A Cheetah
By some seen as the kitten of wild cat family,
but it is no joke
when at a speed of
one hundred and ten kilometre per hour
a meter and half long Cheetah
of sixty kilograms comes racing at you
with bared teeth and outstretched piercing claws
and the yellow-brown coat with black spots
shimmers and you can see
the breast muscles retracting in power
and while on patrol, you are ready to shoot it down
but frozen like the Bushman tracker
its final direction averted me from shooting
with the powerful light machinegun
and in parts of a second
the cheetah flashed past
going at speed for the impala
that I did not notice before
of which the eyes were open wide with terror
and in a moment the cheetah tripped it,
with jaws locked around its throat
in a cloud of red-brown dust
pulled it down and laid there motionless
until the antelope stopped struggling.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Related quotes
The Cheetah
The sweet sightful moves of an African cheetah
Swooping across the boilling sand of mid-africa
The sun continues to roast the warm fur coat of the feline
As it continues to stride through Africa devine.
It lays down on a rather heated up rock
The cheetah claimed it's resting area
But the reasons of its stop
Was its escape from Malaria
Coming to another increase in speed
The cheetah strolls the farmers of weed
It's green and has an escents of an unfirmiliar smell
But all it knows, was it was grown well.
Passing the various sites of note
The cheetah felt a tad of pain in its throat
The problem was, it couldn't investigate
about the rather dangerous thing it ate.
poem by N.C. Cusack
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On a spoor
We were hot on a fresh spoor
and the bushman tracker said
that the enemy were not far ahead
when we crossed through some dense bush
under some trees
and looking up I saw something on a branch
camouflaged, dappled into the shade
and yellow eyes peered down at me
filled with rage, with energy
and astounded more than anything
I brought the gun to bear,
but the pent up energy,
melted with languid grace
right into the tree
as if it wasn’t aware of me, aware of us
and we walked on past a clearing
into the open veldt where hip high grass
was interrupted by some green thorn bushes.
A huge male lion came bursting
out of one of the bushes
with swishing tale running at full speed
and we all froze in our strides with weapons ready
and it was almost
as if the light machinegun’s trigger was tempting me
to shoot the raging storming animal down
and at that moment I was relieved
that it was not the leopard that would jump,
from one of us after another at sheer speed
and at quick succession try to kill us all
being a expert at baboon hunting
and thus at killing primates
but the tracker had signalled for all of us
to wait when he saw it
and that party of special force soldiers
was ready to kill when that lion
came to a halt with swishing tail right in front of me
and I can still smell its foul breath
when it roared with wide-open jaws
and terror hit my stomach like a mighty fist
and I could have cut it down
blasting it right from the ground
but the ferocity, the beauty of that beast
halted me as if I was watching it in a dream
and I watched its yellow fangs and pink tongue
totally motionless trying to stare it down
and suddenly it turned around
walking back into the veldt
timid and kitten-eyed
disappearing into the grass, melting into it
poem by Gert Strydom
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Cheetah Glow
With those distinctive tear-stained eyes
The cheetah looked around,
With ears alert to realise
Each sudden nearby sound...
In hunting mode, the cheetah sensed
Each second one-by-one,
Alone, aloof and without friends
Beneath the burning sun...
The sizzling light shone down all day,
Upon the cheetah's fur,
To warm its cold heart all the way,
Whatever must occur...
For cheetahs want to stay alive,
Regardless of the cost...
They fight a war so they survive,
Until the war is lost...
This cheetah's stare looked left and right,
For something unaware,
Before the creature's taken flight
On land or in the air...
As fast as cheetah legs can run,
Starvation is the foe,
Beneath the ever-burning sun
That makes the cheetah glow...
Denis Martindale, copyright, November 2010.
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Cheetah Glow'.
More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
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The Cheetah [2]
In the veldt were impalas, some oribi
and kudus roam around wild
a cheetah sneaks forward merciless
without even the zebras noticing
and when they rush away bewildered at speed,
when a cloud of dust rise in their mad run
it's as if his feet get wings
as if he rushes forward much faster
and suddenly catches up with a animal that he has chosen,
drags it down to the ground
and then the jaws of the hunter close like steel
while the other game mill around in a hundred fold.
poem by Gert Strydom
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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
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savannah game
cheetah zips past zebras
for an antelope
haiku by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Gentling a Wildcat
The yellowish-red of the caracal
blended like natural camouflage
into the yellow-brown winter grass
and when it moved its head,
the pointed ears with tufts
of black hair caught my eye.
Eighteen kilograms of hate
and pent up rage
hissed and growled at me
and white teeth
was biting death
out of the air.
Far too weak to move from
a hunter’s shot
and caked
with blood oozing
from its lungs
a paw clawed the air.
