The Hunt

The Hunt


A flash of silver,

A glimmer of gold,

A low growl,

In the midst of the cold.


The smell of the hunt,

The howl of victory,

The life-giving flesh,

The prey’s whereabouts no longer a mystery.



The long trek up the mountains,

The warmth of the cave,

The nuzzling and licking,

The feeling of having nothing to crave.


At the spine-shivering chorus of the pack’s howls,

The moon seems to jump with fright,

Then the night turns quiet again,

This is the thrill of a wolf’s hunt.



Tori Bannister Aged 11

The Cat And The Mouse

The Cat And The Mouse


Two sets of paws on the floor,

One predator,

And one prey…

The chase between life and death,

Has begun.

One increases their pace,

It’s tiny heartbeat quickens…

The other proud and fierce,

Over-confident in their stealth…

The smaller runs faster than ever,

The larger without a care.

And then…!!!!!

The quarry scurries into its hole,

The hunter outwitted growls in

distress.

The sound of relief so great,

That it is silent.



Tori Bannister Aged 11

Bus Station Poem

This poem, by Thomas L. Vaultonburg, is typical of the poetry you might find at Zombie Logic Blog. 

http://zombielogicblog.blogspot.com/

Bus Station

Please don't steal my bag.

Please don't steal my blue bag
With all my poems in it.

Please don't try to to steal my
Blue bag with all my poems
In it and a bag of pepitas
And the number for my caseworker
Then feign confusion when caught
Because you, too, have a blue bag
That says Downtown Mental Health Center.

Please don't try to lift my blue
Bag with all my mom's cancer poems
And the name of my caseworker in it etc...

It's far too heavy.