Long Owls Poems
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Profound silence
felt and revered,
stirring an awesome emotion
which stillness repeals
whenever brightness shines;
and the primroses' scent spreads the delight
of the mild season.
What do the stars
tell a lover's heart...palpitating
in tranquility, amid shadows
that advance with the pretty fireflies?
Dream, and reprieve from the loss...
hoping that love doesn't lay at rest,
but chooses to celebrate
'till after the evening and tell romantic tales.
The invisible crickets chirp,
somewhat awkward to the ears,
I'd rather hear the coos of the owls,
which are richer and more harmonious in sound,
but where are they in this darkness, unless
they are mating in the willows of the lake?
Our blanket is spread on the wide Sheep Meadow,
with the superb view of the Manhattan's skycrapers,
towering over us as sentinels in castle's towers.
Juliet wanted to taste this freedom,
embracing and kissing her handsome Romeo,
not fearing anyone intruding in her paradise,
unwilling to leave anytime soon;
and unruffled, she would continue to love him.
What do the stars tell a lover's heart?
Accept the lovely rose that he offers you, and adore it,
because it has no thorns, to make you bleed in despair;
sing with him a beautiful sonnet that Shakespeare wrote
for his lover who crossed the huge Atlantic ocean,
when ships took months to reach America's shore!
Written on 2/19/2010
Written: August 2nd, 2026 for a contest sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
Inspired by the Glenn Hughes song Voice in my Head
******************
When the night gathers myriad faces,
and ghost syllables trouble spirit,
remember firs sift darkness,
while moss mantles every stone.
Though your mind maps
fractured constellations,
moon follows milky white tones;
no mist mars its silver throne,
no sorrow seals the inner spring.
Some voices flourish in darkness,
some forge kingdoms from smoke,
yet forests speak older syntax:
fern hymns breathe under twigs,
owls pour solemn vows.
Hear streams smooth stubborn shale,
fox footsteps fade into silence,
folded fields await dawn's fire,
dawn unspools from frost to fire.
So do not war with thoughts,
not every echo is worthy of belief.
some leaves simply answer fall,
some rain rehearses mercy call.
May silence find you moss-warm,
shelter rather than bare halls
may feel soft and silky as you sleep
under aromatic mist veils, deep.
Beneath the fractured welkin,
your spirit guards its spring;
no winter masters rooted things,
no darkness drowns inward morning.
When nameless forms surround you,
let dawn answer with song through;
let courage rise through tremors,
and name what survives within.
Even beneath heaviest haze,
when sleep feels like betrayal,
when cyanide tunes turn inward
snakes were always scorched
became roots beneath your feet.
Their winding shadows hold you,
their darkened coils became anchors,
and fear learned how to root—
the roots that hold you f i r m.
Far away when the sun goes down
The evening steals in quietly
Settles down waiting for the night
The birds fly to their nests
The animals seek shelter
Owls and bats come out for food
The cricket starts calling
The lamps is lit in all the homes
And seated in one of the old armchairs
Is my grandmother
Keeping her feet on the cushions below
After a long hard day
Settling in with the evening
Needlework in hand
She frowns a bit then smiles again
Thinking of the time gone by
Happy memories come flooding in
Of her youth and motherhood
Suddenly comes the much awaited
Sound of the car
Announcing the arrival of her grandchildren
They all come rushing in
Hugging her one by one
They sit around the armchair
Keeping their heads on her lap
Quietly listening to her soothing voice
Telling the stories of the time long gone
The evening goes out
And in comes the night
Time for them to go
She stands up leaning on a stick
And waves to them from the door
The night is quiet and dark
She comes in again and settles down
Happy and satisfied
To wait for the evening
To pass by her cottage again.
