Poems

[Frostleaf]

First I will say that I dont own these poems. Never have, never will. If i put a poem that I made in here there will be a note to say its mine.

I will put a warning over those that are a little dark, sad, and other things too.

Enjoy!

Site that I got these at are:
poetrypoem.com/cgi-bin/index.pl?sitename=wildpoems&;item=all

[Frostleaf]

Warning death of wolf and human. A sad but true poem.

The Dormant Primevil Beast

I

Today I saw
a black wolf lying dead
in the back of a pickup
bloodied,
one half-opened eye glazed.

I wondered what it had done wrong.

* * *

And God gave man dominion over all of the
Earth and over the beasts of the field and the birds
of the air and fishes of the sea and over every
creeping thing that creeps upon the earth...

May their judgment be not too heavy upon us.



II

Nighttime, a million stars all agleam.
Five men sitting around a campfire on the prairie
a long time ago during the beginning of the end
talking quietly,
their tethered horses shifting nervously
in the shadows,
the firelight playing on their bearded faces.

From the surrounding hills comes the howling.

* * *

The dormant primevil beast will not lie quiet.
Pushed to the very back of your innermost being
like a shameful secret; caged, starved, beaten, chained,
yet it will not keep silent.
Behind the boarded-up doors of your deepest conscious
it howls and yowls and screams.

And you hear it. That warning echo from the distant mountains
in your mind that you've never even climbed.

In the great cage of concrete and steel and flashing
neon signs the animal within you screams and screams.

Screams out in warning of a world gone mad.
Of a life that was never supposed to be.

Screaming, howling, yowling, running round and around,
its fur falling out, chewing on its feet till they bleed,
pawing at the boards, gnawing at your barriers with
splinter-pierced jaws...

* * *

A wolfpack running across the snow-dusted tundra.
They leave long twisting trails in the expanse of white as they
go; swerving, weaving, doubling back and running
again, pink tongues flopping. It's almost like they're dancing.
What else can they do?

The man above them in the plane takes careful aim.
The government of Alaska pays him to do this.
More bodies in the snow, more money in the bank.
His rifle barks; below him the wolves start to die.
What else can he do?

* * *

The dormant primevil beast has awakened.
Madness threatens. Stop it.
Put the shotgun against its head, pull the trigger.
Drag the body as deep into you as you can go.
Into the basement, yes, where we leave
all our problems and wastes to pile up.
Leave it amid the coffins of worthless dreams
and blasphemous thoughts.
The beast is dead, its howls silenced.
Your peace of mind returns. Everything is fine.
Whatever could have been wrong in the first place?
Put the booted foot of conquest on its head.
Pose for the cameras.
Then try to forget.

* * *

Does Death distinguish between the human and the animal?
Does he play favorites? Does he prefer one over the other?

No.
The skulls of both man and beast
will bleach white together
under the burning sun.
Bone is bone. Dust is dust.


III


Walking along a forest trail, insects humming in his
ears, sweat-stains under his arms, trying to brake in
his new hiking boots. Ranks of trees on every side,
narrow dirt trail ahead. He keeps on walking.

All alone, lost in his thoughts. Here he can think.
Here he could say anything out loud and no one would care.
He stumbles on a half-buried rock and pauses for
a moment, catching his breath, wishing he had done
this more when he was younger.


Paws that make no sound on the pine needles;
whiskers, eyes, ears, all focused on the weakened pray.
Stalking silent and soundless, waiting for the
right moment;
only one chance to make the strike.
The forest holds its breath.


Here all the problems in his life do not exist,
here he can move and breathe without feeling
like his being is trapped in a vice.
But he is growing tired, his feet are getting sore.
He raises his water bottle to his lips and
begins to to drink.
Yes, he confirms to himself:
I should have done this more when I was younger.


Now; now is the right moment, the perfect time.
The paws blur over the ground, legs moving together
in perfect rhythm, heartbeat accelerating. Slipping
among the pines, still silent, the sunlight brightening
its light brown pelt, closer, closer...

The cougar hits the man from behind, fastening its jaws
on the back of his neck.
The water bottle falls onto the dirt trail.
Tomorrow the park will be filled with rangers
with shotguns and dogs. Headlines will appear
in all the local newspapers,
the story will be told in the hunting magazines.
The man's family will mourn.
Cougars will die.
The world will move on.

