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.
Twilight dawning eyes open
as the heather bleat sings
Into the coming night's dream
Crickets ticking away in the long grass
swaying thoughts drunken sailor sails
time stands still for a moment peace
Falsely promises defaced
As meaningless flowers wither
Where inside silence hides the guiding truth
Behind a mask consumed
cowering away seeds
Crocodile tears
Planted inside another's hurt
falls guilty within the pain
that kisses the burning fire
Where everything is twisted ill to suit
Dressed up as something real
where caring becomes the least important gesture
It's here where the barriers fall shut
Sharing stops when condemning bites with hate filled ideas
Communication dies away were hidden agendas lay
A bridge over troubled waters
to cross this divide rocky desert winds howl
Storm in a teacup stirring
That someone created friction
for no good reason or another
clouds descend heavy laden
To feel good
about themselves
hurting another love
They become the stepping stone
unto pain inflicted grief
Reflections ripple casting shadows of doubt over
Stomach-wrenching body blows dog those
blighted by endemic fiasco,,
grim dervish whirl of death a maybe one day royal flush,
predicament that hoodoo mark in frozen ink,
cataclysmic episode relentless as unfolding bleak plot,
monumental exploits somehow never quite transpire,
catalogue of hair-brained schemes hatched,
bearing doomed lugubrious stamp,
dream laden Walter Mitty high wire act,
accomplishment on Richter scale peak,
yearned from one’s deep canyon gut,
now faint spark ashen bonfire residue,
gilt-edge province fosters stainless steel chariot endeavour,
before mockery of ego rejection slips encroach,
painstaking gumption beyond familiar human norms boomerang,
mishap strewn pathways evince ghoulish graveyard howl,
magic is anathema to wretched soul oppressed by contretemps,
reverse that coy euphemism for continuous blunt flop,
Midas gold tarnished outlier but gutter bound nightmare,
subconscious eerie whisper that most rough cast turnscrew,
havoc wreaking spiral to amorphous gridlock,
blunder prone DNA blueprint askew,
self-esteem a rudderless craft whose
guile is rent on wicked sea,
photo finish phantom world frustration,
triumph that slippy eel marsh light,
almost there whiff of breath podium glory,
yet tantalising distance an abject sandbank,
one can only shudder, tender ocean womb mourning,
for such victims of satanic wrongful bind,
whose chilling lack baffles earthborn portrait
Prognostic,___Anticipation
Doce de Leite
It was a bold statement.
One that was made in front of a lot of
people. But pouring tea and reading
the leaves$!2$-$%!!! (trademark
restrictions means we can't reveal
the name): but it was said in 2025
at number 500 bouts. He shall began
a reign: that shall transigned to
an era of greatness! He to shall again stand
and be champion again.
One to the dismay of the audience and the other
to a fan favoriting triumph.
In the same breathe it was said that
a stethoscope shall hear the sound of
ground bee's in the crevices
of marble:then termites will lead them to treasure
Planning, organizing, leading, controlling, and evaluating.
they shall stumble upon the riches of tomorrow.
And shall solve the problems of pestilence
He shall rise to lead you to greatness..Umino & Takagi,
shall call him. They shall manage him into greatness from afar.
The whispers of encouragement and guidance all within the context
of storylines, the manager positions their client for title opportunities, generally acts as a mouthpiece on their behalf.
These functions involve goal-setting, resource allocation, coordination, decision-making, performance monitoring, and improvement assessment.
The prediction scored him great and within his cultivation he has been seen as victor among men. Even to those who have doubted him!
So hast feng Shui who spake to Hadden
to spoke to Hemuss!
whose favorable or unfavorable
in relation to the flow of energy
spatial arrangement and Oreintaions
Might he say I am him!
the caatlle shall fall in the fields
and the clouds shall become a pinkish-blue
the dogs will howl in day time
and the flute shall hoover over the lyre
to sing the songs in harmony with
all in attendance!
Success doesn't have to mean sacrifice. It doesn't have to cost you the things that matter most. But it does take intention!!!
Creative Control and self Dedication Might he stand to say I am Him!
Campeón de lucha libre de peso pesado del mundo!
