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
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
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
Vote! | Copy!
Snow wolves
I can hear the wolves
Howl in the distance
The howl is suddenly
Dampened by the falling snow
In a clearing
I see the wolves howl
Perched on the slanted rock
They cry to the moon
The moon cries back
It cries with agony
It cries because of death
Death witnessed beneath it's glow
The wolves turn and howl
The snow doesn't let up
But blows harder
Through blind panic
i run
I hear the wolves howl
Only it isn't in the distance
poem by Eric Ripley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Dark Poetry - Dark Love
It is a night of dark desire,
A song of darkness,
Wolves howl and vent their anger,
The immortal one wakens,
Wisps of death shroud her elegant form,
A timeless desire,
Her raven hair cascades over pale shoulders,
And her blood-red lips part, smiling,
White fangs gleaming, she tastes the blood of life,
A Night Of Darkness,
An evil thirst
poem by Kieran J1996
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Wolves Made Of Nightmares
Pitter patter go those sharp clawed feet
I hear them padding up the street
The lightning strikes against my door
The air is sharp my lungs are raw
They raise their heads, howl in unearthly chorus
Is the devil coming for us?
The wolves cast their shadows into my room
Those shadows will surely spell my doom
I hear their claws scratch at the wood
They shriek and howl and cry out for blood
I heave my bead against the door
They bare their fangs and cry for more
A paw crashes through close to my ear
All I feel now is numbing fear
I can taste their breath on the tip of my tongue
Why now? I am too young
I risk a fleeting glance behind
and what I see drives me out of my mind
Their eyes were fire that burned deep red
I knew that I would soon be dead
A blood stained muzzle breaks through near my arm
Now is surely the time for alarm
As one their lap against my door
My bed is sent spinning across the floor
The door is forced open, silluetted by the moon
I would meet my end in the silent gloom
poem by Steffi Webster
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Wolf Song
Twas a night - one night in far away plains
the wolves sat in
half circles
howling away to the moon shine.
The wind whispers, the wolf howll:
shh ahooo shh ahooo shh ahooo ahooo ahooo ahooo ahooo
shh ahooo shh ahooo shh ahooo ahooo ahooo ahooo ahooo
In far away plains moon shines
through thick fog of darknesss-
orange glows thinly in silence-
wolves wonder the far away plains;
under the moon shine.
The wind whispers, the wolf howl:
shh ahooo shh ahooo shh ahooo ahooo ahooo ahooo ahooo
shh ahooo shh ahooo shh ahooo ahooo ahooo ahooo ahooo
A pale glow plays teasingly
in the dark sky.
Stars hang dangling near water's edge.
The wind blows blows away the pale glow
and thick fog covers lightly
and soon
the wind whispers, the wolves howl:
shh ahooo shh ahooo shh ahooo ahooo ahooo ahooo ahooo
shh ahooo shh ahooo shh ahooo ahooo ahooo ahooo ahooo
poem by Celine Berghmans
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Howler
There is blood
dripping, dripping
off snow white paws,
ice perfection,
caeser beauty.
You howl, dark, blood stained muzzle
piercing the air
the cold, cold broken air
that shatters soul and
thought and prose.
Your hackles raised your amber sockets
your fire-light eyes
dancing, grinning, lolling jaws
gasping
Lungs shattering-frozen glass.
You are a blizzard,
tearing across the
frozen tundra
confidence in essence,
you alone- the world your
enemy, your
arena, your solace.
You are cold, an ice sculpture-
somehow melting, but ever slow
you howl again,
for luck.
poem by Alice Miller
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Soon after that, the Queen gives birth to a baby girl who is as white as snow, has lips red as blood and has hair as black as ebony. They name her 'Snow White'.
Brothers Grimm in Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1812)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
Vote! | Copy! | In Spanish | In Italian | In Romanian
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Vote! | Copy!
The Spilling Of The Wine
The soldiers lie upon the snow,
That no longer gyrates under the spinning lights
Night juggles in her fat black hands.
They will not babble any more secrets to loose-mouthed
nights
Expanding in golden auras,
While sleigh-bells jingle like new coins the darkness
shuffles . . .
They will not drink any more wine—
Wine of the Romanoffs,
Jewelled wine
The secret years worked slowly at
Till it was wrought to fire,
As stones are faceted
Until they give out light.
The soldiers lie very still.
Their shadows have shrunk up close
As toads shrink under a stone;
And night and silence,
The ancient cronies,
Foregather above them.
But still over the snow, that is white as a ram's fleece,
Arms swing like scythes . . .
And shadows in austere lines
Sway in a monstrous and mysterious ritual—
Shadows of the Kronstad sailors
Pouring blood and wine. . .
