The Survivor
The cold white wolf cautiously crept,
Feeling starvation grow...
The crisp white snow crunched as he stepped,
That's why he moved so slow...
Conserving his energy, waiting,
Sometimes slipping along...
His dark eyes anticipating
The things that could go wrong.
A rock that blocked his hunting path,
A hole that gave escape...
Each one could be his epitaph,
The final sour grape...
His empty belly warned him still...
The time for games had passed.
For soon, in hours, he'd be ill...
Perhaps to breathe his last.
He gulped saliva, nothing more...
He walked with heavy heart.
The ache inside began to gnaw...
And stabbed him like a dart.
Yet on he searched, 'twixt life and death...
'Twixt this world and the next.
Aware that every passing breath
Caused him to be perplexed.
What was this hell? What use was snow?
Was this his time to die?
To tell the truth, he didn't know.
There seemed no reason why.
His instincts led him to his prey...
He heard a scratching sound.
In seconds he was on his way,
To find it underground.
He chased it hard and off it ran
Across the land ahead...
And pretty soon, by Nature's plan...
One lived and one was dead.
The wily white wolf played the game
That helped him to survive...
To us, it's still a crying shame...
Yet don't begrudge him life...
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'The Survivor'.
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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White Hunter
Starvation festers deep within, just like a burning coal
And to that hunger each gives in, that hole that's in the soul.
The wolf, like lions, tigers, bears, must hunt for food to live
And just like them, he truly shares the need to take not give.
White hunter wolf is on the prowl, as predator not friend,
Intentions cruel and callous, foul, another life to end.
With no pure white, no impure black, no middle ground that's grey,
The hunger forces him to track, to find food night or day.
Against the snow, invisible, except for piercing eyes.
While his smile hides fangs that cripple and cut foes down to size.
His claws await their destiny, their moments in his plan.
Fulfillment of their infamy, since hunting first began.
This time, he hunts, yet all alone, no other wolf in sight,
And so his heart is cold as stone and dark as deadly night.
Condemned to forage for himself, the vicious victim preys,
His cunning, running, speed and stealth, from these he never strays.
Beware the white wolf's wicked stare, he hunts without remorse.
His is no game of truth or dare, it's life or death... of course...
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'White Hunter'.
More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cautious
The white wolf wasn't all too keen
To challenge anyone.
He heard a noise, his heart turned mean,
Beneath the fading sun...
When cautious instincts made him wait,
His eyes scanned high and low.
In seconds, he would learn his fate...
To stay here or to go...
The lone wolf listened for some clues
Of movement left or right.
Another noise was more bad news...
Yet he was born to fight!
The minutes melted silently...
Yet nothing more was heard...
Now drained of curiosity,
He took a chance and stirred.
With leaps and bounds, he crossed the plains,
Escaping dangers there.
The cautious white wolf broke the chains
That he was forced to bear.
The path ahead was open wide
And so new life begins...
New confidence helped him decide,
Throw caution to the winds...
His heartbeat calmed beside the stream...
He drank his fill... time passed...
In time, this day would seem a dream...
For now, he slept... at last...
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Cautious'.
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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Hidden Observer
The lone gray wolf sat still once more,
Next to another tree...
As if to tap his frozen paw,
In time, impatiently...
The snow had stopped, the breeze was cool,
He sighed another sigh...
And there he sat, as if a fool,
For something to pass by...
An hour vanished like the sun
That clouds had blocked from sight.
Yet there was nothing to be done,
Waiting in that twilight...
Starvation haunts the carnivores
When snow sets on the ground.
The lone gray wolf can't rest indoors
When there's no food around...
Then drooping ears pricked up at last!
A rustling sound was heard...
The lone gray wolf then ran so fast
To catch the helpless bird!
The ancient battle then ensued,
The hunter and the prey...
This time, the wolf had won the fued
And food was on its way...
The ancient rules must still apply...
For Nature's Laws must serve her...
That's why, beneath the twilight sky,
He's the hidden observer...
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Hidden Observer'.
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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Watching From Cover
The wily wolf was all alone,
Content to be that way
And like a statue made of stone,
He waited for his prey...
Watching from cover, laid on snow,
His soul was stained by crime,
Upon the path he chose to go,
As snowflakes marked the time...
Though silence was his only friend,
He knew it wouldn't last,
For soon it would be at an end
As his next meal walked past...
