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There’s a story not so long time ago,
And there’s this Big Bad Wolf
Hovering where he wants —
Aiming and locking his target.

His arrows do not look like scary
And most are wrapped in beauty —
In gems and in gold,
In iron and in silver.

He will eat his prey alive
But at times, he can paralyze too.
The prey doesn’t  know the schemes,
Coz he too doesn’t know he’s the prey!

The Big Bad Wolf seemed nice,
They say he’s like a sheep too.
But how foolish are the beholder of those eyes!
For he doesn’t realize even the time of his death!
Rene Arreola Apr 2023
Snakes have gone loose
In the forest of your mind,
While the sharks in the seas of your eyes
Take the bait I have carefully reeled out.

You’ve become purely animalistic;
As are your intentions.
Coincidentally, your mind has become flawed.

You and I are part of a crucial ecosystem,
The circle of life as we know it.
And it seems that you have become confused
As to who is the apex predator in this food chain.
George Krokos Jan 2022
The birds in the backyard often look there for food
and it seems they're doing so lately in a happier mood;
it was just the other day when I mowed the grass
so now they can move easily over it again and pass.
Their activity is done habitually each and every day
and watching them closely seems as if they're at play.

They scrounge on the soil with their beaks and feet
competing at times for some bite and morsel to eat.
When disturbed by a sound they fly up into any tree
away from the threat of danger they scamper and flee.
A human presence would be enough to get them going
particularly when heading in their direction knowing.

It's a bit of a delight to see them at play in their quest
doing what they all have to do to survive hunger's test.
I used to feed them some crumbs on a regular basis
which became a habit for me to them as in an oasis.
Together with water left in a plastic bowl for a drink
they'd a few things going for them one would think.

It was only after the local cats caught onto the idea
with their basic instinct, that food or game, was near.
One of them would come around and hide in the grass
crouching there patiently for the right moment to pass;
if the birds were unaware they would fly down to eat
of the crumbs left for them so their hunger could beat.

The cat seizing on the opportunity then would by surprise
spring up and race after them as food or game in its eyes.
There would be a mad scramble and loud flutter of wings
as the birds, escaping from that danger a predator brings,
would scatter and fly away as fast as they could to where
they'd be relatively safe from the clutches of death there.

Sometimes when looking out the back window I'd see
a cat roaming in the backyard in the shadows of a tree;
this would be enough warning for me to raise the alarm
and get out to try and keep those local birds from harm.
I would do this by chasing the cat away over the fence
so the area would be clear again for the birds I'd sense.
Written in December, 2020
Sonorant Jul 2021
Little lamb, lone in the brush
Without a mother’s feed.
Who is to groom the gloss
Of her delicate clothing?

Little lamb, who sings to me,
Unlettered melodies,
Why does she wag forth
These eyes of rust—
In pensive gloat ache
Sipped sinews of her throat?

Little Lamb, bleating to bleed,
Ventures frail, tender limbs
Deep within Tophet’s Vale.
Meek, she slips in buried sheets.

Little Lamb, orchid chewed to root
Bask and bathe the moon
Twixt her thighs.
Splayed upon pastures
Nourished with tears.

Wine spilled into the milk of being.
She drinks the rich grain.
Carlo C Gomez Jun 2021
his hobbies include
                          invisible girls
                     bubble wrapped
              shielding their eyes from the sun
                        up the side of his mountain
holding fast to the cable
                                  and the eventual terror of drawing
                     paper moons
                         framed a bit too
                         these out of sightlines
                                    opaque and cobwebbed
                               screening off
                       his ***** little secrets
Green twisted in bone
Moss growing on stone
The forest floor overgrown
Tree's groan and moan
A predator on its own
It makes its presence known
Its scars are clear and shown
Letting out a long howl
It continues its prowl
With a low growl
Overhead warns an owl
On this quiet night
The moon shines bright
Watching the fight
Blood shining in the light
Man Jan 2021
it was a cuckoo who flew the coup
took wing from his nest
off to push out eggs, like ***-pa
just another everyday coup d'etat

leopard leaping from his perch
pushing onward toward his prey
a small friend to no feline
trapped in a quick sand
left only to bay

you are these animals
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