The Madman's Song
Oh, let us howl some heavy note,
Some deadly-dogged howl,
Sounding as from the threatening throat
Of beasts and fatal fowl!
As ravens, screech-owls, bulls, and bears,
We'll bell, and bawl our parts,
Till irksome noise have cloyed your ears
And corrosived your hearts.
At last, whenas our quire wants breath,
Our bodies being blest,
We'll sing like swans to welcome death,
And die in love and rest.
poem by John Webster
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Death in the Jungle
When leopards prowl,
When lean wolves howl,
When vultures swoop
Upon their prey,
When panthers leap,
When lions growl,
Then Death removes
His sinister cowl
And soon begins
To maim and slay.
Where eagles fly,
Where grey sharks lie,
Where deadly snakes
In dark holes lurk,
Where scorpions hide,
Where screech owls cry,
There Death awaits
And bye and bye
He moves about
To do his work.
poem by Tan Pratonix
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A Howl of the Night
A howl can be herd in the night as the snow falls
A howl can run through and enter the soul of
The wolf who's heart is as pure as the grain
A howl shall show no mercy and shall either hunt you
Or guide you, It will be strong and hard -the howl of the night.
The howl shall come from the spirit of the strongest,
The bravest and the boldest.
It will not be weak, as the wind carries the howl farther
To the Pack, all will awaken and cry with
The howl of the night.
poem by Rebecca Seetahal
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Owl House Blues
The spotted owl
Let out a howl!
(Being a Howl Owl
Not a Hoot Owl)
"I'm being treated most fowl!
"Bunyan Bobs
Worry about jobs,
While baby owls
Tote teary towels
From homeless sobs!
"They don't give a hoot
When we have a scoot!
We catch their mice
And treat them nice,
And, we get the boot!"
"They call Us a thief,
Never mind our grief!
We'll be out
In a treeless rout
And maybe called chief!
poem by Hugh Wallace
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A New Footnote To Howl
Howl for the dollar suckers, the shake amarni makers
Howl for the rolex souls with their calls to Frankfurt
Howl for the poets who quote in Italian who don`t know how to laugh
Howl for the ice children waiting for buses
Howl for the mobiles with cheap words full of soap
Howl for sons who drive to funerals in cabrios
Howl for the droners who giggle when killing
Howl for moons falling into beer-sodden parks
Howl for kid angels sorting junk in the morning
Howl for gods who wear pictures on their arms
Howl for bombers chasing whores in the sky
Howl for the motherless kissing tins in supermarkets
Howl for the acid faced brides of a lost country
Howl for the pissers, the quick fixers and the holy drinkers
praying on pavements.
Holy occupy holy resistance holy lennon holy allen holy
ernesto and all the prophets who know that
everybody is truth, let them be blessed for
the hard days to come. moving.
poem by Leslie Philibert
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We Are All Captured Beasts
We are all captured beasts,
And we howl - as we might.
We can't open the doors,
For the doors are locked tight.
If our hearts can remember tradition,
When our barking brings solace, we bark.
We don't know. Long ago we've forgotten
That it stinks badly in this zoo-park.
For our hearts can accept repetition;
Bored and weary, we cuckoo our song.
For the zoo is impersonal, habitual;
We've not longed to be free for so long.
We are all captured beasts,
And we howl - as we might.
We can't open the doors,
For the doors are locked tight.
poem by Fyodor Sologub
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Snow wolves
I can hear the wolves
Howl in the distance
The howl is suddenly
Dampened by the falling snow
In a clearing
I see the wolves howl
Perched on the slanted rock
They cry to the moon
The moon cries back
It cries with agony
It cries because of death
Death witnessed beneath it's glow
The wolves turn and howl
The snow doesn't let up
But blows harder
Through blind panic
i run
I hear the wolves howl
Only it isn't in the distance
poem by Eric Ripley
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Hunter's Moon
Beneath the silver-speckled moon,
That floated like the clouds,
The wild wolf smiled, for he would soon
Dispel all nearby crowds.
