Long Howling(a) Poems
Long Howling(a) Poems. Below are the most popular long Howling(a) by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Howling(a) poems by poem length and keyword.
A ferocious storm battering outside
heavy winds howling a wolf
angry breaths pelting rain bullets hurl
whistling apple of these eyes
dreaming inside the howling moans
feeling your caress deeply touching
away our souls in another world kissing
mist falling down weeping inside
dreaming always with you by my side
A deep sigh of pain yearning loves voice
distant tears weeping from the heart and soul
floating with light into another world
blinded by everything one sees
queen off the rainbow's mist
through lashes bouquet colors
sensing many emotions deeply felt
crying happy crying sad crying glad
dreaming always with you by my side
Liam McDaid and Gary Bateman
A Collaborative Poem - October 12, 2014
(Free Verse)
DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE EMOTIONAL ISSUES
I was born in a land far, far away called... home.
Not yet still-born.
A place of iced mountain mazes,
that were once warm, like an oasis of blessings,
featured.
Life, overlooking question marked plains,
where the grass is green and the wind, wild
and unfiltered.
Where adventure and path was half-balanced,
teetered.
Hung on the Horizon like the Moon in High Holy Day
in shift phase-,shifting phase-shift,
of the nurtured.
Still, a Banshee Howling; a Temptress-Whore,
lifting all protocol of the Hunt, "About Face."
Her *** breathe,-iced gossamer-
lining a sarcophagus
below the succession-chain pyramid
of gathered slaves', witness.
Whipped foam in sheet-layers
of emotional-strata denied
by iced Earth and Zombie Tomb.
Society will have its sheep and its shepherds.
Voices do cry in the Wilderness.
Echoes cracked in the darkessphere.
None. The less. The lesser.
An hourglass-of-open-window- shards,
the- daylight-stained-looking-glass-
piercing-the-veil-of-dusks-Sovereign-Sentencing.
The chill of my spine, her memory.
A promise of reunion as she smirks back
with puzzle-encrypted messages.
My Home went away from me,
to re-address ceremonies' garb.
With flinty eyes that bore witness to an empty womb.
Was it me?
The Banshee Howling:
I lived in a house of glass
in a place forbidden to ever be seen. To ever be..
The mirrors promise reflected a lonely,
loveless woman.
Her beauty was too perfect to be real.
She was the one who left me.
To search for better things on these Streets.
To a place called none.
She was gone, but her memory lingers on. For me, the Sonic Howling. The memory of her...
A Banshee Howling; The memory of our union,
reunion, re-toothed in cold steel.
Of ritual, undoing, dung.
The premise : I was unborn in a far-away place
where the grass has never been.
Never was real. A holo sonogram. Life's hologram. The mirror's tear.
Just a shadow, of one teasing shades
of cruelty of what could, has, not wanted. Here?
There? No more? There there. No more tears.
It will come out of the moon
Picture of a lonely moon
Howling out at you
Oh such a thought
Walking on the mountain top
My body
how God made me
Naked that emotion
I am the lone wolf
overlooking
my world
Stars in my eyes
Call upon the moon
Within ones soul
A memory away
Brightens up
the darkest night
dark but light
in the soup of night
Total darkness
has no hold
I am the wolf
The shadow in the moon
Howling to you
in the heavens
My eyes staring at you
A universe away
You cannot take it away
Howling a soul mate
In all its arena
On a lonely mountain
Alone without you
a desire
A life time
Of if only
Only you love
If you
come to me
Let their be love
The mountain is covered in a dense falling fog
gun barrel grey clouds shading out, unto silver
changing outwards orange to soft peach
Gracing the sun setting sky warm thoughts
Runaway dream hums, within birds singing gently
almost a magic spell sings, in one background choir
Enchanting the breeze on a cold tune
blue blowing wind on a November
Evening has broken soft brushing across the brow
a dream beauty touching, deep feelings holding hands
Silver treasure lining clouds, I want
to bathe inside your crowning desires
Oh you're the angel who takes me out, from darkness
dazzling me in light of your sun, shining smiles bright
Crying around the valley howling, a wolf sad
sweet humming tunes, gentle soft, whispers to a dream
I wrote this 12/12/9/9 ending last on the 12 note
Behind silvery gray animus clouds, the moon does hide.
The night does cry; its heartbeat rise and falls, like the tide.
Celestial, sleepless, unbending, cold night gathered overhead,
Veiling eerie shadows, eternal time with hideous guise, dread.
Idle and dank, surrounded by broken-down fencing and gnarl skeletal tree,
A grave “No TRESPASSING” sign forbidding entry to the beastly;
Hangs warding off the unwanted and those had doubts,
Only spiders spurred, floating sticky secure line hidden hereabouts.
Wind weaves through mangled limbs with howls, and spies embed
A gaunt, ghostly, hollow, hooded man, sickle in hand, in its stead;
Reaping of life, lifting his black haunting mound shroud a ted.
Condemned, refusing to release its ghostly dead.
Strain, howling, a full moon he stands, searchingly ahead;
Pain screams rip from his throat, bones, and soft tissue bled.
A stir in the air dares to forsake, on, as he falls to his knees, unfed.
Conned the night a moment longer, blood it did crave, then fled.
