J.B. LeBuert

J.B. LeBuert Poems

Dawn had approached and it slinked and slithered about.
It smelled the strong odors with its pointed short snout.
It knew how to hunt, creeping down and staying low,
The saliva began to secrete and to flow.

Shewolf did prefer to stalk in the twilight hour;
She'd drag some back to the lair, for all to devour,
It was matter of choice, not an obsession.
I viewed with my camera, that's my confession.

The posse of twenty was still gone on the hunt.
The sixteen wolves were fleeing from the hunter's front.
The trackers and hunters had supplies that would last.
It was raining hard, and the trail was fading fast.

They had driven off only two miners of gold.
Their attack had worked and was considered quite bold.
The gossip had spread and now more miners came armed.
It would be harder to live now, men had been harmed.

They're all together again after a long hunt.
The wolf pups never gave up, not even the runt.
This is the first time that their mother did give in.
She's accepted their presence, let the hunt begin.

Before the floods came, Shewolf abandoned her brood.
She did it to survive, this showed She was quite shrewd.
They had learned what they needed; now they were alone.
They stayed put when She left, they were now on their own.

The rain came in torrents as the wet monsoon raged.
The Shewolf pups headed south, that’s what they had gauged;
Drenched to the bone, with a raging river to ford;
They now wanted to cross, without losing their hoard.

If only the Shewolves could live in lasting peace.
The greed of the humans and their lust never cease.
The gold fever and need for more money won't stop.
It would be magic if the wolves came out on top.

The war between the miners and Shewolves went on.
Both sides raged on, determined the other be gone.
The three Shewolves were hunted, and sought refuge now.
They loved their homeland, and hated now to kowtow.

The miners liked fun so they hired an artist.
She had great talent and the guile of the smartest.
She brought a small troupe to help with risqué stage plays.
They cheered this fair woman, she set their hearts ablaze.

The return south went quickly and was now complete.
The village was near; the pack knew well, where to eat.
The miners weren't afraid, because they saw no threat.
The gold was so plentiful that they didn't fret.

The humans were encroaching on their hunting ground.
They'd have to send a dire message, which would be found.
They didn't want to fight or start a deadly war.
They were only three Shewolves, but were used to gore.

A country so far away
And for this we will pay
They don't want a democracy
They'd rather have a theocracy

Several years after the Black Death plague had arrived,
The Shewolves had not only survived, but they thrived.
Those who came to check on the village also died.
This ended the gold rush, it had been cast aside.

As boys do play out in the rain
And never mind the wet
Their mother's worry of the chance
The colds that they might get

The villagers were up in arms again with dread.
After burying the feisty artist, some said,
that it's about time, every damn wolf should be dead.
They vowed to slaughter all the wolves, before they spread.

The immense cave they had found was better than most.
Each Shewolf had her own comfy chamber to host.
This year the snow came south to this forsaken land.
Hewolf was anxious and tense, but still in command.

The pack was growing stronger with each passing day,
They wanted their mother, but continued to play.
The time had now come for them to renew their hunt.
It wasn't love; it was inner drive, not a stunt.

Today she came at the break of Dawn,
Unlike other days when she came at Dusk.

The arduous trek was now over for this year.
The old den was rehabbed and now brought some good cheer.
The three snuggled more now, they were happy and dry.
A cave was better than sleeping under the sky.

J.B. LeBuert Biography

Poet, Author, Metallurgical Engineer, Consulting Engineering CEO, Motorhome Enthusiast, and so much more. Google LeBuert for more info. OR https: //sites.google.com/site/lebuertslayover/)

The Best Poem Of J.B. LeBuert

(01) Serious Stuff

Dawn had approached and it slinked and slithered about.
It smelled the strong odors with its pointed short snout.
It knew how to hunt, creeping down and staying low,
The saliva began to secrete and to flow.

Her eyes were flickering, and skin pulsing with sweat,
Nothing would survive, anything that she now met.
It crouched down on the tree bough, just ready to pounce,
As big as an elephant, or light as an ounce.

Her teeth were shining brightly in the low moonlight,
It moved with grace and ease, never felt any fright.
Hair bristling with the sheer excitement of the kill,
It could bend all, to its overpowering will.

The aroma of death would hang in the night air.
All of nature’s beasts now became subtly aware,
The mist and the fog that night could easily hide,
The lone Shewolf was alive, and ready to ride.

The building anger at the very last missed kill,
Would not relent, She was really feeling the thrill,
The excitement and thrill grew in the angry beast.
She quickly leapt from the large oak, ready to feast.

The big striped tiger was naturally caught off guard.
Shewolf swiftly attacked with her sharp claws set hard.
The male tiger didn’t have time to take a glance.
His death came quickly, and not by any mere chance.

Before the morning broke, the tiger was devoured.
Shewolf would stalk again, she wasn't a coward.
Just bones were left there, on the bloody forest floor.
Shewolf must eat again, She was hungry for more.

The night played out, and she had killed more than her fill.
The pups needed nourishment, but they couldn’t kill.
Now She was back to the lair, to feed her small brood;
She fed them all with her kill, this lightened the mood.

Life would continue daily like this for a while.
The bones laid there silent, in a humongous pile
The furry little varmints couldn’t get enough.
This continuing killing was Serious Stuff.

J.B. LeBuert Comments

Adeline Foster 17 April 2014

Thank you for all the glowing comments, could give me a size larger hat. Have you read my - An Acutely Obtuse Pythagorean Lyric - I didn't only teach poetry but am now retired. I know, you guessed. Adeline

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