by Lauren Stone
It’s so peaceful here.
I wish I could feel like this all the time.
I wish I could lay naked in the cool wet grass forever.
To bathe in the moonlight
With no one to disturb me.
I wish I could be this free in the day time.
To run wild with no one telling me it’s wrong
No one telling me what to do
With no one to please
And no one to disappoint.
I wish I could just stay hidden in the forest.
But this is dangerous to.
I’m not safe in this world.
And I’m not safe in theirs.
If someone learned my secret
It would destroy me.
I wouldn’t be allowed to spend my days with people
And my nights here in the forest.
This is the one place where I feel like I can slip away
And be myself.
I’m just afraid that I won’t be able to find my way back
If I lose my humanity
I will be no better than a stray dog
Discarded and put to sleep.
I don’t think I was made to feel this way.
I was given all this power
Yet I am still so weak.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to be.
I don’t know how I am supposed to be.
How to juggle these two worlds
Without losing myself
Or compromising to one of them.
Sometimes I wish I was normal
So things wouldn’t be so hard.
I want to run away
Find a place where I can just be alone
And lay naked in the grass
Under the moonlight
With no one to bother me
But that’s no way to live.
by Renee Miller-Johnston
Running, panting, it howls in the night.
Shivers tingle down your spine.
Gaining ground, it has you in sight,
You escape to the safety of the pines.
Snarl, sniff, it has your scent.
You can’t shake it from your trail.
It smiles at the blood you’ve already spent.
Your skin grows cold and pale.
“Come to me,” it growls through the trees.
No, you won’t, you can’t.
“It is done.” It says, “Can’t you see?”
Then you see your hands.
Fur, claws, they begin to grow.
You shake your head, it can’t be.
This isn’t real, it can’t be so.
It’s all a terrible dream.
Horrible pain, wrenching through your body.
You collapse on the ground, you are spent.
Your thoughts grow dim, your mind is foggy.
You try to get up but you can’t.
Above you now it peers down.
It licks your face like a lover.
This is the end, it’s done now.
Your life as you know it is over.
Slowly you rise, upon all fours.
It backs away, giving you room.
You want to feed, to fill the ache.
You feel the pull of the moon.
You follow it into the night,
Your human self is gone.
You crave the hunt, the taking of life,
At least until the dawn.
Sweet girl, my dear,
Of Werewolves and Authors
J. Gergis, 2009
My muse must be missing
Said the Author to her Pen
How will I write?
I don't know if I can!
The Werewolf ate it,
Said the Pen to the Author
What were ---
The Werewolf began to sing,
And dance with a spin,
The song he chose to sing:
"I've Got You Under My Skin"
So now the Pen was sad,
And asked the Werewolf to write,
But dear reader, werewolf poetry is BAD,
Such a horrible sight.
The Author began to wonder,
But what about my muse?
Where will I find inspiration?
Who will light my fuse?
The Werewolf whsipered in her ear,
With a toothy grin he said,
*I'LL* be your muse instead.
The Author said, aghast,
You're a Werewolf, not a muse!
How can you inspire me?
To write the words I choose?
Ask yourself this question,
How is an author like a werewolf?
Will she attack the page on a mission,
And sink in a tooth?
So the Author listened to her new muse,
And wrote throughout the night,
When finished, she made the news!
Run With the Wolves
by Jessica Lynn Wright
I run with the pack
through the dead of night.
The moon calls to us all,
As we hunt for our prey and plan to attack
Wind rushes past us
We can feel the dirt beneath us
are we human, or beast
we will let you decide