LISTEN to the wind, howling like a baying wolf!
With a high-pitched voice, relentless as it cries.
Circling around the trees in search of prey
Pushing aside the leaves, rattling its chains.
Competing with the rain, as it takes control.
Whistling in jest, as builds and gains more strength.
Boosting momentum with wreaking havoc in mind
Oblivious, to those hiding under cover.
Watching and listening to its awful roar
As it sweeps away any object in its path.
Relentless now, its laugh is evil and loud.
Swirling and sashaying down every path.
Gaily painting a picture of devastation
Relishing in its strength and force of destruction.
A force that no man can tame, once released.
Running amok, as it has its wilful way.
Yet, once winds force is spent, will cast off its demon.
Cool down, taking a gentle calming breath.
Return to its former refreshing breeze.
Yes, LISTEN to the wind, as it sweetly sighs.
Standing at his garden door,
he sips moonlight,
smells the closed blooms.
He is amber in a wine vat,
a coagulant of red shadows.
The darkness supports
his bones, it plucks at the stray
threads of stale years.
What is this shine behind his eyes,
this starry vortex
beneath his shoulder blades?
Strange angels have entered
through his unleashed being
and they are feasting
upon his compliant psyche,
dressing and undressing themselves
with his raw and wordless prayers.
Stillness finds its voice,
but will not speak it
until death becomes life.
Wailing for her demon lover, she knows nothing about these woods
Daring the devil to snatch her from clutches of midnight she howls truth
Wolves answer her with appreciative baying of their own.
Was she a she-wolf, a werewolf or a gray wolf? She laughed at herself.
The shadows of the night danced like furious fodder around her
Was she an empath? A wife or a wild woman who can transmogrify?
Maybe a touch of all three; a Gemini, which explains her a bit.
A gray entity was heading her way, but it was thwarted by the night sky.
She had a knack for finding the most grotesque and turning them.
Their evil into sand, their inspirations into aspirations.
Wild knows wild.
Her daddy said that about her when she was eight.
She put her arms out and twirled her essence into the path of a young girl.
There were snickers and dashes in the bits of the bush shadows now.
I am me, she said; relieved.
Eager to be….herself.
I have seen the peaks
Majestic mountains
Flaunting themselves
Before a diminutive sun
Watched a shadow
Snare the radiance of light
Stood before a Cathedral
Surrounded by truth’s beggars
Touched the hand of an infant
Reaching out in wonder
Felt the sting
Of doubt’s lash
The soothing balm
Of hope
Listened to the murmurings
Of monotony’s metaphor
Heard the herald
Of the hounds
The baying
Of baleful bastards
I have caressed
A soulless sunrise
Bedded down
A morose moon
Argued
With the stars
In the emptiness
Of a moment
If I took my heart out of its cage
you would think: "ah offal, just meat,
fresh blood if I eat it quickly."
.
Crazily, you call 'need' love,
you're crazed, heartless,
a cannibal, a crippled dog
baying at a savage moon.
Limp tongues turn to syrup eventually.
Clearly these bodies are ravaged temples,
apes howl about its holy alter.
And yet, cherries are flesh,
their sweetness is in the hunger.
I drink and remember your face,
it is a landslip,
pushed by one iron gray hair.
We are mad, madly unhitched,
we hang from a mirage of love,
dangle from its limp sinews,
lips puckered,
ever willing to name
the unnamable, what it is not.
The rolling, hollow, baying sounds cascading from the fen,
'cause there's a bobcat up a tree and the dogs are loose again.
The cat suddenly settles, and the hunting pack goes quiet.
A man whistles to call them, but these rowdy dogs won't buy it.
Like men in a private club, they quietly wait by the tree.
The cat observes his options, wondering how he will get free.
A twig snaps, there's movement. and the dogs return to full bay.
The cat jumps down into the marsh, and finally gets away.
Sunday eventide on the slope of the
fire-hued mountain,
owls take flight from the pine boughs,
I'm sitting by an open window,
peace of writing in the night.
Hunter's moon, so settled on the ridge
and brightly goldenrod,
the young days of autumn's presence,
sipping cinnamon hot cider,
baying hounds in the smoky valley,
songbird's evening vow of silence.
Penning of bygone friendships,
and gained faith in Christ.
Harvest of bittersweet recollections,
surviving parent,
of thirty-one years since I last
saw my mother,
of loving words not spoken.
Wishing to have been missed.
