soquiliquay Poetry (105)

They called him Plucky
He was a silly little thing
Chasing the Jennies
Left to right, right to left
Morning to night, night to morning
His stubby little tail danced and swayed
He knew this was a life of fun
Until one day the horsemen arrived
They came with whips and spurs
And they sang trail songs
And yelled loudly and frightened them all
Many burrows were captured, with the rope or chased
But he dodged them quickly
And came face to face
He balked and snorted
Stomped and brayed
And with a huff and a puff
He was gone...gone away

Encroaching shadows of a large powerful transparent demonic being creeps into day light.

Eyes burn a fearsome shade of red, muscles taut and bulging.

Paws heavily push into the snow leaving deep depressions of it`s weight of reality, as it stands 7 feet at the shoulder.

Hot snorting breaths flying with increased force as each dark step is taken into the light.

Ivory teeth glistening off the shine of the sun,

dripping blood that pierces the pure white snow,

and spreads like a wild fire consuming all in its path.

Low pitched growls from deep within the throat, sends shocking fear down ones spine upon hearing it.

It seems indestructible, with its look of complete malice.

But if you pay attention, and stay out of the tightened grip of its eyes,

you can find its weakness and revel in it.

Just a faint little whisper
Just a tiny little cry
Of a body that has been gone for years
But the spirit never dies

It is the year 2001, the year we said we`d change.
I didn`t think that change would be toward evil.
Because we dread our own end
we kill others in our wake.
We tread upon the sacred ground
of the Wolf Spirit and his clan.
Now they no longer live here.
They no longer live anywhere.

In our means of empowerment
we take those lives we have no permission to
to empower our egos.
And now the word of Wolf is just a legend
A myth, a folklore.

Around the campfire is 2010,
they tell of the wolf,
who may or may not have existed.
We see the fascination in the eyes of our kids
and when they ask if wolves were real
we have to lie and say `no`.
Then the question of where did the dog come from arises.
Now we can`t hide behind our failure
Now we say `yes` that the wolf did exist.
It was us, it was us!!
Who took them away.

Now our kids` cold stares burn through our souls
to leave an everlasting mistrust that we ourselves
were to blame.

Darkness don`t enshroud me
his whisper is here


if you surround me
his whisper becomes a witch haired banshee`s scream
that only vanishes in daylight

Why must you be stronger than light
I`m afraid of what else you may bring with you
Will it be him?

Please give me the strength to stand up
and fight back with fangs bared and sharpened claws
For darkness will not protect me

I want no one to fight my battles but me
But maybe some emotional armor if it can be spared

Darkness don`t leave me
Your arms are insured safety

I`m sorry to contradict you but
you`re like a two faced friend
or double edged sword
You conceal the weak
And you exploit their weaknesses

I`d rather you conceal me
when I fear that the pain inflicting man is near

All the universe seeks balance.

Fluids mix until floating in homeostasis.
Energy flows until locked in polarity.
Molecules receive covalent bonds.

All the universe seeks balance.

Prey struggles in the spider`s web.
Water tumbles down rock walls,
flowing toward its own level.

All the universe seeks balance.

Worlds collide with violent intent.
Air conspires with fire to
destroy all in its path.

All the universe seeks balance,
and has not found it yet.

Though in places changeable and ever moving
the universe offers glimpses of
what that balance might look like,
until swept away by the agents of change.

I found a hummingbird nest on the ground this morning,
blown from the branches by last night`s wind.
Come spring, the bird will assess this universe and
rebuild in a place where place and nest balance -- for a time.

The beginning of an era

A question of freedom

Those who seek to do well and survive

Are now being put to the test and ordered to do wrong

And those who seek to do harm and survive

Are now being slapped on the wrist and sent on their way to continue doing harm.

We`re being told that we can`t do this, we can`t do that

Because of someone else`s mistakes and misfortunes

First, goes the reputable breeders of so many kinds of animals

Next, the breed clubs, and national organizations

What`s next? No freedom to grow a garden, build a home, or have a child?

Will our next generations become lost to the mainstream of public rules and regulations

Acting like robots stuck on autopilot?

Why are our "great leaders" so afraid of individuality?