* * *

If you want your death to be remembered,
but you do not want to die in the presence of others,
then go into the wild
and offer yourself to the beasts;
to the hungry earth.
In the wild being a human means nothing.
In the wild all illusions about yourself vanish.
In the wild there is only truth
and one truth is that in the presence of Death
and whatever form it takes
we are all the same.


IV

I did not see
the dead black wolf
with my own eyes.

I saw it in a photo
on the Internet;
that cyberworld where every human
atrocity and triumph
can be viewed with cool detachment
from a swivel chair.

* * *

I once saw a living wolf
with my own eyes.
I felt jaws that could crush
an elk's leg bone
gently mouth my face.
I felt the sharp fangs,
the questing tongue.

I looked in the golden-brown eyes
and saw no hate
for all the past crimes done.
No hate to mach the hate
so many feel towards her kind.

I saw only
a keen awareness,
an aliveness that was
present in every single move
she made;
a beingness that we could
never mach and
possibly never experience.

* * *

Later that night
sitting with my companions
around the fire
under a million shining stars
we stopped talking
and listened to the wolves
howling all around us,
singing of things
unknown and forgotten
to modern man.

And deep within myself
the dormant primevil beast
awoke from its sleep
and silently joined in.

- (C) by Sloane J. 2010

[Frostleaf]

Warning Its a little dark, inspired by the book Phantom of the Opera

We Are Like Phantoms

We all go through life like masked Phantoms,
keeping parts of our faces hidden and obscured
while showing only what we want the world to see,
which is often more of lies and less of truth.

Our bodies are draped in great billowing cloaks
that cover the numerous wounds, stains and scars
we have collected during our nightly travels,
on the roads we should not have taken,
for none who enter this life innocent and whole
will leave it unscathed and unmarked.

Some of us have much to hide,
and some of us have little to hide.
But all of us have something to hide.

And while we keep our own masks on tight,
and our cloaks wrapped about us firmly,
we try to pick and poke at those of our fellow men,
trying to see if their wounds are graver then ours,
hoping that their secrets are darker then ours.

We would rip off their masks and tear away their cloaks,
strip them down bare and make their shames, sins, and fears
objects for our gossip, for our mockery, for our contempt,
and, most impotently of all, for our distraction.

We all want to know the secrets and truths of the world,
but none of us want the world to know our secrets and truths.
So we become Phantoms during our brief hour upon the stage,
masked & cloaked, concealing the dark labyrinths of our hearts.

- (C) by Sloane J. 2009

[Frostleaf]

Warning a little dark like Edger Allen Poe writtens works are.

On The Night's Plutonian Shore

A tribute to the great poems of Edgar Allen Poe.


"From childhood's hour I have not been
as others were, I have not seen as others saw."

- E. A. Poe, "Alone"

Once upon a midday dreary,
while I rested, bedridden, feeling very ill and sickly,
reading a most haunting and chilling volume of beloved lore,
I sought then to escape to the Night's Plutionian shore.
To flee from life's often dull and joyless realities,
and the world's common everyday dreams and fancies.
It would be my lot to wander the rim of the lonely dark lake,
and in the journey through the Valley of the Shadow to Eldorado partake.
I would walk alone the empty silent streets of the city in the sea,
and explore those weird wild lands that could never be.
To listen to the tolling of the bells rolling together in a sort of Runic rhyme
as I stand on the threshold of a kingdom in a realm out of space - out of time.
Let me listen to the music of the angel Israfel as he plays from Heaven's highest throne,
and make a pilgrimage back through Time to view the ancient splendor of antique Rome.
To dwell within a radiant palace, still in a state of glory well befitting,
Not desolate and haunted, not with a ghastly Raven ever flitting, ever sitting...
I have not lived long upon the Earth, yet I often curse the coming of the day
when I must perform again in Man's horrific, madding and doomed play.
Sometimes I wish I could sink into the pages and stay forever on the Plutonian shore
were that tormented and brilliant poet had walked before.
Let me go there, go now, and seek out these things, and the many more.
Grim Raven, please, respite from your refrain of "nevermore" and torment me no more!
And now as I rest, growing drowsy (because of the drugs no doubt) here in my bed,
hot and feverish and wishing (not for the first time) that I were dead,
Knowing the foolishness of my hopeless wishes and imaginings,
as I start to nod, nearly napping, only dimly aware of the goings and happenings,
I suddenly start to smile, as the Raven's shadow envelops me, remembering...
(As the alarms start beeping and the doctors and nurses come running)
That they were wrong, they who declared, they who swore, they who deemed
that my days had become a dream...for ALL that we see or seem
is but a dream within a dream...yes...just a dream within a dream...

