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 Angliški eilėraščiai apie vilkus

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Faira's wolfyy
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RašytiTemos pavadinimas: Angliški eilėraščiai apie vilkus   Tr. 24 08 2011 - 15:14

Very Happy Poems and poetry for wolf
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RašytiTemos pavadinimas: Re: Angliški eilėraščiai apie vilkus   Tr. 24 08 2011 - 15:25

(padejo su nuoroda admin) http://users.ap.net/~chenae/wolfpoem.html
Yellow Eyes
Joan L. Van Vels

We've roamed the wild country
My beautiful yellow eyes,
Side by side we've hunted
Shadows dancing on northern skies.

There have been times of plenty
We were content and serene,
Peacefully sleeping
Dangers few and far between.

We've also known much hunger
Ribs protruding from each side,
Mournfully we howled
When our starving cubs had died.

And then there was our first winter
Romping thru the glistening snow,
Tasting each crystal snowflake
Falling gently to and fro.

Ah my dear, sweet yellow eyes
I've known no greater love,
Without you, I am nothing
Our wild souls are one.

And now you lay there dying
Steel jaws upon your frame,
Life's blood slowly seeping
I whimper your sweet name.

Helpless, I watch you struggle
Chest heaving with labored breath,
Steel jaws clenching tighter
Winds whisper the song of death.

The blood has now stopped flowing
I know the time is near,
And you will forever leave me
My love, my life, my dear.

And now my world is silent
Your struggles now have ceased,
I lay my head upon you
And know you are at peace.

Perhaps your soul has lifted
To skies where eagles soar,
And there you'll greet your brothers
To run with them forever more.

And someday I shall find you
In the heaven's so far above,
And when our wild soul's unite
There'll be no greater love.
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RašytiTemos pavadinimas: Re: Angliški eilėraščiai apie vilkus   Tr. 24 08 2011 - 15:32

iš ten pat kur buvo ir pirmas eilėraštis

Amber Eyes
Rebecca Dupuis


With amber eyes
he watches.
Over his pack,
his family.
Strong together
as they hunt
for survival.

With angry eyes
he sees.
Fences across land,
men with guns,
and a thrill.
He only kills
to survive.

With sad eyes
he looks.
At sharp traps,
the soft furs
of his pups.
They didn't run
to survive.

So he asks,
why did he
survive?
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RašytiTemos pavadinimas: Re: Angliški eilėraščiai apie vilkus   Tr. 24 08 2011 - 15:32

iš ten kur ir pirmas

Silent Paws
Gerri K. McCann



Silent paws trotting
on a well beaten trail,
alone in the wilderness,
so young and so frail.

Little yips go unanswered,
the moon is now his guide,
looking for ones just like him,
or have all of them just died?

He sniffs the dampened ground
and senses man everywhere,
the silence is deafening
no howls in the air.

Oh why did he venture
so far from his den,
while his pack fell silent
at the hands of men?

His stomach is growling
but the hunger he’ll endure,
his pack family is out there
it’s their blood he smells for sure.

He stops in his tracks
and raises his head up high,
the terror overwhelms him
as he lets out another cry.

But still there’s no answer
he can’t understand why,
he’ll follow their trail
or he surely will die.

For days now he’s traveled
his spirit and body gone weak,
he lies down in white clover
no more energy left to speak.

Soon the soul hovers
over this tiny, frail pup,
whose future now will be guarded
as his soul travels up.

What right does man have
to take life from a living thing,
that has no way to voice its defense
against a human being?

The wolf is a symbol,
a brother, a friend.
it’s time now for action
before his existence comes to an end.



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RašytiTemos pavadinimas: Re: Angliški eilėraščiai apie vilkus   Tr. 24 08 2011 - 15:33

The Cry
Karen Evans



He stands alone at the top of the hill
And sings his mournful cry,
His mate and cubs are missing
He's not certain why.

He had been out hunting
Was gone for only a day,
And hurried back with empty jaws
So scarce now was their prey.

He wasn't gone long
Eager to get home,
But the den was cold and empty
And he sensed something was wrong.

The smell of man was everywhere
With footprints in the dirt,
And blood shed from his family
He knew they had been hurt.

He sat and waited day by day
With hopes they would return,
There wasn't much he could do
Except quietly sit and yearn.

Why would man come all this way
To hunt and shoot them down,
To interrupt their quiet lives
When no harm had been done?

