The hound dog did this all night long-

He barked and howled a horrid song 

Until I rose with no relief 

And suffered from my sleepless grief.

The matter was a simple sport-

The neighbors were at odds, of sort

And one had such a lovely thing

In heat that made the hound dog sing!

The morning I arose to find

The lonely doggies bump and grind

Because I had released the noose-

The night before, I turned them loose

As wanton lust was made to do,

I sat and watched the hound dogs screw.

The neighbors called the cops on me,

But I just used fatigue, my plea,

And nothing filed and nothing charged-

The two dogs loved and in I barged

To find a place my heart could keep

As after weeks, I got some sleep ...

Skinny yellow hound dog

stinky breath and flea infested

wears a red bandana

and stays by old man’s side.

He thinks he’s the boss

won’t come when called

opens one eye to see

old man asleep in chair.

Dog keeps guarded watch

throughout the night

but daylight brings truth -

master doesn’t breathe.

Now hound dog walks alone

along the rocky shore

to lie across master’s grave

devastated on frozen ground

howling at top of lungs

begging to be with owner,

chasing rabbits in the sky.

A hound that bellows through the night

Wails a cry not wept to muffle

Her howls are only tried and trite

On the tame ear deaf to struggle

Let her sing her piercing call

Do not cease her tireless fret

Her story spirals far beyond your small

And narrow label, "just a pet"

Her eyes have shown a sorrow deep

Harrowing trials wandered through

It is for these reasons she may weep

This untold worry does accrue 

For this, she hollers into pines

A wood for miles behind your border

Her woeful scream will not resign 

Til she restores her family's order

The pain that feeds your hound dog's whine

The tale that fuels her howling

Began two weeks before the time

Your rubbish brought her prowling

She was only looking for a treat

To curb her famine and her pain

So seven children now could eat

Nurse teets and drink her milk again

She was drying to the will of nature

A starving dog without a bone

But she left those pups in way of danger

When she found your home 

And while she's grateful for your love

She only needs one hour of freedom

To find the babes she's speaking of

So that she may warm and feed them

In your fence, you jailed this hag

Good intentions were to salvage

You gave her name and bowl and tag

But left her pups to open ravage

Her bawls they answered for ten moons

Until a storm came from the skies

You scolded for those blinds she chewed

But she could not hear them from inside

And from that night, their whimpers ceased

Although she hopes to hear an echo

She will return with puppies from the trees

If for only an hour you will let go

She will race the hollows of the forest

And find their belly's growling

She will fill them full and make them nourished

Come home with babes no longer howling

But, you see...

She has not the heart to understand

Ten years have passed her bellows by

The hound cries for naught but bone and sand

A mother left in mourning til she dies

There once was a doggie named Bunt....

You can totally see where this is going, yeah?

All rights reserved......

there's a wolf at the door, mama

a pretty shadow here for me

he's whining and howling

he's fixin' to drag me out, mama

to really sink his teeth in

he cut himself loose

he'll wait by the pines, mama

beneath the old moon

he's hungry and tired

don't ring that dinner bell, mama

don't set the pie on the porch

don't let me out this pantry after dusk

though i'm fit to be tied

get your frying pan

get your .22

nose to the moon

nose to

the

moon

It has been said that a dog's eye is different than man's. Their vision to see into the blackness of night and pull out images that would be invisible to a human. There was once a dog, a very unassuming dog. She would be considered normal by standards. Loyal. Friendly. But she was quite peculiar. She had a special sight, to see beyond the pale of shadow. To catch the images of ghastly creatures that loom just on the fringe of reality. Hoping to breach their realm into our world. Only through a resting and dormant mind can they cross. And so they wait until the sun drops low in the horizon and sleep calls out to the family, begging and inviting them to slumber. When their eyes close, the door to the nether opens ... just a crack ... but wide enough for the evil to enter. When the dog's eye catches the movement of the creeper attempting to cross, the howling and barking begins. Stirring the family from sleep. And although never abused physically she takes their scorn of verbal anger. Why won't she let them sleep? They would curse to each other. But if she allowed it, they would surely be lost.

Magic is a dangerous thing,

The elders always said.

At times, it leaves you utterly maimed.

At times, utterly mad.

Sometimes it will crush your soul,

Sometimes steal your breath.

Often, it plays and plots with Fate,

Making you wish for death.

There was a boy who loved a girl

Too beautiful for his reach.

With Magic, he turned into a hound,

In a gallant attempt to fleech.

He became her friend, her guard and guide,

Her angel in deepest dark.

Yet, he never confessed his love.

He still preferred to bark.

One day, her saw her wailing alone,

His name did she moan.

"How much! How much! I love this boy!

Oh! Where has he gone?"

He wagged his tale, "Now I'll turn- 

And claim I am here!"

Alas! He could not change back.

His life a nightmare! 

He saw her fall ill calling him,

Craving for him, she died,

Never knowing why her hound 

Would whimper by her side.

She left the world telling him- 

"Shyness in life is lame." 

That night sad howls in hollow woods,

Echoed till morning came.

And the Lover- Hound still howls today,

Telling us his tale,

Of love found and never touched,

Of meaning never stale

That "always walk on simple path

Before the winding way.

