Wolves as Poetry

Our neighbor Dick and his dogs Wally and Chester (chockie labs) have seen six wolves within 200 or so yards of our house over the past 10 days. We think the Alberta pack  has pups back in their rendevous area in the swamp west of here– teaching  their newbies to hunt beavers. Wish they’d ask me. I’d show them two beaves  that need to disappear because they keep jamming up the little trout stream. In any event it is nice to have them around, especially since they were here long before man was.  The following poems (pomes/ Poyms/ PO-Ems) reflect wolves and creative life away from cities and a lot of people.

Life, the  Shadow Journey

The wolf walks just inside the

Tree line and does not talk out.

It knows I know it knows that

When I enter there, the rules

Of out here slough away, melt

Like ice under sun. Within

The forest there are unwritten

Unsaid, life rules. You must

Die before you understand

They are there, much less adapt,

To talk wolf to the wolf as a wolf,

To climb up to the light you seek

You must first fall down

Into dark like death so thick

There only to talk wolf to wolf

A journey few undertake

And even fewer complete.

(Alberta,  Ford Village, June 18, 2016)


Wolf, Watching

I see him walking out there

In here, his mind makes

Its own path, leaves his pack

To be alone to explore

Shadows that leave no mark,

Pass like clouds, change shape,

Confuse the man’s mind, leave

Him asking am I this or that?

For which no answer exits

Thoughts travel like shadows

Pulling up tracks as they go.

I know he knows the answer

Is here, waiting as the owl waits

To swoop earthward when light comes right.

[Alberta, Ford Village, June 18, 2016]