No birds and small mammals
or any lesser antelope
were to fall
to its claws and teeth again
and as life faded away
with the setting sun,
I saw hate glaring
out of yellow eyes.
Some faculty of mine
let me stretch out my hand
to stroke the soft head
between the pointed ears
and something changed
inside that deadly cat
and for the last moment,
it was at peace
and to this day
I can swear
it sounded
like a kitten being stroked
as life ebbed away.
[Reference: “Gentling a Wildcat” by Douglas Livingstone.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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A hunting expedition
Far off in the bush veldt near to Marken,
where the red sand lies like sea sand,
a young hunter on a day
takes a old.303 rifle with open sights
and walks following a tracker,
that they call a guide,
past green thorn trees
with long white camel-thorns
to where a impala
is standing against a hillock
and he aims for a headshot
and I say to him: “shoot for the shoulder-blade”
but he doesn’t listen
and when the shot resounds
the antelope lowers its head
and the bullet whistles away from a rock plate
with the antelope
running away in a red brown stripe
disappearing into the bushes
and the bush veldt sun
burns without mercy down on us.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Sunset
The cheetah rested, there to stay,
So statuesque and still...
Just gently taking in the day...
To mellow and to chill.
Life isn't always running round,
All frantic, to and fro...
Sometimes it's settling on the ground
Or simply walking slow.
Sunset would soon be here once more...
The daylight dimmed to black.
The moonlight shining to restore
The golden glow we lack...
The cheetah watched the changing pace
The cooling breeze must bring,
Before each midnight from deep space
God's stars start sparkle-ing...
Staring skyward, the cheetah knew
The future that must be...
It doesn't matter what we do,
Each sunset sets us free...
Yes, some will sleep while others wake,
Yet each lives for a time...
Till something comes our lives to take...
Yet life goes on sublime...
Our children face the future fields
And they will question why
Another crop each grows and yields
And never seems to die...
The cheetah rested patiently...
Appointments he had none...
He only felt tranquillity
Beneath the gentle sun...
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Sunset'.
Gayford poems on denis-martindale(dot) blogspot(dot) com
poem by Denis Martindale
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Felines
Look at the leopard. He is all peppered
with spots from his head to his toe.
His body is sleek and his eyes do shine
and he's ferocious when stalking his foe.
Look at the lion. He's no dandelion.
In the jungle he's King of the beasts.
He's courageous and strong and prowls like a cat
to find his food and then feasts.
Look at the tiger. He can spring higher
than most of the cats you'll see.
His coat is all tawny or sometimes stark white
with stripes that are black ebony.
Look at the cheetah. Be fast or he'll eat ya.
You won't have much time to escape.
He's faster than lightning with legs that are long.
It seems that he's always in shape.
Look at the panther. He's not any fancier
than the rest of the cats that there are.
But the coat that he wears is midnight black,
a black that's the color of tar.
Look at the cat that lives where you are,
the one that can purr and can mew.
They say he has nine lives and I doubt that he does.
But, the one that he lives is for you.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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a Ray of sunlight
It was in the middle of the day
and the sun was high and bright,
in the deep blue African sky.
The LMG was getting heavy
and hot in my hands
and gnats were turning
round the piece of grass
in my brown bush hat.
Sweat were running
down my face
and like any other day,
a patrol in the hot
African bush was great fun
especially when your water
bottle was near empty
and your throat started to burn
and the going was fast.
The bushman tracker
was hot on the enemy spoor
and where the terrain
got more open,
we halted for a moment.
a Ray of sunlight
reflected bright like a flash light,
somewhere to the left
and pointed out an enemy ambush.
We half circled past
and attacked from their rear
and the LMG stuttered
from my hip
and suddenly the bush was clear
and the firefight was over
and an ominous silence hanged
deep in the African bush.
[Reference: => LMG=> Light machine gun. Spoor=>Track]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Sunset (Second Version)
The cheetah rested, there to stay,
So statuesque and still...
Just gently taking in the day...
To mellow and to chill.
Life isn't always running round,
All frantic, to and fro...
Sometimes it's settling on the ground
Or simply walking slow.
Sunset would soon be here once more...
The daylight dimmed to black.
The moonlight shining to restore
The golden glow we lack...
The cheetah watched the changing pace
The cooling breeze must bring,
Before each midnight from deep space
God's stars start sparkle-ing...
Staring skyward, the cheetah knew
The future that must be...
It doesn't matter what we do,
Each sunset sets us free...
Yes, some will sleep while others wake,
Yet each lives for a time...
Till something comes our lives to take...
Yet life goes on sublime...
Our children face the future fields
And they will question why
Another crop each grows and yields
And never seems to die...
Yet those that swim, fly, walk and run
All perish soon enough,
As if one task must yet be done -
To fall in love with love...
The cheetah rested patiently...
Appointments he had none...
