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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
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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Pigs, Sheep & Wolves
Words & music by paul simon
Big and fat
Pigs supposed to look like that
Barnyard thug
Sleeps on straw and calls it a rug
Yeah thats a rug, ok
Ses walking down the street
And nobodys gonna 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 no 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? 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
Oh 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 iniection
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 candle light vigils
Protesting this behavior
It s animal behavior
Animal behavior
Its pigs, sheep and wolves
Pigs, sheep and wolves
Pigs, sheep and wolves
Its animal behavior
Its pigs, sheep and wolves
song performed by by Paul Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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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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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
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Warning and Promise
Wolves howl, chill warning,
Songs of red blood.
Hunters smile, men reach for spears,
Stone, one with wood.
Our Lady of wolves, with fangs,
In dark shadows is seen.
Howl, children of darkness, follow,
Run with your white queen.
Circles of shadows, cover the prey,
Red stains the snow.
Blood on white snow, ice and fire,
Stars spin, and glow.
poem by Jerome Brooke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Chill Warning
Wolves howl, chill warning,
Song of blood.
Hunters smile, men reach for spears,
Stone, one with wood.
Our Lady of wolves, with fangs,
In dark shadows is seen.
Howl, children of darkness, follow,
Run with your white queen.
Circles of shadows, cover the prey,
Red stains the snow.
Blood, on white snow, ice and fire,
Stars spin, and glow.
poem by Jerome Brooke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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)
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A vampire's beauty
THE SUN SETS AS THE MOON RISES THE MEMBERS OF MY CLAN RISE FROM THE SHADOWS WE CLMB TO THE ROOFS OF OUR HOUSE AND HOWL AT THE MOON THEN THE NIGHTMARE BEGINS AGAIN FOR THESE MORTALS AS WE DESTROY THEM ONE BY ONE EATING THEIR INSIDES THEIR BLOOD DRIPS FROM MY FANGS I'VE BECOME THE ONE THING I WAS SUPPOSE TO DESTROY.WE RUN AND RUN FOR MILES IN SEACH OF FOOD OR VAMPIRES THE BLOOD OF A VAMPIRE DEALY TO MAN BUT DELIOUS TO US BUT AS WE FIND A VAMPIRE AWAY FROM HER CLAN I CONER HER BUT WHEN I SEE HER FACE I STARE INTO HER BEAUTIFUL BROWN EYES ASWELL AS HER NATURAL BEAUTY I GO FOR THE KILL BUT WHEN I DO SHE STARE RIGHT BACK INTO MY EYES I HEAR THE HOWL TO LEAVE FOR THE SUN IS RISEING AND WE CANT BE SEEN IN ARE WOLF FORM WE HEAD BACK TO OUR HOUSES AS ANGERY TEENAGERS BUT THE ONLY THING I WAS THINKING OF WAS THAT VAMPIRE AND HOW CAN WE KILL SOMETHING SO BEAUTIFUL BUT YET I REALIZED THAT VAMPIRE WAS THE ONE WHO KILL OUR LEADER THE WHITE WOLF MY ANGER IS BEENING UNLEASH BUT THE CLAN STOPS ME FROM TRANSFORMING AGAIN.