Wine
Spurting out of flagons in a spray of amethyst and gold,
Creeping in purple sluices;
Wine
And blood in thin bright streams
Besprinkling the immaculate snow;
Blood, high-powered with the heat of old vineyards,
Boring . . . into the cool snow . . .
Blood and wine
Mingling in bright pools
That suck at the lights of Petrograd
As dying eyes
Suck in their last sunset.
The night has a rare savor.
Out of the snow-piles—altar-high and colored as by a
rosy sacrifice— Scented vapor
Ascends in a pale incense . . .
Faint astringent perfume
Of blood and wine.
poem by Lola Ridge
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Drift Glow
Drift glow
Drift glow
As white as snow
Into the openness
Of bright sky heaven fresh
Mighty in its blue
Into going and renew
Drift glow
White as snow
I hear the birds singing
Outside - in a tree
Wonderful tones bringing
Up and down the scale free
Love songs for their nest
And hope to come and see
When with young it's blessed
And cared for compassionately
Drift glow
Drift glow
As white as snow
Into the openness
Of space and clear enmesh
Something to come here through
When tomorrow is up to do
Drift glow
White as snow
In with its many days singing
poem by Peter S. Quinn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Drift Glow (from, MySpace)
Drift glow
Drift glow
As white as snow
Into the openness
Of bright sky heaven fresh
Mighty in its blue
Into going and renew
Drift glow
White as snow
I hear the birds singing
Outside - in a tree
Wonderful tones bringing
Up and down the scale free
Love songs for their nest
And hope to come and see
When with young it's blessed
And cared for compassionately
Drift glow
Drift glow
As white as snow
Into the openness
Of space and clear enmesh
Something to come here through
When tomorrow is up to do
Drift glow
White as snow
In with its many days singing
poem by Peter S. Quinn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Lone Traveler
Lone howl under the great blue night sky
A pack of wolves running through the forest
Chasing down crying little rabbit looking for a hole
Doesn’t know that every damn hole is full of corns
Lone howl under the great blue night sky
The moon shines like there is no other night
To make the curve she had to follow the relenting howl
As time runs in circle, the night goes faster than before
Lone howl under the great blue night sky
A child walks down the street of the city of angels
Knows no bond to depend on, no rope to hang on
He raised his hand for a dime, he’s only got reservation in heaven
Can you catch the notes floating with the sound
Within the cold air that freezes your bones and brain
With the snow that falls like storm,
And nothing but the white emptiness before your soul
And I’m walking with my bare two feet, listening carefully
To the sound of cars driving on the streets at night
To the sound of babies crying out their heart
To the sound of waves washing the shore, the sound of loneliness
To the sound of traveling stars, the sound of the universe
poem by Alexander Foald
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Auspicious of Nights
Auspicious of Nights
By: Adam M. Snow
On this auspicious of nights,
the children comes with fear delights,
awaken the infant, the newborn kin,
and open the world of pain within,
followed by all sins and sorrow,
as they wait to die this final morrow.
The wolves now vent, cry and howl,
as all children now gone on a prowl.
The moon once full now is shattered,
and all dreams are lost and scattered.
On this auspicious of nights,
they lose all their sights.
Now awakened yet asleep,
to the empty skies, they weep.
Cold and alone they stand vivified and afraid,
to their chambers they return to where they laid.
Confused and lost, they remain,
with nothing left for them to explain.
On this auspicious of nights,
darkness surrounds all lights.
The infant now cries,
as the children dies,
the wolves now vent silence,
as the world erupts in violence.
Now hatred ignites,
on this auspicious of nights.
poem by Adam M. Snow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Vote! | Copy!
A Howl of the Night
A howl can be herd in the night as the snow falls
A howl can run through and enter the soul of
The wolf who's heart is as pure as the grain
A howl shall show no mercy and shall either hunt you
Or guide you, It will be strong and hard -the howl of the night.
The howl shall come from the spirit of the strongest,
The bravest and the boldest.
It will not be weak, as the wind carries the howl farther
To the Pack, all will awaken and cry with
The howl of the night.
poem by Rebecca Seetahal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Atlas
You rip through the trees,
A black blur stronger then
Anything
The world's ever witnessed,
Thick paws heavy with dread
And with knowledge
And with things kept from
You.
You howl,
Again, the birch's
Nothing more then
A snow striped blurr,
Nothing more then
Eternity...
A pointless thing,
You howl with dread
Blankness. Death.
But you are stronger then
That.
You press on,
Heedless of the blood-stained
Cantelope sky,
Heedless of the ropy red clouds,
Heedless of the lake,
A reflective of sky.
