Suburban Sylph of Crying Owls

 

The cry which stripped the street away,

Which left the ancient marsh to rise,

And claimed the gardens for the pine,

Lets loose the wolves and bears of old.

 

A scream the soul of night itself,

Which stretched the forest, coast to coast.

Inhuman land beneath the moon,

Unused to axe, to fear, to smoke.

 

And then up close: the clack of beak.

A yard or so: the scratching claws.

A foot and less: near silent whisps,

Of wings so soft they make no breath.

 

And last I hear the heart and pulse,

And feel nocturnal howlings rise.

 

 

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7 Responses to “Suburban Sylph of Crying Owls”

  1. This reminds me of that show on A&E when people are gone from earth how things will return to nature. Very cool poem!

  2. wow…gorgeous little glimpse here…owls are amazing creatures…i dont get to see them often but relish when i do…great description in your words…..

  3. Glad I stopped by as now I know what a sylph is all about and I see why you used the word. This sends a shiver down my spine and I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck reacting to the ending.

  4. Beautifully written! I especially like the 2nd stanza.

  5. I love the wild night time you describe here – the clack of beak, the wolves and bears. Makes me want to go out and howl.

  6. “A scream the soul of night itself,” that is so powerful.

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