"yowling" poems
Oh, the witches, they cackle;
Oh, the witches, they fly!
Soaring through the starry night sky
With their long cloaks flapping
And their black cats yowling
The witches are a-fly tonight.
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 7:37 AM UTC
I’m the perm of a
Poet
I can choke
I can breathe
I can drink a cup of coffee
And you
Are a murmuration
A flock of afternoon
midnight
I will let your
Black mass love me
However
However
However
It can
I’m reaching for you
Little bird
Take me with your arrow
The streets of this
Pure piano
And I introduce the yowling
Trumpet
The dead skin on
my back
Flecks with the quiver
Of flying with you
By choice
Jan 3, 2017
Jan 3, 2017 at 10:37 AM UTC
These streets are postcards.
Moments of my youth,
My loves.
Each park bench enveloped within,
Licked and pressed to
My forehead.
Return me to those times.
I want my streets back. My memories
Present and my friends
Still readied for me.
Pour moi.
Pour me another drink
Whilst I forget the ones I had.
Red wine has long since replaced
My blood,
My skin; gone stale.
The streets press in on
My chest.
I can’t breath for the dizzy memoirs,
Yowling at the moon in
My brain.
The simple sway of a tyre swing,
You and I,
The chains.
The simple fog of your ice machine,
You and I,
The cider.
The simplicity of you and me,
You and me,
The years.
These streets are ghost ships now.
Bounty once abound, now gutted.
Do not tease me with your platitudes
Oh town,
And just let me be on my way.
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 8:09 PM UTC
Rush around in circles like a headless chicken running
Diminishing to spirals in a blue encircled churn
Giddying to balance in unsteady equilibrium,
Whilst canting to the left on a gyroscopic turn.
Vaulting to the heavens in gymnastical maneuvering,
Launching into ether in fanatical escape,
****** features grimacing through muscular contortion
With abdominal contractions in a pantomime of ****
Yowling to the darkness in a feline form of vocalness
Hissing through the teeth in a serpentine display,
Bellowing the bellicose of bovine innuendo
And bleeding feet in gumboots on a ****** raining day.
Rush around in circles like a headless chicken running
With ****** features grimaced on a ****** raining day,
Yowling to the darkness with abdominal contraction
In a bovine innuendo of a serpentine display.
Bellowing the bellicose of bleeding feet in gumboots,
Vaulting to the heavens in fanatical escape,
Giddying to spirals in contracting equilibrium
Just a ****** innuendo of a gyroscopic shake.
Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
On a ****** raining day.
7 August 2010
Aug 6, 2010
Aug 6, 2010 at 6:17 PM UTC
On the first night
of the full moon,
the primeval sack of ocean
broke,
& I gave birth to you
little woman,
little carrot top,
little turned-up nose,
pushing you out of myself
as my mother
pushed
me out of herself,
as her mother did,
& her mother's mother before her,
all of us born
of woman.
I am the second daughter
of a second daughter
of a second daughter,
but you shall be the first.
You shall see the phrase
"second ***
only in puzzlement,
wondering how anyone,
except a madman,
could call you "second"
when you are so splendidly
first,
conferring even on your mother
firstness, vastness, fullness
as the moon at its fullest
lights up the sky.
Now the moon is full again
& you are four weeks old.
Little lion, lioness,
yowling for my *******
rowling at the moon,
how I love your lustiness,
your red face demanding,
your hungry mouth howling,
your screams, your cries
which all spell life
in large letters
the color of blood.
You are born a woman
for the sheer glory of it,
little redhead, beautiful screamer.
You are no second ***
but the first of the first;
& when the moon's phases
fill out the cycle
of your life,
you will crow
for the joy
of being a woman,
telling the pallid moon
to go drown herself
in the blue ocean,
& glorying, glorying, glorying
in the rosy wonder
of your sunshining wondrous
self.
2.2k
it begins crisper than november,
still, chilly, ice blue sky,
then warm, then cold, then crazy frigid,
wind cat-yowling,
and on the windows,
frost feathers that do not melt all day.
the solstice sun creeps warily
across the south horizon,
glancing brilliant off frost-sheathed trees,
so cold the very air is frozen--
sparkling ice crystals float rainbow colored
like dizziness before my eyes.