You tramp in, your intentions clear,
The sky thrust on your paws
And the summer birch's spin
As do the clouds,
And the air
And shadows
Of the wind.
But you are heedless of
Eternity
poem by Alice Miller
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sparkley Snow
white snow...
white snow...
white snow on the ground laying there in the day light sparkling away and while u sparkle there many people walking by enjoying your wounderful glow and sparkle.
white snow where do u get that wounderful glow and spark.
white snow u amaze people because of your glow and sparkle. many people think ur glow and sparkle is romantic when they see it. and i enjoy seeing u every year.
poem by Joseph Macquarrie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Lone White Wolf: The Hunt
As the first day of the new moon creeps into the trees, no wolf among the pack gathers to see the light overcome the darkness to bring in the new day except the lone white wolf. This peculiar wolf is almost solid white except for the black along the length of his nose. It watches over the pack as they peacefully sleep, unaware of his eyes that could protect everything that was soon to come.
Today was the first day of the long hunt for the white wolf. He must bring down an animal that could feed the whole pack for several days, so he could become an official member of the pack, but more importantly, he must prove himself to be one with the pack instead of running alone.
The leader of the wolf pack slowly raises his head like a turtle to look around to see who’s awake. He sees all the wolves are still asleep in a tight circle except the outcast. The leader doesn’t understand why this wolf sleeps alone nor does he understand why the wolf was born white instead of gray. The white wolf stirs from his wakeful sleep. The eyes of the self-proclaimed leader stay on him before moving off to look into the distance searching for all the answers to his questions among the countless trees.
The leader of the wolf pack slowly gets up and walks to the lone wolf and nudges him to sound the morning howl. It was customary for the leader of the wolf pack to do this, but for reasons unknown to any wolf besides the leader, the wolf chose the outcast to sound the howl. The white wolf understands and gives a howl to stir the remaining wolves out of their deep slumber.
Once all the wolves are fully awake and able to comprehend what today is and what it means for the outcast, they realize it is the first day of the new moon. It is the first day of the long hunt. All of the wolves first look to the leader, then to the outcast, then back to the leader wondering who is going to give the special howl to begin the long hunt. No wolf willingly howled the beginning of the long hunt because if the howl was bad, the hunt would go badly, but if the howl was good, the hunt would go smoothly and the hunt would be short. The answer is soon apparent when the eyes of the leader look over the pack to see whose eyes would meet his. None but one pair kept his gaze.
The leader gave a sign, and the wolf began to prepare to give the special howl that would determine the outcome of the hunt. A wolf could not open its muzzle and give an ordinary howl since the hunt would also go badly. To give the special howl the wolf must pull back its hind legs and brace itself to make sure all legs are securely anchored to the ground so that the wolf, while giving the special howl would not slide backwards during the middle of it.
The lone wolf was ready mentally and physically to give the special howl. Once his feet were securely on the ground, the wolf began the howl. The lone white wolf put everything in his howl: the pain of being an outcast his entire life, the anger at his individuality, everything was put into that howl. Wolves stepped back with their fur standing on end; birds flew away squawking bloody murder. The others started yipping and snapping at nothing in particular remembering everything they’d ever felt. After the lone wolf was done, he realized the effect his special howl had on the wolves and he noticed the disarray and confusion that he had caused.
The leader is satisfied and gets the pack into order; it was time to begin the hunt. The wolves began running, their muscles rippling beneath their skin. Nothing could stop them. Their destination was a mile and a half down the road where the large game was located. Running freely among the wolf pack, the lone wolf didn’t feel like an outcast, but whenever he began to get too close, a shallow snip on the shoulder would shove him away to a safer distance.
The game was just ahead; it was time for the lone wolf to prove himself to the pack. The lone wolf went ahead of the pack and picked one of the biggest caribou he could find and slowly approached while the pack followed. The wolves lurched like a bullet from a gun onto the caribou with the white wolf clinging to the exposed flesh of the neck bringing it to the ground but not before it got one last kick in. The kill was successful; the caribou was dead. It was then that the white wolf noticed the bloody mess of the leader of the pack. The last kick of the now dead caribou landed on the skull of the leader, and he was dead instantly. The sight was a grizzly one with his skull caved in and blood gushing out of the wound.
The self-proclaimed leader was dead with no next-in-line to follow. Every wolf looked to the now dead leader, then to the outcast, then back to the dead leader, and then back to the outcast. The white wolf met the eyes of each wolf and got an unspoken request from each one. It was unanimous; the previous outcast of the pack became the leader. For the first time in history, a white wolf was chosen to lead and will lead the wolves to a prosperity the wolves have never known.
2009 October
poem by Matthew Bresette
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!