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Jared A Washburn Jun 2015
Up went the roar of the crowd,
Ascending, volumes above, beyond
The everyday murmur of pestering silence.
A futile struggle to withstand its force,
Like a vast wave, rogue and raging,
Slamming nature, a slap in the face of feebleness,
This crowd roars…

Not anger, not anguish, or grief,
But a prideful scream of declaration;
The masses make it known, and known again,
Fists raised, pulverizing the air to a beat
Of human design, of togetherness, of solidarity
In the fight for those like us, a howl,
This crowd roars…

Stampeding feet berate the beaten earth,
Invigorated legs supporting pounding hearts,
To a beat, rolling with the flow,
Energy infusing the soul, encased in flesh, bone, and blood;
Marching onward, forward, processional strides
Declaring and making it known with battle cries,
This crowd roars…

Shouts of proclamation echo the strident resistance
With thunder, earth-quaking, walls crumbling, chains shattering
With thunder, dancing against the discordant system;
Proud warriors raising flags of protest
Amidst the roar, roister, and riots, rising reactionaries
Refusing submission, declining resignation,
This crowd roars…

Bounded together, by blood, by common cause,
Mingling masses of forgotten arise with a vocal
Outcry, intense, pulsing from the core (of us)
Like an infestation, infuriated, a torrent swarm (of us)
Flowing upwards, eroding all obstructions.
Declare, proclaim, announce, request, demand,
**This crowd roars…
My cat howls at night. I sometimes wonder why.

I don't think it's 'cause he's lonely.
The door is open a crack and he knows how to get in.

Maybe he's going deaf. I heard that can happen.
"They howl real loud, like echolocation."

Or maybe my cat is a mutant.

All I can tell you, when he starts up like that,
is when I call his name he stops.
And comes into the room.
And jumps up on the bed.
And starts to purr.

So here's what I think—
that maybe what he's doing,
when he howls like that,
is scaring away the monsters so we can sleep.
© 2011  J.J.W. Coyle
Jane Lame Jun 2015
A glow stick chain spun above bed
Art can make the city howl

As you wish, I said. You said
"I feel like I'm high right now"

A circus show in your living room
Her painting fell from the wall

A mirror, manifesting symmetry
We've been at this for quite a while

I took me six months before
Not that I'm counting the days

If it's quality that you're chasing
I'll throw that ***** card away

I'm searching for my medium
Closer and closer each day

Using words, aiming to break
The space rhyme continuum
igc May 2015
I saw the best minds of my generation congested and
polluted overdosing on irrelevance

Abandoned abused replaced
Fed to the thought police
Corrected corrupted
Declining the potential to be heard in
exchange for the opportunity to be documented

Lives being lived according to unfeasible standards
You either make it or you don’t
there’s no in between
there’s no maybe
there’s no equal

Left to meander through the conceived thoughts of others
decisions being made
moves being made
eulogies being made

nothings real
nothing’s right
nothing’s honest
nothing thought up matters


Who in the safety of their homes were taught respect
are told to mask their emotions
Identities saved for the weak
Only to be showcased when conducive

Who pump iron into their veins
looking for an angry fix of acceptance
Sweat streams surge down their backs
Failure prominent in their thoughts
Motivation blessing their features
the Devil clever in disguise

Who see little white fields of fairy dust
a never ending landscape of courage
giving them superpowers beyond belief

Nothing beats the freedom of being told
You can fly

Who dream of equality behind closed eyes
But render to imposed birth rights when open
The upper hand implying more than height
and executing more force than necessary to move them

It’s all about the cause until you’re indubitably
the effect

Who tuck monsters into their beds
Forgetting to check closets for skeletons not quite left behind
in the path of carefully chaotic self destruction
Conveniently purging themselves of words whispered
in the throes of passion
Forced upon the ears of all naive enough to listen

Who carelessly expend countless hours playing with
condescending pawns disguised as adults
All grown up with no where to go
Replacing quality with quantity
Leaving long dull trails of breadcrumbs
leading to hearts long since lost
Never to be recovered again

Who follow sexuality by the book
doing this to get that for this him them who what when where
Why does the finish line have to be covered with brightly colored lace and muffled drunk cries chanting no

Who stare dead straight into the soul of love but never
Never into her eyes
Told she is not worthy of being addressed directly
Fingers itching to cop a feel
Only to discover the body is but a passage to her straight dead soul


Who trade in their voice mind and individuality
for half assed smiles and superficial men
As the face of a leviathan nicknamed acceptance
hands them a paycheck they’ve worked too
night day night night hard to refuse

Who idolize the feel of phantom limbs of lovers past
Twisted words convoluting their heads
Forcing on masks of pure heroine
at the sight of scars left on the soul
Scratching at the need to feel wanted
But cowering at the ability to truly be heard

Who have perfected the art of parallel painting
Elegant red streaks hidden beneath layers of
choppy dark colored hate covering pretty pale limbs
Seeming to fade as colorlessly caked on insecurities susurrate bitter-sweet nothings that curl themselves just inside her mutilated skin

Who scavenged their looks from the bottom of holes
they’re expected to clamber out of
Smiling pretty smiling
Being treated to complimentary meals
Only to be served plates full of disappointment.