Till then he waited patiently,
No energy was lost...
Until fate chose his destiny,
No matter what the cost...
He strained to keep his head held high,
His eyes and ears so cold,
As lonesome hours waved goodbye
With nothing to be told...
But suddenly, he heard snow crunch,
His prey was in his sights,
Suffice to say he'd found his lunch,
Despite the wrongs or rights...
Denis Martindale, copyright, April 2012.
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Watching From Cover'.
More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mountain Splendour
Snow leopards look at snow all day!
It's here, there, everywhere!
It hardly ever goes away!
It's white beyond compare!
It's dazzling white, it's total white,
It really, really is!
It's safe to say that it's too bright!
It's not something they'd miss...
Snow leopards sit the whole day long
On snow, snow, snow, snow, snow...
It's sometimes nice, don't get me wrong,
But doesn't that stuff glow! ?
It's freezing cold, no good at all...
And bores them all to tears...
They hate it when new snowflakes fall
And tickle both their ears!
Snow leopards wait for food to eat...
They wait, wait, wait, wait, wait...
They take things slow, they tap their feet...
And think life's just great!
They can't hum tunes like humans do...
Remembering each rhyme...
They just sit down, enjoy the view...
And... while... away... the... time...
Denis Martindale, copyright, November 2010.
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Mountain Splendour II'.
More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sun Kissed
The chilled dark night had passed away
And daylight came with dawn,
Fresh warmth was born and chose to stay
And blessed a brand new morn...
Upon the craggy rock he climbed,
One white wolf, all alone...
And there he stayed, as if he timed
The hours on his own...
No clouds were sailing by above,
No birds that swirled and swirled...
With just the sun to show him love
Within his lonesome world...
That sun had been a faithful friend,
Warmhearted through and through...
For all the hours God could send,
Yes, credit where it's due...
It led him to his hunting grounds
To feed and thus stay strong...
And showed him places he could pounce
Before game strolled along...
It didn't judge, like men have done,
For centuries and more...
He hunted game, but not for fun
And didn't go to war...
The day went on and evening neared...
The cold began to bite...
And when the silver moon appeared,
He kissed the sun goodnight....
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Sun Kissed'.
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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Arctic Apparition
The white wolf waited wilfully
With what would pass for guile,
So long it seemed eternity
I looked at his profile...
Yet in my quest to photograph
This untamed creature there,
He hardly moved along the path
And seemed content to stare...
Until his prey was seen or heard,
He breathed in and breathed out,
As if a statue, never stirred,
To leave me full of doubt...
But finally, he heard a sound
And like a ghost he flew,
As up he sprang, one single bound,
The hunter through and through...
My camera clicked as he streaked by,
Like lightning left-to-right,
An apparition leaping high
And such an awesome sight...
I have his pictures to this day,
Still mounted on the wall...
'The white wolf hunting for his prey! '
What memories I recall...
Denis Martindale, copyright, February 2012.
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Arctic Apparition'.
More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
I found the picture on the Osborne-Allen website:
osborne-allen-dot-co-uk
Search for Stephen Gayford prints.
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Winter Perfection
They say the dog is Man's best friend,
His buddy, through and through...
You can depend he will defend,
So credit where it's due...
Yet from the wild wolf he was tamed
And brought into the home,
Where he plays free and unashamed,
Wherever he may roam...
To think, the wolf once crossed the globe,
The forests, plains and hills...
And every valley Man could probe,
The wild wolf hunts and kills.
Beyond the cities, Nature rules
The hunter and the prey...
When Summer dies, the Autumn cools,
Then Winter haunts each day.
The blinding snow falls to the ground
And freezes far and wide...
It's then the white wolf roams around
And has no need to hide.
His camouflage is perfect now,
Successful hunts ensue...
The truth is harsh, yet fates allow
The things the wolf must do...
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Winter Perfection'.
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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Pack Leaders
The two wolves walked, one thought in mind,
Survival was no game,
That's why their two strengths were combined
When hunting was their aim...
Two heads better, as some would say,
That plan had served them well,
For when they chased the fleeing prey,
They all ran close to Hell...
Each time they tried to track new scents...
Their hunger stayed the same,
With no disgust for past events,
No sense of guilt or shame...
That's why they paced themselves this hour
And kept at bay their dread,
Conserving all their dregs of power
For what must lay ahead...
The two wolves sought no friends or fans,
So wild no man could tame,
The world itself was their expanse,
They sought no claim to fame...
