Yowling Poems | Examples

Lies of Omission

Wounded, woeful woman.
Hostage of hindered hope.
Yowling, yearning, for you.

*1408 Acrostic Triplet Poetry Contest
*Sponsored by: Brian Strand
*Entered on: 08/31/2025

America Lost Its Innocence

                                  7/14/2025

Oh, how could this have ever happened here?
A free naton with baseball, movies and beer?

Those days when other nations cry against the USA…….DIE?
I think on tha, when we turned  far left… America’s very soul died.

Those who so loathe and hate our free nation.
Created conspiracy theories,like…boll weevils.
They would do anything to destroy this nation and make America evil?

None of us realizing,  how this would divide all of us.
A necrotic snake filled some, like decaying green pus.

And the proof is in the yowling streets of PA is heard .
Of misled shouts of hate, like  some insane, hysterical, mysteriuos birds.

Many people died but  many unaware, people could care less!
They much prefer riotinh and lies and walk in a state of mental undress.

Our streets full of both USA and Israeli shrill haters.
In masks and flags,green flafs~ such insane, victim baiters.

That “religious” mantra shouted aboard the 9/11 plaines,
Rings in my tender ears, like an exploding, crashing train.

Sleepless

Sleepless

Dogs are howling.
Cats are yowling.
Stomach's growling.
Just want a nap.

Mowers mow.
Blowers blow.
Planes are low.
Please, a bit of kip.

A fly astir .
An AC's whirr.
Roaring roadster.
Just forty winks.

Telly's off.
Party's over.
Almost aslee...
Have to pee.

-Grim

Seduction Interruptus

She throws herself at the feet
of the unimpressed—
rolling, rubbing and yowling,
an opera of yearning
for the neutered elite.

They blink, stretch, then saunter off
for another nap
on the sun-pooled sill,
leaving her to flirt
with the legs of chairs.

Bewildered by the bopped nose,
the rebuffed overtures—
arching and warbling,
tail high with invitation—
she meets only
indifference or disdain.
Again she circles,
unsure if maybe
she’s doing it wrong.

Mid-kitchen now,
she flops down wailing
betrayal in the key of estrus,
as if to say:
Was it something I purred?

Country Road Food Chain

Yowling and howling late at night
Meeting of cats by the bright moonlight
Wild yipping and one long scream
Coyotes cornered something by a stream

It might be a cat, it’s a sacrifice
Excited yipping announcing it is nice
The food chain is alive down my country road
A long black rat snake just ate a toad

car door slamming smell

it sounded like a car door slamming shut
All three dogs begin the howling yowling bark
Then they run to mama
I am mama
I look out the window
to make sure a delivery man has made his escape
no one is out there
Open the door and they race through it
as if they are on the scent of six serial killers
it takes us a while to get inside
Every dog finds a place and flops.
Bam!
Another car door.
The chase begins anew

what is going on out there

Yowling and howling, snarling and snapping
Came in through a window when my husband was napping
It sounded like a sound off, I was sure a cat would be dead.
My own cat bounced in moments later, his fur stand-up red.

What is going on out there? I asked, for now I heard low growls.
The cats were ready to fight, as snappish as Turkish towels.
Fred dove head-first under the bed and stayed until it was over.
Rolling his eyes about it was my St Bernard named Rover.

Weird Wood

Some people don’t hike through the wood,
especially on All Hallows Eve.
Ghosts of boys and girls of good
float at the campfire, if you believe.

Elves and pixies dance through the trees, 
with taunting, mocking, and leering.
They swing and sway in the brash breeze,
their faces frighteningly jeering.

What was that? The crack in the wind
unleashes demons and banshees!
Their hideous yowling will send
even the bravest to their knees.

Ghosts and goblins arise from their graves,
harmonize in a cacophonous chant. 
Don’t try to hide in the darkened caves.
They’ll find you in their raucous rant.

They’ll steal your bones with giggling glee
and make toothpicks with your ribs. 
Quickly now, turn. Run, and flee
before they find you and call out “Dibs!”

For the Love of Weather

Thunderous storm
Taking form
Black cloud
Dark shroud
Dogs yowling
Wind howling
Dusty ground 
Swirling round
Grasses curl
Leaves twirl
Trees rustle
People hustle
Animals flee
Kids glee
Umbrellas out
Mothers shout
I stand 
Raised hand
Loving power
Heavenly shower
Lightning flash
Thunder crash
Babies cry
Mothers sigh
Up higher
Tree fire
Go hide
Inside
Watch rain
Through pane
Safe, warm
Raging storm
Passing by
Blue sky

What the Owl Sees

A bad winter
the worst since the last one.
The camp had lost its children and horses
now the owl sees her last step.

