My Poetry


Dusty, dirty hyenas laughing from dugout dens,

protecting pups with perfunctory prods,

flies, attracted to the filth, attach firmly to their fur.

Smell the stench, a stale, sickly aroma,

impure animals, ill-mannered and ill-shaped,

Mother Nature, in a malignant mood, bought forth this minion.

A harmony of howling, telling all who hear – be heedful,

this is their place. Travellers who transgress,

are needful of awareness, of this assembly of watchers,

lions lounging, lazy in the sun,

elephants, exquisite eloquent existence,

warthogs wishing to wallow in the muddy outreaches, wade in,

propelled to the promise of this pond,

listening for that loathsome laughter.


9 thoughts on “Howl”

There are two things I know for certain. One: Bert and Ernie are gay. Two: I want to hear your opinion.

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