Long Howl Poems
Long Howl Poems. Below are the most popular long Howl by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Howl poems by poem length and keyword.
There's a storm in my heart
It has tattooed scars on my soul
I have seen the ugly face of a wound
It reeked bitterness
And in the cold dark pain
I felt something die inside me
Now I carry the carcass of dream
My hopes have deserted me
To crown me king of sorrow
My kingdom is brokenness
Pieces of me lie shattered and bruised
I have no song and no dance
I have become a forlorn statue
Time scorns at my disappointments
There is a part of me that no longer cries
It is buried deep inside gloom
I have become stone and desert
And when the arid winds blow
I cringe like a wounded animal
And howl in pain
Congressman and senators forewent
all manner of civility, fidelity and integrity wii
hull ding broadswords, derringers
and exhibiting the right to bare firearms
as all hell broke loose as testimony
to the dire prognostication foretold
more than saber rattling and Gatling guns que
kind from lambastes, fisticuffs
and brickbats ratcheted up as agents provocateurs nee
said obedience to semper fidelis credo, coda and cock knee
stance when dire straits called for restraint
against excess versus raising cane old hickory
i.e. Andrew Jackson latched onto when opposing with energy
plus verve espoused by fellow delegates,
and his hologram ghost bloody
from battle scars outside and/or inside
the halls of government where blows bashed
dovetailed elected legislators to officiate
as angry birds viz brouhaha clashed
Federalist against their nemesis
of the twenty first century
during the term of Donald Trump
who throve on the cutthroat frenzied
internecine lawlessness dashed
to and fro, hither and yon
any hopelessness for civilians to escape bloodshed
spilled from without vaunted halls of justice,
the approach of doomsday
writ large as anarchy and mayhem flashed
with uproarious coup d’etat,
He is lost in the midst of an evergreen wood
turned around in a coffin of trees and of mist
while the faint light of day slowly drifts towards the night
and a fear grips his heart as his hopes fade away.
As the darkness approaches he knows he must act
find a way to stay warm to survive through the night
and while gathering wood he can hear a bear growl
and the rustling stir of a nocturnal cat.
But he beats his fears down as he makes a stick hut
then in feverish prayer he collapses to sleep
filled with tormented dreams and great terrors unknown
where dark demons are wrestling angelic hosts.
He is startled awake by a primitive howl
then a grueling attack and a ripping of flesh
but his pain melts away as his body ascends
to a place they call Paradise, lost but now found.
Written on 1/7/2018
Anapestic Tetrameter
Oh I’m looking for my missing piece
Hi-dee ho, here I go
It’s been two days since you left
It feels like I’ve been rolling for centuries
You’re the piece that is just right for me
Maybe you may miss me, too
Yours a happy kind of missing
Not one wedged down a throat
Not one choking someone’s song
When you’ve gone missing
I question object permanence
Disappearance seems forever
Revolution seems to stop
Electrons grind to a halt
I miss you as free radicals do
A hungry kind of missing
An empty kind of missing
Only your love keeps me rolling
I am glad you are loved
Even though apart from me
You wedged into another
Making another perfect pie
Within the hollow of your space
I sing a lonesome howl
Unable to soothe my emptiness
But, pies are meant to be carved
Till only crumbs are left in a tin
No one gets the whole pie
The Eucharist illuminates the whole
I won’t stop my missing piece
I can't stop him from rolling on
He will come and go as he pleases
I won’t stop him from crooning
How do I deal with the cavity left?
I’ll learn how to talk to a worm
Slow down for a butterfly to land
Hi-dee ho, here I go
Shel Silverstein be damned
I’m no good without my missing piece
The darkest crevice bares the strongest light
Dispersing bright sun over shadows white pale
Barren trees stand against snow laden blight
Tips of fresh grass poke heads above the trail
The owl swoops down to the death of the mouse
While winds howl free across the moons dead face
Shadowed spaces hide beasts preying on Grouse
Polar ponds stilled where sly fish find their place
Frost bound trails that crunch and squeak with each step
My arctic heart fills with calls of sleepless sounds
While stars fall to escape like dreams unkept
For the spawning tides of spring to abound
Lifted by this arrant winter's cold night
The darkest crevice bares the strongest light
Rewritten October 10, 2020
Completely Your Choice Poetry Contest 24
Sponsored by Brian Strand
~ Before you throw in the towel ~
Your pen is full of ink
The paper on which you think
as fresh as a mountain stream
All that remains is to dream
of a subject, a theme, a raison d'etre
with built-in rhyme, rhythm and 'metra'
This shouldn't be so unspeakably hard
yet I suppose every minor and major-league bard
has moments when he's ready to throw in the towel
or just glare at the moon, and begin to howl...
