Best Baying Poems
A pack of snarling wolves
baying for my blood.
Battered, bruised and bleeding
yet I won’t give up the fight!
Contest: Something with Great Impact
Sponsor Nette Onclaud
Jan Allison
20 words used
20th December 2015
fo'c·'sle /'fohksel/ noun deriv: forecastle
1. the forward part of a ship below the deck, traditionally used as the crew's living quarters.
2. historical: a raised deck at the front of a ship.
With the equinox illuminating a fortnight of recovery
On pelts spread like Ionian jars left askew,
My flame-keep sparked alight against the doldrums of
Greed. Stagnant and fetid.
My bark beats out a call stretched
Skin-tight over the sea’s virgin core
And sets trust aflame.
Ashes collected into the collated casks and
Corked with animus, Moon Girl pounded on.
Drumming a dirge on the tanner's own flesh.
Pounding the seed of echoing hope.
Pounding the corpus beat of life anew.
Those echoed my own harmony and emptied my ears.
My tunes would now be true and crisp.
My struggle to syncopate the middle eight
Was like on the saltchuck the time before.
Before we crossed the bar,
Breakers chasing, pounding aft of stern.
Now in the glow of the coal oil lamp
Sat The Dane who came to trade.
He mumbled a Chinookian curse and winced.
He sensed my mariner's cred, how I lit my smoke;
Muscle memory and addiction married in my subconscious.
But His eyes would never sense the venomous flow
Of the seabreak distant,
Like hounds baying to the highway of stars
And up to the dunes ran with phosphorescent faces
Fermenting the blackness.
Hell-hounds bounding.
Lungs pounding.
Driving on.
River may lick Disappointment’s shanks
But Drake’s gold remains unfound.
The cavities carved along the capes
Echo an emptied ethos and sapped spirit
Which salal and sage cannot clense.
Walk with me now Sister Ilchee.
Beat your dirge
Along the pock-marked ports of plunder
Laid before the flattened corpse of
Ebbing freedom found.
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 –
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
Searching, ever onward, I did thus 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)
Tinting crimson-colored clouds;
a blood-red sun sinks from sight.
And Luna slowly ascends,
sculpting shadows with Her light.
Luna's majestic rise can
induce a hypnotic trance.
For, She is a sassy sprite;
and muse to both song and dance.
She adorns the black of space;
like an orchid in the sky.
And when She is in full bloom;
Her beauty warrants a sigh.
Baying wolves pay Her homage;
howling their melodic tune.
And regale the Queen of Night;
celebrating the full moon.
Despite pitting skin and scars,
She evokes wishes and dreams.
And on enchanted evenings;
dances upon sparkling streams.
There are painful pitfalls to happiness
No one, not I, is immune to misery's tragic tune.
We cry in the night like a wolf baying at the moon,
sullen, soulful songs of heartbreak and despair,
drifting upon air. Of those memories; beware.
My emotions may seem as dormant as a volcano...
Silent but molten, setting fire to my dreams.
In ashes they lie, beyond the reach of my heart.
I try to write the plight of my life, but the light
turns dark, leaving me with tormented thoughts.
Expressing the bane of lost love in poetic refrain
is a rueful score of what once was but is no more.
I've written hundreds of poems of being smitten.
Bitten and wounded by Cupid's arrow, was I.
How I wish he'd missed his target, and yet,
never would I have known love's tender touch
or the gentle caresses as he stroked my tresses,
nor the taste of his lips sealing love's vow.
My muse refuses to let me forget
the memories of romance, so bittersweet,
so, I continue to write as I stumble,
suffering while penning another grief-stricken sonnet,
then more, still more, I write in lamenting encore,
a sequence of denouements that will tear me apart
each time I lay bare my wounded heart.
December 7, 2020
Catharsis Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Silent One
I hear the rustling of the trees
Echoes of knights riding on the breeze
Sent from the castle in the clouds
Trying to calm the baying crowds.
In that Camelot high above
Kingdom of the god of love
The evil of man puts him to the test
His tormented angels cannot rest
Trapped inside her ivory tower
She prays for rescue hour on hour
High castle walls her deadly foes
Cut off from everything she knows
Hoping that her prince will come
And to his charms she may succumb
She hopes her prince rescues her soon
Breaks down the door of her locked room
The god of love hears her desperate plea
He remembers well the days of chivalry
When knights in armour fought to protect the poor
He will send such a knight to batter down that door.
Love will replace his sword and lance
For love unlocks the doors to true romance
Thus the god of love grants the damsels wish
Smiling as she and her knight engage in loves first kiss.
Contest:- Partner Up
Sponsor:- Shadow Hamilton
Written By Jadazzle United – Jan Allison and Darren Watson
18th August 2015
There are many painful pitfalls to happiness,
and no one is immune to misery's tragic tune.
We cry in the night like a wolf baying at the moon,
sullen, soulful songs of heartbreak and despair,
drifting upon air. Of those memories; beware.
My emotions may seem as dormant as a volcano~
Silent but molten, setting fire to my dreams.
In ashes they lie, beyond the reach of my heart.
I try to write the plight of my life, but the light
turns dark, leaving me with tormented thoughts.
Expressing the bane of lost love in poetic refrain
is a rueful score of what once was but is no more.
I've written hundreds of poems of being smitten.
Bitten and wounded by Cupid's arrow, was I.
How I wish he'd missed his target, and yet,
never would I have known love's tender touch
or the gentle caresses as he stroked my tresses,
nor the taste of his lips sealing love's vow.