THE FOLLOWING NIGHT THE CLAN REGROUPS AT THE SAME LOCATION WERE A SAW HER WE TRANSFORM BACK INTO HUMANS BUT WE STAY HIDDEN HOURS GO BY SHE CAUGHT OUR SCENT SHE FALLS RIGHT FOR OUR TRAP WE FOLLOW HER AND WHEN WE CONERED HER I TRANSFORM BACK INTO A WOLF BUT WHEN I GO FOR THE KILL HER CLAN APPERS OUT OF NO WHERE WE WERE EACH IN A BATTLE BUT WHEN SHE STRIKES I STOPED HER AND BEAT HER BADLY IF ONLY I WOULD HAD CLAWED HER SHE WOULD HAD BEEN DEAD BY KNOW BUT I KEEP HER AS A PERSONER AND LET HER WATCH US DEVARE HER CLANS BY THE TIME WE'RE DONE THE SUN IS ALREADY RISEING WE DESCIED TO TAKE HER TO OUR UNDER GROND LAIR AND KEEP HER THERE UNTIL I DESCIED WHEN TO KILL HER AND SHE OPENS HER EYES AS WE BEGIN TO CHANGE BACK INTO HUMANS I CARRY HER TO THE LAIR THE ONLY THING I TOLD HER HERE JUST DRINK I CUT MY WRIST AND SHE BEGINS TO DRINK BUT AFTER SHE FINSH SHE PASSES OUT AND BEGAN TO COUGH OUT BLOOD. FOUR DAYS GO BY AND SHE WAKES UP A HUMAN NO LONGER A VAMPIRE BECAME WEAKER AND WEAKER BUT YET NO MORE DANGER WELL COME NEAR HER AGAIN FOR WHEN THE FULL MOON RISES AGAIN SHE'LL TURN INTO A WOLF THE EVERYSAME THING THAT HAPPENED TO HER HAPPENED TO ME AS THIS STORY ENDS I TAKE HER WITH ME OUTSIDE AND WE HOWL TO THE MOON AND TRANSFORM INTO WOLVES ONCE MORE AND THE HUNT BEGINS AGAIN.
poem by Micheal Diaz
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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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A New Animal Kingdom
In the Kingdom of animal royalty
Where cats and dogs would reign
There’d be no sign of cruelty
Nothing inhumane
To join, just sign the application
With paw-prints, you’ll prevail
Complete your obligation
With the wagging of your tail
You’ll never have to wear a leash
As humans are not allowed
Come and go, just as you please
T’would be the cat’s meow
Coyotes and wolves and dogs and cats
All creatures of the night
Like frogs and turtles and owls and bats
Deserve their Bill of Rights
Humans are so certain that
Our planet’s their domain
But they also thought the world was flat
How foolishly inane
So join with us in our freedom fight
For animal liberation
As we strive on earth to set things right
Against human domination
poem by Stanley Cooper
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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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Children Selecting Books In A Library
With beasts and gods, above, the wall is bright.
The child's head, bent to the book-colored shelves,
Is slow and sidelong and food-gathering,
Moving in blind grace ... yet from the mural, Care
The grey-eyed one, fishing the morning mist,
Seizes the baby hero by the hair
And whispers, in the tongue of gods and children,
Words of a doom as ecumenical as dawn
But blanched like dawn, with dew.
The children's cries
Are to men the cries of crickets, dense with warmth
-- But dip a finger into Fafnir, taste it,
And all their words are plain as chance and pain.
Their tales are full of sorcerers and ogres
Because their lives are: the capricious infinite
That, like parents, no one has yet escaped
Except by luck or magic; and since strength
And wit are useless, be kind or stupid, wait
Some power's gratitude, the tide of things.
Read meanwhile ... hunt among the shelves, as dogs do, grasses,
And find one cure for Everychild's diseases
Beginning: Once upon a time there was
A wolf that fed, a mouse that warned, a bear that rode
A boy. Us men, alas! wolves, mice, bears bore.
And yet wolves, mice, bears, children, gods and men
In slow preambulation up and down the shelves
Of the universe are seeking ... who knows except themselves?
What some escape to, some escape: if we find Swann's
Way better than our own, an trudge on at the back
Of the north wind to -- to -- somewhere east
Of the sun, west of the moon, it is because we live
By trading another's sorrow for our own; another's
Impossibilities, still unbelieved in, for our own ...
"I am myself still?" For a little while, forget:
The world's selves cure that short disease, myself,
And we see bending to us, dewy-eyed, the great
CHANGE, dear to all things not to themselves endeared.
poem by Randall Jarrell
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The Law of the Jungle
Now this is the Law of the Jungle -- as old and as true as the sky; And the Wolf that shall keep it may prosper, but the Wolf that shall break it must die. AAs the creeper that girdles the tree-trunk the Law runneth forward and back --
For the strength of the Pack is the Wolf, and the strength of the Wolf is the Pack.
Wash daily from nose-tip to tail-tip; drink deeply, but never too deep;
And remember the night is for hunting, and forget not the day is for sleep.
The Jackal may follow the Tiger, but, Cub, when thy whiskers are grown,
Remember the Wolf is a Hunter -- go forth and get food of thine own.
