Yowls Poems | Examples

Woman's Work

Mother Earth
is due for her hysterectomy.
Soon she will lap dance
in a crystal-clear sterility
far from her blood-soaked fields.

She is done with nurturing,
done with death and destruction.
She gave her all,
but that was then,
now the soil is blistering
for want of her winnowing,
her threshing.
Her attention
is upon herself alone.

There is a place
a lit-up stardust dive
where all fertility deities
eventually arrive -
there they
gyrate and twerk
for those
who,
quite by chance,
have dug their way out
of their own graves,

yet even they must pass away,
as she strips down
to her last scant garments
then yowls with glee
knowing
she is free.

Sullen Scenery

Written: April 05, 2024

                          ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Perched delicately on the shiny cobalt.
The brumal sky is where it lies. 
A sight that truly captures the heart. 
With such beauty, there is no disguise. 

Pearly salver shines with a radiant glow.
Amber and pearliness, as a full moon show
Surrounded by a mist of ashen hue.
A wolf, feeling glum and bleak blue.

Solitary and desolate it stood.
Amid night depths In a gloomy mood.
A bluesy dirge, yowls in the night.
Oh, the woeful wails of leaden plight. 

Echoing through the depths of sorrow's reef. 
Watery paint that runs under the leaf.
A mournful melody, heavy and deep.
In the heart's chamber, it does seep. 

A melody dances, in mild waves cascades.
A rippling composed refrain.
The heart sings its sweet serenades.
Whispers of golden yearning strain.

Ode To Pussy Cat

Pussy cat pussy cat
Your growls and your yowls
Your calls and your mauls
Patting me down
Making me into a nest
Your jaws and your claws
Ouch pussy cat!

Meowing Nemesis

My days are dogged
by ankle-panthers,
my nights cursed
by the thwarted yowls
of sexual athletes.

I try to negotiate a way
into their affections
yet they scorn
chin tickles,
my hesitant ear petting.

They all strut away
tails stiff in the air
flashing me that old pink
one eye.

I Vomit Poems

I’m a modern poet.
Pyromaniac.
Psychotic.
And schizophrenic.

Living in emptiness,
I walk in the convolutions of absurdity.
Idiocy spreads over me like the sky.
My poetry storms between cozy shelters and rocky waves,
while the world rushes toward suicide.
Suffocated, I lift my head
but I’m dragged down by viscous triviality.

My tongue is burned
with the acid of loathing
I gawk at the world.
Crawling through the madness,
I welcome the garb of another day.
My life measured by pale, gray days.
A stray dog at a butcher’s shop
that stays all the day without chains,
and yowls others for leftovers.

I learned to worship agony.
I’m a commodity made in a cheap factory,
an item in a grocery list.
My heart a broken shell.
I don’t write; I vomit poems.

Black Ivy

Cancer has no answer 
Death leaves a shaky breath
Left feeling so bereft 

Dark thoughts create a mark
Spent in life's wary dent
Saddened, feeling maddened 

Cries of pain pierce the eyes 
Languish in deep anguish 
Seeping blackness creeping 

Cancer, gloom enhancer
Prowls as pained patient yowls 
Tears cut short hurtful years


06.04.2021


For Chantelle Anne Cooke's "Cancer Ivy" contest

The Wood

enter the wood, end of the day
  deep deep reverb, everywhere
  eerie sound from between the trees
  from bowels of earth, around the sky

  then chilling stillness, flee or stay?
  thump thump! disturb the very air
  flurried dance, the following breeze
  as yowls of mirth personify

  monsters lurk and skulk, hide away
  blink blink, acerbic scary stare
  belly scales grow knobbly knees
  fat jowls of girth, the fleshy eye

  children scamper, fierce games they play
  beat beat, why curb their merry dare ?
  carefree clamber through ill-at-ease
  with howls of worth they yelp and cry

  fungi feast while dank leaves decay
  sleep sleep superb in fairy lair
  life poking head, no guarantees
  where scowls give birth, when dreams do die

  look up beyond where branches sway
  squeak squeak perturb the glary glare
  past hazy stars, the " Pleiades "
  night ghouls of dearth by radar fly

Cats

CATS

The house is a rumble with cat yowls and howls. 
They sharpen their claws, and duel with their paws.
They roll and tumble and make the dog grumble. 
Steal what they shouldn't, 
try high jumps they couldn't. 
Use grapple hooks to climb my legs, 
leaving bloody trails behind their tails.  
Then they sleep and look so sweet,
Until they wake; more stuff to break.

Lupus Et Luna By Mike Williams

A lone wolf yowls lachrymose,
At a lowly weeping full moon,
A hyperborean chill blows,
To quake the trees snow-clad festoon.

Reverent icy waters stand still,
Solid as old placid cold stone,
And crystallize its surface frill,
Webbing fractures as cracking bone.

The moonlight shimmers lupine pelage,
Luminous white, silver, and grey,
Scintillating eyes peer a ledge,
To skulk the skirted night away.

A carmen matricale of night,
In some strange darkened equipoise,
Vapored vacuous of breath and bite,
Winter bares its fanged alveolus.

