"wildlife" poems
Sitting in some car in a forgotten parking lot
Grey marks the skies
Lush green plants peeping in
The wildlife of concrete and paint makes the perfect background
For
Little ***** of liquid heaven falling on my windscreen
And some music to complete the scene
Each guitar line synchronises with each raindrop
Each blast of power thunder hits hard like heavy metal
But the soft clouds, the gentle ebb and flow lull me to sleep
Whispering, persuading me to dream
But I really don't want to miss this shard of time
I never want to lose little moments like these
A silver raindrop is born by landing on my car
Crash landing, rather
The bubbling pocket of mystery travels down
Swerving and slamming into other fellow pockets in crime
It's life cycle completes when it reaches the bottom
It races to it's death, unable to stop gravity's plan for it
Each drop morphs into another, making a wave
The rain weaves an intricate web of waves
All strutting their sparkly magic before me
I sense a metaphor for humanity creeping in
Millions of crescendos growing about
Too concerned with their internal politics to worry about others
But I stay focused on the beauty all around
I wonder if heaven has rainy days
If so, this must be one of them
Apr 12, 2018
Apr 12, 2018 at 12:28 PM UTC
One of my favorite animals is a giraffe.
They're so awkward and lanky,
yet despite their strange appearance
there is a a grace in there gallivant;
there is a beauty to their mien.
They don't flaunt their attributes
or covet the patterns of their wildlife peers
because they have been graced with the privilege
to indulge in the secrets whispered by the leaves
amongst the tree tops.
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 10:04 PM UTC
Set the alarm
Lock the doors
Lock the windows
Lock the shutters
Find the cricket bat – “put it by your bed”
Say goodnight to mom and dad
Although young, not naïve
I knew every night had the possibility of being my last
A routine that is now muscle memory.
Fear –
You may think
But life –
Normal for me.
Wake up
Turn off the alarm
Unlock the doors
Open the windows
Open the shutters
Put the cricket bat in the cupboard
Never being able to be left alone at home. Unwillingly dragged from store to store.
But – that’s the thing –
People don’t know the real Her,
They know the exquisite scenery, the unforgettable wildlife
They don’t know… But I do.
Because She is my home
Because being in constant fear for my life –
is normal.
Confused –
What do I tell people about Mother when they ask?
The person who raised me, taught me how to be grateful, how to ride a bike, how to love.
Do I tell them? Will I scare them?
Although hidden beneath the tyranny – I would say –
the bloodshed
the faces of malnourished children left for dead on the side of the road the poverty struck soil the corruption the greed the hunger the death the separation of class and race
Although a place feared –
Africa.
My Africa –
Whose sunshine you feel ignited in your soul
My Africa –
Whose smile is irresistibly contagious
My Africa –
Whose heart lies in the grassy terrain
The golden dunes of sand
The never-ending mountain tops
My Africa –
Who is the heart of various people
cultures
languages
All who call Her home.
She is –
Where my heart lies even if I am thousands of miles away
Where my mind wanders from day to day.
Her air, instantly calls you
Her smell, instantly smelt
Welcoming you ever so dearly –
Home.
Like all good mothers,
She is the one who can handle both the tranquil and turmoil,
the love and war.
She is my home. She is who I fear of disappointing.
My Africa –
is beautiful.
Jun 21, 2018
Jun 21, 2018 at 8:44 AM UTC
The blue Arabian sea, the towering Western Ghats
This then is Kerala the most beautiful Indian state
Lush green hill stations, lowland paddy fields
All are in Kerala between the mountains and the sea
Fourty four rivers flow so water here for all
Exotic plants in abundance beside the waterfalls
Enchanting emerald back waters put here for your delight
The days are never long enough to view each wonderous site
Kerala is called gods own country, the reasons very clear
Wildlife abounds, exotic birds and sika deer
Here you will live longer than in any other state
Fresh food in abundance and low mortality rate
Why don't you come and visit this paradise on earth
And take away the memories that you will always cherish
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 3:22 PM UTC
I love a sunburnt country,
but now the land's ablaze.
the oxygen we breathe has turned to dust
yet our request for help is denied.
