steve1223 Poetry (718)

“Come gather round pups and sit down. I think that it is time that you learned the truth about Grandpapa Wolf.”

The pups eagerly sat around Mama Wolf. They all knew that something bad had happened to Grandpapa but no-one would tell them. The expressions on the pups’ faces ranged from excited to downright anxious. They all knew that whatever it was that they would learn their lives would never be the same.

“Some of you older pups might remember Grandpapa Wolf. He was a mighty fine wolf. He was a gentle wolf, bright piercing eyes, shiny fur and rippling muscles.

He was always kind and gentle and all the pups loved him. They would climb all over him and never would he get cross with them. He would play with them for hours. He would always look for the best in wolves, and yes, even humans. He would never say a bad word about them.

I must admit that the humans seemed to not worry about Grandpapa Wolf either. He never snarled at them and never took anything that belonged to them. Why, he would rather go hungry than steal a sheep from them. I think they appreciated that and also appreciated that the rabbit population was kept under control.

Grandpapa Wolf did have a hobby that was rather strange. He had found a human device that recorded sound. Soon he had worked out its function and used it for his purposes. While out ranging around he would record stories that he would later tell the pups at bed time. It is only because of this device that we know what happened to Grandpapa Wolf.”

The pups sat around Mama Wolf and from the oldest to the youngest not one sound could be heard, not one wanted to break the silence.

“One day,” Mama Wolf continued, “Grandpapa Wolf was out foraging. He had drifted further than he was used to and had arrived at the edge of a dark forest. He was about to turn around when he heard crying.

As I said before, Grandpapa Wolf was a Gentle Wolf and would not even think of hesitating if help was needed. Without further thought he entered the dark forest and made his way to the crying sound.

There he found a human child. She was about sixteen years old and wore a red cape with a hood pulled over her head. This human he had never seen before.

‘What is wrong child?’ he asked. ‘Is there any way I can help you?’

The girl continued to sob but peeked out from under her hood.

‘I am known as Grandpapa Wolf and I won’t hurt you. If you tell me what is wrong maybe I can help you.’

Between her sobs she told him that her name was Red Riding Hood and that she was on her way to her Grandmother’s cottage in the dark forest.

‘If I don’t bring her this basket she will starve and I can’t walk anymore because I sprained my ankle.’

Grandpapa Wolf decided to take the basket to her. Once she gave him directions he set off to the cottage. After about an hour’s walk he found the cottage just as Red Riding Hood had described.

He knocked on the door and introduced himself. He entered when a feeble voice bade him to come in. There in the middle of the cottage stood a big bed and in it was Red Riding Hood’s Grandmother.

‘I have brought you the basket of food so that you won’t starve.’

‘Oh thank you so much,’ said the feeble voice, ‘come sit next to me on the bed.’

Grandpapa Wolf sat down but something seemed strange.

‘Grandmother, what big youthful eyes you have.’

‘All the better to see who is so kind to me.’

‘Grandmother, what big youthful ears you have.’

‘All the better to hear the wolf who is so kind to me.’

‘Grandmother what a big youthful mouth you have.’

With that Red Riding Hood jumped out of the bed, laughed and shot Grandpapa Wolf.”

Some of the younger pups whimpered in fright and even some of the older ones wiped away a tear or two.

“Should you ever come across a girl in a red cape and hood,” continued Mama Wolf, “you had better run. She has a heart as black as the devil. I did see your Grandpapa Wolf once and I howled for hours. The indignity, the horror, he had been made into a coat and he was worn by one of the villagers.

Such a tragic end for a Gentle wolf who had never done anyone any harm. His only fault was that he was too trusting.

Remember pups, when your time comes to go out into the world, humans are not to be trusted.”

Now you know the true story of Grandpapa Wolf or how he was betrayed by Red Riding Hood.

Such a beautiful night tonight. Cold and no moonlight. The stars crisp and clear and looking like you could pluck them straight from the skies. This is the type of night when lovers stroll arm in arm and stop to stare at the stars. A perfect night for hunting.

I love to melt from shadow to shadow stalking my prey. I could walk up and kill anywhere, anytime and anyone I choose, for nothing can harm me, but that is not our way. For those of us that hunt, it is the thrill of stalking that excites us, and of course, at the end the feed.

I am Count Drako Valenjo. Many years ago I left my homeland in Romania, Transylvania to be exact, to travel to what at the time was a new colony, Australia.

It was becoming very tiresome in my homeland. Nothing can harm us but it becomes tiresome when the peasants are constantly harassing you. When they keep burning your home. I had not had a good days sleep for weeks when I decided to leave.

All this carry on because I snacked on the odd virgin or two. There are that many peasants so that a few missing is no big deal. Actually I was doing them a favour by keeping the village size down to a manageable level.

I bboked passage on an old tramp steamer. So called “sea sickness” kept me indoors, out of the sunlight. One night hunger drove me out on the deck where I found a sailor on duty. I found him to be a tasty meal. Quietly I slid him overboard and left an empty rum bottle in his place. As I hoped, they thought he got drunk and fell overboard.

The rest of the trip was uneventful, however I admit I was getting extremely hungry. We can go a long time without feeding but there is a point where hunger takes over and we loose control.

What’s this? A lonesome female standing in a doorway and no-one around. This is just too easy. Slowly I walk up to her and give her ‘the look’. She can tell that she is in the presence of an aristocrat, for she drops her eyes in submission.

I can see the vein pulsing in her throat. Slowly, carefully I pull her towards me. Meekly she tilts her head and offers her throat. As my teeth sink in the trance breaks. She tries to struggle and scream but only a gurgle escapes past her lips.