Christmas eve starts grey and windy--
rain at two and snow at three--
the huge flakes my mom called "horsebirds".
And just at sunset, a patch of blue,
a sky tunnel for those tiny reindeer.
Christmas morning, four together,
first time in years we all are here:
Best-Beloved, sad eyed lady,
maker of donuts and hi-test coffee,
sings a bit, weeps, smiles;
the Exile returns, hoodied, shy smiling,
coffee in hands, and heart full of plans;
and Carborundum Starshine bursts in the door,
in corduroy & goofy hat,
Paul Bunyan beard & glitter cheeks;
and i
am here.
Talk and cookies, hugs and pictures,
Merry merry, the peace-pipe passed,
carols on the radio,
the scents of spruce and tangerines.
the "week between" a roller coaster,
t-shirts one day, parkas the next,
wind that moans like Marley's ghost,
and snow tornados on the road.
new year's eve and big soft snowflakes,
sparkling lights and laughing shouts--
on the street, drunken kisses and auld lang syne--
but not for me, i listen only;
there's work tomorrow, quick to bed,
a brief flight,
all-night jazz
and sleep.
time tomorrow to begin again.
(1-1-14)
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 6:44 PM UTC
Yowling, thrashing, squeezing me whole,
She's slashing onyx crevices, my soul,
Begging out, pleading forgiveness
But I won't give in, I just press
Down, fight now, hate this,
This thing, this misfit,
Crippled defect, this won't sit
By me, won't defy me,
Rip my nails down crusty
Skin, she feels sick, I feel quick,
I dig deep and can't keep
From hissing, it's ******* me off!
She cries but it makes me scoff.
You pretty little folded bird,
I'll smear you like a ******* ****
I hate you, I hate me,
So help me, I can't see,
I can't bleed,
I won't heed
Your cruel trick,
You foul ****
Despise me!
I hate me!
I hate me!
I can't
See
I
Can't
Breathe...
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 4:05 PM UTC
It came like a sudden darkness, storming up and snuffing out the already fading light of dawn,
When I found myself floating, above the ground suspended on the backs of blue clouds that kissed the purple sky like a clinging lover
Chasing the movement of birds before my eyes I turned to stare down at the blackness beneath my toxic cloud of color, at the puke green sea covered in the orange foam of soda where what looked like the remnants of my breakfast that morning road the frothy waves.
Pink,
Pink
Pepto-Bismol stained whales attacked the early air blowing bubbles filled with what looked like Oreo cream screaming happily the music of contentment
A cry a loud mewling filled the acid induced happiness of the moment, yowling agonizingly, as if possessed by the spirit of pain itself.
Thumping, Screeching clash and the ***** of nails had me blinking away from my floating tea party within the sky and looking rather questionably to the hunky dream boat pouring me a fresh glass of tea,
His smile plastered by the very gods themselves didn't waver, and in my dreamlike stupor I thought nothing of it
But the terrified yowling, hissing, strange purr-mewl didn't stop.
The sky no longer a pleasant purple faded to a nasty shade of plum conjuring two disembodied chillingly green slated eyes
Frantic with irrational fear I panicked falling off my blue cloud to plummet towards the angry green sea below
Falling, Falling ever faster staring up at the sinister glowing ambient green eyes, whilst hearing that terrifying screeching yowl, from the Cheshire maw
Slamming awake with the tingling sensation of a ghostly belly flop, I find myself still staring up at those eerie green eyes.
This time surrounded by a flowing mane of toffee fur and speckled with tan zigzagging stripes of inky black,
Buddy, with his demanding meow of attention, insistently pawing my forehead with the command of a gentle rub,
Plucking my wings, and crippling me with a cuteness that only he can have.
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 4:17 PM UTC
Stop the beating of my heart.
End my life and let everything
Be forgotten like a fossil in an ocean.
Cease me from living.
Bar me from breathing.
**** me!
****** a thousand nails into my chest,
Slit my rasping throat, cut my trembling wrist
And let my blood drip on the floor
Until it forms a sea, enough
For my horrible childhood reminiscences
To drown and walk off the shore,
Where I am the fragments of sand,
Trying to create a stone
Just to be whole, firm, and strong.