I love a sunburnt country,
but there's not much left to last.
Firefighters aren't getting paid,
Neither are their bills.
yet our leader claims we're all fine
but he can afford to jet away.
The wildlife is damaged.
Koalas are losing homes.
much like the population
as the fires rip through their walls.
I love my sunburnt country,
but this has gone on too long.
while it's nice you're in hawaii Mr. Morrison,
everyone else is left to stand alone..
Dec 17, 2019
Dec 17, 2019 at 8:18 PM UTC
i fight to peel each moment
of pure stagnation
off of me
a tinnitus cacophony whines in my ears
as my dilapidated fan
keeps slow rhythm to the faucet drip
minutes drag like molasses
handcuffed to the daily lag
groundhog day
i escape into the forest
running, the breeze caresses my face
wildlife pries open my desperate eyes
a spider’s web bends and sways in the wind
fine strands of silver silk flow
soaring they meld in crescent waves
a butterfly glides gently by
befriending gusts of air
softly breathing in another tomorrow
the conductor of the symphony
with sculptor’s hands i cannot see
whispers ever graciously
life is not your enemy
drink it in and let it seep
drop your sword i’m molding thee
©2016janetaylor
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 4:58 PM UTC
Down, down pours the rain
Producing on all a jewel-like stain.
Tear drops of Angels or deep sign of love?
Thundering fury or tranquil dove?
Each tiny drop glimmers with life
Creating a river to succor wildlife.
Now soft on skin, now harsh as rock
See how they shine on leaves of hemlock.
Down, down pours the rain
Pitter-pattering down the lane.
Hush, Dear Child, and do not cry,
Sleep to Nature's lullaby.
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 11:58 AM UTC
an aging APE developed arthritis in his ankles
several BATS tasted the nectar from the plum trees
Jessica's CAT played with the ball of wool
DINGOS were seen skulking around the camp site
there are two types of ELEPHANTS the Asian and African
FERRETS are sent down rabbit warrens to flush them out
Helen saw a GIRAFFE at the wildlife reserve
I wrote a poem titled Hilary The HIPPOPOTAMUS
Who has a pet IGUANA?
Some people say my uncle is a *******
KANGAROOS have muscular tails
Obama rhymes with LLAMA
in parts of Canada MOOSE roam on the loose
a NEWT likes being in a warm environment
some OCTOPI have black dye
baby PANDAS are cute and cuddly
in Australia we have a native bush QUAIL
RACCOONS live in rocky dens
a TAPIR has a very long nose
UAKARI monkeys hang out in the Amazon jungle
if you're looking for a VOLE you'll find him in a hole
WOMBATS move in a very slow manner
an XERUS is a mighty big species of squirrel
the Nepalese have domesticated YAKS
Doctor Dolittle has spoken to a ZEBRA
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 10:54 PM UTC
RIVERS MAKES ME QUIVER
Youthful mind left wandering just feeling the wetness from yards into the curbs
Ripples running curbside over toes, forming those first streams for a meandering mind
Clouds collecting power,mists collecting,forming Drop by drop rains flowing into their reserves
High mountain lakes reflecting their passion, partitioned by beavers to make their own pond
Broken into brooks flowing faster downward into streams,cool and clear their taste like sweet liqueurs
Beauty not confined to a torrent but gifted with greenery and wildlife ,flowers that make the forests more confident
Trickles forming into cascades downward making outpourings & overflows waterfalls forced through the fissures
Gravity needs spaces we watch as it heightens then widens,making it's way through the continent quickly becoming most prominent
Admire her beauty but reap her rewards,wet bounty to feed the fields, food for fishes ,generations receive her treasures
Canoeists,kayakers or legendary steamboat captains are fond of their flowing, boys wondering where she will go ,knowing our tears of joy will flow to the sea should be our greatest compliment. R.C.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 9:19 AM UTC
The Rockies sing to us at sunrise
when crystal snow-capped peaks
chant iridescent matins to the dawn,
the dawn of a fresh new mountain day.
Luminous pastel clouds
hover across the horizon
painting the hills and valleys below
in mysterial shades of
lavendar, amber and rose.
