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.


Author: Jo Bryant

I was born in the land of Banjo Paterson, gum trees, and weather extremes. I am a freelance writer. I live in the Bay of Plenty, New Zealand, but still like to claim my Australian heritage. I graduated with a Bachelor of Communications in 2008. I am writing my first novel. I love to write poetry, short stories, and also write for the web. And there is nothing that is on a par with a sunny summer's day spent at Waihi Beach.

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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