For he could howl, upon his hill,
Enough to chill your bones,
Enough to make a brave man ill
And fill his throat with groans...
This wily wolf could howl all night!
He sat still unafraid...
He grinned from ear-to-ear all right,
Then what a noise he made!
All ears for miles were tuned in now!
He sniggered, then he paused...
With one huge breath, he howled and how!
And, oh, what fear that caused!
Then three quick howls to pile it on!
Then silence, just for fun...
And just when folks had thought he'd gone,
He proved he wasn't done!
Beneath the hunter's moon above,
His body shook with glee...
He howled as they screamed, 'Lay it off! '
'You can't get rid of me! '
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Hunter's Moon'.
The Stephen Gayford poems can be viewed here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
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The Hounds Howl At Night (Reprise)
The hounds howl at night
Because evil is here
The hounds howl at night
For the terror that will soon begin
The hounds howl at night
For the blackness of the night
The hounds howl at night
For their love of the crescent moon
Even though it's shrouded in fog
poem by Justin Gildow
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Howl
There is a hatred that's in my soul
I feel it strong in this world that I prowl
This anger and terror I must let go
So at the moon; I will howl, I will howl.
I will grit my teeth and shout in anger
When anyone tries to hurt or offend me
That is who I am and it makes me stronger
There is an animal that wants to be free.
Perspiration comes quickly to my head and face
So that hostility I remove it with soap and a towel
But that coming of anger I cannot erase
So at the moon; I will howl, I will howl.
I cannot control my ideals or a bad thought
The loathing of others I wish never was born
But being used and hurt I never had sought
As in my mind and soul that is a prickly thorn.
In disgust I walk with my two fists clinched
And when I speak it comes out in a growl
From my temper I run as though being pinched
So at the moon; I will howl, I will howl.
poem by Randy McClave
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Homomatopoia
Hiss,
Grunt,
roar
Gibber
growl
screech
Humm
drone
buzz
chirp
whistle
tweet
boom
yelp
cry
Bell
bark
squawk
woof
howl
quack
croak
cackle
cluck
hum
scream
chatter
pipe
sing
roar
oink
coo
moo
groan
trill
whinny
pansy
fop
shush
Roark!
poem by Jerome Moore
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Milton: But in the Wine-presses the Human Grapes Sing not nor Dance
But in the Wine-presses the human grapes sing not nor dance:
They howl and writhe in shoals of torment, in fierce flames consuming,
In chains of iron and in dungeons circled with ceaseless fires,
In pits and dens and shades of death, in shapes of torment and woe:
The plates and screws and racks and saws and cords and fires and cisterns
The cruel joys of Luvah's Daughters, lacerating with knives
And whips their victims, and the deadly sport of Luvah's Sons.
They dance around the dying and they drink the howl and groan,
They catch the shrieks in cups of gold, they hand them to one another:
These are the sports of love, and these the sweet delights of amorous play,
Tears of the grape, the death sweat of the cluster, the last sigh
Of the mild youth who listens to the luring songs of Luvah.
poem by William Blake
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But in the Wine-presses the Human Grapes Sing not nor Dance
But in the Wine-presses the human grapes sing not nor dance:
They howl and writhe in shoals of torment, in fierce flames consuming,
In chains of iron and in dungeons circled with ceaseless fires,
In pits and dens and shades of death, in shapes of torment and woe:
The plates and screws and racks and saws and cords and fires and cisterns
The cruel joys of Luvah's Daughters, lacerating with knives
And whips their victims, and the deadly sport of Luvah's Sons.
They dance around the dying and they drink the howl and groan,
They catch the shrieks in cups of gold, they hand them to one another:
These are the sports of love, and these the sweet delights of amorous play,
Tears of the grape, the death sweat of the cluster, the last sigh
Of the mild youth who listens to the luring songs of Luvah.----
poem by William Blake
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Head Howl
Not everyone can get
the things running down on your little head
not every single person can see
the things twirling on your twisted head
the things you can pull out of your hectic fantasy
No one has the right
or the right instinct
to testify
the things that happened in your head last night
No one can explain the reason you said you had to fight
should we decry the candles for burning so bright and gloomy?
was it the burning light?
or the trembling grin of a shadow that stayed still?
of a shadow that got to obsess your rusty dark old mind?