The Rockies sing to us at daybreak
when every crest and vale
unites in raising anthems to the dawn,
The dawn of a bright new mountain morn.
Forests and fields awaken.
A bull elk grazes by an alpine lake.
An eagle soars through the morning mist
over rainbows of Indian paintbrush.
A hilltop lake spills over its rim
and cascades down the slope
etching serpentine streams in the valley below.
We can hear the mountains singing.
In every creature, ridge and flower
They bring to us their jublilant songs
of wilderness, wildlife and wonder
.
We can hear the Rockies singing.
The mountains sing forever!
June, 2009
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 3:58 PM UTC
My transcendent transition
Brought by my ****** ambition
Became my personal religion
When I gained a monk's chastity
All my pleas just came back to me
My prayers remain unanswered
Like someone dying of cancer
An inept bow-legged dancer
My skills are useless
My bites are toothless
My eyes are youthless
When my face has been strained
By the energy that was drained
On this ceaseless journey
To sate my ceaseless yearning
They don't look like the pictures they show
They only choose the photos that glow
They're so afraid of being alone
Willing to lie
To lure unsuspecting prey
And trap them in a spider web personality
But webs are useless against grander creatures
And become an annoyance
When all the wildlife
Can only see silk
And get itchy in the effected areas
In our minds we build barriers
In our hearts we grow wearier
Searching for someone to hold us tight at night
Someone that looks right in the light
Someone that helps fight all our plights
Someone to give that tranquil transition
Into that peaceful loving condition
Jul 28, 2017
Jul 28, 2017 at 4:23 AM UTC
A million bitten off breaths
Hang quietly.
I’m close enough to hear
her thudding -
A jarring noise that parts
a cloud of frothy swans.
We’ve all seen photographs
in Wildlife Books –
I’m sure you can conjure up
the moment a water bird
lances a sunlit river
with the very tip of its beak
to gobble a fish.
It’s a difficult photo to take,
It’s all over so quickly -
The fish caught,
The river moving, moving,
Still.
But here she is in front of me,
That bird,
Suspended with one
Foot in this world,
And the other
In another.
Her toes grind up the
Spotlight,
Trampling into
the moon and balancing there,
(I'm surprised the stage
is not full of chalk.)
It's not beautiful,
Not ghostly,
But all visceral meat glistening,
Fitness, strength, survival,
Like nature…
No need to take a photo,
She is a picture that my mind has
Tricked me into taking.
So perhaps that’s talent, darling..?
Or
Perhaps it’s something else, with a name I never knew.
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 4:29 PM UTC
They flock in the summer—
Sunlight and heat beckoning, even
Advertising an agreeable picnic
Or stroll.
But later, the building’s heat is what attracts—
As the wind whistles
And shrieks across the field,
Through the trees,
Over the ponds—
Not the sake for which it is named.
Yes they hibernate and hide, but—
The will to seek them out
Should never be scared off.
The weight of snow blankets
And the blinding shine of mirrored lakes,
The intensity of the clouded sun
Surely give the most wild experience.
But rejected it remains
As the fields and forests persist on,
Deep in the freeze
Near a wildlife center in January.
Sep 18, 2011
Sep 18, 2011 at 12:54 AM UTC
Daisy
There was a flower named Daisy,
I think she is a little bit crazy,
Spits pollen everywhere,
Shows her underwear,
And all the time she is lazy.
Camping
Camping is on a deserted tropical island. Camping is singing on the moon.
Camping is the wildlife around me. Camping is dancing on the sun.
Camping is on top of an icy mountain. Camping is in the middle of nowhere.
Camping is flying through the jungle. Camping is getting lost in an adventure.
Camping is a tent shivering in the cold.
Cats
Cats are black and sly. They creep down the halls without a sound.
Everything it looks at is still. Their eyes glimmer in the dark.
They prance on their prey and in seconds they are gone.
They taste like a big glomp of hair with a hint of catnip.
They fell like a sharp claws climbing in your skin.
They smell like danger. When a cat feels sad it cuddles up with me.
My personal favorite..
There once was a girl who said
"These limericks are hurting my head,"
"Your teacher says you need only to write two,
Then you can go up to bed."