Separated, not expelled in disgrace,
but her tribe disenthralled,
deprived of care
by deaths unremitting cull.

She, the last to stumble away
from the brow-beaten village
knowing there were no more paths
for her in this bleak land.

Only the moon was not cruel,
its wane glow
lit her up like its own shadow
in the yowling dark.

Now only the owl does not hunt her.
She knows that if she ever saw herself,
so weary and close to the bone,
she would think of herself as prey,

She would let fly one last arrow
for a piercing end, and
let the owl see what it may.

Exasperated By Busy Body Cat

Roary Raccoon was dazzling in his orange banded witch’s hat.
Are you now a warlock? Asked his nemesis, Mr. Busybody Cat..
Roary’s loud sigh was not enough hint for this big buffoon.
Whose yowling is annoying every night next to the moon.

I am a stylish raccoon, Roary informed him in his plain way.
I can be an astronaut, physicist or physician any old day.
This hat does not make me a warlock, you fuddy fiddle fee.
Please take your busybody habits with you far away from me.

No One

Starry nights,
laying wide-awake;
lost in thoughts dark and deep.
No one sings lullabies
by your bedside
to ease you to sleep.

Cold nights,
curled up in woe;
starving to the core.
No one cares
if you need a repast
or sleep with an echoing stomach sore.

Thunderous nights,
yowling on your knees;
feeling hopeless in a pit.
No one holds you
while you break,
so you fall apart bit by bit.

Full moon nights,
numbing yourself with nicks and cuts;
hoping your hurt will wane.
No one cares
or tells you its going to be okay,
so you go insane.

Every morning you still get out of bed,
when all you want is to be dead;
after living through nights of hell.
No one applauds
or pats your back,
for the times you rose after you fell.

But it’s time old soul
to hum your pacific lullaby,
kill your anti-hero hunger
and stitch your own tatter.
It’s time to pat yourself from the back,
parade your self-love;
for you need no one
to tell you that you matter.

Cats Song

Two cats yowling and screaming
Facing each other neither submitting
Staring and hissing, tails rapid flicking
Warnings signs of impending butt kicking

Tufts of loose fur flew through the air
Two territorial felines, a vicious fight flare
Exposing retractile, razor sharp claws
Penetrating bites - flesh torn by their jaws

They stop for a moment to gather some strength
New positions held with a guarded new length 
Ears flattened down - body arch pose
Poised for new battle, next swipe to their nose

What seemed like hours this fight carried on
Neither was yielding both screaming cats song
Someone shouted and gave them some chase
Startling both cats whom scattered post haste

Silence now golden no sound could be heard
Not even a mouse or hoot of owl bird 
When suddenly screeching echoed nights air
Two foxes mate calling - a date flirting pair.

            30.08.21

Sonnet In Bondage

My sonnet has the temper of a screaming child
because I'll not allow it to run free and wild
Mired on a pad, it damns me. "I want to fly free!"
"You're not ready," I whisper. "Put your trust in me."

It cried, trying to hold on to its pregnant dreams
blaming me for aborting expressive rhyme schemes 
"Ask your muse to find more decorous selections."
On her advice, I began to make corrections.

I purged all the rhetoric and made a new start
resulting in the birth of a sonnet with heart
I danced for freedom I'd granted to my verses
No longer do I hear the yowling of curses

I will continue to write with a pliant quill
and an open mind with the ink I choose to spill

Mama Wolf

She sat on the edge of the cliff watching her wolf pups
They were howling and growling and rolling in their cups
She needed a break, was high enough they could not reach her
She loved them all of course, but she needed a break for sure.

They were yipping and rolling and jumping and playing ball. 
They are fun of course. Mother Wolf was proud of them all. 
Daddy Wolf came by and asked Mother what was for lunch.
She rolled her eyes, not caring, too busy with this bunch.

So he wandered off, and howled a bit, trying for a moon.
She was irritated. She knew she’d have to get food ready soon.
The pups were howling and yowling and getting closer now.
She loved them all totally, her pups were a big giant wow!

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