**** me!
Pour a hundred-gallon of water into my mouth
And let my pain evade and flow out
Of my suffocated body.
Maybe then I can finally say
"I'm fine"
Without trying to extend
My hand above water
Or trying to breathe bit by bit
While my lungs load a river.
**** me!
Pull my eyes out, so I won't feel my tears anymore.
Slice my ears, so I won't hear myself again yowling in mourn.
Break my legs, so I can finally stop myself
From jumping on a deep water like a stupid whelp.
Hook my heart out of my chest.
Bludgeon my head to death.
Maybe then, I won't feel for once
Like I'm a canary underneath
The undertow of an ocean,
Wings ripped off and flight unfound.
**** me
Because I can hardly breathe.
I'm drowning in the thought of being sad
While losing the reason to feel so.
Every day, anxiety drags me to my bed,
But insomnia has this silly prank of hammering my head.
I try to ask anyone for help,
But whenever I see people in my surroundings
All I feel is like eternally drowning.
They make me feel like a terrestrial flower,
Trying to breathe underwater.
Every night, I write poems,
Not to **** boredom
But to **** something that kills me -
Ceaselessly.
Every letter I write on a paper
Feels like the water
Inside an aquarium where
I keep on suffering
And drowning forever.
I'm in the abyssal zone,
Too deep that even light can't penetrate.
Darkness engulfs me,
And light easily burns me
Take me from this depth.
Take me from this kind of death.
This depth makes me lose my breath.
**** me
Because living already feels like dying.
**** me
Not becase I'm tired of living,
But because I'm tired of dying!
**** me
Because it's suffocating.
It's asphyxiating me.
This darkness makes me
Hardly see
Myself.
It feels like I'm dying forever,
And I don't want to die anymore,
I'm drowning.
I can never reach the shore.
Save me!
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 2:28 AM UTC
only two things on the menu
at the A & O Café, sitting somewhere
in the heartland, between the school
and church, bathed in fickle light
pocked by hail and weathered by the storms
though all still go there, and
few think to complain
about the spare fare
some ask for theirs sunny side up
with the gold yolk promise of tomorrow
shining at them, like a hopeful new sun
others choose over easy, perhaps past hope
and ready for more solid times, still
a few can have them no way but scrambled
fast fried and slaughtered into yowling yellow
heaped on their plaintive plates
few ask for the bacon, since it comes
with every meal, the fat hog long ago
butchered, and part of the A&O; deal
Jun 20, 2013
Jun 20, 2013 at 11:50 AM UTC
You’re just a pumped up,
Jumped up pile of blather
And I’d rather hear a cat
Yowling under my window
Than what you bellow
When someone is stupid
Enough to hand you a mike.
And I’d like to remind you
How unkind you are to many
That you daily look down on,
Calling them losers and morons,
When the title refers more to you
Because of the incredibly crass
Times you are an *** a buffoon.
I pray that soon, you will wake up
And take up some kind of therapy
That will bring clarity to your mind
That is fogged by hair products
Or some early conduct of a parent
Because it is apparent you suffered
From lack of parental training.
Or it was raining on manners day
And you stayed home to play
Or count your pay from dividends
From your trust fund. That’s just one
Of the multitude of benefits you had
That made you barking mad today;
That made you say horrible things
About women in general and inaccurate
Statements about Mexicans and about
Better politicians than you will ever be.
If suddenly history goes completely nuts
And elects your *** a misogynistic,
Unrealistic a sophistic stranger to reality
As you turned out to be, it will be sicken me.
You had more given to you without effort,
And in that desert of a mind of yours,
Which bores most of us to tears,
Somehow the years of plenty
Denied to so many and gifted to you
Have left you with nothing fun to do
But brag about yourself.
You’re an ugly elf.
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 6:39 AM UTC
10 words
cats battle outside my window
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 9:50 AM UTC
They say you stink. I would never.
That antediluvian odor, reminiscent of us
before the flood. And I rove the woods
of the world (those left), scaling cliffscapes,
spelunking caves, in search of our lost love.
Just a sign of something. Proof I need
of our tender attachment. Detachment
of orphic misunderstanding drives my pursuit,
as sleeper wakens to piercing glare.
