Best Howls Poems
my wife howls bad news
the sauce curdles in the pan
a cat has nine lives
Under Soft Moonlit Skies, Lonely Howls Heard
Within wolfen heart, her hellish hunger arose,
ultimate power to destroy as yet unknown-
she lit her candle and caressed a red rose
crying in the light, far away her dreams had blown,
yet mercy and future shed a torrent of tears-
as streams formed, away melted life's darkest fears.
Watching as golden moon, its beauty displayed,
shadow winds sent mesmerizing whispers of love-
anticipation gnawed, love's kiss been delayed
for a jealous God, had cursed her from above,
looking skyward she in despair showed her fangs
as her sanity, by a single thread thus hangs.
Silence came, its music her racing heart then felt
as the new trees danced and sleeping rocks awoke-
he appeared to gift a kiss and her grave doubts melt
in that infinite ecstasy neither one spoke,
then she of wolfen heart and he of wolfen blood-
were washed away in Nature's romantic flood.
Robert J. Lindley, original Oct. 24 1982,
edited, and link -8-09-2020
Rhyme, ( In these veins flow Native American blood )
*****
In the digitimes of trout streams full of numbers,
I’m the dark echo of a moon-ringing splash-machine
named 567-3389, my old phone number,
that crazy pet of howling crisis I’m
nursing now with my tender planted hands
and my tender planted ears
full of dark echo
and soil.
Sure, my life now is an echo of singing numbers
transformed by darkness into emptiness
dreaming of rhymes.
Please, dream of me as Richard Brautigan,
howls a dark empty hat in a dark empty room
suffers homesickness of a poet.
This lonely hat,
moon in black,
remote like tomb,
is in love with fairytales and fishing.
It has a silver trout shadow and all!
[Christos Tsanakas, Athens/Greece/June 2016]
The wolf howls in the night
To this day I'm not certain why
Maybe because the pack is asleep
Maybe time passed him by
Maybe because he lost a soulmate
Maybe because of the food that he ate
Maybe because he defended his own
Maybe because he just feels so alone
Now the last one is tough cuz there's others around
But when the dust clears no one there holding down
So when the moons full he just picks his head high
Catch a glimpse of the moon sheds a tear and then cries
Calling to those who are feeling the same
Through circumstance strange, or they are to blame
The wolf howls in the night that is true
Because I am the wolf and the moon, that is you
This is power in words that speak the truth
begging to the bone of its essence cold justice
a brain washed mass of society have followed the pied piper
when certain rights have been removed
time is running out for real democracy
to be in any shade effective
corruption is the source of chaos
when we allow serial killers to kill our kinsmen
I hear howling wolves growling in the gutter.
Rivers of torn flesh pour forth from the gates of sin.
Philanthropists boast with a nasal mutter.
Subliminal shrieks create a rising din.
I sit rigid in suspended animation.
Skin pulled apart by great demonic wolves.
A punishment I shall soon double in revenge.
In that wood so dark and deep
where ne'er but silent shadows sleep
there spectral images e'er do creep
in that darkened wood so deep
In that wood of shadows long
where ghouls and ogres there do throng
there where spells are cast in song
there in that wood of shadows long
In that wood so still and dark
where wolves do howl and coyotes bark
there where bleeds the elder bark
there in that wood so still and dark
Into that wood go not at all
where spooks and banshees scream and call
there where many are said to fall
do not go to that wood at all
Moon's gleam flooding the dusk
lighten the heavens and hell alike;
He feared no more as his spirit demised
submitting to shadows, thinning the wike;
He has no soul to shed a tear,
for his first prey had bore their heir;
Memories haunt the maddened slave
yet, fell another twilight for the wolf to tear.
Though his tone is quite gregarious
And his intent softly nefarious
He is ever so meek
His tongue in his cheek
His double entendre hilarious
like a round brass gong
afternoon sun burns in sky~
tarmac road steaming
dry leaves swirl around
canals and pools lie distraught~
lands yawn, mouths open
Awaken to the biting wind howls
while the sky darkened and the thunder scowls.
The distance sounds of birds flock across the darkened sky.
Sounds of crunching over the earth startled awake an owl to fly.
