Best Hackles Poems
Blackie mounts my broomstick every Halloween
With her silky coat and eyes of emerald green
We’re silhouetted in the moonbeam's gleam
Kitty meows so loudly if ever we are seen
Children point at us and let out a scream
Look at that black cat and the warty old witch
Blackie’s hackles rise, her meow rises in pitch -
I wish my black kitty had got a volume switch
We rise then fall as my broomstick gets a glitch
Suddenly we're both propelled into a watery ditch
Poor kitty's fur’s wet, bracken covers her left eye
We clamber from the water, and I let out a sigh
She meows like a banshee, I know the reason why...
as she's lost our big container of sweet pumpkin pie -
It’s her Halloween treat; I can’t bear hearing her cry!
Her meowing gets so loud soon it reaches a decibel
So I get out my wonky wand and repeat a magic spell
My broom flies out the ditch, the pumpkin pie as well
We both climb onto the broom and fly off to a motel -
I’m glad we got the pie back, or she'd make my life hell!
Halloween Meow Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Chantelle Anne Cooke
AWARDED POEM OF THE DAY 24TH OCTOBER 2020
10/23/20
Categories:
hackles, cat, fantasy, halloween, humorous,
Form:
Monorhyme
It is quiet now
the sun moves up the ridge
honey crisp scent of freedom
hovers, engulfing all the air
pangs of pleasure peal
primrose bows her head
yellow paints the morning
the fields are all aglow
dew dresses up the hackles
glisten comes to call
enlighten paints the picture
leaves begin to fall
recall enters to the garden
tiny footfalls traced in awe
nothing goes unnoticed
gaze, then gather in it all
Categories:
hackles, appreciation, beauty,
Form:
Free verse
The howls of the wolfs strike the beast beneath the bed it roars
For it’s the full moon to night Scary of course
The little kid crawls out the bed to go to the toilet that night
When he thinks of the witches and the beasts that bit
He steps back into bed when he gets a horrible frit
A ghost comes out the cupboard a skeleton from beneath the bed
A monster comes through the door way that he thinks will eat his head
A witch hackles from in his draws and then he fins out
It’s his sister his brother his mother and his father all messing about
From beneath the bed his brother with a skeleton mask
Well in his cupboard his father with out a doubt
From in his draws his sister the smell little brat
From under the door way his mother of course he did say note
What he did was put his hand in his desk grab a water gun and squirted them all and his mum
He felt kind of stupid much more then he did before
When he found out it was is nan and granddad how organized it all
Categories:
hackles, fear, father, sister, brother,
Form:
Rhyme
No more cheese!
By Stanley Russell Harris
Poetry Soup Honorable Mentioned.
(The mad author)
Saw my doctor the other day.
Was a routine appointment I say.
Well was for me as I’m unwell.
Better than saying as sick as hell.
Another tablet I must take.
As my cholesterol number, is far too high.
Then Doctor did ask of me.
‘Do you eat cheese?’ She did you see.
I gulped and managed to squeak, ‘yes.’
Then she said, ‘cut it out.’
That raised my hackles don’t you doubt.
I faced the doctor and then did say.
‘That’s my main food, I eat every day.’
Then, I explained, ‘I’m sugar and fat free.’
And once specialists said, ‘no strong Greens for me.’
Between all the advice given there.
All I could have was a plate of air.
I was sorry, but begged to say.
‘Please don’t take my cheese away.’
Doctor did say, ‘your cholesterol is high.’
Did not add, ‘if you don’t lower it you will die.’
But it was implied, I do not lie.
So now fat-free cheese, and fat-free margarine.
On crackers, now I eat.
Or I eat brown bread, instead of white starched wheat.
One day I will fade away.
Not from what I eat.
But just because Doctor said,
‘Cheese, you cannot eat.’
I left doctors looking glum.
Her shopping basket was on the floor.
I saw she had two bottles of wine.
And blinking cheeses by the score.
0oo0ooo
Categories:
hackles, character, conflict, depression, food,
Form:
Moon kisses blown by evening’s silver lips
caress the ocean's pricked up ears. They hear
a mute rage, frothy hackles raised to spear
a passing fleet of ghostly nightbound ships.
Dead dreams float up as daylight slowly slips
into the deep; again we face our fear
that dying might not be the last frontier.
A final move to hell requires many trips.
High above the deck, I spy over the bow,
watching for shoals and reefs that lurk below;
my crow's nest cradle teeters on the bough
the wind will break, though when I do not know.
Then we will plunge into the sea we plow,
lustful and wet. How can we sink so low?
Categories:
hackles, death, lust, moon, night,
Form:
Italian Sonnet
hackles rising fast
who is at the door today
Did he beat her once
Categories:
hackles, dog,
Form:
Haiku
Mist, Mist..
Why not whisper, why not speak?
When upon thy shrouded depths,
Thou knowest truly, what we seek
Darkness, Darkness
Why be quiet, why not be shrill?
When your hoot and squeal and growls,
Shivers our spine, with unbidden thrill
Cat, Cat
Why be fair, why not be black?