night withers to her pull
pink panther upon the prowl
alone the wolf
transversed in a hearse drawn howl
a wilderness of one
relegated and isolated
a biting bohemoth
born to run
in the distance,
war torn eyes witness
shimmers seducing from her grace
across an open gate
swung out
she glowing as he awaits
ne'r to bend
her very graze,
hyphenated
an empty haze
awoken
stare not stolen from her face
titillating
and taken aback
a second
and a third,
time
to rewind
if only I was a bird
and could peck out those eyes
flapping my golden wings
nesting near your threaded roost
touching cheek to cheek
but be forewarned
of that and this
the wild wild wind
and the hail
leading the call of the lord
where lovers
leap
and keep
quarters close
sink not into the valley of the night
nor play within the thorns
bleeding out in the thickets
rise up when he rises
shine down when he shines
release now
all the flowers from their bed
there is an afterlife in these high branches
spirit bears
watch as tracks appear and
vanish
men who walk around trees become women
when the tree is old enough
to seed other wombs
days forgotten and missed
stack up against barbwire fences
the yet to be born
will bulldoze and
unstack
in Thailand we climbed the 200 stone steps
in the heat of the day
monkeys chattered at us from ghost houses
where incense rose
for those who live last moments
the polished stone Buddha
smiles
thanking us for the long trek
tells us
in a thousand languages
that we are but one step on a journey
one that will not be recorded
until we are free of the thought
of being
temple monkeys howl in approval
a power stations electrified guts
spills its timebomb seeds
waits for the last fizzle of
the goners and the becoming
lifetimes lay in state
under rusting backhoes
generations glimmer
aluminum eyes buried deep
in the softening soil
we cannot recall what we were or foresee
what we can be
only keep watching
the layers grow
the mounds rise and fall
as a world excavates time with its
little pink paws
Ululation, unicorn?
At times I howl aloud.
Banshee, sonic signs a-sworn.
Voices in a crowd.
Ancient aches, atelier? Arc.
Faceless in the dark.
Meticulous, machine? Mark.
Savory, salt, shark.
Tympanic my temper-fount.
Lava, from me flow.
Thunder, how you scored the count.
Hummingbird, you know.
Sparks, fly out behind me.
Exhaust, fill the sky.
Holocaust. Chains, cautiously.
Crossed sticks, fire, fix, ply...
Terminal point, jade or jaunt?
Run red, restaurant.
Houses of the holy haunt.
Sun, rise o'er the slant.
Crimson as intemperate rage.
Rusty bars? Break, cage.
Bard, oracle, set the stage.
Symptomatic, age.
Dark flame, how you smolder.
Ye sages of the past.
End times chimes, it gets colder.
Twilight, drop in fast.
Pantheon gods, axes and rods.
Nuclear fission, spin.
Panopticon, prison pods.
Mackerels, cods, fin...
Wha Hoo!
My grandmother was a quiet woman.
She was not the kind, to go out often.
A church picnic, and or a family gathering,
All were just fine.
Yet, her calm demure could be disturbed.
Not easily mind you.
It took just the right … event.
A board game.
2 x 2 marbles and dice,
played with friends,
“Is twice as nice.”
She would comb back her lovely hair.
Pin it close in a bun.
Tight!...
as to not get in the way.
Her best blouse, the one with the pockets…
The one I sewed them on. (by hand when I was seven)
Plenty of room for her cigarettes and matches.
Gather together with Papa and two more,
everyone was ready to start the score.
They would play not a little,
but clear into the night.
It was a good time,
Even…when there was a fight.
A tempest of brute force whips the coastline
Where boats and seafarers howl for dire plea;
Unshaken, I guard with strength to disarm
The lash of tide’s wrath… my tower, a marquee.
Though brazen crests dart like slithering mesh
As Night Keeper, rays glint to face storm’s dare
Protecting tender lives, their hopes on edge
Upon roughened waves, my lights flash, “Beware!”
Infusing more ardor till an onrush calms
Heaven’s stars glitter while ships haul the net;
Where from the ridge, my safe harbor appears
On easel of bright air, a task well met!
..................
Contest: Eve Roper’s Sentinel Quatrain
4/14/2016
You’ve howled in approval. I’ve driven both forest and ocean through your channels. There was no hustle like their squeak of my rubber soles, running to you, to make you howl my approval.
Witches, wolves, and woods nymph. Propaganda, I say. No other sanctuary is as pure. Wet leaves whistle the wind when wild weirdos wax poetic.
I wane under the harsh scrutiny of oil lamps and blue lights. A marshmallow, dangling dangerously close to the heated hearth that you most assuredly are. I retreat to the warm frostbite of the thicket on the other end of that beckoning brick bridge.
I, self, lord, and master, submit to Mother’s milk during the witching hours.
Speak of me. Perhaps I will be found. Maybe I belong.
A solo pilot, lost in snow,
in a jagged mountain pass.
His eyes are trained upon each tree,
and the shape of each crevasse…
In an open-cockpit time machine,
the winter wind does howl,
but a mighty fire’s burning bright,
inside the engine cowl.
The fog and flurry blinding him,
he searches for a trail,
running late, and miles behind,
he’s employed to fly the mail.
He looks for clues to lead him back,
like ancient, sunken wagon tracks.
A mumbled cuss, then shouts out loud,
he’s heard that mountains hide in clouds…
Now’s the time to pay the toll,
for conversations with his soul.
One way in, and one way out,
it’s true that mountains hide in clouds.
Copyright © 2013