Strolling through the dark woods
night approaching as the sun sets
the shadows were now lengthening
casting weird shapes on the floor
Birds pass on their way to roost
all are now settling for the night
squabbles from the rooks over perches
rabbits emerging from burrows to eat
This pause between daytime and night
soon the rabbits will be joined by
badgers coming out to forage and play
night jar starts to sing a real din
Later there will be such sweet sounds
as the nightingales songs ring out
for now this twilight stands in between
a world of half light neither day or night
Sweet scent of night stocks fill the air
as I sit on an old log drinking it in
a shadow detaches from the beech trees
a fallow deer on her way to the river
Now the daylight has completely gone
the moon has yet to show its face
a hoot carries through the dark
the owls glide past searching for prey
I sigh as the stars appear above
each one twinkling pinpicks of light
the sky a canvas on which they shine
at last the moon glides into view
Another day is finally over and done
it is time for me too to head off home
carrying with me memories of this time
closing the door I shut out the darkness
When the darkness opened wide,
Little Miss Witch twitched her nose.
She bewitched a dress in a mundane stitch;
Halloween clothes from head to toe for trick or treat.
She walked down the street
To meet with the other sweet sounds of laughter.
Skittles, candy corn, and M&Ms
poured out of the sides of the rainbow
bedecked and merry.
One, two, three.
Poof!
Three kitties on their feet
Jumped on the roof.
Pitch black spike hats, gowns, and boots
They were holding brooms.
Two bad witches and a black goofy itchy cat hid.
Blood shot eyes blinked,
Turned in a bowl dark and grim.
Gooey cobwebs spiders climbed,
Skeletons danced with the fright beat,
Pumpkins ate their seeds and rich meat,
Growled satisfied.
“Taste my sweets, your sweet treats”,
The wind tides had said.
Raven cawed, a conceited warlock in town.
Owls hooted and werewolves howled,
Red luminous eyes glared in the night.
Blood poured out of the trees through the countryside.
A mouse hole,
Three cats went inside,
Three brooms disappeared.
Little Miss Witch and two best friends switched;
Mundane they were no longer.
Boo!
A blood-moon in a candy starless night,
Shadows danced;
Leaves crunched beneath skeletal tress
Before the moon was swallowed up by the sun.
Happy Halloween!
10/11/2021
Children Story
Day and night
Over my years
I watch
This full owl body carved from the light
Of wood
With its slimly painted feathers and howling eyes
Held in swooping flight
At an angle
On a string
From our family room
Ceiling
Circles in the heat of our furnace vent
Glides in its corner in summer breezes
That is beautiful enough
Its constant motion suspecting me
A mole
Watching TV
But there is more
This owl was born twice
Once
At the hands
Of whomever imagined
Her
Then sculpted its wings and face
Mysteriously leaving off its legs and talons
But then
From the Christmas gift
Given to me
By my four children
Who romped and stomped as a teenage gang
Into the Old Town art gallery
The owner suspicious
Ignoring
Then trailing them
Sighs of worry
Please don’t touch
The not-so-subtle mention
Of the price
Perhaps my kids were too young to understand
The insult
Pooling their coins and perseverance
But what a joy
When there is still innocence
Alive
Like that
They thought
Their dad would love an owl
And an owl was what their dad was going to have
Flying across the room
Where he spends his time
Now
And how right they were
Every day every night
Through all the seasons
I look up
With wonder
At their miraculous flight.
~*~
I am one of nine babies born in a farmer's barn,
The barn is cozy and even has an owl door;
My birth nest so warm with stuff like grandma's yarn,
To keep us fed- into the dark mom will soar.
The barn is cozy and even has an owl door,
My perfect ears, heard the farmer call us owls;
To keep us fed- into the dark mom will soar,
While waiting for food I do whistles and howls.
My perfect ears, heard the farmer call us owls,
Oh, we are the only owl with a heart-shaped face;
While waiting for food I do whistles and howls,
Today I went hunting- had my own prey to chase.
