The Wolf Pack

Baying at the moon

AS dark night closes upon the day
And the wolves of the forest stir
Sniffing the air and snuffling each other
They stretch their legs
Nuzzle sister and brother.
And as they move from tree to tree
They scent their path
On the ice pine sap
Then turn to the pack
With the faintest yap
And leap ahead through the forest gaps.
For a light beyond the pines is their guide
The moon, where it hangs like a queenly orb
Shines bright on a sparkling world almost blue
A light irresistible, bold and true,
Which calls all the spirits of the night.
And the wolves halloo its naked light
As the huntress moon reveals herself
And lightens the darkness
And grips the hearts
Of those who seek their kill.
Take pity on their prey tonight
Be fearful for the timid
For the moon has aroused their hunger; how
Saliva has flowed in their gullets
Their lolling tongues and killing fangs
Will taste of blood and flesh and gore
Before this moonlight night is o’er.
For the call of the wild cannot be resisted
No wolf would be sane if he desisted
It’s nature’s way to clean up the forest
To rid the place of the old and infirm
Keep all the herds pristine and well
Yes the wolf brings release
When it howls their death knell.
But be assured it’s all for the best
That the presence of wolves rejuvenates all
From the vegetation to the waterfall
Having top predators can save the day
And the year and the century from decay
Ecosystems will be renewed
And our earth could be saved by letting them kill.
So when the wolf bays at the moon in the night
Feel safe not fearful; she’s saving our plight.

Poem and painting copyright Englepip©

Wolves are fascinating creatures. They are top predators in many parts of the world and there are children’s stories designed to make us fearful of them – eg – Little Rad Riding Hood. However, I wonder have you read about the reintroduction of wolves to Yellowstone Park. here. It is incredible the difference that is being made.



THE MOON CHILD

It hangs as a ball in an azure sky
Bobbing in an ocean of blue ether,
Buoyed on pink candy-floss clouds:
And as the sun sets on the darkening 
Globe below, the all-seeing moon
Stares at the world which bore it,
And thinks that Mother Earth
Is burning like a sun, suffering
From the heat of its diurnal rival
And melting into barrenness
From the excesses of a deadly
Parasite:  Man.
And if it could cry  it would and
Drown the fires with tears of sorrow;
It would scream to eternity
Of life wasted and for its loss.
It would blow cooling breath
on the deserts and poles 
And scratch out
The infestation,
Which is killing
Its mother.






Poem and photo copyright Englepip©

When I began to write this poem, I began to write about the beauty in the sky but my feelings about the raging fires in California; encroaching deserts and warming poles are so intense I began to personify the moon and feel its loss as though we are killing its mother.

Flappers

Photo by Englepip of the Jazz collection at the American Museum near Bath, UK©

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The skirts lifted, the chests flattened

What was happening all over?

But bands swaying, dancers swivelling

That’s the way it was going.

Rhythms changing, the  steps crazy

Bodies flirting and dancing dirty

Flapper dancing was all the fashion

Back then.

 

 

via Daily Prompt: Fashionable