Dec 2, 2012
Dec 2, 2012 at 5:43 AM UTC
The corruption spread as the sun does every day
Slowly making its way across the land
Unlike the sun, it did not go away with the day
Instead, it became more powerful
Wildlife became sick
Plant life withered away
People turned into dark, vile creatures
Nowhere was safe
Least of all the surface
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 4:34 PM UTC
Evil & crime so predictable & stale.
Stupid how arrested suspects get bail.
Convicted when their victims tell.
Prison is where some stay & are jailed.
They have to communicate by mail.
Sometimes their focus goes in another direction.
Where probation happens after correction.
Child & spousal abuse, drug use, & rehab that is no use.
History repeats
Wives & children still get beat.
Their isn't always a Superman or Batman to be your hero.
With a sword or crossbow.
Details of armed robbery , drug dealing & smuggling.
Stabbings & muggings.
On the inside homosexual love with cuddling.
Human trafficking & prostitution.
Violating amendments & constitutions.
They are how they are from how they were raised.
If their victims could speak from the grave
Or had they been saved.
They could explain & describe how their rapists & killers behaved.
Male & females do their time.
Years in custody for their crimes.
Seriousness of their offenses vary.
Some educate, get jobs, or marry.
Behind bars is where violence belongs.
To be punished for all that they did wrong.
Some from death row are now dead.
Similar to the wildlife in a zoo behind bars they get fed.
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 11:11 PM UTC
Oh, I have never looked so good
running in armor thru the woods
Adept with blade or mace
And I know a little magic
which for foes is rather tragic
(it’s a perk for my race)
Be it mountain peak or ocean swell
thru rocky hill and grassy dell
nothing slows my pace
Many Quests I need to finish
there’s Evil I must diminish
(And weapons to replace)
Every belonging I have owned
I have bartered, won or stole
Hording gold just in case
I’m constantly slashed, bashed and burned
by dragons, wildlife and Curs
with no fear on my face
Though I have skills that get me by
There are occasions that I’ve died
Thank god for the last “save”
I will keep right on playing
leveling buy quests and slaying
in my CGI escape
January 2012
Jan 29, 2012
Jan 29, 2012 at 3:18 AM UTC
Today, is an overcast, sky-filled grey, autumn day. Nevertheless, the colors are still holding out as the leaves are making their last hurrah in the parade of changing their look. Therefore, I was not bothered by the gloomy looking weather. And on my way to the health food store-- high up among the telephone poles--I spotted the sight of three parallel wires full of birds, perched side-by-side. as if connected.
I am not sure what kind of birds they were, but they lined those wires, brown and thick, like ants on a sugar stick. And they must of huddled there for warmth and security, comrades of instinct and survival. Indeed, they surely seemed fine with their electric perches, with no intent on flying off, congregating contentedly.
With too much human expansion, it seems, I surely do wonder and am at awe at the magnificence of nature, this being a small example. Birds, as fragile as they often look--they haven't a thick coat of fur to warm their feathery bodies--do not appear fit for the cold--not for a second. And many fly to the South for winter. But there they were--bird after bird after bird--just hanging out up there, as if their temporary hangout was wired and strung just for them. This surely is a common sight, and is not supposed to be a big deal , but I found it special enough to keep in mind, important enough to return home to later record in word. It is akin to me witnessing geese flying in a V-shape pattern, or hearing the melodic calling of a bird to a potential mate, of viewing a mother bird feeding her young in the bird house that I have provided outside my door. Or it reminds me of last year, on a snowy night in the Christmas season. when I was amazed by the sound of birds outside of KFC--of a bunch of sparrows that were just chirping away, arranged in a tree like living Christmas ornaments. I don't ever want to take this stuff for granted, for it becomes easy to do so in the maze of life we often have.
With just this small example, today. I am reminded of how wonderful and majestic this earth truly is. Nature surely is a feast for the eyes, as well as for nourishment for the body. For me, it is medicine for the soul, sanity for the mind, music to the ears, as well as a stimulating journey in awe and beauty in the wildlife, grand landscapes, fragrant flowers and abundant plant life. Who can say otherwise?