So tasty, ever so tasty. Not a virgin but good nonetheless. I drain her completely then drop her, cast her aside, for she has served her purpose. Satisfied I stroll on, enjoying the night. Ah! I love Australia, no-one here believes in vampires.

The first gong strikes
I can feel the power course through me
As each gong strikes I become stronger

Midnight is my time
It is my time to roam and stalk
Souls is what I seek

As the last gong strikes I am free
Once more to hunt
Through eternity

Shards of lightning
Thunder crashing
World rent asunder

Deep from pit
Demons howling
Spewing forth today

Dripping fangs
And ripping claws
Death by very presence

End of days
Seems it’s here
Only one to save you

Words tumbling crazily around
Setting up such a din

Begging to be set free
And on to paper fall

Serious, funny
All the same

From the Poet’s
Mind they spill

So tell me now, it’s been so long
Since last time I did see you
What is it like to where you moved
This place that you call home now

I must admit, tis often that I miss you
So many times I think of you
You always were so much more
I miss your kindness and your wisdom

So many jokes about mother-in-laws
Likened to dragons breathing fire
Not one of those applied to you
Your light shone so much brighter

The last view, a waxen look
As you lay there in your coffin
The music played as we said goodbye
And out you were carried

So I tell you now, it’s been so long
Down here we all miss you
I know one day when time is right
We’ll meet up there in heaven

Here the dead walk
All night long they roam
To them belongs the whole city
Beware my friend, stay out of sight
For to them, you will become their dinner

Like fingernails scratching across the blackboard, that is how your voice sounds to me. You have the face of an angel and soft billowy breasts, narrow waist and curvaceous hips. I try to concentrate on these, almost succeed, then you speak again.

The words come tumbling out, without meaning or substance, why they do not even make sense. The definitions of the words do not match how you use them. And that voice, like a banshee’s wail.

Such soft, full lips made for kissing. Those big blue eyes, like a mysterious lake with unknown depths. One could sink into those eyes and lose themselves for an eternity. But then that voice again, enough to wake the dead from their eternal slumber.

Those arms reaching for me, trying to hold me close. Long slim legs, legs that seem to go on forever, promising heaven at their end. Such temptation, all is on offer, all is promised. But again she speaks.

I cannot stand this, even rats would have deserted by now, taken flight to protect their sanity. I can hear an alley cat beating a hasty retreat. Apart from me, that surely was the last living thing near her.

The last thing I saw was her standing there with a puzzled look on her face as I too beat a hasty retreat.

Dear God,

I haven’t written to you since I was a little boy, as you probably know anyway, so I thought it was high time I did. You will remember that I asked for a lot of silly things, which by the way I never did get, but this time I have a different reason for writing.

I have a few questions, not just for myself but also on behalf of others. Questions with which I have struggled and I am no closer to the answer than I was before.

We were taught that you love us so much, that we are precious in your eyes, more precious than diamonds and gold. That your plan for us is unimaginable joy and your love for us so great that you gave your only begotten son so that we could have life.

Then why father, if you love us so much, did you create us so flawed. Why so twisted and broken that no matter how hard we try we consistently fail. Please don’t give me the “free will” story, for this and goes far beyond that. Deciding between ice cream flavours is free will. Deciding which car you would like to own is free will. Rape, murder, robbery and all sorts of perversions certainly is not free will.

I was told that you are all knowing, that you know everything from what was to what will be. That you even knew I was going to write this letter to you before I thought of it.

Why God? If you know everything, if you know all this beforehand, why allow this suffering. Why allow this personal torment as we try to walk your path, knowing that we will fail before we even start.

Your son

Behind this face, a fractured life
Of bits and pieces colliding
Not one makes sense on it’s own
Put together they create an illusion

A piece scattered here and there
There’s a chance you might identify
Only because it has touched your life
It gives it some semblance of meaning

Think what you will, think what you may
In the end the meaning is different
You can’t understand, nor ever you will
Unless in my shoes you’re walking

I craned my neck to see this man
The one called King of the Jews
Who does this man think he is
To claim to be son of God

Along with the crowd I jeered
And laughed to see him struggle
Down his face the blood it ran
To stain his clothes so badly

Heavy cross on shoulders rested
Such a burden for him to carry
Many stumbles, nearly falling
Whips to urge him on

Not a sound from his lips escaped
Silently he dragged it onwards
Until finally down he fell
Unable to carry it onwards

Simon of Cyrene into service pressed
The cross onto his shoulders lifted
Up the hill the procession moved
To the place called Golgotha

To the forefront of the crowd I moved
I wanted to see this man Jesus
Bit of luck might get close enough
Call him names and spit on him

Came so very close to me
Could almost reach out and touch him
Just then he turned his face to me
Deeply his eyes looked into mine

So deep he looked, into my soul
My body started to tremble
It was then I knew who He was
The Son of The God Almighty

I wanted to shout for all to hear
This is wrong, He is not just a man
He is The One sent to save us
But I knew that none would listen

There on the hill they nailed Him down
The sound so terribly sickening
Not once did He scream, or even cry out
Not even when they hoisted Him

I turned away unable to watch
As tears streamed down my face
They’re killing Him, the Son of God
This is the darkest day in history

There He hung while they mocked Him
‘Come save yourself,’ they sneered at Him
‘If King of the Jews you be.’
While they cast lots for His clothes

With a voice so loud He called out
‘It is done,’ and His Spirit passed over
Darkness suddenly fell upon the land
Earth shook and rocks splintered

So many that day cowered in fear
And wondered what had befallen
The Son of God today was crucified
I had stood there as a witness