Keep peace withe Lords of the Jungle -- the Tiger, the Panther, and Bear.
And trouble not Hathi the Silent, and mock not the Boar in his lair.
When Pack meets with Pack in the Jungle, and neither will go from the trail,
Lie down till the leaders have spoken -- it may be fair words shall prevail.
When ye fight with a Wolf of the Pack, ye must fight him alone and afar,
Lest others take part in the quarrel, and the Pack be diminished by war.
The Lair of the Wolf is his refuge, and where he has made him his home,
Not even the Head Wolf may enter, not even the Council may come.
The Lair of the Wolf is his refuge, but where he has digged it too plain,
The Council shall send him a message, and so he shall change it again.
If ye kill before midnight, be silent, and wake not the woods with your bay,
Lest ye frighten the deer from the crop, and your brothers go empty away.
Ye may kill for yourselves, and your mates, and your cubs as they need, and ye can;
But kill not for pleasure of killing, and seven times never kill Man!
If ye plunder his Kill from a weaker, devour not all in thy pride;
Pack-Right is the right of the meanest; so leave him the head and the hide.
The Kill of the Pack is the meat of the Pack. Ye must eat where it lies;
And no one may carry away of that meat to his lair, or he dies.
The Kill of the Wolf is the meat of the Wolf. He may do what he will;
But, till he has given permission, the Pack may not eat of that Kill.
Cub-Right is the right of the Yearling. From all of his Pack he may claim
Full-gorge when the killer has eaten; and none may refuse him the same.
Lair-Right is the right of the Mother. From all of her year she may claim
One haunch of each kill for her litter, and none may deny her the same.
Cave-Right is the right of the Father -- to hunt by himself for his own:
He is freed of all calls to the Pack; he is judged by the Council alone.
Because of his age and his cunning, because of his gripe and his paw,
In all that the Law leaveth open, the word of your Head Wolf is Law.
Now these are the Laws of the Jungle, and many and mighty are they;
But the head and the hoof of the Law and the haunch and the hump is -- Obey!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Interlude
The air was still and trees in the forest stood in frozen silence.
A rare day, animals listened to the echo of last summer.
Hare trails in the snow made without haste, the persecuted
had nothing to fear on a day when mountain lions dream.
The bear in its den deep under an oak tree, dreamless sleep
whether still or storm, but do not wake him up before spring.
Tranquillity of peace is only a brief interlude, kill or be killed,
eat or starve are wild life’s merciless destiny. Calm cracks as
the cold intensifies; there will be a toll to pay if spring is too
late with its promise of continuity. Behind the forest, where
the blue mountain begins, a pack of wolves howl to the moon,
the soul of hunters lied bare in an endless nocturnal dream.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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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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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.
WElcome Guest, story poem
Harried by hounds the stag is spent.
He is worn out and terrified.
Enters my gates by accident,
In search of somewhere he can hide.
He finds safety in a stall
which has long been unoccupied.
He’s found his haven after all.
Because I instantly decide.
To bar my gates against the hounds
and to the idiots who ride.
They will not trespass on my grounds.
The law is firmly on my side.
The stag is safe and free to stay.
I will ensure he is not harmed
until the hunters go away.
He has no cause to be alarmed.
I’ll set him free to go his way
when he regains his energy.
They must forego their kill today.
The Stag is no mans enemy.
I hate the men who hunt for sport
the harmless creatures of the wild
Who they can kill without a thought.
Our views can not be reconciled
They will return from whence they came
slowly and dejectedly.
Because I spoilt the little game
They’ll ban me from their company.
A ban that will not worry me
although they are convinced it will.
I much prefer the company
of the wild deer they hope to kill.
The Stag appear to understand
although it watches warily.
That it is safe by my command
and he is resting easily.
When it grows dark I’ll turn him loose
back to the freedom that he knows.
I am quite sure he won’t refuse.
Though I’ll be sad to see him go.
He was not born to be confined.
He has a nobler destiny.
Protecting his small flock of hinds
and raising up a family.
I think he knows I wish him well
and looks at me before he goes.
He has no tongue in which to tell.
But I am certain that he knows.
Tuesday,16 March 2010
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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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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