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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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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Wolf Trail
How gingerly the wolf leg hangs,
Now poised there in mid-air...
As he fights back the hunger pangs
That could lead to despair.
Each gulp reminds him of his pain,
Each footstep costs him time...
Yet on the trail he hunts again,
No longer in his prime.
He thinks about the coming feast,
If luck is on his side.
If Nature serves the starving beast
With some new soul supplied...
For him to live, another won't,
That's just the way it is...
Today wolves hunt, while others don't.
Will his plans go amiss?
The hunt went well, at least for him...
His victim breathes no more.
The wolf survives, his chances slim...
Somehow he must endure.
He leaves no legacy behind
Beneath God's sun so bright...
Yet seeks no pity from Mankind,
No prayers from us at night...
Denis Martindale, copyright, January 2011.
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Wolf Trail'.
More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
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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
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Lobo
Not one wolf here on Earth forgives
When his next meal gets lost...
The moon shines down on each that lives
Regardless of the cost...
The lobo's hunger must remain,
As if to drive him wild,
As if to drive him quite insane,
Such that his soul's defiled...
As he looks now, he looks serene,
Quite calm and self-composed,
But this is just the in-between,
No victim's death to boast...
I know he looks so beautiful,
Beguiling in a way...
But sometimes wolves can be so cruel...
With others easy prey...
Behold the wolf that stares ahead,
His features so distinct,
Without a single trace of dread,
Awareness interlinked...
With eyes that focus here and there
And ears than scan for sound,
This lobo's up for any dare,
While food's somewhere around...
Denis Martindale, copyright, January 2012.
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Lobo'.
More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
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White Majesty
The white wolf stares at all he sees,
His kingdom to protect
And like all royal majesties,
He, too, commands respect...
So if alone or in a pack,
He does what he must do.
To go without, some food to lack,
That's not his point of view...
The days are cold, the nights are cold,
He must endure them all.
No wonder, then, at night's he's bold,
To howl and fear install.
Condemned to prowl, new meals to find,
He doesn't beg like some.
Such thoughts like these don't come to mind,
Not even for one crumb...
He knows his place upon this Earth,
Beneath the sun and stars
And in his realm, he proves his worth,
Despite the wounds and scars.
For him, there's no sweet home from home,
No comforts meek and mild...
His majesty was born to roam,
To live life in the wild...
Denis Martindale, copyright, January 2011.
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'White Majesty II'.
More Stephen Gayford poems 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
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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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Dignified
The wolf watched everything in sight
While he heard every sound,
For soon he'd run with all his might
Across the unturned ground...
No farmer ploughed across this land,
The wolf was on his own,
No creature there to understand
His hunger that had grown...
So there he stayed before his crime,
As if quite dignified,
So statuesque, so cute, sublime,
Yet starving deep inside...
Of course, he'd done this all before...
That's how he still survived,
But, oh, my goodness, what a chore,
Till his next meal arrived...
He licked his lips, let out a sigh,
Then breathed in long and slow...
For all day long beneath God's sky,
He stayed, nowhere to go...
But that wise wolf survived again,
Another moon to see...
That's why we'll hear him howl again,
All night, till half-past-three...
Denis Martindale, copyright, September 2011.
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Dignified'.
More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
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Comrades
What can be said of wolves as friends,
As comrades, chums or mates,
As each one on his pal depends
And with him celebrates?
Like criminals in cold cahoots,
As callous as they come,
We'll always know them by their fruits,
Yes, all of them, not some...
Yet there they stand, no shame in sight,
No guilt for evil deeds,
Just grins that signal their delight
When either wolf succeeds...
Their partnership was borne of guile,
Now they walk toe-to-toe,
Together for a long, long while,
No matter where they go...
Beware of such as these, beware,
Their hearts are black as coal,
Such that they hunt and fail to care
For any life or soul...
Though they appear like dogs so tame,
They wouldn't hurt a fly,
If you meet them, then you're to blame
If you stand idly by...
Denis Martindale, copyright, November 2012.
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Comrades'.
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
Wrapped up within his blanket fur,
The white wolf looks serene,
The arctic sun makes him a blur,
Pristine and oh so clean...
And while he's there, not here with you,
You're safe as safe can be,
To zoom in through your camera's view,
To see what you can see...
He looks like Lassie painted white,
Quite harmless, don't you think?
He looks refined and most polite,
But wait until you blink...
For in a moment, he can stand
And run from there to here...
And suddenly, he'll shake your hand
And shake your heart with fear....
Appearances deceive us all,
Sometimes you just can't tell...
It's only when you hear wolves call,
That beauty casts no spell...
It's then that Nature's rules enforce
Her laws by night and day...
To tell us, who has teeth and claws,
The hunter or the prey?
Denis Martindale, copyright, November 2009.
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Arctic Sun'.
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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Born Leader
Amid the pack, a cub was born
And each wolf watched him grow,
From fragile creature so forlorn
Beneath the moonlight glow...
Yet in the dark nights, courage burned,
White hot to overflow...
Such that their doubts he overturned,
Their scorn to overthrow...
Be wary of this wolf, they thought,
For he's like none before,
In every single battle fought,
He proved he knew the score...
With dominant tenacity,
Cold Winters to endure,
He stood supreme, with dignity,
With strength none could ignore...
To him, survival was the key,
Refusing to be bossed,
With no way out and no mercy,
As if his soul were lost...
Behold his features so distinct,
A wolf not to be crossed,
For destiny and he were linked,
No matter what the cost...
Denis Martindale, copyright, July 2012.
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Born Leader'.
More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
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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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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
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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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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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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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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Hunter's Moon
Beneath the silver-speckled moon,
That floated like the clouds,
The wild wolf smiled, for he would soon
Dispel all nearby crowds.
For he could howl, upon his hill,
Enough to chill your bones,
Enough to make a brave man ill
And fill his throat with groans...
This wily wolf could howl all night!
He sat still unafraid...
He grinned from ear-to-ear all right,
Then what a noise he made!
All ears for miles were tuned in now!
He sniggered, then he paused...
With one huge breath, he howled and how!
And, oh, what fear that caused!
Then three quick howls to pile it on!
Then silence, just for fun...
And just when folks had thought he'd gone,
He proved he wasn't done!
Beneath the hunter's moon above,
His body shook with glee...
He howled as they screamed, 'Lay it off! '
'You can't get rid of me! '
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Hunter's Moon'.
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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Edge Of The Night
The lion lurks as daylight dims
Still draped with golden mane,
Subservient now to hunter's whims
From which he won't refrain.
For hunger grows from deep within,
His life is on the line
And so his hunting must begin,
With cold skills to refine...
His eyes adjust to black night views,
His ears hear near and far...
No tiny meal could he refuse,
No creature could he bar...
The darkness hangs there like a shroud,
Engulfing all below...
The only light God has allowed
Is moonlight still aglow...
Its moonshine lends night victims hope,
The chance to run and hide,
The chance to flee, survive and cope
With fear, eyes open wide...
The lion's strong, the lion's fast,
Determined to succeed,
That's why before this night has passed,
He'll feast through stealth and speed...
Denis Martindale, copyright, February 2011.
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Edge Of The Night'.
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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