How to get you back? Yowling, beating
trees with thumps percussing a want
of ancient *********** still stuck inside me.
I want you back my beloved Bigfoot.
Hunt I will, till I find, anything related
to this kind, of primitive feeling.
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 8:57 PM UTC
Over fitting curves
to Noise. There's a drought in Puerto
Rico and Los Angeles.
Water from the Rio La
Plata is low and wow is Sierra
in her young days,
with full snowy capped
*****
How the drooling Mangos
all crowd her on a Carnival Cruise
-- a blinding which Sun?
Somewhere even in the noise of Umma
crying, even along a low river gurgle,
a yowling true love
Signal is found. Maybe.
Probabilistically.
Jul 17, 2015
Jul 17, 2015 at 1:58 PM UTC
Everything fell apart
as ravaging hunger
and yowling cries
became
mild nurture
and womanly sighs
Unearthed
the night ground out
splendor in a shaded cove
beneath the willow tree
she lay
sheltered from the chill
and snow
long awaiting the warmth of day
she wrapped around her
the leaf of an oak
and wore natures love
as her winter cloak
steadily she slept
the treeline as her pillow
and in a few sweet hours
she would die
beneath the willow
Feb 8, 2019
Feb 8, 2019 at 4:05 PM UTC
I’ve filled all of the balloons
with cigarette smoke instead of helium,
just like you asked,
and when the children come crawling,
peeling themselves from pavement,
we’ll take needle-points to latex
reshape their tracheas into factories
Soon our home will brim with smoke rings,
I'll place a finger to them
only to ruin the perfection produced by small lips
Thumbs are to erasers as tears are to pencils
I swear to you I try to keep within the stencil
but saltwater weeping, shallow breath, and tobacco smoke
don’t seem to stay within the lines as well as I’d hoped
If I had another way I’d draw terrible pictures,
stick them to the fridge and insist “mom, take it with ya”
I’ve been ripping out dictionary pages and
nailing them to various foreheads,
yowling, “we need knowledge, we need verbal expression!”
Though, I don’t believe I’ve made much progression
because a woman turned to me today with a
business suit on her back and a chewed up heart at her feet
She fastened a note to the top of her skull that read:
“ignorance is bliss” then she waited for a car to bind her to the street
DDD (3/14/2013)
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 9:05 PM UTC
there is some
uninvited thing
living in our kitchen
gus the little greycat
waged a hissing yowling
war against it at 3am
to no avail
and now sits as sentry
eyes intent.
as i walk past
his snipers position
at the fridge
desperate for coffee.
i know i will
have to don
rubber gloved armour
and go on a recon mission placing snares and bombs but an army of me
needs coffee
to face the tiny terror
in the tupperware.....
and at least
a few more hours sleep.
.....hold your position
sgt guscat.
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 6:42 PM UTC
Time no longer falls quietly into order
the minutes and days have unravelled
digging their boots in the dust.
The hours and weeks stacked like rocks on your shoulders
as you drag time wearily along to nowhere.
Oh but to escape this ache.
Pain permeates the rocks and dust
soaking up through your soles
to lie like pebbles in a river
on your heart and mind.
But how do you run?
How to battle Time back into submission?
A solitary figure bruised and abandoned
alone in the wasteland .
Time weighs on you with the strength of ages
while the past snaps and slithers at your ankles.
Fight the claw and crushing restraints!
Emerge ****** and torn, yet victorious.
Tame the fickle measure of life
and send the past yowling back to its murky world.
Square your shoulders and lick your parched lips.
March on, you will conquer the wasteland yet.
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 6:01 AM UTC
Fading sunlight in the horizon
Falling leaves in breezy autumn
While nature paves way for hope
I wish this self to be lost and forgotten
Similar to tides, uncontrolled and heightened
A lone wolf yowling at her sight
Adjoined by the constant urge to be isolated
Fervent to cut loose the rope of gloom
Like a lost traveler in search of dwelling
A barren land thirsty for rain
Tired of this skin and mind
To devastation this heart is intertwined
What is lost darkens my soul
Your voice and memories cut deep through
Your brown hair blowing in wind
Hazel eyes sparkling in the sun
Echoes of your footsteps,
Deepness of your voice
Still surrounded by your existence
Harmed and scarred, I want to leave
Fragile lives and untamed hearts
Filled with fiery of desert storm
I want to run, away from your hue
Before I turn into an emotional massacre
Did I really deserve? Did you really want?