Was it you fighting as a mighty knight?
or were you that poor crippler creeping and begging
for some candles to light on
for some hysteria to speak on
for some pain to go on
for some function to keep it on
for some twisted function your head protects
in order for you to not lose the way
in your reverted battle
and the reaper stands above your head
You are the only thing among the wronged
that is sentenced any way
But there are still things that you can gain
even if your mind after all that time, stays the same
I say, you can still find things in the loss
you can still gain time in the loss
or feelings you ignored
an instant howl that once consoled
your artificial mind
If you are still able to escape
throw behind you the little stones
that will lead you back, ‘cause it's you, you will return
On the side of the warms you crawl
on the side of the ravens you howl
on the side of the crocodiles you cry
on the side of the losers you still give up
and on the side of the winners, you put off the fight
For there is a big howl in your mind
for there is an uncontrolled hole in your mind
trying to follow it with your eye
but your eye blinks too many times
to be able to find some space to breathe
before the light
to catch the lonely inconsolable glimpses of your twisted mind
for your pupil has so much expanded in the dark
that you are used to show already way too much
for your endless fight has given the opponent the right key
to open the night
the night that you have inside
that grows older and still stronger than you
the gloomy night that keeps you behind
and you smile for this retardation
for you are not ready
to howl, enough
So howl!
What are you expecting of, howl…
But I keep seeing with a tear and a sigh in my soul
that you are not even ready to crawl
for if you want to gain, you should lose again
for if you want to stay, you should fall again
and crawl, crawl in the dirt
in the dust where you spit
the things you say you do not like to be
the parts that made you the person from whom you cannot get away
you do not get to see
you should crawl first
and fall
in the parts of you, you dropped and chopped
behind where is the one truth you left to call
the only truth that stands you
the only glimpse that will destroy your fight
and will prepare you for the coveted howl
You are the only howl in your head
that never found the time to run away
Is it the howl you deny?
or is it the sense of freedom
you shall taste
haunting you
hidden behind the crawl, keeping you behind?
You are dying
fight and howl
or lose the fight, howl and crawl
exhausted from what you did not do
exhausted from the howl
you never got to fool
Your head might,
might fly
when you are ready to give up.
Free as you already are
you will never be ready to give up.
Exhausted from the howl that creates you.
poem by Katerina Val
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Beauty of The Moon
Running along the mountains
Feeling the air rush through me
Feel the earth under my paws
Running through the forest at night
My pack on my heels
Run faster and faster
My beta on my left
My she Alpha on my right
Running through the mountains
The moon shining above us
Our anchor
Curling up together under the full moon
Feel the pull to the moon
Feel its strength
Get up and start to run
Run up to the hill
I stare up at the moon
I put my head back and howl
Howl for my love
Howl for my life
Howl for the beauty of the moon
My anchor
The full moon
My she alpha
She howls alongside me
Feel the earth under my paws
I start to run
Run alongside the mountains
Breathing in the air around me
My pack at my heels
My beta on my left
My she alpha on my right
We run
We run with the moon as our anchor
We throw back our heads
We howl
We howl for our loves
We howl for our lives
We howl
For the beauty of the moon
poem by Vianca Borrero
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Overheard on a Salmarsh
Nymph, nymph, what are your beads?
Green glass, goblin. Why do you stare at them?
Give them me.
No.
Give them me. Give them me.
No.
Then I will howl all night in the reeds,
Lie in the mud and howl for them.
Goblin, why do you love them so?
They are better than stars or water,
Better than voices of winds that sing,
Better than any man's fair daughter,
Your green glass beads on a silver ring.
Hush, I stole them out of the moon.
Give me your beads, I want them.
No.