Then your hackles and caterwauling,
Sends us scurrying, to home be back.
Hag, Hag
Why be frail, where is your broom?
When your ire and witchy hex,
For wayward kids, spells dreadful doom.
Road, Road
Why be lively, why not be lone?
Your dark stretch once cast shadows,
Dancing wickedly, with the wind’s soft moan.
Moon, Moon
Why be normal, why be so pale?
When it’s your ghostly light and full visage
That sends the night, to howl and wail.
Trees, Trees
Why be silent, why won’t you creak?
The touch of your twisting limbs,
Will send us running, though knees be weak.
Bat, Bat
Why in flight do you shy away?
When your flap and eerie screeches,
Bolts us upright, from where we lay.
Statues, Statues
Why be still, why don’t you blink?
When your lifelike and weird stare,
To morbid fright, makes us sink.
Where has thrill, and childhood fear went?
The dread craved, without any harm meant,
Remembering…
The simple fire lit stories, From whence one conjured,
The demons of the night,
Feeding eerie appetites.
For now this world, has darkened indeed,
With the very evil, that is man’s own deed.
With horrific crimes, atrocious and vile
In contrast makes sweet, the bitterest bile.
Woe for ‘tis sanctified no more, the domain of life,
Taken cold blooded with nary, a conscience’s strife.
Children though chaste, with this horror not spared,
Man’s grimmest side, to dire fullness bared.
The great divide, between men and monster,
In these darkest of times, exists no longer.
That is why…
My mind whispers and hoots and growls,
Caterwauls and moans and howl and wail,
Hexes and shies and stares and blinks and sinks...
Down, down, down.
For I pity this frail humanity,
In its sad, sad, sorry plight,
That ponders why innocence has gone,
From scare’s warm embrace,
To TERROR'S cold arms.
- Originally posted as TERROR TERROR.
Copyright by the Olongapoet,
George Daniel Anos Oct. 12, 2008
Categories:
hackles, introspection, life, sad, urbanhowl,
Form:
Free verse
.
Out in the bushland, no street lights around
No sheltering tent, we lay on the ground
Close by a green pool and Kurrajong tree
Alone by ourselves, just Willow and me
The bushland at night is dark as black tar
A million bright twinkles, each one a star
The moon, just a sliver, riding up high
No clouds to obscure, and rain a far cry
Way off in the distance low eerie moans
Raised hairs on my neck, a chill in my bones
But Willow just snuffled, curled in a ball
No fright in her hackles, no fear at all
Slow dying embers, a lone dingo’s cry
A night in the bushland under the sky
Categories:
hackles, nature, peace, night, night,
Form:
Sonnet
He heard the car and came running,
Jumped and whirled in the air,
Barking his happiness!
Dad lifted her down in her yellow-flowered
Camisole and high heeled shoes.
The dog dropped,
His hind quarters hunched down,
Body sprung parallel to the ground,
Ears laid back, hackles raised.
He'll get used to you, Dad said,
Tapping him with his foot.
But he didn't. She was afraid.
Big black shepherd, watching stalking.
The dog lay there with the chain
Stretched out, eyes riveted
On the back door of the house.
She didn't like it. What if he gets loose
When you're not here?
I can't even go to the garden
Without his eyes on my back!
Dad put a piece of meat in her hand.
The black nose ever so slightly withdrew.
-Eat it, growled Dad, and he did
With a long slow tongue,
Looking up from under reproachful brows.
But it was spoiled.
Dad couldn't stand it that
The dog wouldn't mind.
He kicked it and it trailed after him,
But still froze when the woman came outside.
He just couldn't give it up.
They had to shoot the dog.
The yellow and brown and red leaves
Were falling and sticking together
On the path into the woods.
A light drizzle added to the metallic shine.
They walked along the slippery surface,
The two of them,
With the rifle and the spade.
The dog jogged on ahead,
Looking back over his shoulder,
Smiling at the routine he is familiar with.
It only takes a minute
Once you reach the back fence.
You have to do it fast if you're going to.
You can talk out-loud afterward,
Explaining while you dig him in.
That way he doesn't have to see it.
The ground is not yet frozen.
Dad smooths it over and already
Leaves begin to drift across the bare soil.
Deliberately, one by one,
He places his feet on the returning path,
Looking up through the sketches
Of black tree limbs against the sky.
He feels stiff and sore.
Leaning the gun against the grain bin,
He pulls down a bottle
From the low rafter overhead.
A couple of swigs before he goes inside.
This is not the story they told me.
The dog's name was Rex.
Dad pointed to an old photograph
In the box of old photographs.
-Good ol' Rex, he said.
Categories:
hackles, 8th grade, dog, happiness,
Form:
Free verse
Kisses from insolvent grave,
Stole the dying breath away
So dizzyingly fast,
It escaped as fleeting vapour;
The hackles bristled, raised,
Clouds of ink on sunny days,
As scratching quills engraved
Upon white paper
Who among the sprawl could feel
If it was or wasn’t real,
The secret of the dream
Beyond the ruffle of the curtain?