Who crave companion’s flaws
in ruthless attempts to satisfy their hunger for compassion
Selfless beings dedicated to less than noble attempts at vanquish
The call for heat too satisfying to refuse the trade off forever uselessly launching themselves into razor sharp blades
aimed at ***** sleeves

Who see soft lips as cushion enough to fall from towers built of fear
Dragging moist palms across pavement thighs
Tearing at the seams holding their
hearts together

Who cower behind brick wall appearances
fruitlessly clutching on to ideas reserved for the most fortunate
Scaring away potential with claws that seemingly only come
out to play in the face of acceptance

Who’s sick stick thin limbs trail their worn down
fingernails in an effort mar skin no one can see
Streaks titillate their bright red scalps
A reflection of their underlying journey

Who disgorge yesterday's meal from stomachs long before empty
Blood spewing from the mouth an open wound
Continuously sewed up but never stitched tight correctly
Wiring shut opinions but never gorged enough to
muzzle their Howls



Ideas, calm and collected have long been hijacked and invaded by Hestia

Hestia! Consent! Content! Acceptance!
Long nights and roid rage men!
Two faces fighting a losing battle!
Girls playing mom! Boys playing war!
Ill ridden parents still pledging to the
United States of Controlling Media!

Hestia! Hestia!
Overall reign of Hestia!
Hestia the beautiful!
Incarcerated Hestia!
Hestia the ******!

Hestia twisted and shaped to form the voice of conformity
Hestia constantly watching over and monitoring
Hestia being told what to ******* think

Hestia seeping creeping sneaking into the
darkest crevices of our minds
Hestia when least expected coming out to say
Hello

Too late! Hestia’s already made herself at home
Wedged between the rooks of your biggest fear and
burrowed deep into the folds of
Your  Worst  Nightmare

Stuck in a constant battle between
rejecting Hestia,
and accepting her.
This was obviously inspired by Allen Ginsberg's "Howl."
Considering it was, at the time, the voice of that generation, Welcome to Generation Y.
This is a work in progress.
David Leger Apr 2015
Every day people astound me and I don’t know why.
They’ll astound me util the day i die. Why?
Don’t get me wrong, but where are the important people,
I wouldn’t know one if I met one. I’ve never met one.
But they’d be all that much more special if one appears to me ever.
I thought I found one once, then twice, and a third time, but before long they fell to ruin under the weight of themselves, they were abnormal and reality was normal, always clashing, and crashing, and bashing heads with each other.
I cry, oh how I cry for them to come back to reality where I am trapped. I see their reality and they do not. I wish I was like them. I wish I couldn’t see their faults and mine. As I slip away and their eyes glazed with rose pedals, I let out a shout! “Take me!” but their grins grow wide with sweet eyes and they drink my tears while I cry for them. I am sunk like a forlorn ship in the storm long ago. Like the sorrow they write about, I am that reality without readers. Unbeautifully broken. My story is worth not their hearts.

My eyes still close dreaming of you.
Written while listening to "Howl" by Allen Ginsberg.
Ovi-Odiete Apr 2015
And the demons gathered, robed in darkness; making enchantments- casting spells
And the night screamed loud- tears flowing pass
telling all what the shadows says
for out of the night, came a strange howl- eerie and uncanny
But the Demons hovered nearer
as the stars shined on them
meandering with deep glitters;
they cast a spell- forcing all men
to sleep in the dead of the night
and they sent nightmares of terrors,
to all mankind- inducing sleep paralysis

And the moon lit the dark skies,
with the shadows hunting men
still the Demons gathered,
making a wish; an evil wish
setting forth a journey- as they hover-fly
flying through those oikon trees,
hovering in one accord above
with their black robes floating
But they missed their pathways;
Embarking on a mixed enroute
Then the Angels flew in,
obstructing their responsive stimuli
the Demons attacked;the Angels subserve

In the midst of the turmoil,
The Demons pathways
they fly away; with all they had
The Angels took charge; breaking seals
And the Demons fell down flat
all with broken wings
The moon light comes sharper,
illuminating all sense of evil out of the night

Angels; with their signets breaking spells
And the heat was felt; as the Demons strengths gave way
Angels took charge.
From the side of midnight; deep and scary
Brieana Rose Mar 2015
I watch you, I watch you grow into the beautiful master piece of art you are .
You're magnificent , and rare to find.
It's the middle of the night and the moon shines bright through my window and the cool breeze blows my chimes .
My name is being howled in the mountains by you.
It's like Mozart , music to my ears .
Thus passion I have ought to be a sin , because you're a beast .
But yet so caressing so passionate .
It's a full moon , you run through every mountain .
I wait and you arrive , with therefor I pause.
Panting , motionless
I gently touch your fur and stare into your red Beaty eyes .
I can't help but pour my love , I see this beautiful art work.
Not a beast but a master piece
Nobody wants you in this town , they have such hatred , animosity .
But they are just degrading a beautiful creature .
You're so dangerous and can **** with the sharp claws and teeth but instead we make passionate never ending love and those claws scratch my back and those teeth sink in my neck .
I become alive , just like you .
tonight I am
bound to howl.
this moon, risen
to unearth this
beast from within,
who's laid claim
to its throne
in the darkness
of stars, suns
blinking forever away
in that place
I once loved,
a place I
should never return.
Madeleine Dawn Feb 2015
The howl of the wind creeps into the darkest parts you; finally ridding the dust that lay heavy on your aching bones.

A single bite from her starved mouth envenoms you with addiction – another, and she’s left sanguinary. hungry and wanting for more.

Wait for her night to find you – let it sink its claws into your back; smiling as she watches you bleed.
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