To Each His Own (A Werewolf Sonnet)
The wolf calls the pack to hunt in numbers
Unbridled human cursed within the stench
A hidden beastly whisper echoed slumbers
Engulfing, all consuming inner trench
Unleashing as the pack moves on to dine
Removing elk and deer before the grief
Above the full moon's radiating shine
Configured canopy of tree and leaf
Caressing flesh, incisors gnash and rip
Reproving fur and skin as both endear
Susceptible, the carcass in each grip
The pheromones of dying, stinking fear
Of man and beast, the feral nature grunts
Alone among the stars the werewolf hunts
Blood Scent
Alpha wolf sniffs
beads of rain,
scent of earth.
Night stalker howls
at silvery moon lantern
hanging from evening
dressed in black velvet.
Sound travels
like discordant refrain
calling mates
to join in the hunt.
Children of freedom
run toward leader
like lightning flashes,
biting air
with curved teeth.
Parades of wolves
sport winter clothes
as lemon drop moon
melts on their tongues.
Stars weep, leaving path
of red misty dust,
abyss of colors in
chilled night air,
earth scars scattered
where paws have journeyed.
Traveling by blood scent
hungry eyes serenade night,
wild spirits howling
in distant winds,
running wild
to a new tomorrow.
Wolf Magic
"Was that a wolf?"
Fergus turned. "Are you afraid of wolves?"
Alan shrugged. "All children fear wolves."
"That is foolishness. The wolf is a powerful sorcerer for his clan. His cry brings the pack to meat. His is the voice that slows the footfall of the prey. But he means no harm to man. Only men mean harm to man."
That night Alan dreamed he was visited by a husky grey wolf. The wolf sat by their fire and watched him with yellow eyes.
"Teach me the wolf magic," Alan said.
"You are but a cub," said the wolf. "There are many magics in the world, and which is best for you I will not say. Travel a while and then decide."
"My father says wolf magic is strong magic."
The wolf sniffed at Fergus. "I can smell illness, but it is not for any wolf to heal. He needs the magic of the great trees." The wolf rose and ran away.
Alan woke to find his father breaking camp. He told him of his dream.
"We return home to the cave."
"But father, we have not yet hunted."
"Think you that I would worry your mother with our absence? We go to see her. Then we go to the country of great trees. We together, my son."
Alan skipped along happily. Fergus brooded. Why had the wolf come to the boy and not the man?
Mother wolf, maiden priest
The scene is set in snow laden glade
where wolves reflect in nights deep shade.
The moon hangs full and pale and rue
dark somber wolves reflect and chew,
on bones of white and red and yellow
sits each one beside its fellow,
brother, sister, mother, father, beast.
Lore and blood yield maiden priest.
Mother wolf to newborn day,
guardian of ancient way.
Sings loud the mother to the moon,
inviting death with howls croon.
We leave those wolves in yonder glade
and stretch our thought not far away,
to scene of tall and sturdy gray
mounted well by sturdy maid
with ruddy cheeks and woven braid
boots to knees and eyes that play,
bow and quiver, ears of fay
clad in furs and supple suede.
From out the night a mournful sound
Through pine forest, laments the call
with shaft nocked, fay maiden frowned
"The pack hunts close to village wall..."
Turning home her stalwart friend
in raw rough tones she grunt's
"To village wall, we carefully wend,
for tonight the wolf pack hunts."
Change again to scene of night
where young bull runs with blinding fright.
On either side, wolves hold the flank
the elk's eyes roll, from fear it drank.
The strength it found was sharp but fleeting,
soon it found its strength depleting.
It burst upon a moonlit path,
it met its end, a bloody bath.
The final scene awaits us here,
on bloody path, on moonlit weird.
The gray went rearing, maiden sneered,
she gathered reign and pulled, severe.
From shadowed depths, an elk leaped clear,
and on its flanks, the wolves appeared
A great she-wolf lunging veered,
The elk's throat ripped by teeth that shear.
Fay maiden stared but did not scare.
To move from rooted spot, unwise.
"Steady, friend do not despair,
or else not only elk here dies."
She threw both bow and quiver down,
she-wolf turned from gore and bone,
maiden held, though with a frown,
her body ridged turned to stone.
Mother Wolf, maiden priest,
returned to kin and bloody feast.
Human, fierce, had been quelled
returning back to where she dwelled.
Mother wolf, maiden priest,
blood and bone, ancient beast.
Sings loud the mother to the moon,
inviting death with howls croon.