I will howl in the deep lagoon
For your green glass beads, I love them so.
Give thme me. Give them.
No.
poem by Harold Monro
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MOTHERING INSTINCT(for Lyn)
Tears...tears well but don't fall.
Bottom lip
trembles.
Top lip
quivers
& just before she can begin
to howl...
...I howl!
I open my mouth
& - bawl!
Stunned
she stares at my open mouth
with nothing but
sobs coming out.
'I'm...cryin'...'cos...you were..
...gonna...cry! '
I manage to blurt out
(trying not to laugh behind my crocodile tears) .
She climbs up on my lap
(a sturdy little foot on each patella)
wipes my fake tears
away with her hair.
'Ah...Dónall Dónal...not cry! '
'Big boy not cry! Sillly...Dónall cry! '
'Shhhhhhhh! '
she sushes me
kissing a me
(guilty)
of unleashing my four year old's
mothering instinct.l
poem by Dónall Dempsey
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TiTi
I have a queer stuffed toy
Its filled with love and joy
Its ornge and black
She has striped from front to back
She growls
She howl
She even scares the owls
Buttons substitute her eye
And inside her is a bid suprise
Stiches along her head
She lays on my bed
poem by Saranae Nae
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Lycanthropy
Lyrical poetry is fantastic
Lycanthropy may exert all
The song contains a magical act
Werewolves will be luxuriant
And may their offspring commit
Lyricists shall complain
Why do they sing as a howl?
The answer lies in the moon
A crescent moon
That emerges from the sky when dark
Metres of rain are detected
Followers of Satan shall convene
Connected to each other
The army of demonic virtue collides
With the threatening nature of lycanthropy
They spit and splash in the mayhem
Moons will pass as a howl
The spring is not the summer
And if you want to die
Please do show the werewolf some luxury
Lycanthropes are against us
As this war is the footman
We cancel our metatarsus
In those feet are symbols
Emblems are attached signifying growing hair
Then the body is wrong
We are werewolves
Surprised and distrusted
Feeling agony and talent
Our war is over under the Moon
poem by Naveed Akram
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The Raven And The King's Daughter
King’s daughter sitting in tower so high,
Fair summer is on many a shield.
Why weepest thou as the clouds go by?
Fair sing the swans ’twixt firth and field.
Why weepest thou in the window-seat
Till the tears run through thy fingers sweet?
The King’s Daughter.
I weep because I sit alone
Betwixt these walls of lime and stone.
Fair folk are in my father’s hall,
But for me he built this guarded wall.
And here the gold on the green I sew
Nor tidings of my true-love know.
The Raven.
King’s daughter, sitting above the sea,
I shall tell thee a tale shall gladden thee.
Yestreen I saw a ship go forth
When the wind blew merry from the north.
And by the tiller Steingrim sat,
And O, but my heart was glad thereat!
For ’twixt ashen plank and dark blue sea
His sword sang sweet of deeds to be.
The King’s Daughter.
O barren sea, thou bitter bird,
And a barren tale my ears have heard.
The Raven.
Thy father’s men were hard thereby
In byrny bright and helmet high.
The King’s Daughter.
O worser waxeth thy story far,
For these drew upon me bolt and bar.
Fly south, O fowl, to the field of death
For nothing sweet thy grey neb saith.
The Raven.
O, there was Olaf the lily-rose,
As fair as any oak that grows.
The King’s Daughter.
O sweet bird, what did he then
Among the spears of my father’s men?
The Raven.
’Twixt ashen plank and dark blue sea,
He sang: My true love waiteth me.
The King’s Daughter.
As well as this dull floor knows my feet,
I am not weary yet, my sweet.
The Raven.
He sang: As once her hand I had,
Her lips at last shall make me glad.
The King’s Daughter.
As once our fingers met, O love,
So shall our lips be fain thereof.
The Raven.
He sang: Come wrack and iron and flame,
For what shall breach the wall but fame?
The King’s Daughter.
Be swift to rise and set, O Sun,
Lest life ’twixt hope and death be done.