Individuals keep things alive and interesting.

If individuality is outlawed...

We`d have no media or news

Thousands or millions of people would be out of a job because someone somewhere told them they can`t do what they feel passionate about.

Are these so called leaders afraid to reach out, touch somebody, and support something that grows, learns, and teaches?

Something our people have been doing since the dawn of time.

Our freedom should be just that.

Free.

The beatings continued, on into the night

Stones and bricks

sticks and bats

Laughter rides on the dead hearts` anger

Like the Reaper, they take without remorse

Slaying innocence, murdering love

They steal years of memories, embraces, and treats

They erase the history, between one lover and another

What do they feel when they beat down the innocent?

Pride, justice, honor, or joy?

Or do they feel the guilt and pain that can attack them from inside

When they`re caught, in their heinous crime, the souls follow, to haunt their demons.

It takes years to get through the hardships they gave, never replaceable.

The loving, the compassionate, the teacher, the taught.

And that slanderous voice as they were escorted away, still leaves singes and burns on the hearts of those who remain.

"They were just animals."

Her dark body unseen in the dark night, red eyes burning with a wild intensity,
the only indication of there being something out there.

The great wind blows fiercely, as if trying to pull out the full moon and let all others know of her presence,
but the moon remains hidden, casting erie shadows among the trees.

Her large paws molding into the ground leaving large indentations in the snow.

Her breath steams into the air, freezing into tiny droplets that hit the ground noiselessly.

No sound emits from her snarled lips, so she can go about the forest without being heard or seen.

Her tail sways back and forth gently.

She has no destination, and came from nowhere.

A piercing cry echoes the mesa
A young stallion gallops in
The old stallion looks up
at his young foe
Unaware that this one has muscle
has brawn, and has might
He turns and faces this young one
He whinnies a wild cry
His harem of old and young mares alike, watch
Each secretly knowing their leader can defeat him
But each secretly afraid to loose him
The young one runs full speed at the old one
They clash, their mighty hooves battering against each other
Tails wildly flashing and dancing
Their eyes white and livid with fear and anger
A sharp blow from the old one
into the young fragile body of the other
and down he falls pitifully
The old one stands
His cries echo the mountainside
His mares return the cry
The old one
Is not weaker
He is wiser

Into the woods I traveled, the sunlight danced through the canopy
leaving its scent on the forest floor.

All around me animals worked hard at survival of the fittest.

Ants scurried home carrying large leaves that they had cut from trees.

Deer foraged in the clearing, some fought for the right to be called the king of the forest.

Bears ate the wild berries and fished the streams.

Mice stored their grains under large rocks and stumps.

Birds gathered twigs and grass to make their nests.

The serenity of the forest suddenly changed, when a loud crack echoed through the air.

The mournful cry of coyote send everyone running, and hiding.

As quickly as the hustle and bustle had arrived, it had soon ceased, leaving me standing alone on the desolate ground.

Instinct took me into the deep woods.

The shadows enshrouded everything, and yet I could distinctly see the bright red blood scattered upon the forest floor.

My eyes quivered, and swept to its womb.

Lying still, motionless on a bed of moss, was the wolf.

His ivory and grey coat now drenched in blood.

The sacred ways of the wolf, the center of their being, had been left gaping open by man.

The inevitable end of a competition, thousands of years old, fought between brothers.

Sweet Sylvia in the morning
dew clinging to every inch of her soft plush fur.

Her eyes of amber,
calming and iridescent showing what appears to be...no fear.

Sweet Sylvia, her coat like that of pure snow
before the first touch of daylight reaches its tendrils down to thicken the softly set snow.

Sweet Sylvia`s gentle features playing with my emotions.

Tense as I am, not at all used to these beings being this close;
close so that her breath and mine entwine.

I can see her sinewy muscles always between the position of moving forward,
or to the side to better define the human that stands before her.

Sweet Sylvia`s entrusting eyes help me overcome the fear of her power;
power of the soul I never realized she had.

Sweet Sylvia, Sweet.

My daughter warned me, not to splash my scent on the ferns

as she spoke from personal experience

and as if I would need to know that

before the day was through.


The fern doesn`t like it, she said

and the fern splashes back.