Only this...and nothing more...

- (C) by Sloane J. 2009

[Frostleaf]

I Am a Wolf

I am a wolf,
running through the trees.
Following the scents
on the midnight breeze.

I am a wolf,
howling beneath a silver moon.
Hoping that my loyal pack
will answer back quite soon.

I am a wolf,
standing with my beautiful mate.
We must stand strong and brave
and face any challenges sent by fate.

I am a wolf,
hunting with my pack.
With the young and old wolves waiting
for meat to be brought back.

I am a wolf,
and I must kill to survive.
But isn't that something we all must do
in order to stay alive?

I am a wolf,
withstanding man's fear and hate.
But many have come to love wolves,
and for us that's quite a treat.

I am a wolf,
wild, fierce and free.
Living in forests and mountains
stretching as far as the eye can see.

I am a wolf,
I'd never want to be anything more.
And I hope that even after I'm gone,
there will be wolves forevermore.

- (C) by Sloane J. 2006

[Frostleaf]

Warning death of a human at end. This poem says nothing good about humans as a whole, however if u read it yo have to admit some if not all is true.

The Sun Eaters

They are the hollow men

For although they stuff themselves with everything
under the sun, nothing can fill the Voids within them
and thus are are filled only with emptiness. Their
hunger can never be satisfied, their thirst can never
be quenched, their desires can never be fulfilled,
nor their needs never met. They are like the wolves
of old Norse lore that pursue the sun across the sky,
each step bringing them closer the catching and devouring it,
and by so doing have their eternal hunger sated forever.

Some stuff themselves with wealth.

They build up mass fortunes that provide them with every
conceivable pleasure, that enable them to to possess every
desirable thing, that distance them from the petty worries
and concerns of those who will never know what is is like
to be at the top, and envy from those who seek to become
as they are, but find that the bar is raised to high.
Yet the Wealth Eaters remain incontinent, for they continue
to acquire more riches, more mountains of money, hiding it
and hoarding it, while keeping their eyes peeled for opportunities
where they can make more...and more...and more!

Some stuff themselves with knowledge.

They fill their brains with the wisdom of the ages.
With the truths and facts known by those who came before
them. They study and analyze ceaselessly, discarding
the old ideas and looking for new ones to take their
place, ideas that come from them. Armed with their vast
superior intellects, they win every argument, triumph
at every debate, their unsurpassed knowledge making all
others to be merely mindless fools and babbling idiots.
But it is not enough for the Knowledge Eaters, for their
minds are like super computers that contain the sum of
all things yet their data banks are only half full and
they must always process more...and more...and more!

Some will stuff themselves with power.

They become the puppet-masters of the mobs and masses.
Speaking new rules into existence, signing new laws into
being. Directing lives of others, imposing their wills
on others, sending their armies out to conquer and control
still others, so they will have even more to rule over.
They want their subjects to praise and bow down before
them and thank them for taking such good care of them,
the poor, ignorant powerless weaklings that they are.
Deception is their greatest gift, and a trail of broken
promises marks their course. Yet even all this fails to placate
the Power Eaters, for their eyes continue to rake the world,
searching for something more to battle for and take,
looking for that one more thing that will make their
Utopian dreams complete.

And some will stuff themselves with death.

For having achieved great wealth, knowledge, and power
and still finding themselves lacking in something they
blame the helpless world for their discontent. Someone
must pay, someone must suffer, someone must die.
"Let them die then! By the dozens. By the hundreds.
By the thousands. By the millions! How are they smile
when we cannot smile! How dare they laugh when we
cannot laugh! How dare they be happy when we can never seem
to be happy! They must stand in the way of our own happiness!"
"Let us kill them in every way. Let us starve them and
beat them! Let us imprison them and torture them!
Let us condemn their laws, mock their values, slay
their gods and take away every freedom they posses!"
"Let us sit back and watch them perish in the tar pits
of confusion and despair, for they have something
we cannot have, and if we cannot have it then
nether will they!"

Then they detect a disturbance, and in sudden fear
they turn, grow pale, and collapse, staring in terror,
voicing useless pleas to that familiar Presence that
rushes upon them with his well-honed, blood-stained
scythe raised high.

For it is they who are the fools. It is they who are
the powerless. It is they who are the weaklings.
It is they who are the deceived.