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 5:16 PM UTC
For love to flourish
Some ideas on life we need to punish
And for unity to feel unified
Some old philosophies should be denied
A universal charter of peace
One that imprisons any aggressor with no signs of an early release
Third world or new world, rich and poor
Eternally searching for so much more
At breaking point and primed for implosion
Standing at the towns gates and cheering totalitarianism on its arduous march into expulsion
As masses we move in uncertain terms
Living to absorb , to almost defend the disease, the genetic germs
The crowd ask questions, seek answers of clarity
Settling no more for the disgust of others impunity
Maybe the balance will tilt
And the toxic flowers of the current state of affairs begin to wilt
Global humanity free to exist and have an honest future of preservation
Not just confined to a future in some wildlife conservation
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 4:33 PM UTC
In long lasting fortitude is the fight of the astute.
A lot of effort is made towards the war of the moral.
And a race towards life is the route.
Preparing the endless fit of strength of all.
There is he who is choosing his fate.
Working hard despite all opposers’ bait.
There is he who is choosing life.
Working hard despite all opposers’ strife.
Lost in the dirt, seeking out of the ruse.
Forced towards the light, brighter and rife.
No letting up despite the refuse.
Clean is the proud, and happy, the player of the flute.
A rite of passage for all is the praise of the immortal.
War is the only dispute
Death is not fatal.
The renegade does not enter the gate.
He is stuck outside the city, and left without state.
The renegade does not know his wife.
He is stuck at heart and can’t even play a fife.
In the dirt he is and is with a lot of abuse.
He cannot escape the knife.
Cut, cutting up despite the accuse.
Reality is but the face of cute.
Subjected to falsified doctrine and the immoral.
It is callous and as rotten fruit.
Moxie exists with everyone no matter how small.
Can the one who is happy learn to hate?
Only he or she can solve this debate.
Finally the long absent sky above the Alewife.
Can’t say that I have seen such teeming wildlife...
Swimming in a sea of its Muse.
The lowly continue their sighs
But I do proudly diffuse.
.This plight of mine is hard to toot.
Exemplified by my emphasis on the astral.
With which I dress in an armoured suit.
So my enemies do not mute my oral.
and the skies do tell in high rate,
How esteemed they are on time and ne’er late.
But giving ever virtuous despite
All those dead or dying, without prospect of afterlife.
It is their way to choose:
The dark abyss of guise,
(or) The gentle river of blue
For now I do keep silent, But still I commute,
With those of higher propositions and goal,
So I do instill thyself a deeper root.
In the waterbed truly formal.
Those who truth ‘I do navigate’
and those of lies ‘I do alienate’
At a loss O’ man or mesmerize,
Work harder on thoughts than just plagiarize.
The foes of old are still and sleuth
I show them love and they in lies are baptized
Tradition is there with purpose, don’t misuse.
I see to it the wise stay wise,
For better they will strategize.
And the unwise, wisdom they will pursue.
Giving them their much needed paradise.
And the lost I will use.
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 10:53 AM UTC
i'm an empty optimistic in a world where lost souls remain
we're all threaded together by birth, given the consequences
but what are we without an upper and a even worse downer
those who survive the downers, sometimes never get back up
did you feel the connection, like our roots locked together
like we were handcuffed in familiarity, but you are as
recognizable as my own heartbeat and it seems so natural,
when you sing without the blissful harmony we used to
sing together in unison, careless and carefree, and my
heart is eroding day by day, would you still be able to swim
if i taught you when i could and would you still be able to speak
if i paid attention to you as i should but you inflict your pain back
at others, is that how our world survived with the wildlife and it's fires,
burning our only chance at safety, but i tried to extinguish the devastation
and i'm a shapeless survivor with reasons to seek, **** and destroy
in a way, does this make me the hero of the story, stripping the evil down?
if you forgave me, i would be able to forget because i'm still carrying your
world on my shoulders, and even though hearing your name makes me
sick to my stomach, my body will refuse to give in to the peer pressure
if i winded the hands of a clock, could i possibly strip your walls down still
or could i stop caring and get revenge, which could possibly be a thrill
-kra
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 10:27 PM UTC
"When you encounter a mountain lion, be vocal; however, speak calmly and do not use high pitched tones or high pitch screams"--California Dept. of Fish and Wildlife
Be vocal, but avoid high pitched tones and screams
when a mountain lion appears on your path.