Their territory plainly marked
And not once did they stray,
For they would rather starve to death
Than to get in man's way.

The smell of chickens, cows and sheep
Were so tempting at times,
But instincts warned not to hunt them
Or they would lose their lives.

And so they lived a quiet life
Existing on small game,
Careful it was only wildlife
And nothing man had tamed.

So he could find no reason
For the blood shed on that day,
So peacefully they lived here
So far out of man's way.

Maybe they'd be coming back
His cubbies and his mate,
Wolves are mated once for life
So he would sit and wait.

That was many moons ago
And they have not come back,
But he will not stop hoping
For the reunion of his pack.

He now knows men are murderers
But still does not know why,
And every night he climbs his hill
And sings his mournful cry.
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RašytiTemos pavadinimas: Re: Angliški eilėraščiai apie vilkus   Pen. 26 08 2011 - 15:50

Poem Number 167

The Last Wolf
Mary TallMountain

The last wolf hurried toward me
through the ruined city
and I heard his baying echoes
down the steep smashed warrens
of Montgomery Street and past
the ruby-crowned highrises
left standing
their lighted elevators useless

Passing the flicking red and green
of traffic signals
baying his way eastward
in the mystery of his wild loping gait
closer the sounds in the deadly night
through clutter and rubble of quiet blocks
I hear his voice ascending the hill
and at last his low whine as he came
floor by empty floor to the room
where I sat
in my narrow bed looking west, waiting
I heard him snuffle at the door and
I watched

He trotted across the floor
he laid his long gray muzzle
on the spare white spread
and his eyes burned yellow
his small dotted eyebrows quivered

Yes, I said.
I know what they have done.

from Light on a Tent Wall, 1990
University of California, Los Angeles, CA
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RašytiTemos pavadinimas: Re: Angliški eilėraščiai apie vilkus   Pen. 26 08 2011 - 15:51

Lone white wolf

Lone white wolf
Limps through the woodland snow

Behind his trail
The last lingering threads of twilight fade.

Across the frozen lake
The rising moon is a majestic mandarin dome.

In his ears
The silver velvet of the river

In his jaws
The red white rabbit

In his eyes

And in his soul

The moon.
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RašytiTemos pavadinimas: Re: Angliški eilėraščiai apie vilkus   Pen. 26 08 2011 - 15:52

The Good Gray Wolf
by Martha Collins

Wanted that red, wanted everything tucked inside
that red, that body, it seemed, turned inside out,
that walking flower, petals furled, leaved
by the trees by the forest path, the yellow basket
marking the center--

wanted to raise that rose
petal skin to my gray face, barely to brush
that warmth with my cold nose, but I knew she'd cry
for mercy, help, the mother who'd filled the basket
that morning, Wolf, she'd cry, Wolf, and she'd
be right, why should she try to see beyond
the fur, the teeth, the cartoon tongue wet
with anticipation?

And so I hid behind
a tree as she passed on the path, then ran, as you know,
to her grandmother's house, but not as they say, I knocked
and when she answered I asked politely for her
advice. And then, I swear, she offered me tea,
her bonnet, an extra gown, she gave me more
than advice, she tucked me into a readied bed,
she smoothed my rough fur, I felt light
as a flower, myself, stamened and stemmed in her
sweet sheets.

Not ate her, you see, but rather became
her, flannel chest for the red head, hood
that hid the pearl that when I touched it flushed
and shone. What big eyes! and she opened the cape,
tongue, mouth to her mouth, and opened everything,
I crooned, crawling inside, wolf to flower,
gray to rose, grandmother into child
again, howl to whisper, dagger to cloak,
my mother father animal arms, disarmed
by love, were all she ever dreamed of.
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Dakota Wolf
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RašytiTemos pavadinimas: Re: Angliški eilėraščiai apie vilkus   Pen. 26 08 2011 - 15:54

Journey To Freedom
Linda Xavier

For Debra -
In memory of Jena, Sierra, Blue & Lobo

It's been said about dogs
Regardless of breed,
Once blood has been drawn
There's always a need.
One dog all alone
Is not likely to kill,
But, add one to another
And the chance becomes real.

By picking and choosing
One trait for another,
Mankind rejected
The gifts from our mother.
All purity was lost
In the search for perfection,
New breeds have been named
The rest face rejection.

A dog, so they say
Is the best friend man's got,
They live to love
And are easily taught.
He's a tracker, a pointer
A guard for your door,
When it seems he's given all he's got
He'll give a little more.