They want to buy what can never be bought.
They want to know what can never be known.
They want to control what can never be controlled.
They want to kill what can never be killed.

They want to eat the sun.

But in the end...

All the money the wealthy own cannot bribe Death
All the knowledge the wise posses cannot trick Death.
All the power the mighty wield cannot stop Death.
And all the deaths of others cannot distract Death.

Now, after the ax has fallen and their lifeless bodies
have been laid to rest along with those of the poor,
the ignorant, the weak and the powerless, and after
they have stood before the Supreme Judge with tears
of grief and rage in His eyes and a set of scales in His hand,
they wonder if they have caught and swallowed the sun
after all because now they no longer hunger anymore...

Now they burn.

- (C) by Sloane J. 2009

[Frostleaf]

Warning History is written by the winners.

Pluto Isn't a Planet Anymore

They attack it ruthlessly
Every year & month, day & hour.
Adding & omitting, cutting & pasting,
Destroying and rewriting.
(Why then believe in anything at all?)
First they gather together
All the accumulated knowledge
Of times, places, events and things
Then swallow and digest them
And, finding them unsatisfactory,
Vomit them out altered and changed.
Ether lap up and accept this new knowledge,
Or become a fool before the world.
They do this again and again, over and over,
Until the truths of the past
Become the falsehoods of today,
And the truths of today
Become the falsehoods of tomorrow.

- (C) by Sloane J. 2009

[Frostleaf]

Warning the end of humans, what will happen?

The Final Act



"And much of Madness, and more of Sin,
and Horror the Soul of the Plot."

- Edger Allen Poe,
"The Conqueror Worm"



Oh how much longer must this go on,
when will this tragic play end?
When will we start to realize that there
is no more point in trying to pretend?

Soon without hint nor warning
that crimson curtain will fall.
Down upon you, down upon me,
down over us, down over all.

I've often wondered long about
what our final great act will be.
What will be that last insulting thing
the Maker must see?

There is now nothing left to behold
in the dimming spotlight but us.
Having forgotten how to sing and dance
we can only spit and cuss.

Once we preformed together
on the grandest most beautiful stage.
Now it lies about us in ruins,
stripped by our greed, smashed by our rage.

In the beginning we each were given
our own script to act out.
Now we can't even remember
what the whole thing was about.

We still strut about thinking
we're the stars of the whole show,
Caught in our mad play we fail
to anticipate the hammer-blow.

In our play, all once known to be evil and foul
is now considered to be good and right.
Against such notions like love, forgiveness,
courage, mercy, honor and justice we now fight.

We twist and warp, turning the truth
inside out, backwards, and upside down.
We glorify ourselves and worship our creations
even as our souls cry out as they drown.

The wisdom and knowledge of the ancients
has been forgotten or cast aside.
Slowly into that godless, soulless world
where "everything goes" we slide.

But no play can go on forever,
that's the truth we cannot bare to face,
Here on this lonely planet turning
in the vast darkness of endless cold space.

The end of one play, one way,
marks the beginning of yet another.
Let our final act be to say "I'm sorry"
to the Maker and each other.

- (C) by Sloane J. 2009

[Frostleaf]

Warning greed and death

The Unicorn's Passing

At first, in the beginning,
you were like a distant sun, a far-off star.
We could only gaze and marvel and wonder
at you and your beauty from afar.

Standing in that shimmering, silver pool,
whiter then the purist arctic snow,
a beautiful, delicate,e horse-like creature
bathed in Heaven's holy glow!

And greatest of all, like a spear
forged of liquid gold, shone your horn!
Had God Himself sent to us His own steed,
the one and only unicorn?

Nature held sway in those days and
you ran free through forests wild.
Answering only to the voices of the
gentle maiden and the innocent child.

You would dance with us through green fields
filled with thousands of summer flowers,
and in times of pain and suffering you would
give freely of your healing powers.

The language of ever animal, plant, river,
and tree you did hear and know,
and wherever you walked all life would
explode in beauty and thrive and grow.

Once we saw you stand upon a mountain cliff
and beheld you toss your horn and rear up high,
your white mane shimmering as shafts of pure
light fell down upon you from the sky.

Wild guardian, gentle healer, faithful friend,
you would have stayed with us forever and always,
Heaven's holy horse willfully Earth-bound
until the last and final days.

But while you could satisfy our every good want,
our every good need, you couldn't, in the end,
cure us of our spiteful envy, our poisoned desires,
our growing discontent, our lustful greed.