Flash of lighting then the sound, sending waves of fear, a pulsing heart;
lost in the darkness, of pounding rain, and gleaming darts.
She slowly turned her head to shadow weaving on her darken walls
from the flicker of leaves and trees obeying its calls.
Lighting so humbling, thins to a slight glimmer, and starts to stumble,
sounds of thunder wanes to a low grumbling rumble.
The night melts away to a light blend lavender and golden grain;
fresh sweet cool rain and earthy fragrance awaken again.
8/11/2017
Well I just can't decide
if I wanna live or I'm gonna die
It's hurting like a disease
and I really need to fly
So I'm searching for a reason
to give life one more try
But all I get is pain
disappointment yet again
So it seems like it's the time, to leave all this behind.
I'm merely supporting a system I don't believe in
Feel I'm caught in a cistern I wanna be leaving
Have you learnt, religions warped and broken
I heard it preys on thoughts unspoken
And politicians may be the cruellest of breeds
But they only Tell the lies, it's the fools who believe.
Is it insane to wish toward lying in a coffin
If pain is the only reward life has to offer
I may seem, considerate and caring
insisting your problems we're sharing
(it allows me to hide from mine...for a time.)
Hope remains meaningless when nothing changes
Folk wrote the same more or less, all through the ages
As a wise man once said
"You can't live your life for someone else"
I contrive that message onto its head
I Could cry for help? Or should I lay down dead!
How much more do you give it
before you decide to quit?
If I find a door that's open
That rooms been raided twice before
I tried that thing called hoping
I dream a wish may bring me more
I'm down and out and broken
Gimme the postcode for deaths door
For the ripples ALL life ever make, dissipate at that shore
Please don't judge nor weep too much
For I'd suffered the worst hell, so bereft
And as I took my first breath after death
One look at the burst shell that I'd left
It seems my skin was cut from a different cloth
I'd been sinking as a butterfly roaming with the moths.
I was baptized in the howls of wolves, under the lattice of thorns of ancient winds,
My veins are mapped by serpents, my pulse beats to the rhythm of forgotten beasts,
All who fear kneel, but I stand untamed in the midst of the storm,
Unsculpted by the hand of time, unyielding in the face of attempts to shape me.
Every scar on my skin is an earth-shaking howl that cannot be silenced,
Every breath I take is a hurricane born from the depths of my being,
In forests hidden by the shadows of ages, I rise like a primordial cry,
My crown is woven from winds that have danced with ever-changing leaves.
The whispered tales of forgotten creatures flow through my veins like ancient rivers,
I am sculpted by the storm, untouched by the hand that tries to mold me,
Every mark on my skin speaks of battles fought in the silence of long nights,
And each breath carries the force of a hurricane ready to unleash itself.
I am the one who stands proud between howls and winds, between scars and untamed storm,
An echo of the past that refuses to be forgotten, a soul vibrating with the power of beings,
In the wilderness where others bow, I remain, rising wild and untamed,
For I am the one who stands proud between howls and wind, between scars and storm.
What still life, in words upon the page?
Yet animated in rhythms of the tongue
Soft-mouthed or read aloud, in unison
Spoken in solitude or rising like the tide
In the ribcages of a thousand men
Some skilled orator
With the heartbeat of a nation in his hands
A silent offering from the lips
Of midnight prayer
A lover's vow
A battle song
What meaning we assign
A curious cluster of whispers and howls
Vulgarity, obscenity, profanity, blasphemy
A sacred hymn
A holy chant
Divine syllables...
The secret names of god
What still life, in words upon the page?
Yet animated in rhythms of the tongue
When I first heard of “poetry howls,” I said to myself, “how sad”; is poetry meant to wake the dead or liven the living (though I’ve read of the living dead)? haven’t we enough noise around to confound and confuse a universe of smaller sounds, en train thoughts, low sung birds? haven’t we sufficient “icy pandemonium” (in S. Weil’s words)?
I would propose “poetry whispers” instead; of poets living, of poets dead, sharing a find, perhaps one supposed all spent, a jewel borrowed, or one discovered in a rent of the Self. And if unable to express epics lying buried within, begin by sharing a briefer line that – who knows? – may become the wine that loosens another’s tongue.