Best Caterwaul Poems
Written: December 29, 2023
___________________________________________
Mahogany motionless shadows
cast by deceitful sun,
a caterwaul unravels,
coeval betrayal
voice beckons glimpses
—of anguish
within the heart loci,
once pure and corpulent,
now rapt by crestfallen darkness,
bereavement blight.
synchronous with aquifers
Interfluve ferri-crete...
desultory.
A love so tender,
akin to a fragile bloom,
now withered and wilted,
lost in the gloom,
a vow is broken
trust shattered in shards
of diaphanous slogans
leaving behind, disconsolate
heartbreak—real misery abounds.
In magenta shadows
cast by a deceitful sun,
whispers of deceit,
waltzed in the wind,
saffron sun rays
masked the spuriousness
in perfidy of truth,
as a venomous snake—slither
exposing whopper &
taradiddle
causing hearts to wither
In depths of darkness,
truth did reside,
unveiling deceit,
where love once thrived,
a web of lies spun
entangling hearts
in a web of
perfidiousness
deviousness
guilefulness
& flimflam
how the heart weeps,
its innocence lost,
It once held love's warmth
betrayal wound is effusive.
A turbulent ocean
of bereavement
overwhelms this heart
eviscerate...
& in egregious pain
no relief in sight
only an aching hole
despite sorrow
mercilessly embraces
a glimpse
of grace and hope,
yet, darkness...
holds strength
empyreal resilience.
As dawn starts to streak across the sky
heralding in the new born day.
Feisty rooster already perched on the wall
giving forth with all his might, he crows.
Sleepy hens, ducks and geese scat for worms.
Low moos emitting from the milking parlour
mingling with the sucking sounds of machines
as they gather the rich creamy milk in containers.
Banging of impatient hooves from the shire horses
hungry for their grain, tossing heads and stamping,
loud neighs and whinnies fill the early dawn.
Soon they will be at work ploughing and farrowing fields.
Farmhouse door opens smell of eggs and bacon wafting,
farmer's wife emerges carrying pails heavy with slops.
As she nears the pigsty the grunts and squeals grow
barging, pushing as they search for tasty scraps.
A caterwaul of noise from the rookery deafening,
as they wheel and spin around the yard thieving.
Slowly as the animals return to the sweet meadows
life settles back to normal, until tomorrows dawn.
written 09/15/2013
contest Nature
elusive sleep comes
on hot tropical night--
a caterwaul
Merlin the cranky cat
sat around getting fat.
Wanting to be heard
he mewed and purred.
He yowled and howled
and even growled
all with the same result.
He felt it quite the insult.
He snarled and hissed
What had he missed?
He tried a mewl
and lost his cool.
Short of a caterwaul
what should he call?
A tiny squeak perhaps?
Were they taking naps?
Chirrups and chirps
brought no alerts.
His tail-raising trills
brought no thrills.
He wanted dinner now.
He raised a loud MEOW!
Using the magic word
he finally was heard!
Merlin became the Magic Cat
in his tuxedo and top hat.
The other cats took their cue.
“Meow” meant “Please and thank you!”
The moral is if dinner you choose,
learn to mind your Ps and Mews!
There once was a Lass from up around Mass
Who ventured down south for some schoolin’
The boys were all giddy because she was so pretty,
But none caught the young lady’s fancy
Her suitors opined, but she was resigned
An old maid certain she’d be
Deep in her books, she gave none a look
But her grandpa weren’t without hope
Each day by the gates he stood with his hook
A young prince hoping to spy
No prince did appear, but against all fear
A gay minstrel did saunter by
Into the keep and down the main street
He passed in the blink of an eye
Off to the tower to find his fair flower
The bonny maiden he’d spotted afar
Our hero it seems was livin’ a dream
For crushed by the Ice Maiden he would certainly be
Onlookers wager the fool’s errand end
“Two Quid he’ll jump when she’s through with him!”
Onward he trod, his prize to hold
Journey at end and heart ever bold
“Come down to me!” he beckoned
The Ice Maiden unmoved
Outside her window, his love song to begin
Each day returnin’ to serenade again
Finally emergin’, the Ice Maiden relents
“Marry you will I, given one thing”
“Sing no more my love till the end of time,
For your tone deaf caterwaul drives me out of my mind.”
"He is brave and a warrior fine--
In a stroke, killed twenty-nine!"