For Jena and Lobo
Sierra and Blue,
The call of the wild
Was not something new.
A life of confinement
Being chained to a tree,
Or freedom in death
With true dignity.

The time we shared will always
Be a treasure meant to keep,
A field of brilliant flowers
Growing wild for us to reap.
We will listen for your mournful song
When the wind blows in the night,
With love we will remember you...
Go softly toward the light.

Goodbye good friends, safe journey.
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RašytiTemos pavadinimas: Re: Angliški eilėraščiai apie vilkus   Pen. 26 08 2011 - 15:57

Call of the Wild



He's been worshiped
And he's been feared,
He's been pushed from state
to state thru the years.
But now we know him
Now we understand,
The fragile balance
Between nature and man.

He's the call of the wild
with a spirit strong and true,
And each and every child
Should have the chance
To listen to the call of the wild.

Brother to brother
Father to son,
Have told the stories
Of this nobile one.
Proud as an eagle
And free as the wind,
And you can hear him
If you only listen.

You'll hear the call of the wild
With a spirit strong and true,
And each and every child
Should have the chance
To listen to the call of the wild.

Please let them hear
The call of the wild.

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RašytiTemos pavadinimas: Re: Angliški eilėraščiai apie vilkus   Pen. 3 08 2012 - 14:23



Wolf


by: Isaac McLellan (1806-1899)





In winter, when the snows lie deep
In shapeless hillock, drifted heap;
When thick the hollow vales they fill,
And woods are trackless on the hill,
The wild wolves, famish'd, grim and gaunt,
Forsake their rocky mountain-haunt,
When frozen Nature's hand denies
The food in summer it supplies.
Forc'd from their coverts, far they prowl
With gnashing teeth and dismal howl,
And, hid all day in darksome den,
At night roam round the haunts of men.
By cattle-fold or shelter'd shed
Where bleating sheep are hous'd and fed,
When all the farmer's household sleeps,
And watch-dog to the fireside creeps,
These fierce marauders gather round;
They scent the air, they sniff the ground,
Then with a famish'd onset break
Thro' wattled hedge and sheepfold stake,
Rending with their demoniac crew
The fleecy dam, the bleating ewe.






The farmer at the break of day
Looks on the ravage with dismay--
The precious flock, complete no more;
The snowy sheep-yard, red with gore!
From farm to farmhouse spreads the tale,
From upland hut to peopled vale;
All arm, the "wolf drive" to prepare,
A hunt that all for leagues must share.
Some from the dusty rafters take
Their rusty guns of ancient make;
And some, late soldiers of the war,
The rifles that have slain so far;
The small boys birding-pieces wield,
Impatient for the hunting-field.






Forth then exultingly they pour
For circuit of ten leagues or more;
Their captains on their coursers borne,
Arm'd with the trumpet and the horn;
All wading o'er the snow-heap'd ground,
All to some common centre bound,
Marching with blast of horns and shout,
To drive the hunted wolves in rout.






Unharm'd the red deer boundeth by;
Scathless the wild-cats from the bough
Gaze on the rushing crowd below;
The coon from hollow of the tree
Looks down, amaz'd the coil to see.
'Tis known in tangled-hazel swamp
The wolves have made their winter camp;
And here, vociferous and loud,
Concentrates th' avenging crowd,
Engirdling as with iron ring
The wolves that to their covert cling.






At summons of the leader press
Thro' briery, vine-strung wilderness,
A chosen band, with horn and cry
To fright the victims till they fly;
Who, mad with terror, seek to gain
Some outlet of escape in vain;
For everywhere a foeman stands
To slaughter them with bloody hands;
And soon is soak'd the spotless snow
With crimson blood from wounds that flow.






____________________________________________________

WOLF IS THE BEST OF ALL BEASTS OF EARTH !!!
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RašytiTemos pavadinimas: Re: Angliški eilėraščiai apie vilkus   Pen. 3 08 2012 - 14:25

The Wolf Cry

by: Lew Sarett

The Arctic moon hangs overhead;
The wide white silence lies below.
A starveling pine stands lone and gaunt,
Black-penciled on the snow.


Weird as the moan of sobbing winds,
A lone long call floats up from the trail;
And the naked soul of the frozen North
Trembles in that wail.

____________________________________________________

WOLF IS THE BEST OF ALL BEASTS OF EARTH !!!
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