Beautiful Imagery

I cannot help myself
against the slender slopes
hidden beneath her denim skin.
Inside me, there is a wolf, searching
to sheer this sheep's clothing
so that I may devour her.
Perhaps her She-Wolf would
exhale stifled howls, inviting me
to prowl freely and roam with Spirit.
Or perhaps I'm imaging such
in truth, I pray secretly
for 'sheepish' prey.
No trust for this lust;
I've lost myself before
to beastly beckoning echoing from bedrooms,
bidding consent to cum hither
for back breaking acrobatics -- 
but silence is my only partner these days,
karma suiting my insatiable inclination
for constant Kama Sutra sessions.


Maybe it's best to hold
my breath...
and let this blood red Moon
This wolf will go
waiting, quietly,
for a chance.


CLF 2015

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The wind howls red




Fingers frozen, jacket tight, the merlot leaves taking flight

Foot steps long ,quick in pace, better hurry home, you are not alone

The wind howls red, the chill runs deep, you should be in bed, to Grandmas keep

The bramble cottage comes in sight, everyones sleeping, there is no light

You skip closer, just a little more, oblivious to the danger lurking beyond the door.


It Lives

(image from elle.com) 




Wasted portions of misunderstood and ignored knowledge

held for ransom, like a secret never told,

Stealthily gaining momentum

from its gravity turned stale, and time lapsed in hiding. 

Soon sheethed in the murky shadows,

lurking in the zone of the unknown,



Wanting to free, but hopelessly shackled,

a hostage whose only solace is reveling in a newfound medium,

Somewhere between complacency and torment,

it gathers rapacious auric silt and slime,

Like the ghost of thoughts put to rest,

And stories never told,



It plays possum in the night,

only to keep a watchful eye

upon the Earth.


Devotion and loyalty to reticence

is its only oxygen in the struggle for freedom,

Befriended only by the sound---HUSH!

And speak, but only for the rebirth of itself,

At its core, once long ago, enlightenment, metamorphosed into

a haunting, churlish, savage scowl.




is the tortured spirit of all things 

misunderstood, held in secrecy,

the words and thoughts of the wolves

who walk with brazen ostenatiousness

in the sheep's hide.




1:31 am



Author's Notes/Comments: 

Words of knowledge unspoken turn to ignorance, and then to rude, abrasive, violent language and even acts.

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Prints in the Snow (Lone Wulf II) 2012

Wulfman Adventures

In the fall's blue moon, I am numb to coldness aches who pet my fur.
I shake, but it is because of the sleep trying to rob me of my focus.
My paws ache, and bloody for the miles walked.
Leaving bloody prints in the October snow.
Yet pushing forth, with the head low to the ground and ears pushed back.
Fighting the wind and the fatigue that try to put me down.
The ache within is a pulsing force to keep going.
Even in a state of illusions jilting reality- an oil painting left in a storm.
What is what? Who is who?
Bloody prints in the October snow, a lone wulf struggling forward.
To where? To what? To whom?
I don't care, warmth comes from the constant motion of pawing forward.
That is all that matters for now. Time for healing will come later.

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Stalemate 2012

Wulfman Adventures

The light is dim, Mother Luna hiding behind a curtain
Low light bothers me none, but the other has trouble
Loud crashing through underbrush, allows prime tracking
I follow, silent on my paws

A moving shadow, slow breathing
A blundering fool, loud panting
A smokey wolf stalks in stealth
To stand right by the man

In a loud snarl, freezing the prey
Shoulders slumping, head hanging
Knowing it is too late to unsheathe the sword

I nudge his backside with my broad head
Make it a challenge, I plead
Giving up is too simple, Southpaw quick slashes

It will not be so simple as turning around
Claiming defeat, draw your blade....

The air is crisp, freezing and aches the old injuries
Yet I stand noble and full of pride

My jaw quivering from anger, not the the icy air
The breathes escaping, freezing as it kisses the lips goodbye
Nipping at the man's ankles and prowling in an orbit

I plead with you, bag of rotten worms
Do something worthwhile, instead of being a yammering statue
I plead for the sake of your father, for all the sake of your bloodline

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Unsure of this poem.