Magic may give you highest stars,

But the price will be high to pay."

when wolfs hunt they hunt in packs 

because they fear loneliness 

the quieting draft

that lingers into the soul 

and reaches into the emptiness of the darkest parts 

of their mind 

thoughts thick like tar 

thoughts sickening sweet 

like cough syrup 

drab and plain like the frost that freezes over there murky lake of thoughts 

jagged and cut diagonally angled to the wolves deepest fear 

loneliness 

that pierces the wolves bone 

that enters so quietly into their ribs like a ghost 

that rummages through their bodies like a demon 

bones chilling 

and cracking 

at the whistling fog in the air 

that hangs around in the night 

that sends arthritic  pain in the joints every time 

the draft of loneliness whistles through the trees

that sends a bone-chilling fever that causes 

the wolf to widen his jaws 

and howl´s to the moonlight 

to escape the loneliness he feels in hopes 

that someone would answer his calls

that he is not alone in this daunting forest 

where the trees cave in 

where the marks on the tree are cracked and crease

and whistle the eery tune of loneliness 

where the flowers are only dark and gray 

where the bones are wrapped around the trees like Christmas lights.

where the devil hides out in the open and enters the bodies of fools who dare to stray away from the pack 

the hound howled because he was answering to the wolf´s call to loneliness 

because he was lonely at his master's house for he was never home 

Not much could be said for the house itself. It was a small, run-down shack with with a large, dilapidated roof and barred windows. Covering the walls was a large coating of tar, to keep at bay the frigid winter air that would seep in come December. It was situated in a large New England forest, isolated from the rest of the world, left to wither away into nonexistence. There was nothing charming about the dwelling, or anything wholesome. It was a sad little house, surrounded by a circle of diseased and dying trees, and stranded in a perpetual gloom. Something about it felt wrong, as if such a place should not exist, and being around it seemed to somehow weigh on one's mind. Even the squatters chose to stay away from it, giving a wide berth to the miserable little house. As far as anyone was concerned, nothing good came from that house, and it was left alone, free to rot in depressed silence.

This was, all but one man. He was a drifter, always a few dollars short of a meal, and a few miles from where he wanted to be. He had no house of his own, and had received word of the place from an old drunk, all in hopes of attaining another beer. The drifter did not particularly want to stay in the house; from what he had heard, it was not the kind of place one wanted to fall asleep in. But he needed a place to stay, had no money to buy a room, and held little esteem for superstition. A house was a house, and he needed somewhere to stay. And so, the drifter swallowed the last of his bummed drink, collected what little he owned, and headed for the little house.

He found it without any trouble. In fact, he was not entirely sure how he found it, considering he had never actually been told where it was. He had simply started walking, and it seemed to find him. It was, in appearances, much as it had been described. A small little shack, surrounded by a circle of dying grass and sickly trees, with an unnatural silence hanging about the place. The house itself was not too bad, he supposed. He had stayed in worse. Still, something about the place set him on edge. He told himself he was only staying for a night, just until he could move on in the morning. He stepped up onto the front porch, and slid the bag off of his shoulder. And after a deep breath, he pushed open the creaking door, and stepped inside.

Inside, the walls were bare, with long gashes on the walls and floors. All of the furniture had been shred by something, some kind of large animal by the looks of it, and strewn across the floor, collected haphazardly in large piles. From the rafters, long strands of cobwebs hung down, swaying silently with the breeze that blew in from the cracks in the walls. And In the center of the room, amid a small pile of shredded cloth, lay a large form, half buried in a pile of shredded cloth, but very much alive. The creature opened it's eyes and stared at him, with two large, jade colored eyes.

It looked like a wolf of some kind, but had a mix of dog blood within it's veins. It was black, with long, coarse hair, that had somehow stayed unmatted. It had sharp, hooked claws, which looked longer than any the man had seen. Even stationary, the creature still managed to look graceful, it's long hair seeming to ripple with each breath, difficult for a thing so large. It looked up at him, it's jade eyes searching him with almost unnatural intelligence. Still, it did not move, or attempt to rise from it's spot. 

The creature made no move to get up, and stared at him patiently, the light dancing in it's bright green eyes. He knew he was not supposed to make eye contact, but there was something in those eyes that seemed to be drawing him, calling to him in a way that was not completely natural. He started walking before he realized what he was doing. He kept staring at those eyes, at the light that swirled just under their surface. And he watched as the strange green fire danced in those large irises, as he drew closer and closer. 

He was not thinking any longer, he was obeying some long dormant instinct. He drew closer out of the singular need to do so. He could not stop his feet from walking, and, try as he might, he could not look away. Slowly, he raised his hand before him, as if offering it to the creature. He wanted to touch it, to feel it's soft head. He wanted to run his fingers through it's mane, and stare at those eyes, to watch the lights dance within them. Gradually, the house faded into the distance. It did not matter anymore. He reached the thing, close enough to touch now, and fell to his knees. He was so close now, and he could feel it's hot breath on his face. Still, he could not look away from those deep set eyes. 

And, slowly, the creature raised it's head, and looked into his face. And it drew closer, still staring into his eyes, it's gaze piercing ever deeper. And, without a sound, it leaped toward him, forcing him violently onto the floor. And with one swift motion, it bit into his neck, and tore the life from his veins, splashing it onto the bare floor. The man saw none of this, however, he saw only the jade, even as it pulled him apart. And with one long, savage wail, the creature called into the night. And from the murky darkness a thousand creatures shuffled silently out of the diseased woods, an insane hunger burning in their jaded eyes.