Beggar soup and furtive fate
And how long we wait and wait,
Until all that yet may be,
Remains uncertain.
Someone gasped but never said
If the halos ‘round the head
Needed either polishing
Or a surreptitious breaking,
I don’t at length suppose
That at the naming of the rose,
The parents knew the thorns
Would be the making.
And like canaries in a mine
We are running out of time,
So dizzyingly fast
We are encroached by our inactions;
All we were and were not told,
Fossilised by freezing cold,
And all that was or passes by
Were scant distractions.
Categories:
hackles, history, life, loss, philosophy,
Form:
Verse
woof! woof!
hackles and heckles
a cock on a roof
diverted disaster
the naysayers’ proof
***
Categories:
hackles, extended metaphor,
Form:
Light Verse
The moon hovers there, shining aloft,
its form the infamous crescent,
its glow so luminous as to reveal the rest of the orb,
oft-hidden when its time in the sky is not nigh.
Underneath, a fog coats the cold ground.
It floats eerily around everything in its path,
twisting here and there, suffusing the darkened morning
with a fell feel, secrets behind every bush and tree.
As my fellows and I trudge past a field to our left,
the mist reveals the obstacles we placed there afore;
in the sun, just part of training, procedure -
in these cruel environs, an ominous vision.
Barbed wire raises from a fence line
like the hackles of an angry beast;
threatening even we who emplaced it with its edges,
taunting our easily pierced flesh to embrace it.
Bunkers hunker down by the edge of the wood,
barely glimpsed openings once promising solace -
in this haunting setting they appear more as gaping maws,
showing to the world only a presence and visage of hunger.
Meant to hamper the enemy, defend those who built them,
on this macabre morn they serve more to menace their own.
Our bristling band hurries to pass that brooding breadth,
the horned moon vanishing at last from our unsettled sight.
Categories:
hackles, dark, fear, halloween, horror,
Form:
Free verse
He was to be for my daddy, they'd said
as they scooped him up from the pick up bed
He was speckled & flop eared & soft as a sigh
My Daddy knew he had lost by the look in my eye
With his masked bandit eyes, only one name seemed right
Thus, Ringo, was christened that long ago April night
Part wolf, part samoyed, part collie & aussie
He would herd anything from small kids to old Bossy
Every morning he'd walk me to the school yard gate
Every afternoon he'd return & patiently wait
When I graduated from high school in June of ‘82
I argued with the principal that he deserved a diploma, too
Wherever I wandered he was close at my side
Through my childhood years, we roamed far & wide
We hiked every inch of the old Hilton Spread & the Total Wreck, as well
I knew to bring him in with me, when my daddy would start to yell
He moved quick & shadow silent & hardly ever made a sound
But just say the word "Ranch" & watch him come unwound
He loved to chase the rabbits & running with the 'yotes
Its to his credit that some coyote pups had speckled coats
I learned to trust his instinct when the fellers started to call
Why, when his hackles started rising, I knew to end it all
He'd step in between us & stare them down to size
Yep, if Ringo didn't like you, there would be no compromise
He's gone on across the Rainbow bridge where all good dogs abide
But he'll be waiting at Heaven's Gate, to fall in at my side
He taught me loyalty & trust, & that love never ends
For sixteen years, through thick & thin, We were the best of friends
Categories:
hackles, animals, family, children, friendship,
Form:
Cowboy Poetry
Into the thick of it, this is
the final stand. Alpha versus
alpha, beast against man.
One shall cease to exist,
claw against fist. Primal
instincts kicking in.
Many have been taken by
vicious invasion. Blood
soaked snow, you're
surrounded by eyes aglow.
Only one dominant figure
edges forward, hackles up
fearless and superior.
He yet again takes the first
lunge, this time I'm drawing
first blood. broken glass bottles
taped to my fists, tearing through
flesh with vicious intent. His
snarling teeth now lifeless beneath.
Many howls are all around, I remain
blood soaked slouched upon the cold
ground. Glowing eyes are fading, it
would seem the end to this blood
thirsty invasion.
Categories:
hackles, animal, horror, howl, snow,
Form:
The incongruity sparkles, dirty diamonds in a drain,
With hackles rising, lips drawn back, in lemon peeling pain;
A psychodrama stage of sleight springboards the stupid head,
“I know,” she thinks, “I’m always right, I know that’s what he said.”
The egotism sponges as a leech ingesting blood,
The eyes are wide, the **** erect, the loins in moistened flood;
A stimulating shafting sort of sycophantic surge.
“His words are all about me now, he can’t control the urge.”
The craziness develops like a Polaroid of junk,
A dustbin lid, a bag of nails, a blue remembered funk;
A schizophrenic symptom in a druggy wrecked-up mind,
Ideas of reference screech, protesting honour is maligned.
The fantasy grows darker like a stain that slowly spreads
Upon the crotch she fumbles with, her fingers cold as lead;
In face of letting loose of grip please don’t forget to smile,
It’s only pretexts in the mind that bothered for a while.
Categories:
hackles, allegory, life, parody, people,
Form:
Verse