The Raven.
King’s daughter sitting in tower so high,
A gift for my tale ere forth I fly,
The gold from thy finger fair and fine,
Thou hadst it from no love of thine.
The King’s Daughter.
By my father’s ring another there is,
I had it with my mother’s kiss.
Fly forth, O fowl, across the sea
To win another gift of me.
Fly south to bring me tidings true,
Fair summer is on many a shield.
Of the eve grown red with the battle-dew,
Fair sing the swans ’twixt firth and field.
The Raven.
King’s daughter sitting in tower so high,
Fair summer is on many a shield.
Tidings to hearken ere thou die,
Fair sing the swans ’twixt firth and field.
In the Frankish land the spear points met,
And wide about the field was wet.
And high ere the cold moon quenched the sun,
Blew Steingrim’s horn for battle won.
The King’s Daughter.
Fair fall thee fowl! Tell tidings true
Of deeds that men that day did do.
The Raven.
Steingrim before his banner went,
And helms were broke and byrnies rent.
The King’s Daughter.
A doughty man and good at need;
Tell men of any other’s deed?
The Raven.
Where Steingrim through the battle bore
Still Olaf went a foot before.
The King’s Daughter.
O fair with deeds the world doth grow!
Where is my true-love gotten now?
The Raven.
Upon the deck beside the mast
He lieth now, and sleepeth fast.
The King’s Daughter.
Heard’st thou before his sleep began
That he spake word of any man?
The Raven.
Methought of thee he sang a song,
But nothing now he saith for long.
The King’s Daughter.
And wottest thou where he will wend
With the world before him from end to end?
The Raven.
Before the battle joined that day
Steingrim a word to him did say:
“If we bring the banner back in peace,
In the King’s house much shall my fame increase;
Till there no guarded door shall be
But it shall open straight to me.
Then to the bower we twain shall go
Where thy love the golden seam doth sew.
I shall bring thee in and lay thine hand
About the neck of that lily-wand.
And let the King be lief or loth
One bed that night shall hold you both.”
Now north belike runs Steingrim’s prow,
And the rain and the wind from the south do blow.
The King’s Daughter.
Lo, fowl of death, my mother’s ring,
But the bridal song I must learn to sing.
And fain were I for a space alone,
For O the wind, and the wind doth moan.
And I must array the bridal bed,
Fair summer is on many a shield.
For O the rain, and the rain drifts red!
Fair sing the swans ’twixt firth and field.
Before the day from the night was born,
Fair summer is on many a shield.
She heard the blast of Steingrim’s horn,
Fair sing the swans ’twixt firth and field.
Before the day was waxen fair
Were Steingrim’s feet upon the stair.
“O bolt and bar they fall away,
But heavy are Steingrim’s feet to-day.”
“O heavy the feet of one who bears
The longing of days and the grief of years!
Lie down, lie down, thou lily-wand
That on thy neck I may lay his hand.
Whether the King be lief or loth
To-day one bed shall hold you both.
O thou art still as he is still,
So sore as ye longed to talk your fill.
And good it were that I depart,
Now heart is laid so close to heart.
For sure ye shall talk so left alone
Fair summer is on many a shield.
Of days to be below the stone.”
Fair sing the swans ’twixt firth and field.
poem by William Morris
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Atlas
You rip through the trees,
A black blur stronger then
Anything
The world's ever witnessed,
Thick paws heavy with dread
And with knowledge
And with things kept from
You.
You howl,
Again, the birch's
Nothing more then
A snow striped blurr,
Nothing more then
Eternity...
A pointless thing,
You howl with dread
Blankness. Death.
But you are stronger then
That.
You press on,
Heedless of the blood-stained
Cantelope sky,
Heedless of the ropy red clouds,
Heedless of the lake,
A reflective of sky.
You tramp in, your intentions clear,
The sky thrust on your paws
And the summer birch's spin
As do the clouds,
And the air
And shadows
Of the wind.
But you are heedless of
Eternity
poem by Alice Miller
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