Thus went word from town to town,
Only to come back around...
"A better man there be none,
Seekest thou a finer one?"
Crept-in a common sight of doubt:
Who's it they talk about...?
"'tis the Tailor from this land--
He hath the strength of Heracles' hand--
There he goes, tall and proud..."
Seeing whom, approached the crowd.
"Tell us, O Courageous one,
How didst that you have done?"
"Tell us, tell us!"cried the throng
Only to shroud his path along:
"I know not what 'tis ye talk,
I'm in a hurry, ye impede my walk.."
"Don't be humble, tell us about't",
Jumped up He, whilst all shout't;
"I will tell what you want to know,
About what, tell me though...!"
"Tell about your twenty-nine",
Sang all folk in a line:
"The Twenty-Nine",so he thought,"that I kill'd,
For me an éclat this has built..."
"I am glad I talk to you all,
Of this emprise--this caterwaul...
When on a fine, wintry morn,
I sat sewing pieces worn,
There came a lady selling jam",
He gazed,"I called--Ay, ma'am!--
Who, sensing a prospective buyer,
Told she had the best of Shire",
Again he stopped, all looked rapt:
"So I bought what I thought apt;
Now then, I stitch and stitch and sew,
There's buzzing-humming and the numbers grow",
He saw they'd still eager eyes:
"That's when I strike at the flies!
And behold--I kill 'em folk,
I kill Twenty-Nine in a stroke!!..."
_______________________________
*it is based on a story i once read as a child...though its plot was different, my poem just derives the 'tailor' and the initial 'killing spree' from the original story to combine with my own ideas..all comments appreciated...
laugh
comical, hysteric
guffawing, chuckling, snickering
cheerfulness, amusement, squeal, caterwaul,
grieving, whimpering, sniveling,
upset, lachrymose,
cry
Date created: 06/13/2021
(MaGowen’s Pizzaland Monroe, CT 2008)
The caterwaul of the jukebox blends seamlessly with the screech of infants,
and the fumes of garlic hanging heavily in the air.
The true mama’s and papa’s are here, here where the dough flies
the glasses clink; and the Beatles belt out
Strawberry Fields Forever ....
The roar of unruly children,
bashing video buttons to Roll Over Beethoven
pounds into the diners temples, dulled with Pinot noir, Chianti
and pitchers of golden ale.
Trays, tall, saucer-shaped sit beside cherry red baskets
of pristine white bread, as the fire engine red corvettes pull up outside.
The jet-black and chrome model T’s vie for spaces on the asphalt lot
outside the restaurants doors.
Sweet-hearts wait for the cracked, green-vinyl booths
like penitents at a Sunday mornings mass.
Pizza pies fly by on stainless saucer- shaped plates
landing on cluttered Formica tables
dressed with vinegars and shake cheese
Racecars zoom around the game track;
as kids run pell-mell down the aisles.
And, only Mary Lou knows
“Who’s on first?”
meow
at still's darkness
caterwaul thud whine snarl
cats hiss differences at midnight
thud growl caterwaul rapid light footsteps
on top of the house wail screech shriek
sibilant with comrades
on shingled roof
meow
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
Contest: Sound of Emotion
Written by: Sara Kendrick
Date: May 28, 2012
Out a place, surely, a kitten in pants
hung out to dry for heaven’s sake,
men wander about like little ants
professin’ knowledge, make no mistake,
there’s a tale pussy footin’ in the wake.
As men lie, ‘tis their ears grow pointed,
and their teeth are sharpened to fangs.
Sure and begorrah, they’re not anointed
these foolish followers o’ evil gangs,
hooked they be, and so, they hang.
So, reel in yer tail divils, take off false skin
yer kittenish ways will get ye naught.
Pray to the laurd God for kinder kin
they’d that will lave ye as they aught
and would na lave ye hangin’ caught…
*Sure and begorrah/ sure and by God
**Irish Dialect
Poet: D. Guzzi 8/4/11
When up I was growing, awed and confused,
sure was not I of which road to choose.
For binary my soul and dellusioned my mind,
I dallied at crossroads and worried not time.
Advised by my parents, mentors and teachers,
and hell and damnation from gospelling preachers.
And I young of youth so impressionable dear,
grasped for their words but availed not my ear.
For swayed by the Devil, so I was told,
of treasures of pleasures of counterfit gold.
