big eyes you have
The kind of eyes that drive wolves mad
So, just to see that you don't get chased
I think I ought to walk with you for a way
What full lips you have
They're sure to lure someone bad
So, untill you get to grandma's place
I think you ought to walk, with me and be safe
I'm gonna keep my sheep suit on
Till I'm sure that you've been shown
That I can be trusted walkin' with you alone
[howls]
Little Red Ridin' Hood
I'd like to hold you if I could
But you might think I'm a big bad wolf, so I won't
[howls]
What a big heart I have
The better to love you with
Little Red Ridin' Hood
Even bad wolves can be good
I'll try to be satisfied
Just to walk close by your side
Maybe you'll see things my way
Before we get to grandma's place
Little Red Ridin' Hood
You sure are lookin' good
You're everything a big bad wolf could want
[howls]
(Baaa)
song performed by by Bowling For Soup
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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