He only felt tranquillity
Beneath the gentle sun...
The version of the poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Sunset'.
Gayford poems on denis-martindale(dot) blogspot(dot) com
poem by Denis Martindale
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Trench charge
Firing from his hip he was running,
with the light machinegun kicking
dressed in a brown army uniform
running towards a trench
while bullets whistled, swished past him
with some kicking up dust around him
and like a machine functioning
at perfect speed and timing
he lobbed a grenade
somewhat like a cricket ball
but with a deadly sting
into the trench
before dropping behind a small stone wall
waiting for the explosive cracking sound
giving instructions with hand signs
to the troops that followed him
and when it came
he let of a few bursts
with the light machinegun
on its folded out stand
before half-terrified, filled with adrenaline
he started running again
with his troops following him,
shooting from the hip
and at the enemy trench
jumps straight in
spraying soldiers dressed in olive green
with flaming hot bullets,
smelling the fumes of cordite,
mixed with sand and death
with every breath burning
in his chest and throat
without time to really think,
just to comprehend
and to react, noting dust flying
from the wall next to his head
were passing enemy bullets were slamming.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Ever Watchful
As the ever watchful cheetah
Was resting on the ground,
She believed no-one could beat her
While listening for each sound,
Yet her eyes could see much further
Than pricked ears could relay
And so her eyes would serve her,
Protecting her each day.
A mother's love is diligent
And seeks the common good...
Her eyes are always vigilant
To scan her neighbourhood...
So watch out, fellow predator,
This cheetah's wide awake...
And be wise, don't seek to hurt her...
Your life could be at stake...
If left alone, her family
Will last for many years,
Yet ever watchful she must be,
Diminishing their fears...
It may be sunny overhead,
With gentle breezes, too...
Yet all God's creatures must be fed
And don't care what or who.
Compassion's limits she knows well,
Yet love still has its place...
If you look hard, then you can tell...
Her love shows on her face...
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Ever Watchful'.
More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
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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
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I just use my muscles as a conversation piece, like someone walking a cheetah down 42nd Street.
quote by Arnold Schwarzenegger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cheetah
When I was her and she was me
We got along till we became ourselves
When she was me and I was her
We got along till we became ourselves
And trampled in this rut divide our stuff,
Were breaking up
.
You cant believe
How much pain callin
My mama everyday
When I calmed down and saw the sun
Put down the bottle, put down the gun
Ive had enough,
Divide our stuff were breaking up
.
Were breakin up!
Cheetah?
Were breakin up!
Cheetah?
song performed by by Live
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cheetah (Studio Version)
when I was her and she was me
we got along till we became ourselves
when she was me and I was her
we got along till we became ourselves
and trampled in this rut divide our stuff,
we're breaking up
.
you can't believe
how much pain callin'
my mama everyday
when i calmed down and saw the sun
put down the bottle, put down the gun
i've had enough,
divide our stuff we're breaking up
.
we're breakin' up!
cheetah?
we're breakin' up!
cheetah?
song performed by by Live
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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King Cheetah
Untamed, he roams the world he owns,
This land of hopes and dreams...
Where every hunting skill he hones
With perfect-timing schemes...
Intelligence beyond the norm,
Instincts that serve as guide...
There's beauty in his face and form
That cannot be denied...
This cheetah's fast as lightning, too.
In seconds, flying fur...
A rocket barely still in view,
From head-to-tail, a blur...
Perhaps that's why I call him king
At everything he does...
He flies like birds upon the wing,
No hassle and no fuss!
To me, he's got an athlete's style,
Trimmed-back, machine-like grace...
He's fit to run that extra mile
For every single chase!
Such speed, of course, is rarely found,
That's why I'm so impressed...
Of all the big cats still around,
This king's one of the best!
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'King Cheetah'.
The Stephen Gayford poems can be viewed here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
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Cheetah Haven
The mother cheetah settled there,
With two cubs still in tow.
This was the time to shed her care,
Her tension and her woe.
The cubs looked timid, as did she,
Yet danger wasn't near.
In time, they found serenity
And lost all sense of fear.
Their hearts were beating gently now...
They nestled, sunshine-blessed...
Content to be at peace, somehow,
And thankful for the rest...
Togetherness makes life complete,
A morsel to enjoy...
A portion that makes life more sweet,
If wisdom we employ.
For life deserves a change of mood,
Not busy, draining power.
What creature always hunts for food
With every passing hour?
That's why the cheetahs found this place,
This haven in the sun,
This miracle they could embrace
Until the day was done...
Let others run and swim and fly,
Let others walk or crawl...
The cheetahs watched the day go by,
Spectators of it all.
The cubs were pleased, the day went well,
They must do this again...
This secret they must never tell...
Just visit... now and then...
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Cheetah Haven'.
poem by Denis Martindale
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