Cry for the Song Dog

coyote

A singular bay,

Followed by another,

Then another,

Their lonesome calls,

Echo through the granite canyons,

The pale summer moon,

Pays homage to their cries,

What must the Hopi and the Navajo thought,

Looking into the darkness of night,

O’ they knew the coyote well,

The hero, trickster and shapeshifter,

A buffoon,

A clown,

Seldom dangerous,

Never a nuisance,

That is the label of today,

Seeing the song dog as inconvenient,

Thrusting them out,

To places they don’t call home,

Still they are not be hushed, but resilient,

Distant howls,

Raised to the crystal moon can be heard,

Their sad lonesome cry,

Growing fainter and eerily infrequent,

As man advances on their prairie,

Leaving little hope for more,

Than a future of extinction,

Will anyone mourn the passing of…

The song dog.

~~ D. R. DiFrancesco ~~

Jeweled Desert

Credit - gorp.com

Credit – gorp.com

By D. R. DiFrancesco

~~~~~

The late fall sky

Bathed in tangerine and magenta

Fragrance of Palo Verde and Cottonwood fills the air

Serenity cloaks the towering granite peaks

Wrapping them in shades of purple and gold

Exalting their millennial majesty

The coyote’s bay

Floating effortlessly through the canyons

They share their lonesome longing song

Adorned as if otherworldly

Cacti and the gnarled Joshua tree dot the desolate Sonoran desert

Prickly and unpretentious in their beauty

The landscape ruled by snake and scorpion

Rattle of the tail and venomous sting, relics of the deadly precipice

The destiny awaiting the oblivious visitor

Rain devoid xeriscape

Designed by the marvelous hand of nature

Wondrous in it’s simplicity and complexity

Man could not have created such a miraculous wonder

For our nature is to destroy

Still the creator left flawed beings as the keepers

To cherish and protect his prized ecru jewel.

The Beast

By D. R. DiFrancesco

Red is the moon,
Supernatural in it’s beauty
Frightening in it’s difference,
A distant howl shatters the dead quite night.

A mid-summer chill gnaws at my bones,
Trees casting shadows black as pitch,
Swaying in an unnatural dance,
Again, the wolf’s howl pierces the darkness.

Myths of old dash through my mind,
Illusions fog my senses,
Feeling helpless in the sight of the unseen,
Hastening my step to reach safety, but why?

The sound of footsteps,
Intermingling, then silencing my own,
I stop to listen,
Nothing but the wind rustling invisible folliage.

Sweat beads on my brow,
Dripping in torrents,
Clouding my vision and stinging my eyes,
Lips chapping cold, salty, hard to breathe.

Strangeness strangles me,
The howls are closer now, more frequent,
I strain to maintain composure,
Certainly this must be in my head.

My pace quickens as does my heartbeat,
Trying to outrun the howl,
Peering wide-eyed, over left shoulder then right,
Limbs and briars tear at my flesh.

Staggering confusion overtakes me,
Nothing seems familiar or friendly,
Sounds magnified with my heightened sense of awareness,
Stumbling, disoriented, trembling with fear.

But why?
Could it not be a dog?
A pet gone astray?
They say dogs are man’s best friend.

Behind me, in front of me, the howl,
They’re close now,
Growls, deep and guteral snap me back,
From the four winds they come.

What unholy hell is this?
A thousand pairs of eyes track me,
Nowhere to hide,
Blood trails down my face.

Hard to breathe,
Running seems the only solution,
Turning in cirles,
Those eyes, those howls, surround me.

Shadows, they seem so alive,
Moving closer,
Trying to suffocate me where I stand,
Like hands clutching at my throat.

Running, gasping, stumbling,
Tears welling up in my eyes,
Falling, they are almost upon me,
Resistance seems so futile.

Stunned, my face to the ground,
Foul breath envelopes me,
It’s moisture surrounds me like a cloud,
Terror takes hold of my very being.

Crawling, dragging myself to my feet,
I turn, they lunge,
A fury of fur and fang,
What nightmare has thrust me into this hell!

Beasts converge from all directions,
Flesh ripped from bone,
Pain numbs me,
Knocked to the ground under a demon pile.

Eyes flash a ghastly shade of green,
My body being torn asunder,
Who would have believed werewolves were real?
I can scarcely hear my death scream.

Limp, bloody and beaten, movement escapes me,
I can feel satan breathing in my face,
In a snarl I can see his unnatural fangs,
Dripping in blood, they are poised for the kill.

This moment of clarity,
Staring the beast in the eyes,
He has won, I was never any match,
My throat his grand prize.

Blood flowing uncontrollably,
No longer able to speak,
I can feel my life force draining away,
No more pain, no more fear.

To those that may follow,
Myths are routed in reality,
By God werewolves are real!
Just ask what is left of me.