Remind yourself that it’s not a dream.
If the path goes down to a flooded stream,
and bodies float by--
stay calm; avoid high pitched tones and screams.
When you go to the store and there’s no milk or cream,
as the cows are sickened from a poisoned well,
remind yourself that it’s not a dream.
If the wildfire turns your hot tub to steam,
as you run down the street to your neighbor’s car
be vocal, but avoid high pitched tones and screams.
When the weather goes to another extreme,
and mudslides cover another town,
remind yourself that it’s not a dream.
When the fisherman catches no salmon nor bream,
and there’s no more coffee, nor chocolate ice cream,
be vocal, but avoid high pitched tones and screams.
Remind yourself that it’s not a dream.
Aug 24, 2019
Aug 24, 2019 at 1:27 AM UTC
Wildlife has a way of returning to the forest once it's been burnt to the ground
The death and decay are cleansed this way
And life vindicates itself of the indignities it has suffered
It is this perfect symmetry
This cyclical harmony that nature is blessed with
Fell short, the night you burned my house down in departure
November of last year, you were crying and screaming on the sidewalk
And this November I didn't sleep a single night
The floor is littered with garbage and clothes I'll never wash again
And the shower I passed out in, let the washing machine turn the water cold to wake me up
I couldn't stand to touch the surfaces anymore
They can't ever be cleansed
I can't scrape you off the floor, or the shower
The couch, or the insides of my eyes
And the bed, where you told me to never forget
Maybe I'll crash my car again, maybe you'll come home
There's an apartment in the city I always imagined
And it's a real place, I'm sure
I'll probably never see it
With your clothes and mine on the floor
While you're making breakfast, humming and smiling absently
And I have the first cigarette of a new day
Light streams in the blinds and cuts the room in half
And I always imagined that being there
Would make me realize that it feels **** good to be alive sometimes
The winter is coming back now
I wake up uneasy in a haunted house
And last week I saw your mother
Buying groceries
She told me to take care of you, once
And she smiled sadly at me and gave a small wave
Some days it gets easier
Some days I collapse entirely
Some days I think I should burn my house down
Literally this time
I've had enough of metaphors and cliches
For a lifetime, at least
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 2:35 AM UTC
Though it is such a beautiful pristine night, puffy fluffy sky
a pelican had soaked spaghetti like limbs mangled and dangled
thrusting thyself forward to comfortably drown in wet frozen crystals
[I am a life I am blinking] Your feathers were flapping frosted and numbed
Oh I bet the water was stinging yet pleasing - 656 55 3-4 the elderly woman said
her kind soul with a phone number for SPCA wildlife rescue and rehabilitation
the pelican is near death, I divulged with envy for that wave drowning you in warmth
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 12:22 PM UTC
tinyurl-dot-com/d-m-latest-poems
That's a shortcut to my poemhunter poems.
The search my poems option helps ME find my poems.
Visit the standard webpage or the print-friendly text version.
The end of October 2013 has meant quite a few poems were added.
Some were about the Stephen Gayford wildlife prints.
They are being sold on UK TV's Shopping channels.
I visit their websites and view the images and watch the TV demos.
Since joining hellopoetry, I visited several members' blogs and websites.
I've also visited the youtube-dot-com website to see members' videos.
My Stephen Gayford blog is here: denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
I've checked Google for any websites that have used my poetry.
The images search also found lots of fantastic websites, too.
The deviantart-dot-com website features lots of fantasy art images.
They can lead poets to brand new poetry description ideas.
Just use the search site option for a desired poetry topic.
My Fantasy Art click-a-pic slideshow has some Superhero artwork,
view the wonderful galleries here: jennifersjpgs-dot-shows-dot-it
and some of my Superhero poems have been published based on these.
The Google image 'my name' search found lots of images like never before.
Regards, Denis Martindale.
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 9:01 PM UTC