The dog that kills wolves, is killed by wolves.
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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
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Throw Them Back To The Wolves
Throw them back to the wolves.
The ones released from cellblock envy.
Throw them back to the wolves.
Those who love their crime defined.
Throw them back to the wolves.
Those who break laws all the time.
With nothing but 'bling' on their minds.
Throw them back to the wolves.
Trouble makers showing butt.
Groom to believe they should give it up.
Throw them back to the wolves.
Victims of their own disguises.
Throw them back to the wolves.
Raised on 'rap' and packing 'heat'.
Dimmed with wit is their destiny...
This was how they were raised to be.
Detoxed and recovered.
From baubles, beads and bangles hanging.
Some don't want to have another...
Victimizing chain of gold,
To prove to anyone they're bold.
Leaving streets to the others.
Those who choose to do their 'thing'
From swagger punted schoolyard swings...
And learning from demented idols.
Who could care less who is destressed.
Throw them back to the wolves.
The ones released from cellblock envy.
Throw them back to the wolves.
Those who love their crime defined.
Throw them back to the wolves.
Those who break laws all the time.
With nothing but 'bling' on their minds.
Throw them back to the wolves.
Trouble makers showing butt.
Groom to believe they should give it up.
Throw them back to the wolves.
Victims of their own disguises.
Throw them back to the wolves.
Raised on 'rap' and packing 'heat'.
Dimmed with wit is their destiny...
This was how they were raised to be.
Throw them back to the wolves.
Boo doo doo boo doo boo boo doo.
Throw them back to the wolves.
Boo doo boo doo boo do boo do!
Throw them back to the wolves.
Boo doo doo boo doo boo boo doo.
Throw them back to the wolves.
Boo doo boo doo boo do boo do!
Throw them back to the wolves.
That's the way they'll always like it.
With the others in cellblocks...
Locked out!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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
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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
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The dog was asked: Why do you bark? - To scare the wolves. - Why do you wag your tail? -What do you think, am I not afraid of wolves?
Snow wolves
I can hear the wolves
Howl in the distance
The howl is suddenly
Dampened by the falling snow
In a clearing
I see the wolves howl
Perched on the slanted rock
They cry to the moon
The moon cries back
It cries with agony
It cries because of death
Death witnessed beneath it's glow
The wolves turn and howl
The snow doesn't let up
But blows harder
Through blind panic
i run
I hear the wolves howl
Only it isn't in the distance
poem by Eric Ripley
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He that lives with wolves, must howl with wolves.
Lords Of The Arctic
Two snow wolves stayed on pure white snow,
Like two rocks side-by-side...
As if they had no home to go,
No warm place to abide...
Yet heat can't feed the wolves by day
Or nurture them by night,
That's why the wolves must hunt for prey,
Before their food takes flight.
Two wolves await what God allows
To cross their paths once more...
For now, the hungry wolves must browse,
No movement to ignore...
No sound can stir without their ears
Locating that new source,
For even wild wolves have their fears,
As Nature takes its course.
Lords of the Arctic, yes, indeed...
Survivors striving still,
Their hunger pangs help them succeed,
We know they always will.
For who seeks hunger for a friend?
Or thirst that aches within?
That's why, the hunt can never end,
While they've got hope to win...
Denis Martindale, copyright, February 2011.
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Lords Of The Arctic'.
More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
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A Winter Pack
The wolves run in the night
Searching for something thats just out of sight
They hunt together on this frigid winter's night
Searching for food that will take the hunger away
The alpha stops, followed by his pack
Along a frozen lake shore is an elk
Who plays alone in the deep winter snow
The wolves are hungry they're ready for attack
The wolves circle 'round without a sound
The elk doesn't notice at all
One sharp yap and the wolves charge
The elk has fallen and tonight will be a feast
The alpha eats with hungry gazes upon him
When the rest of the pack eat it is time for sleep
But first the alpha howls and it rises through the pack
This is not a mournful hungry howl, but a joyus happy one
The wolves go to sleep under the full moon
They are happy and filled with food
They dream dreams of the coming spring
When the toll of winter will leave this winter pack.
poem by Hannah Branz
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Playing With The Wolves
The wolves are out to play when they desire,
This soul needs comfort to state the reign,
Our souls are always the same to conspire.
