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.
I fear the hounds - ever they chase;
I must keep my pace or risk their overtake.
I fear the hounds, their hurtling pursuit;
I must watch my path to avoid rock and root.
I fear the hounds - ever they follow;
My feet must not fail me if I’m to make it to the morrow.
I hear the hounds, frantic as they bay,
My life the spoils they scrabble to claim.
I hear the hounds, and I wish to just rest;
I’m so weary of fleeing and giving my best.
I hear the hounds, and the temptation is great;
I slow my pace, and my end I embrace.
I see the hounds, and my blood runs cold;
They snarl with triumph and sprint to take hold.
I see the hounds - love of pride, love of me,
The easy path, wide and sloping in gentle degrees.
I see the hounds, and myself I revile:
Am I truly that tired, or just lacking the will for self-denial?
I flee the hounds; I lengthen my stride -
I’ll give them no easy victory tonight.
I flee the hounds - oh, they howl in rage;
They were just within reach of snaring their prey.
I flee the hounds through the brambles I run,
With faith that I’ll rest with the return of the Son.
A storm is brewing,
clouds are scattered by the harshest wind,
but they flee Eastward to meet the surly, purple sunset;
dark is rapidly growing subduing everything,
even seagulls are worried
about the safety of their tiny chicks huddled in the nest.
When gloominess replaces sunshine,
the evening is a looming shadow vanishing into the woods
resounding with the frightening howls
of wolves and wild dogs caught in the branches that entwine.
Huge balls of hail hit the charcoal terrain,
their force is too powerful and they form small craters,
the lightening strikes and trees fall down;
the forest's paths is an awful sight of broken branches.
It will be around midnight before the enraging Spring storm wanes,
no bird, no wolf or wild dog will be allowed to return;
they barely escaped death by taking refuge in the abandoned barns,
hungry and cold, they hope to greet the new dawn.
The light of day turned into a dim-lit twilight
where the west wind caressed my aging face
I borrowed time to embrace its warm touch
and listened to the breathless whisper through the trees
Where my heartbeats share the tranquility
And I see the purity of time yield
to the wind that crawls across the meadow
where it washed over each green tender blade
and conquered grass that bent and surrendered
To the west winds howl, and its flowing air
That sails red clouds across the horizon
before the first shimmering gleams of starlight glow
and the soft song of the nightbird is pushed along
like a ghostly call that will haunt my ears
Where I listen to every sound the wind carries
driven quietly away by the westward wind
as it moves across the Earth and Sky unopposed
from the Earth's breath of natural wonder
Where enchantment still lies beyond my realm of dreams
The fierce owl preys at night, wings spread wide
It's dusk and the winds howl a warning
Rabbits, and rodents scatter to hide
The barred owl will hunt until morning
It's dusk and the winds howl a warning
A crow swoops down to protect its nest
The barred owl will hunt until morning
The hungry owl soon leaves, knows it's best
A crow swoops down to protect its nest
Rabbits and rodents come out again
The hungry owl soon leaves, knows it's best
In a tree the crow is perched in vain
Rabbits and rodents come out again
Rabbits, and rodents scatter to hide
In a tree the crow is perched in vain
The fierce owl preys at night, wings spread wide
5/7/2020
I originally wrote this for Eve's contest but then realized it is not written in personification form. I decided to post it anyway, but not for the contest.
I woke up on Monday morning to a rainstorm,
gloomy drizzle was hitting my bedroom window;
cozy in bed I wanted no part of the storm,
I saw tall trees bend- and the wind howl and blow.
Gloomy drizzle was hitting my bedroom window,
then, there was a loud cloudburst and a torrent fell;
I saw tall trees bend- and the wind howl and blow,
all peace and harmony and more sleep was farewell.
Then, there was a loud cloudburst and a torrent fell,
I threw off my cat and headed for the kitchen;
all peace and harmony and more sleep was farewell,
waiting for boiling- a nice daydream was broken.
I threw off my cat and headed for the kitchen,
then, a thundering huge MEOW was at my feet;
waiting for boiling- a nice daydream was broken,
I made my cafe, fed the cat and called her sweet,
Then, a thundering huge MEOW was at my feet,
cozy in bed I wanted no part of the storm;
I made my cafe, fed the cat and called her sweet,
I woke up on Monday morning to a rainstorm.
_______________________
February 19, 2018
Poetry/Pantoum/Rainy Monday
Copyright Protected, ID 18-9957-72-01
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Rainy Days and Mondays
sponsor, Silent One
Second Place
Written: May 25, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Silent One
2nd place contest winner
*************************
Quote: "Don’t grieve. Anything you lose comes round in another form.” — By Rumi ( With my honest wishes of a long and healthy life— Very Happy Birthday.