Timidly, more boldly, I sought new sensation,
of carnal reality I made preservation.
But conscience was bothered and remorsely did grow,
my feet they did ponder of which way to go.
Temptation too great for me to withstand,
I cried unto GOD to give me a hand.
But His Holy Doctrine is not found in haste,
but abnegate the world with a seedling of faith.
Of frustrating skeptisisim I became apostate
and inclined toward autism and apathetic fate.
Drifting and squinting thru lusts' glaring light,
a glutenous hedonist all day and all night.
Inside of me though I feared what I was doin',
would eventually bring shame sorrow and ruin.
My karma so silent then leaped with a bound,
austere retribution enveloped me round.
So drubbed for my folly and benighted transgression,
my soul it feels cauterized, I caterwaul with compunction.
Penalized and contrite, with diffident circumspect,
with empirical knoiwledge I never shall forget.
The avalanche crashed an ax from nimbus peaks
these shrouds a pall a maul splitting my shield
this smur slurs my weakened war paint
my skin my beat my breath my breast
gray matter clouds —a pock-marked-psyche wears the ruse of ceruse
cosmos charity clouds once white like daylight once light as sea foam
blown and flown to the expanse of ether airy spirits afloat
now a iron-heart-anvil I’m horizontal
..an empty fossil-frame pressed into earth
these clouds these shrouds upon me
around me about me they cry
my lantern dampened they know why
cataract-clouds dimmed my gaze
they’ve simmered and condensed
they’ve become incensed
they drape me a caterwaul shawl
oh mamma sky your cirrus streams my suckle sweet
nourish my flourish rock me frock me your cumulus crib and fleece
from nest on high fledge me bluebird spry
freckle me starling’s starlight speckle
myself the Milky Way instead of ash-of-flame remains
constellated skin depicts our myth and marrow sagas
my mouth alive with words of the winds
iambic tranquilize of zephyrs sweeping wheat
and lyric wrath of gales aggrieved stripping leaves from trees
with barnstormer speech
cleanse my lens with see-through-rain till wet with reflection
that upends the blur and burr of clouds crashing down
— keep them mamma sky beyond where they belong
so I may return and re-emerge — reimagined
everglades
the slicing sawgrass sways
paradise to the "gladesmen"
the caterwaul of a panther
swamplands
There survives a burg, strangled by,
A fume as thick as thieves,
Where soaring glass stalagmites screen,
The adroit aggrieved.
Skyscrapers and broad avenues,
Where vast trains shunt and squall,
Where soaring glass stalagmites screen,
The vestige’s caterwaul.
Where night tide is perennial,
The gargoyles chill and ward,
Aged curves and finials resist,
Thick gnarling walls contort.
Quantum Glyphs
A particle’s not a particle,
a wave is not a wave.
It’s more or less equations,
of the way that they behave.
The particles aren't our focus,
of the why and for the how.
No... everything’s the Field,
that describes the then and now.
A beauty of probabilities,
a guess where they may be.
Real or just imagined,
for particle velocity.
The jump, the spike, a double jet,
to calculate creations.
How intricate the formulas,
of mutual annihilations.
But it’s not a vacuum of particles,
that hoover up the Field!
It’s the undulating Field itself,
in the blanket of the yield.
The surf is up, the trough is down,
the pattern’s on the Wall.
They shoot the curl, or wipe it out,
the field’s in caterwaul.
Then we draw analogies,
of what it must be like.
But something from the nothing...
classic logic takes a hike.
We try to tell what’s happening,
with speech not adequate.
Some forbid the lexicon,
of the maths in duplicate.
Yet it seems, to quantify,
in a language of it’s own.
And we can hear it chatter,
though its meaning’s not full blown.
We know Hadrons are the nouns,
and the Leptons are the verbs.
The Bosons are the adjectives,
and the Field is all the words.
The particles aren't our focus,
No... it’s to the Field we truck.
Wading in our Wellington’s,
in the fog and quantum muck.
A particle’s not a particle,
a wave is not a wave.
It’s more or less equations,
of the way that they behave.
By -Edlynn Nau
©March 1, 2019
If you’ve ever studied Quantum Mechanics, or tried to understand reality from the subatomic level, or follow new particles found at CERN, then you understand that analogies are about impossible for a science that just isn’t classical. This was meant to be fun and underscore the difficulty of the English language in not being able to translate the maths.