To revel and seek festivity is worthy of barbwire,
Inside the soul we house a strict after pain,
The wolves are out to play when they desire.
Strength and virtue are to be selected by the choir,
Workers are around us in actions to ascertain,
Our souls are always the same to conspire.
Strong men are never to think the exact attire,
That works well for people to attain,
The wolves are out to play when they desire.
Searching for attributes or names is so entire,
The walking and breathing of men is to abstain,
Our souls are always the same to conspire.
Versatile effects are reselling, reworking with hellfire,
Anything is in the production, in the campaign,
The wolves are out to play when they desire,
Our souls are always the same to conspire.
poem by Naveed Akram
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There Are Wolves In God's Heaven
There are wolves in god's heaven
Because I saw their reflection
Against the moon tonight
And I believe that all the wolves are happy to be
In God's heaven
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Wolves
Januarys always bitter
But lord, this one beats all
The wind aint quit for weeks now
And the drifts are ten feet tall
I been all night drivin hefers
Closer in to lower ground
Then I spent the mornin thinkin
bout the ones the wolves pulled down.
Charlie barton and his family
Stopped today to say goodbye
He said the bank was takin over
The last few years were just too dry
And I promised that Id visit
When they found a place in town
Then I spent a long time thinkin
bout the ones the wolves pull down.
Lord, please shine a light of hope
On those of us who fall behind
And when we stumble in the snow
Could you help us up while theres still time.
Well, I dont mean to be complainin lord
Youve always seen mme through
And I know you got your reasons
For each and every thing you do
But tonight outside my window
Theres a lonesome, mournful sound
And I just cant keep from thinkin
bout the ones the wolves pull down.
Oh lord, keep me from bein
The one the wolves pull down
song performed by by Garth Brooks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Minor Hazards
Fade into minor hazards outside our hills,
Where I happen to be in trouble from the wolves.
Happen then - wolves must describe the levers of pain,
I am crucified by them if they come near.
Outside our hills are many wondrous creatures -
They are illegal to the sight and touch,
At most a leaver must keep question
And a new supper for them who eat.
poem by Naveed Akram
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The peasants of the Asturias believe that in every litter of wolves there is one pup that is killed by the mother for fear that on growing up it would devour the other little ones.
Victor Hugo in Les Miserables
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Leaders Of The Pack
At first, the two wolves look the same
As others in the pack,
Yet in their hearts there burns a flame
That flares when they attack,
For Nature calls upon each one
To hunt when hunger strikes,
Then wolves beneath the setting sun
Do what nobody likes...
Survival's played out day and night
Beneath the sun and moon
That watch on high while creatures fight
And leave their bodies strewn,
Yet those that live must strive again
For hunger soon returns
And leaders know the moment when
The flame inside them burns...
The savage beasts outlive the doomed,
The helpless and the frail,
And though successes aren't assumed,
The leaders rarely fail,
For such as these are born not made
And conscience holds no sway,
For wolves are wolves when all is weighed
And all the world's their prey...
Denis Martindale, copyright, March 2011.
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Leaders Of The Pack'.
More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
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The Buzzing
Masks and a fake skin.
The builders keep breaking
The buzzing.
Attracted to the innocent.
The wolves lead the sheep.
The buzzing.
With a stare to crush their hopes and water.
To drown the flies.
Thier hands fall apart when we need to hold them.
And the skeleton speaks of what we've told them.
The buzzing.
They stare with the eyes of wolves
song performed by by Zao from Parade Of Chaos
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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When You Have Killed Hunted The Last...
when you have killed
hunted the last tundra
wolf to extinction
when glorious tundra
is an empty desolate place
without tundra wolves
when the last beaver
has been hunted killed
for fur for sport
when the last eagle
no longer wonder flies
high mountain thermals
when you have killed
hunted the last Grizzly bear
Polar bear to extinction
when all the Arctic ice
has melted with global warming
when all the ice is gone
I too will be gone
my kind will be gone...
we will not live
in this your world
with brother sister spirits
already extinction gone...
poem by Terence George Craddock
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