My protective muse refuses to let me forget
the memories of romance, the good and bittersweet,
so, I continue to write although I stumble,
suffering while penning another grief-stricken Sonnet.
Then more, still more, I write in lamenting encore,
a sequence of denouements that will tear me apart
each time I write and lay bare my wounded heart.
At dusk the amber eye begins to close
Our dusty anthills fading from its sight
The midnight moonfright black-lit aura grows
Entrenching us in hollow, fiend-filled night
We lose ourselves and lose all sense of sense
We lose the light and then lose sight of sight
The baying wolves with daytime’s sun dispense
Their basest instincts echo through the sky
The praying men seek divine vigilance
And nighttime’s hooded chaos leads to sin
And hide the compass from humanity
And so the fearful seek the light within
Yet know they need the sun at reveille
The light and dark in order intertwine
Just like a rosary, a rosary
Who killed Christ the Lord?
It was not me said Herod, I did not spill his blood.
I tried to kill him once it’s true
but he was a baby then and was not slew
Who killed Christ the Lord?
Nay, not I said Caiaphas, it was not one of us.
Verily I say it was not by my hand
but by some higher greater command
Who killed Christ the Lord?
I did not do it said Judas, I did not kill the Lord Jesus.
Yes, I betrayed him with a kiss
and in shame condemned myself for this
Who killed Christ the Lord?
Not me said faithful Peter, I am my brother’s keeper.
Upon his head they put a price
and I, like a coward, denied him thrice
Who killed Christ the Lord?
Not us said the pharisees but ruled he be seized.
For his faith, his power and glory
alas they came for him at Gethsemane
Who killed Christ the Lord?
Not us said the baying mob, his life we did not rob.
‘Twas the Governor of Judea whose
decree was death to the King of the Jews
Who killed Christ the Lord?
Do not blame me said Pilate, the law he did defile it.
But it was I whose cold fateful breath
ordered he be scourged and put to death
Who killed Christ the Lord?
That great sacrifice of the Passion of the Christ!
Who for our sins in God’s holy plan
suffered the Son of God and Son of Man
Written: April 2025
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.
Snow creeping drifting down
Falling slowly toward the ground
As October skies turn gray
Growing colder along the way
Silence haunting in the night
Wolves baying giving a fright
Hearing footsteps in the wind
In the darkness it begins
A chill running down the spine
An eery wind blows through the pine
A figure forming in the distance
He who chases with persistence
Getting closer with every stride
His eyes glowing with determined pride
Shaking feet paralyzed with fear
Watching weary as he draws near
Finally catching his elusive prey
Too late to try running away
Surrendering to this evil man
Without a fight taking his hand
Still freezing as we leave
Promising no warmth upon this eve
What My Day Was Like And Why My Feet Are Sore
I walk with lead bricks tied to my feet,
down this trail into oblivion.
gasping at the light, the beams
spinning and from thin air
a melody, not the kind you think
more of a stomping the gourd
and drinking myself under
two crowns and my head spins off
whistling Dixie and promising to live
a hermit in a cave
eating stardust and baying at the moon
watching stars twinkle and speak in riddles
this old soul arguing back
and swearing to never ever lie
no sin tomorrow
but today any damn thing goes
to the hell hounds
trailing a dragon that seeks the princess
never found, but her slippers ruby red
she that watches me sleep
breaks my alarm and leaves me
peanut butter and jelly sandwiches
as sunset draws near its opens
spitting out charms
into my willing hands
truth sees me and winks
saying Rob what shall you do tomorrow
I reply, shut up
these sandwiches tastes like bugs
his reply, yes son that is
my super-duper extra special sauce, roasted bugs
for breakfast Monday you get worms
I grimace and shout, Lord save me
my good friends are hideous.
Robert J. Lindley
Rhyme, Jan. 17TH 1979
Note- Weekend fifth made it until 10 pm Saturday night.
Small cobalt clouds on the horizon
As a dusty blue mist
Appears upon the top of trees
The sun gives all a pink kiss
Wondering is that the same jet
Streaking across the blue?
In the same place as yesterday
The red ball is not new
The doves, woodpecker, and red sun
Interact the same
A baying hound has something treed
No varmint has interchange
As the water sprinkler goes round
And the sun is higher
In the pine trees, life in morning
Comes alive, birds are fliers
Thank you, Father, for this new day
For the time to witness
Your creation, each second is
Different, and for your loving kindness
The sun has changed to clear light
It's illumination
Reveals the silhouettes of trees.
Soon heat will bring prostration
The poet longs for a revelation
Solutions for mankind
The only thing I see is in The Book
All man has to do is find
Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you: Matthew 7: 7
Hitherto have ye asked nothing in my name: ask, and ye shall receive, that your joy may be full. John 16:24
Jeremiah 29:13 “You will seek me and find me, when you seek me with all your heart.”
Lost sounds that call a memory to life
Loose change jingling in the pockets of children.
Baseball cards riffling in the spokes of a bicycle.
The clack-clack of roller skates over sidewalk cracks.
The clickety-click of a stick dragging along a picket fence.
The baying of backyard dogs seeking freedom.
The mournful moan of slippers sliding over a creaky floor.
The gleeful crunch of leaves under shuffling feet.
The whispered call of a windblown dove.
Voices swallowed by the silence of fresh snow.
The feeble flapping of a tree bound plastic bag.
The off key joy of Christmas carolers.
John G. Lawless
©11/9/2018