A childhood image so mellow,
of leaping as a six year old with
cold-reddened cheeks into a tall
mound of blushed leaves,
parting my lips to a smile-
peace of writing in the night. ~
You are pursuing me
As I dash across the fields of intellect, among the
flowers of humor
You are pursuing me
across logic, through brambles of emotion and across
large vast bodies of physical intrigue
I know a hunter when I see one
As I usually hunt on my own
You will find me an elusive prey
as I have long learned to keep the baying hounds and
even those that lie in wait at bay
- Goddess of the Hunt, Susan Manley (C) Artimus, 10-11-06
I live in this house next to the crick
that I built up on some stilts
and my hounds sleep up under it
When it gets so hot you wilts
Yeah they sleep all day under the porch
And we hunt coons at night by a cattail torch
And we really love our life
When the spring rains followed the snow melt
that fell really heavy up north
I load the boys into the boat
And we all sallies forth
To hunt for the hogs that too are displaced
with water all around
I guarantee If one they see
Them dogs will start to sound
We always manage to get one or two
As I shoot from the stern of the boat
and you ain't tasted nothin finer
than the newly weaned flesh of a shoat
We really love our life,We really love our life
At the house we arrive and all thats alive I sweep
off of the porch thats come seaking higher ground
I bust out a jug and cut me a rug
With no-one to watch but my hounds
We eat high on the hog till we're stuffed like ticks
Really love our house in the sticks
Yeah we really love our life ,we really love it
Don't we boys ?
Non stop baying!!!!!!!!!!
Whispering Shadows Are Waltzing To That Undulating Beat
Moon by day is a faintly cast glow, a poetic dance
If Love's hand in play, it is a fabulous gold romance
Spinning round the sky for the audience's delicious glee
Oh, my lover that is the beauty for both you and me
As we enjoy and watch the parade in Mother sky
Yet quite oft a message resides within asking the why
Whispering shadows are waltzing to that undulating beat
As humanity rejoices in finding new ways to cheat
Alas! There always is a very steep-set price to pay
For Heaven always has the final, truer, righteous say
Our Lord rejoices when we heed those biblical held laws
Else we in deep pain, wake up to deep slashing devil's claws!
Dare we in blind ignorance walk a sad crooked trail?
Follow loud, baying hell-hounds right into unholy hell?
Yet Pushed, Ever Onward, I Dare Tread
BEHOLD, I wade into darkening mists,
My journey, clarification of Fate
When I balked, black ghost said, I insist
Hurry destiny cries, it is too late,
Strolling deep within, horrific the sounds
So strangely pungent the circling winds
In distant valleys, baying of the hounds-
I fear what that hideous sign portends.
Now so afraid, through weeping years I trod
Yet pushed, ever onward, I dare tread
My shield, simply faith in Light and my God
And bushels of truth, to me, life has fed
I pray for salvation of divine light
Blessed ending of this courageous flight.
Robert J. Lindley, 9-02-2021
Sonnet(dark)
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2021
There’s a howling in the air tonight
A baying at the moon
For the hound is running free again
And his voice has joined the tune
Of a thousand other voices
That echo through the years
And a certain blue-tick calling
– She’s calling through my tears
They’re in the backwoods running now
Like in a younger age
Baying on the trail with joy
As they did just yesterday
With their feet, like wings, a'flying
As they gulp the happy air
Wild-eyed little maniacs
Without a worldly care!
Do you hear them now, my darling?
Do you see them in the fields
The sun upon their shadows, the wind
Blowing through their ears?
As you know you’ll always see them
And hear them from afar
Romping through the atmosphere
From star to shining star
Now they pause in listening silence
As if they seem to sense
The presence of our memories
In the near but distant past –
For their memories, as such they keep
Are as near as mine today
Which holds them still, while still I weep
For my hounds of yesterday –
The hounds are baying
my hand trembles
I take a whisky to calm my nerves
The rain relaints
My tears have a glint
The fate I sought
has vanished in the haze
I rise my tune
and sweetly sing my time
as the harlequins lurch
somedays soon
The ghosts of fear are nesting
glaring clouds that are driven
A procession of baying donkeys
The ponds reflection loudly decries
as gulls shriek for attention
Nighttimes plumage banishes bluish
A torrent of rain flatters
the receiving river
painted by the sunshine
in the days of gold
And the praying mantis is baying
for an excursion to sunnier chimes
The Sun goes down
bored casting shadows
Have you heard this one?
obscene said the Minister for good taste.
And the Moon wishes it was somewhere else
as our sprawling vows break up
like the crumbling of rocks
Fortitude dear one
said the purveyor
never to raise again
Related Poems