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Huntress Moon i

Wulfman Adventures

The sun still shines
Making the snow a glistening mirror
Blinding, staggering
Yet I paw forward
The strength boiling within me
Rippling my fur in a throaty growl

I chase the facade man, the broken relic
All is useless when I am no longer that persona
Under the Huntress Moon, I trail the hunted prey

Clouds of frosty breath escapes the panting mouth
Eyes bleak, focusing and locking
For the prey is at hand, then a hand touches me

Caressing my shoulder, calming down the wulf rage
In puzzle moment, I look to the left seeing only a ghost
A ghost among a sea of ghost

I am a hunter being haunted, I am full of life
A pulsing heart in the dead world I call the Highway
I am a target, as I march forth after the one prey that matters

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Mother Luna

Wulfman Adventures

The air has an icy veil
Crystals clinging to my hair
Exposed flesh frosty pale

I reach up, stretching to the moon
Asking Mother Luna to bless this child
To caress the wayward child home

Take me by my hand, by night I rise on paws
Mother Luna, please forgive the wayward pup

Now the wanderlust has faded
As the hardships of life, and sands of time
Rub and shape the once crude form

Reaching up caressing the moon
Speaking only the language Mother Luna would understand

The song and dance
Of the Wolf Cycle starting...

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Black Sheep




Dedicated to Ashley L. Bragg




"Why?", you ask....


What words

in what order

should fall

into place

so that you may see

that "Why?"

isn't the question?

For so long

have I been

this way

that "Why?"

is no longer

of concern

I am an


and metaphoric being

Of which

I employ

that which


that of a sheep

and a wolf

For once

was I a wolf




I preyed upon

"innoncent" sheep

They were not weak



The sheep

played no games

They simply


Coasting along

unaware of

of the tactics

and strategies

that were in play

Now, I am

one of the flock


grazing along

head down

Only able to see

what is inches

from my face

This is my role

And though

I am no longer

a wolf in skulk

The blood...

MY blood

of the wolf

still runs deep

and runs stronger now

than ever before

I am

I am

I am


"Why?" is not

the question

The question is....

"Who am I?"

"Who am I?"

I am who I am

A wolf.

- Jan 22 / 2011

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This poem was written out of hurt, anger, and frustration about the fact that my girlfriend at the time and I wouldn't allow me to open myself up to her. Funny thing is that this poem was originally started as a love song for her to sing.

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Triptych Wright's Profile



Birth Name- Triptych Wryght

Nicknames- Trip, Trippy, The Trippy One

Birthdate- Unknown, but looks 21yrs old

Birthplace- Unknown

Race- Lurpinian – A race of wolves that is dying out and is not known to humans.
Lurpinian are children of wolves and the spirits. They were never meant to be. They truly look like wolves but can take on the form of a human

Sex: Female

Orientation: Straight

Piercings- 4 on both ears

Makeup- Black Eyeliner and Lipgloss

Dress Style- Punk/Creative/Tom-Boy
Jeans and T-shirts (Band, Anime, Cartoon, and Wolf T-shirts); Does wear some gothic/punk clothes.

Religion: Christian - other

Spirit Flower- The Viola (Voilet)
Spirit Color- Blue

Weapon- Yasu (Katana)
Yasu means Peace, Peaceful, Level in Japanese

Weapons Mastered- Bow and Arrow, Dagger, Uchigatana, Katana

Supernatural Powers-
Can change into a Human-like form


=+=Wolf form=+=

Body Size-
32 inches at shoulders (standing on all-fours)
5 feet 1 inches from nose to tail tip.
105 pounds

Fur- Same as all wolves
Fur Color- Mid- Brown, some white on tail tip.
Eyes- Blue




=+=Human form=+=

Height- 5 feet and 6 inches
Weight- 150lbs
Eyes- Both are blue
Hair Length- Below shoulders
Hair Color- Mid-Brown
Hair Style- Wavy, wears it down but sometimes pulls in up in a ponytail.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Triptych Wryght is my persona/fursona and also a char for a story I have slowly been writing.

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