For you had what we could never have,
you could do what we could never achieve,
you knew what we could never know, thus we came
to hate you, and we turned from friend to foe.

Would you have freely given to us what we wanted
if only we had asked you? We knew you would have
died for us if you'd needed too.

Your horn! Your glorious horn! That was what we wanted
most of all! Ah, the might we could wield if only we
could posses it! It was our lust for your power that
led to your downfall.

The Great Hunt began, all over the world, wherever
you went we pursued. We vowed never to rest or turn
from our endeavors until you were either killed or
caught and subdued.

And die you did, on the white shores of the great sea
from which you first came. Fell fighting demons and
hell-hounds we conjured through our dark arts, filled
with despair and pain.

At last you lay still on the beach and we gathered around
and took hold of that ultimate prize, that magnificent horn!
Our swords and axes rose and fell until from your face it
was shorn.

You died. The sea turned black. The sun dimmed. Lighting
split the sky. The moon became red. The Earth trembled and
shook.. Animals and children screamed. God wept. The unicorn
had fallen. The unicorn was dead.

Now mankind had the knowledge to work his unquestionable will.
Space and time are ours to conquer, the Earth and its beasts
are ours to dominate and remake. Death will soon be defeated.
Our souls are ours to deny and kill.

Because of the unicorn's passing we can now be what we were
truly meant to be. How dare an animal withhold what was and
what was always meant for higher beings such as we?

Of course we don't believe in unicorns, they're just a stupid
fairy-tale. We are creatures of logic and reason now, no more
legends and mysteries for us, we have a world to win and we're
not going to fail!

- (C) by Sloane J. 2009

[Frostleaf]

The Joy of Being





Another ending
Another beginning
God everywhere manifesting
Nightshadows retreating
A red sun rising
Owl and bat in hiding
The still lake reflecting
Hungry trout jumping
Colorful songbirds singing
Jagged pine trees swaying
Flowers opening and blooming
Yellow grasses waving
Herds of antelope running
Keen-eyed hawks circling
Tawny coyotes stalking
Spotted deer fawns leaping
Fierce winds blowing
Plant stalks bending
Storm clouds gathering
Grazing buffalo huddling
Torrents of rain falling
Forked lighting striking
Angry thunder booming
Thirsty land drinking
Everything wet and dripping
Cloud bank now breaking
Promised rainbow forming
Shafts of sunlight beaming
Damp rocks drying
Swollen river rushing
Restless creatures stirring
Clear sky darkening
The sun now setting
Behind great mountains looming
Nightshadows returning
Millions of stars appearing
Time for hunting and killing
In the dark deepening
Sacred blood spilling
Wolf packs howling
Black panthers screaming
Full white moon glowing
Silver lake glittering
The campfire flames dancing
An old man is storytelling
To wide-eyed children smiling
While the poet goes on writing
With words hopefully befitting
The wonder of things living
And the miraculous joy of being.

- (C) by Sloane J. 2009

[woolferstar]

this is one of mine,

Let his desires collide,
with love,
only to be caged in with hatred,
while we howl with sorrow,
only to let the wings of love astonish you,
with beauty,
can we be saved with the strength of a million,
the strength of a million with one,
with victory.

[Mod Blackbolt]

i have not seen any cat poems i will look for some now =)

[Mod Blackbolt]

Darkness

It lies in all of us
waiting until we are
helpless, then it strikes.
Depression and anger
unleash this beast
it hurts us changes us.
We stop living life
become depressed
push loved ones away,
then we are swallowed.
Our whole becomes
peices, we are eaten
by the darkness it
becomes us. We are a mold
of our past self, unable to
break the shell of despair,
we have no hope, no life,
no way to get out

[agliestar]

Agliestar, is my name , killin' otha catz. Is ma game, if you mess wih me you betta be tough! Cuz' if you are nowt iz gonna get rough . i say MAN why am i typing this? I say MAN I am gonna move out west (JK). I say HI to my Uncle named Bulga. Every single day in every single way ( P.S.i love the word Vermont) i ride my trike witch is not a bike!


AgLiEsTaR- *Yum* this battery tastes good.

[Goldenpool]

This is my poem, I just made it up. It's a little corny but I hope you guys like it.
Hope

swiftly yet so bold
never losing hold
up ahead a light
shining oh so bright
hope is what he sees
stinging like a swarm of bees
in his heart
which once was so tart