Pack leaders come, pack leaders go,
For now, they ruled by might,
A fact that only few would do,
Yet true both day and night...
Denis Martindale, copyright, November 2011.
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Pack Leaders'.
More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Arctic Sun II
The white wolf danced at break of day
With sunshine beating down,
Upon the snow to melt away
Old Mother Nature's gown...
The hunting hadn't gone so well,
But Spring was in the air!
Good riddance to cold Winter's spell
And to its sad despair...
Roll on the lengthening of hours
That sunshine would impart
And precious strengthening of powers
That stirred within his heart!
Begone the biting storms and winds!
Let gentle breezes blow!
Be glad, all creatures! Now begins
The seasons waters flow!
The white wolf danced with utmost glee!
Goodbye to loneliness!
And so he frolicked, fancy free,
His new hopes to caress!
And as he danced on yonder hill,
I danced right there and then!
He stared amazed to see such skill
And howled and danced again!
Denis Martindale, copyright, October 2010.
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Arctic Sun II'.
More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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White Haven
Even white tigers have to bathe
Though they're as white as snow,
That's why an hour they will save
For streams that overflow...
On winsome days, when winds are calm
And sunlight shines above,
White tigers will not hunt or harm
While their hearts beat with love...
The waters let white tigers chill
Like little lambs at play..
A haven here that can instill
A reason to delay...
Life isn't always running round
So frantic in the sun,
Sometimes the simple things astound,
When nothing much gets done.
This was that time, when time relaxed,
When tiny sounds were heard...
When muscles were no longer taxed
And all white tigers purred...
Who knows how long these cats survive?
This century? No more?
Be glad today that they're alive...
For no-one can be sure...
Denis Martindale, copyright, July 2010.
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'White Haven'.
More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot.com
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lookout Rock
The Timber Wolf's a wary beast,
As cautious as can be
And this young wolf was mighty pleased
At all that he could see...
His lookout rock gave him full view
Of front, back, left and right,
Conserving strength helped him get through,
That suited him just right...
Not many humans could survive
The coldness in the air,
Fur coats are fine, but who can thrive
With coldness everywhere?
Sometimes the days are twilight times,
The sun's a distant friend,
It's then each wolf more wisely climbs,
Its safety to defend...
The Timber Wolf endures it all,
It lives from day-to-day
And few ignore its mountain call,
Although most stay away...
But those who see it roaming wild,
Stand still and stare direct,
As if by beauty they're beguiled
And show it some respect...
Denis Martindale, copyright, October 2012.
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Lookout Rock'.
More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In Pursuit
The cheetah checked the sudden sound,
His neck streamlined and sleek,
His eyes surveying all around,
His hunting skills unique...
His claws now arched, each step was soft,
He gently sniffed for scent,
If unsuccessful, others scoffed
At time unwisely spent...
The cheetah chose the likely path
To stalk the prey ahead,
With chances better than a half
That he would soon be fed.
His next meal moved not far away,
Oblivious, at ease...
Yet this would be its final day,
From then on, rest in peace...
The cheetah cheered when all went well,
A textbook hunt in truth...
Not bad, he thought, then slept a spell,
In hiding, quite aloof.
He simply, slowly, inhaled breath
And exhaled just the same...
Without a thought of life or death...
No conscience, guilt or shame...
Denis Martindale, copyright, August 2010.
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'In Pursuit'.
More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot.com
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Winter Sun
His weary eyes were everywhere,
To track each tiny sound,
The hungry wolf beyond his lair
Trod softly on the ground.
For somewhere near or somewhere far
His next meal had to be.
If not, no midnight, moon or star
His weary eyes would see...
His stomach churned each step he took,
Yet Death was patient still...
His jaws were like an open book,
As he surveyed the hill.
How many hills had he climbed now?
A dozen, maybe more,
With all past strength God could allow
He fought the final war...
His prey escaped a sudden death...
His loss and yet their gain...
Life is a journey, breath by breath,
His offspring to remain...
He couldn't find a single crumb
Of comfort for this phase.
He didn't know his time had come...
This was the end of days...
Denis Martindale, copyright, October 2010.
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Winter Sun'.
More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Silent Waters
The wise white tiger eased his way
Through the silent waters
And with such stealth he proved that day
Just how much he taught us...