Let the leaves of our memory fall
And the blossoming florets wilt
Clinging to hope with intemperate self
Permit yourself to grow vines by own
Ashen and burnt, bury us in ground
Let youraelf grow either as roses or thorns
Amongst all this I realize what Rumi said
Nostalgia is a powerful witch indeed.
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 6:42 AM UTC
I
-dulcimer clatter opens the sun, first fruit-
timber fathoms/crystal veils
on all steps, crossing all human borders
untethering wood
from forest, until only the green element remains
to purify the soul
an alpine afterimage, shadow-display
(creature of Earth, moss-backed & yowling thru the chaotic sleep
of October, you see it's symbology in your tea, sharpening its
obsidian hands against the seastones,
imprinting loveliness into the rock, to be worn by tides,
replaced by death absolute)
The fabled Black Horse (shadow-self) waiting solitary at a
gas station, an imprisoned dreamer inside
its gaping jaw/saturnine, coldness
of daybreak, clouds at their Atelier, my head
feels a pressure, been awake too long,
breathing in through the nose/out through
mouth, monastery of the mind in need of clearing.
II
Soft/soft/skin/fury
embrace, catharsis, collision of
two individual energies
pent-up and cast/release
like a skeleton net::onfire
(kissed, consumed
elated, recurrance)
closeted eternities
cycling back into the
wind (hanging willow)
calling to the seeker, gold,
purification & lightness/mouthcurl washed in silence
(your own body, rising tide)
welcomed crucible of chilling air
& my black and
white vessel,
electricity spirit-
whispers
“valley swimmer, elude me”
FLASH OF LIGHT
III
…. The widewaking world
unspun-
theatric elucidation,
emergence of a great snake
a wisened flower, sprouted from exile
blissful rejuvination of
the ivory leaves, at once!
I wrap my throat in a Munich scarf
(pattern-blue)
walking upon the softness of
Grötzingen (angel's eyes speaking)
an orchard, where the last gardener's tireless
work lay like a dreaming ossuary
Oct 11, 2017
Oct 11, 2017 at 9:48 PM UTC
Every day my cat paws at the back door, yowling to be let out
Every day like clockwork he does this
And every day we let him out
I always find him crouching where the porch meets the grass
Staring out into the distance
He'll do this for hours
Sit at the porch's edge until his wanderlust is quelled
I think he wants to run
I think he wants to leave this place that is all too familiar,
All too comfortable for his wandering heart
I know how he feels
Yearning to run
But not wanting to ***** his paws
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 3:47 PM UTC
He stood there
Howling
Yowling
Cracking his whip
Beating and flailing
His horse in the dust
Collecting flies
Bloating in the sun
And he was getting nowhere fast
Mar 19, 2012
Mar 19, 2012 at 3:58 PM UTC
Sometimes I hear ringing...
Ringing in my head
Along with all the wails and shrieks
All screeching and yowling
Demanding to be heard above each other
While I hear ringing...
In my head.
Sometimes I hear ringing...
Like the sound of the Big Ben
Or tick-tock of a watch I lost a long time ago.
Ringing...
Like the trickling and beeping of the traffic
flow
at Maryland bridge
On a cool Thursday evening.
The swishing and swashing of the semi-
twisting waves
Splashing on the beach
During a night reign...
Of soaking rain.
The chirping of birds and flutter of
butterflies
Rustles of the tree leaves and hissing of the
snake
They hide below.
As I cocked my head, my mental ear listening
I suddenly remember that...
Sometimes I hear ringing...
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 4:44 AM UTC
it completely staged was your throat
1/2 broken perhaps yowling by a
long mouth inching rapidly
in eager please to
tell a boy how much he did
your cherry knees to wobble
(the anger of his hands
and the thrusting of his bobble)
for 6months wearing
a back into his sheets
only your inch mouth long
saying to darling I
for a 1/2 year didn't
really ever come
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 4:47 AM UTC