The ethereal moon looked on,
With frigid distant nocturn eyes,
When soon bedims her view by dawn,
The wolf muffles in subdued cries.

Snow blankets the barren land white,
A place time seems to have forgot,
Away with the sounds of the night,
And the melancholy it brought.

Thresh's Halloween

They're polishing their broomsticks
and sharpening their hats
Catching little spiders
and feeding them to bats

Howling at their cauldrons
and cackling to cats
Cradling wooden stir sticks
and babbling for spats

Mixing up their potions
and yelling out their spells
Rebelling that they're no good
and relishing their Hells

Rising up to bubbles
and thinning out to steam
Cautious of the vapors
and crazy as a meme'

Holding out for new moon
and precious as it seems
Coddling for the season
A Thresh's Halloween!


I wrote this poem based on one I found
on the internet by Lillian Moore.
Here is her version of the poem from
the book Spooky Rhymes and Riddles



Poem about THEM

THEY
  polish their broomsticks,
  sharpen their hats,
  catch some spiders,
  feed the bats,
  try out some yowls
  with all the cats.
THEN
  witches are ready for
YOU
KNOW
WHEN!


-by Lillian Moore

Witch's Halloween

They polish their broomsticks
and sharpen their hats
Catch black little spiders
that turn into sacs

Howl just like the kittens
that turn into cats
And Spit at the moonlight
that Halloween's spat

While crying for supper
of your little kids
And stirring their cauldrons
for flavor and dids



I wrote this poem based on one I found
on the internet by Lillian Moore.
Here is her version of the poem from
the book Spooky Rhymes and Riddles



Poem about THEM

THEY
  polish their broomsticks,
  sharpen their hats,
  catch some spiders,
  feed the bats,
  try out some yowls
  with all the cats.
THEN
  witches are ready for
YOU
KNOW
WHEN!


-by Lillian Moore

Halloween Scare

They're polishing their broomsticks
and sharpening their hats
Catching little spiders
and feeding them to bats

Howling like the kittens
that sit around their vat
and coming to us shortly
when Halloween's scared at

They're coming!



I wrote this poem based on one I found
on the internet by Lillian Moore.
Here is her version of the poem from
the book Spooky Rhymes and Riddles



Poem about THEM

THEY
  polish their broomsticks,
  sharpen their hats,
  catch some spiders,
  feed the bats,
  try out some yowls
  with all the cats.
THEN
  witches are ready for
YOU
KNOW
WHEN!


-by Lillian Moore

Halloween Has Come

They're gathering their broomsticks
and sharpening their hats
Found catching little spiders
and feeding them to rats

Down pesty little fruit flies
and swiftly soaring bats
All mixing in a cauldron
for temptous gloary vat

And tasty to the forked tongue
of glecious gloried glum
While mixing to the tastebuds
of racious roary grumb

And taking home our vest lines
of ivy, flora, spum
when making it their best fun
of Halloween has come



I wrote this poem based on one I found
on the internet by Lillian Moore.
Here is her version of the poem from
the book Spooky Rhymes and Riddles



Poem about THEM

THEY
  polish their broomsticks,
  sharpen their hats,
  catch some spiders,
  feed the bats,
  try out some yowls
  with all the cats.
THEN
  witches are ready for
YOU
KNOW
WHEN!


-by Lillian Moore

Halloween Combine

They're gathering their broomsticks
and clastic lunar hats
Sohrgetting all their toads and frogs
for what we've known as spats

And delving down a one way crete
for wicked tracious acts
Of Spider eggs and treppled legs
on what we've known as facts

And carrying their craddled soup
for roshes precious time
all marinee'd their gracious way
for taking on the climb

Of sacred age and clasdid cage
ruined placious over time
While serenade and promenade
grow grecious over blime

And all our fears amount to WITCH
where tracious frairs align
And all our lost who helped their way
Soah Halloween combine



I wrote this poem based on one I found
on the internet by Lillian Moore.
Here is her version of the poem from
the book Spooky Rhymes and Riddles



Poem about THEM

THEY
  polish their broomsticks,
  sharpen their hats,
  catch some spiders,
  feed the bats,
  try out some yowls
  with all the cats.
THEN
  witches are ready for
YOU
KNOW
WHEN!


-by Lillian Moore

A B C Poem To Rev My Engines

Alabaster annoyance 
Blatantly breathes bulbous brightness
Cadaverous comedy caring 
Daintily during delicate delivery
Exciting elderly enigma.
Furious fiery feeler
Gregariously greets
High-handed hustler
Ignoring imaginative immediates
Jauntily jeering judiciously.
Kangaroo kisses kibitzes
Leaving luxurious loners
Merrily masticating mincemeat.
Never-do-wells needing knowledge
Ostentatiously officiate on orange orangutans.
Precariously polite Pomeranians
Quietly quiz querulous quoters
Reposing rapidly ruining
Still sassy strenuous strikers
Turning toward Tuesday tournaments.
Understandably unprecedented underlings
Vindicate vicious vagrants
While wishing waxy widows would
‘xpect ‘xciting ‘xacting ‘xtras.
Youngish yellow yowls yipping
Zipping zany zebras’ zealous zero zone.

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