The moon still glows—an alabaster flame,
memory’s mirror, never the same.
Spume drifts, shimmering and bright,
not shadowy, but limpid light.
You watch sunsets and softly muse—
Do you fade, or do you fuse?
Their shades shroud loss and gain,
a peculiar parity of pleasure and pain.
Lessons grasped don’t be acrimonious,
regrets mollified primarily harmonious.
Time’s conundrum teaches clear—
Delicate days are a deep fear.
To your tender time, you’d tell and attire,
Beware quixotry, yet seize the desire.
Do not anathemize your fall—
Failure’s anodyne heals all.
Though tristful shadows at times prowl,
still you liaise with joy, still you howl.
Twilight or dawn, the soul’s refrain—
amaranthine light will remain.
Somehow, the deluge of cloudburst
unwraps my flesh pallid, as if to spill
holy water--maybe thickened dew—just
to give a name to lapses of my unheard cries,
while an insolent breeze fails to listen
as I howl in utter despair of life's requiem:
The thistle of wet soil chains my feet
anchored unto the swell of memories' bend;
remaining distant in an unknown,
vacant cemetery nourishing a loneliness
only vagrants like me could bear:
A scream of rain compels a thirst
to feed on abrasions of ghastly pang...alone,
isolated from new moonlight's lodging
my solitude, my invisible frame starts to sigh
behind the roughest of rain's marbled stone---
How can fresh mornings be so darn bleak?
In the depths of the night, when all is still and bare,
When the wind howls harshly and the trees begin to scare,
It is then that the creatures of the night arise,
Unleashing their powers in a world beyond the skies.
Shadows dance in the moonlight, ghosts whisper from the trees,
The night is pregnant with magic, with secrets and mysteries.
And as the stars twinkle above, the creatures convene,
In a feast of the supernatural, dark and unforeseen.
The air is thick with arcane rituals and spells,
As the witches concoct their brews in their smoky hells.
Werewolves howl to the moon, vampires quaff their wine,
And demons laugh and prance, in orgies so divine.
But beware, my friend, for nothing is as it seems,
As the supernatural surges, and the veil between worlds gleams.
For when the morning light slices through the night,
The creatures will disappear, vanishing from your sight.
So, lock your doors and windows, and pray until the dawn,
For when the supernatural comes, it never lasts for long.
And as the world returns to normal, and all seems well and right,
Remember, my friend, that you were part of the otherworldly sight.
I know, I grow old, I grow old….
As silver threads peek in my head.
The flush on radiant cheeks wanes,
And a pallid tint creeps unseen.
Fading years have robbed the ardour,
And a rigid sobriety sinks and settles.
With EXPENSIVE health gadgets
I cannot bring back my lost youth.
I hear the howl of autumn winds,
That come to shake off the yellowing leaves.
Dragging tired feet through pavements
I try in vain to keep pace with the young.
Mind grows agitated and distressed
As the bones beneath the skin go brittle.
I drag myself with BRUISE in mind and body
Like a rusted machine never overhauled.
The soul grows anxious and annoyed,
With no CONVINCING solutions to track.......!
There is a tumult in my silence
Like the undercurrents of calm waters.
Through miles on dreary miles of gloom
That stretch out before the eyes, endless,
Where can I find a quiet haven
To lower my burden and rest awhile?
Serving my father's land is a badge of honour
—this I wear with pride,
Like a radiant star shining bright in the darkness.
The call to duty was music to my ears,
A melody of purpose,
—this echoed the sacrifices my mother made;
Now resonating with the pride my father would have felt
if he were still with us.
But, like a fleeting dream;
the thought of life after the one-year call haunts me.
I envision many of my comrades,
Who were once zealous and full of hope,
Now relegated to the fringes
—their degrees gathering dust like autumn leaves.
Some have become mere shadows of their former selves—
Ferrying market women and farmers,
like rowboats adrift in a stormy sea.
Others, once proud wearers of 'Kakis and Singlets,'
now don the cloak of despair—
Their skills reduced to chasing rodents in the farm,
like a farmer's dog.
The irony is palpable – education,
Which was once the golden key to unlocking their dreams,
Now taunts them like a mirage on a desert highway.
Oh! God!
If you could grant me one wish,
Let the smiles of those who answered the clarion call
remain carved on their faces forever,
A testament to the power of purpose,
even when the winds of uncertainty howl
like a chorus of restless spirits.