Oh, we are the only owl with a heart-shaped face,
Felt the urge to leave today- on my vibrant wings;
Today I went hunting- had my own prey to chase,
I flew to a church steeple- made a nest of odd things.
Felt the urge to leave today- on my vibrant wings,
My birth nest so warm with stuff like grandma's yarn;
I flew to a church steeple- made a nest of odd things,
I am one of nine babies born in a farmer's barn.
_______________________
January 31, 2016
Pantoum/Personification/The Barn Owl
Copyright Protected, ID 16-750-702-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, Owls Personification,
Sponsor, Eve Roper
Second Place
Who would stare at a sky
without the constellations?
Its immense void would only be
filled by the gruesome darkness;
and the obscured earth would have no luminous
moon to gaze upon those mountains and seas!
Times past I used to stare at my murkiness,
and found the coldest depth unlit by tenderness;
and there all feelings were non-existent...a quasi death!
I tried everything imaginable from idealism to mirth,
to bring some genuine, genial contentment,
but they would not comply with my request!
Quiescent Universe, where have you sent your stars?
Obscurity prevails, all the owls, sparrow hawks and loons
tremble; their quietude has been replaced by fear and droopiness!
Even this poet can't possibly quench his ardent spirit and relentless ego...
by not finding that quintessence for another quid pro quo;
every thing seems hushed and conquered by gloom!
Who would stare at a sky without the constellations,
to become voiceless and quaver?
Why did our Creator think of luminaries
as a source of light that wouldn't conceal
the marvelous planets spinning together,
with their perfect balance and sheen?
An astray ship would lurch on a dark and perilous ocean,
and the assiduous captain would be completely afraid without
the astrological guidance; and from any diverging direction,
an unexpected and invisible vessel could cause collision!
He must assume the attitude of confidence: to steer it
from an eventual disaster by invoking God again!
Imperfect world, purposeless person.
I retired to pursue perfection
learn jazz tunes, woody and herbaceous plants,
read every inch of English literature,
Scientific American and Foreign Affairs,
have an affair with an American.
Oh, and by the way, before you ask, I'm from Mars.
Orbiting your planet, admiring the girls.
Paraphrasing prayers by George Herbert to share
with Jesus believers on talk radio shows
where we try to bring your lives into expressible states
before it’s too late and climate change inundates you.
Reversed thunder, savior-side-piercing spear,
one day you’re feeling fine, the next not.
We’re pretty matter of fact, clear about
the fact of death. Once you’re gone most of us forget
your face and previous accomplishments. The place
you lived is repopulated with the next generation (of aliens)
and that ought to be a comfort, a sort of restful
certainty all is well, nothing special need be done.
Bluebirds are back, crows are mating on the sky
and chasing hawks away from their nests. Juncos
and sparrows glean together. I hear pileated woodpeckers
jackhammering and barred owls hooting soothingly.
Herons smoothing feathers and spearing fish.
Everything is as one would wish.
Numberless are the world's wonders
but none more wonderful than aliens.
“Wilderness has at once a mysterious beauty and horror entwined within. Human mind also harbours wild urges and benign emotions. When wild urges take precedence, life becomes an untamed jungle” ~ By Poet
The jungle sprawls hauntingly scary
Where light and shadows together dance.
Here the wind howls fiercely
Thickets and thistles grow wild
Creepers twine around trees.
Branches of trees droop in disarray,
Blocking the paths and obstructing entry.
Under jagged rocks and holes,
Snakes crawl and rodents flee.
The ominous hoot of owls rent the air.
The rocky boulders in dim light look so monstrous.
Leopards and tigers roam free looking for prey
Their carnivores urge, hidden under their soft paws.
From hideouts, raptors and beasts come to the open.
Screeching bats keep flying overhead
Here in this dark grove, light seldom falls
There is a morbid silence, interrupted
By howls of predators and screams of the preyed.
Is not our world too, a wild untamed jungle
Where wolves roam ready to pounce, ready to strike!