For he was such a wily soul,
With cunning so sublime,
Content to maintain self-control,
Content to take his time...
The minimum of noise was made
As he swam dead ahead,
Yet then with gentle paws to wade,
As if a thoroughbred...
Determination drove him on
Towards his destiny...
Another life would soon be gone,
Who knows what it could be?
For now, there were no sudden thrills,
He drifted like a log...
The silence helped his hunting skills,
As if he were a dog...
Yet no dog stared with eyes like his,
Two sapphires burning bright...
Like two gas flames and each flame is
A symbol of his might!
Denis Martindale, copyright April 2011.
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Silent Waters'.
More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cheetah Vigil
The cheetah vigil first began
When hunters searched for game,
With rifles hanging from each man
Until they each took aim...
Then friends and foes were near to death,
As they fell one-by-one,
Upon the ground to fight for breath,
Before their lives were done...
The sound of guns would spook the birds
That settled in the trees.
The elephants were lost for words,
As death crept by degrees...
The orphaned remnant left behind
Escaped while they had time,
With grief still stirring in each mind
At such a ghastly crime.
What magic would men think of next?
What callous acts would come?
The cheetah paused, looked back perplexed,
Like others feeling numb...
Who gave these men the right to kill
For souvenirs not food?
To stand and fire guns at will
In this calm neighbourhood?
The cheetah sighed with great dismay
That chilled his very soul,
Yet kept his vigil through that day
With utmost self-control...
Tenacity can change the heart,
Turn good folks into bad,
These hunters came and wouldn't part
Till they'd got what was had...
From this day forth, the rules had changed,
The cheetah knew that well...
For now, no peace could be arranged
Within this newborn Hell.
The vigilant may yet survive,
Forewarned with time to hide...
To stay the fastest cat alive
Despite the grief inside...
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Cheetah Vigil'.
More Stephen Gayford poems:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Snow Wolf
Distinctive markings on his coat
Disguise the snow wolf well,
As if the snow had kissed his throat
So that we couldn't tell...
Yet close up through binoculars,
We see that canine face
And suddenly our memory jars
With warnings we can trace...
This is no gentle friend of Man,
In whom we'd grant our trust,
But rather one we'd choose to ban,
Because we simply must...
Each creature that survives on Earth
Has something new to say...
And wildlife paintings prove their worth
Each time we gaze their way...
He's not a trophy that I'd choose
To grace my hearth and home,
Yet at a painting I'd peruse,
Just like I'd read a poem...
We know he can be terrible
And frightening, night or day...
Yet isn't he quite beautiful?
Majestic in a way...
Denis Martindale, copyright, October 2010.
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Snow Wolf'.
More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Snow Leopard
The snow leopard stared intently,
At all things near and far...
While at times, he looked quite friendly,
You know how wild cats are.
A tiny cat can mew meow
And people say, how cute!
Yet time goes on, then fates allow
That cat to be a brute!
The snow leopard stood serenely,
His paws poised on the pulse...
With his eyes surveying keenly,
As in all leopards' skulls...
While his heart was beating slowly...
His mind was thinking fast.
Though his hunting skills weren't holy,
He didn't look downcast.
Survival favours those that eat
A hearty meal each day,
Enduring both the cold and heat,
Outwitting all their prey.
That's why the leopard had to learn
That patience is the key...
And why, he, too, must wait his turn,
For breakfast, lunch and tea...
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Snow Leopard'.
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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Snow Spirit
The snow leopard crouched on the ground,
As silent as the grave...
And there he paused without a sound,
Another meal to crave...
His empty belly told him straight,
This was the perfect time,
Be vigilant, endure the wait...
No higher must you climb.
Beyond him was a subtle stone,
A boulder nothing more...
Yet shaped as though now not alone,
His camouflage felt sure.
The trap was set... his eyes alert,
His ears tuned in for clues...
His legs like springs to sprint and spurt
And chase away the blues.
An hour passed without a word,
No rustling on the breeze...
No song tune from a flying bird,
No buzzing from the bees.
Then all at once, quite sudden like,
A broken twig went crack!
He moved as if a lightning strike,
His brand new prey to track!
With leaps and bounds and sudden swerves,
The leopard lunged and pounced!
Yes, patience is a skill that serves
When hunger is announced.
Without new prey, the leopard dies...
The big cat feeds once more...
To some, this truth is never nice,
Yet such is Nature's Law...
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Snow Spirit'.
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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