That's it! Go out there and howl at the moon
Surely then you'll sing a different tune
'Coz when push comes to shove, it's all about mood
and though it sounds trite, a good attitude...
So, write your heart out, my friend
Let all your hair hang way down
Your poems will be the toast of the town
It’s late and dark,
In a place where the hands have lost sight of existence
It’s a pause of panic. Butterflies are erupting elevating with frustration
I can see the thoughts float by as my heart is ticking
My body is gaining momentum but it’s anchored in my deep illusion of thought
I’ve now penetrated the inner layer of my mentality
A vivid production featuring a spectrum of genres
Act 1 scene 1: starring Anger, Jealousy and hatred
Anger is provoked by the jealousy
It has been cracked by the venom of jealousy and leaked the fragrant liquid of hatred
Venom of no antidote
They’re long lived rivals always keeping alert from their conspiracies.
And now its infected, but then comes the Sorcerer.
Act 1 Scene 2:
Here Sorcerer begun the old rituals, started the fires of its wisdom in the thin air of
A twinkling full moon,
The wolves’ howl and the crickets’ chirp
Melodies of love and harmony.
They soothe, motivate and make us dream,
A Dreamy mischievous night.
Your addictive body scent doesn’t abandon my nostrils.
I can smell it of my garments and feel it in my memories.
Reminisces nights of joy and love.
Where our lips have crossed the boundaries and united.
Rosy, soft lips that I can’t get enough of
The smile that can’t leave my mind,
Thinking of you drags from hell
Don’t know if it’s the touch of your lips,
The feel of your skin,
Or satisfaction of lust
But its keeps me hanging waiting for the better tomorrow
It’s my antidote for my inner demon,
My angel that creates my halo
Resonation
no-one at first heard the tumult
the question to the arts,
take that
scythe rip that canvas crack that bronze
bust that marble
shatter it to shards
I heard the howl of a suffering soul
most recent in the line of bards…
no-one at first heard the cries
or played those tarot cards…
the prophecy was grim
gate-keepers of the holy shroud
did not acknowledge him
critics dismissed
professors critiqued
but she's' burst forth from the psyche and that collective conscience we all have though not ready for her resonated the soul
turning topsy turvy upside down blasted from with in
you old masters--
keepers of the kingdom blasted by a rebel yell
most foul
the Howl she barks a new tune with with syntax and symbols unacceptable
to all but a loon
we know it now we look out the horizon from the rim
She's here she's born
he bellowed the boon
And she anew will return again
I heard it once the howl of the suffering soul…
Summer ,oh summer can’t you see,
You mean so much so much to me.
I miss the warmth from the air,
The breeze flying through my hair.
The sun beating on down,
The flowers growing from the ground.
The bees buzzing and flying about,
The dogs loud bark kids they shout.
The swimming, the playing, the climbing of trees,
The mountains the camping, more honey bees.
The walking in t-shirts, the bikinis and trunks,
No roof on the car, the smell of the skunk.
The lightening lighting up the sky,
The birds flying oh so high,
The coyotes howl, to the cows grazing in the field.
The pigs rolling in the mud as they squeal.
The candy comes in handy,
When going to the fairs,
The dancing the singing,
Sometimes in squares,
From black flies to mosquitoes biting in the night,
The campfire shinning its bright orange light.
Oh summer where are you?
Are you just a dream?
I want you back, do you hear my scream?
Wild horses should run free,
to find apples that fall, to taste their sweet,
standing beneath a shade tree.
The hare that's missing its left foot,
just to bring someone luck, it's a sorrowful sight,
a thumb that rubs with all its might.
A bull should never have to fight,
for anything that's red,
other than for his life.
A dog should never beg for forgiveness,
after he left his business,
because his master sees it as disobedience.
The wolf should always howl,
for all that's allowed,
to be free from hunters to run wild.
A hawk should always fly free,
behind the moon and stars,
not behind a cage with a latch and key.
The man who turns away,
from his dog chained and crying,
lonely is how he died, he will too.
The mother cat punished for having kittens,
their all left in a box on the roadside,
an evil person who wasn't smitten.
A baby begging to be born,
but its mother choosing from greed,
to have it torn away so she could be free.
A spider is just doing,
what they were meant to do,
so why do we fear them so, I do too.
An elephant is a beautiful mind,
they never leave their family behind,
and they never forget.
Lust is the music we all crave,
from words and sounds,
that makes our bodies sway.
Poetry is a painting in ones mind,
it's painted with heartfelt thoughts,
leaving it on paper for others to find.