“To run with the wolf was to run in the shadows, the dark ray of life, survival and instinct. A fierceness that was both proud and lonely, a tearing, a howling, a hunger and thirst. Blessed are they who hunger and thirst. A strength that would die fighting, kicking, screaming, that wouldn't stop until the last breath had been wrung from its body. The will to take one's place in the world. To say 'I am here.' To say 'I am
Quote by _ O. R. Melling
I heard of an Ojiwe warrior called Wolf Spirit
he led a lupus fierce wolf-like existence
one of strength, cunning, and resilience
he was intelligent, and courageous
navigating the frozen tundra land of Northern Canada
his spirit animal was the Canadian Timber Wolf
it is said his hair was thick and multi-colored like the wolves
he built a log cabin in the dense boreal forest of northern Canada
near a water source and high cliffs for resting and sun
he called the wolves his brother and sisters
hunting with the wolves he became strong, tall and powerful
he howled with them at night
mourned their dead with mournful singing
expressed his happiness with whines and whimpers when greeting them
in time he turned his back on humankind . . .
It is now winter in my Canadian world,
the ground and trees draped in pure white;
and the wind is frigid cold- howling a song,
yet, I bundle myself up for an ice-kissed walk.
Into the forest crisp and crackling I stroll,
to meander a solitary walker thinking;
and bare trees groan in the north wind blowing,
soon, I notice the abandoned birds nests hanging.
Hanging in the forks of bare branches high in tall trees,
last years birds nests hang abandoned leaving a rotting mess;
of sticks, twigs, leaves, feathers and mud and whatnot,
but, as I stand there I ponder these bird nests.
Thinking this mess- is like my past memories,
an assortment of ruin, decay, of pain and love twined;
oh yes, I have woven my own nest of sorts,
and it hangs from my memory swaying back and forth.
I wish at times a great wind would blow it to pieces,
but, I would probably miss the rotting mess;
all those pieces of me entwined so delicately over time,
for the strength of this nest of mine makes me who I am.
_______________________
November 17, 2019
Poetry/Narrative/This Nest of Mine
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1199-061-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Sway my heart in your reveling sight
Waltz your way in the dream of night
But beware of the dancing neon signs
What lures you in is the curse of plight
There’s a crafty face on devil’s door
And a mighty beast is howling a roar
There’s happy smile on clamor of yore
And a disguise waiting to settle a score
Some that glitter aren’t gemstones
Some that sparkle are spurious clones
Look closer for their impish tone
Don’t get fooled by the looks alone
When you’re thirsty looking for water
Don’t be duped by the optical illusion
As you totter in the midst of a desert
A mirage will never quench your thirst
Pleasure’s written on the bottle of gin
Drink a little and you will happily grin
But your head will spin if you dip in sin
Down the primrose path you’ll never win
There’s a crafty face on devil’s door
And a mighty beast is howling a roar
There’s happy smile on clamor of yore
And a disguise waiting to settle a score
February 5, 2020
Placed 1st: Pick a title, vol. 13, lyric poetry contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Down the primrose path
Placed 3rd: Strand select L contest by Brian Strand
Two wolves went for hunting,
they found no pray.
A tear came down from their eyes.
Two bears went for fishing,
they found no salmons, but a river full of tears.
The pray not found was in the burnt wild.
The salmons not found were in the polluted rivers.
The tears they cried made an ocean where two men caught them in a net.
The two men had nothing but tears and they went searching for gold. They found lands of gold
They cried glory tears
The gold's mine that made them rich killed the salmons.
They've got dollars to spend around.
Searching for gold bullion, we have no wolves howling to the moon but spreading metals to the woodland.
Looking for salmons, the big grizzles will be a tear in our subconscious.
We will be eating gold medals and wining burnt woods.
Ashes in the air, many tears to cry.
Tied wings to fly to another level, that it's in everybody 's mind.
The two wolves found not rank to get their pray to hunt.
The two bears found no reason to search for a river.
The two men digging for gold,
found no ground to dig on.
We keep on digging into the wrong mine. Instead we should dig deep inside on ourselves.
Not gold worth living beings
Wasting time in a right clock
where the hands move without stopping.
The seconds will make you dock in the harbour where it will be a big tear in your eyes when you have to say good bye to what it really matters: the wolves howling a secret message to humans not to be heard.
A secret song we will never have the chance to listen again.
A mine of gold beings that worth nothing to many.
It doesn't matter, many people think t's a way in the moon we can settle down
Far from the sea, far from everything we raised, far from the land we know.
A tear came out from my eye straight to my brain.
As an indigo child, my tear went into the imposible, ending up with the feet on this Earth
04/14/2023
Constance La France
Writing Challenge - 'T' Words - Poetry Contest
It was the next morning
And there was no warning
Waking up Mrs. Knight was all alone
Only a photo image on her phone
Where was her honey ‘I do’ sweet tee
“Out looking for donuts and morning tea
Yes that was the answer to ‘where was he?’”
But there was something else missing
Another one at this hour she enjoyed kissing
Her beloved counter part
Coyote playing the companion for start
There was a rumble
Shook and crumble
An avalanche taunting a mountainous dare
Mrs. Knight was getting scared
Opening the door the newspaper was there
Headlines read ‘Dirty Blonde Knight Was Having an Affair’
While walking home
Faithful fearless knight felt a threatening tone
Seeing the snow rattle
His senses said “Time to battle”
And when the sun started rising in the sky
Dirty blonde knight saw the coyote howling a cry
Having some hope
Sensationalism hero grabbed his magic rope
Suddenly there was a serious shake
This was not a fake
Staying strong
Knowing something was wrong
There was much at stake
Possibility memorial burial for two after an emotionally cold wake