The cries of wolves hushed by a winters grind
On cold nights when the air is bitter cold
The covering snow makes food hard to find

Mother and cubs caught natures confined
As its wet blanket covers ground twofold
The cries of wolves hushed by a winters grind

This season events leave them in a bind
With the many blizzards the days grow old
The covering snow makes food hard to find

Low visuals, stormy days, left snow-blind
Since times beginning of which is age-old
The cries of wolves hushed by a winters grind

As hunters search for them winters unkind
Their numbers not as before, as told
The covering snow makes food hard to find

Times uncertainties, leads with this blindfold
Their nonstop fight goes on, futures foretold
The cries of wolves hushed by a winters grind
The covering snow makes food hard to find!

Whose words these are I think I know.
He's on another website, though;
He will not see me shopping here
To snitch his words for me to show.

My readership must think it queer;
I post ten thousand poems a year.
Between the copies, pastes and likes
I've barely time to chug a beer.

They give their addled heads a shake
And ask if there is some mistake.
The others call me out, a creep.
Who cares? They're just a bunch of flakes.

Their poems are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have villanelles to sneak,
And lines to own before I sleep,
And lines to own before I sleep.

He waited patiently -- The moonless night
Seemed restless, winds blew lightly 'cross the clear
Unburdened skies, the stars all glimm'ring bright
And o'er the glassy seas he sensed her fear
She moved with grace and noble elegance
A lady dressed resplendent in attire
Befitting for her maiden dalliance
Onwards she came and driven by desire
He watched and waited, hidden from her view
As she came near, he brushed against her face
And in that moment suddenly she knew
Her fate was sealed within his cold embrace
        She shivered as she felt his icy kiss
        And swooning she was lost to the abyss

Upon my life, upon my soul,
On everything that I hold dear,
For love of thee, my only goal,
To keep thee from a life austere

I swear to love, and love thee whole,
I swear to hold and keep thee near,
To guide thy hand as we two stroll
And keep thee safe from living fear

I cannot hope, but hope to see,
And keep thee safe in wedded bliss;
To make our vows in sanctity,
Upon the edge of loves abyss

Thy love, my love, gifted to me
When all the world has gone amiss,
Our pledge unto our family,
We seal it with a loving kiss.

One Monday morning let my lover lie
in warmth and comfort of the tousled bed;
the busy bustling world shall pass her by.

Sunny and insistent morning sky
is keeping covers pulled about her head.
One Monday morning let my lover lie.

A sleepy snuggle, smooch upon closed eye,
absolutely nothing need be said.
The busy bustling world shall pass her by.

The toaster ready, coffee standing by
to clear her mind and wash down breakfast bread.
One Monday morning let my lover lie.

There'll come a day when she won't have to try
and keep up with the worker-drones. Instead,
the busy bustling world shall pass her by.

Today, the radio's insistent cry
called her to rise and shower; off she sped.
One Monday morning, let my lover lie;
the busy bustling world shall pass her by.

The poet's plight, to write
an ode, replete with sweet
nothings, that might delight
a lover's feet to meet
at night; the promised sight,
so neat and so complete!

A playful beat, complete
with airs so bright, I write
for her; how right! The sight
of her a treat, so sweet
and so much heat! We meet,
dancing tight, such delight!

A kite may know delight
above the street, complete
with string and sheet that meet
the wind; tonight I'd write
a suite of kites! My sweet,
quite lovely is thy sight!

Oh wistful wight, to sight
thy sprite, is sheer delight!
I cannot eat, my sweet,
tongue tied to bleat! Complete
outright the song I write,
the feat of how we meet!

We turn to greet, and meet
in flight, the wondrous sight
of doves! "Alight!" I write,
and they ignite! Delight
fades with their tweet; complete
shock! UNDO! DELETE! Sweet!

How fleet our tale my sweet!
Our low-flung ***** must meet
defeat, our tune complete!
I'll recite oft' thy sight,
and cite oft' thy delight,
in ev'ry height i write!

His letters scatter loose upon the ground,
She clenches fists despite arthritic hands
that rail against the words she never found.
To spite the golden noose of tarnished bands,
she douses tomes and quick lets loose a flame.
A tendril's curling wisp of past desire
snakes toward the sky. Still the ash of blame
survives the ceremony's futile pyre.
What fire ever burns away the dross
or dulls the tempered edges of we're done?
Yet embers coax; they succor heat not lost
to years they burned together each alone.
The groan of ache sounds low within her hips.
One letter saved, pressed tightly to her lips.

Thy mother's bounty bundled in thy swaddling
Took up the cry to capture mine own craft,
And taking arms, thou plundered of my coddling;
Enslaved, I toil to serve upon thy raft.
Thy word is law, thy captaincy commanding,
I sleep not lest I miss my master's call;
Thy will is served, thy drudgery demanding,
Through foul and fair I weather all thy squall.
Thy institution has me fear the looming
Of pirate vessels, renowned for their shrift,
Majestic sails billowed in handsome pluming,
Looting thy spoils and setting me adrift.
Surrendered now unto thy vasty sea,
I dread the day thy heart will mutiny.

Wouldst thou endure to fade like autumn gold,
To see thy treasures dulled in fading light,
To watch alone thy tarnished days unfold,
And pass a pauper into worthless night?
Who then will bring a wreath unto thy rest,
And keep thy garden flowered, as is thy wont?
The barren cross that lays above thy breast
Would bear thy name, yet bring to thee affront.
But if thou takes a servant to thy cause,
To tend thy garden and to do thy deeds,
And he would gift a son with no remorse
To tend to thee when his own strength accedes:
Thy treasure trove reflected in his gleaming
Would bring thee joy as thou is ever dreaming.

Beneath the covers, secrets can be found,
A lovers' tryst, a war-torn diary;
Days shared between the sheets can't be unwound.

All tragedy begins on common ground,
An 'X' where treasure hunters dig with glee
Beneath the covers; secrets can be found,

And feeling backwards from the fresh dug mound,
Each wrinkled line forgoes the mystery;
Days shared between the sheets can't be unwound.

The scented trail is hunted by the hound
Back to the lair; amidst the shrubbery,
Beneath the covers, secrets can be found.

From tragic end, to start, the tales abound,
Unveiling footnotes set in history;
Days shared between the sheets can't be unwound.

From crater can be plotted course unbound,
To scribe the book of life's trajectory;
Beneath the covers, secrets can be found,
Yet days between the sheets can't be unwound.

Deep in the chalk of gloaming flame,
The tawn and pale, of moan and loon,
Where under leaves of forest shades,
The crescent rails of the riding moon,
Here is when the quick blood running
Drains with shear seepings and looks,
With eyes agape, small game stunned
Over pines and green hemlock wood,
The ferryman wings and clawing tears,                                                                
Whose silent strike and low red raking
Blasts unto an indifferent lane of peers,
This is the house of apparition's name,
A mages fugue, muffled muses reprise;
The **** song which creeps as sun dies.