Best Prowling Poems
lioness is hunting
lioness is prowling
prowling at midnight
prowling for prey
prey, unaware.
prey is now on the run
run, Impala, run
run for your life
life is on the line
life is in grave danger
danger in the wilderness
danger is very real
real as can be
real and deadly
deadly predator
deadly precision
precision pounce
precision, absolute.
absolute hunter
absolute stealth
stealth assassin
stealth undetected
undetected in the tall grass
undetected big cat
cat, undomesticated.
cat of the wild
wild nature
wild animal
animal on the menu
animal targeted
targeted not for sport
targeted for food
food for predator, scarce;
food needed for survival
survival is key in The Serengeti
survival of the fittest
fittest apex predator
fittest of them all
all nighter lioness
all powerful
powerful talons
powerful jaws
jaws that crush windpipes
jaws of death
death by ambush
death of Impala prey
prey caught unaware
prey never stood a chance
chance
unaware
Prowling predator in a starless night.
No one knew when it began.
Have we forgotten all the lies about Vietnam,
the predatory newspeak from Pentagon deception?
Prowling predator in a starless night.
Do we recall a lying president dispensing
cocaine jingoism, driving the war in Iraq,
codifying the surveillance state
complete with GITMO torture?
Prowling predator in a starless night.
While all the eternal secret wars are waged,
no one sees how our language is infiltrated,
no one knows the infection of our tongue.
Overseas drones just cause “collateral damage.”
Everyone is suspect, a “person of interest.”
Prowling predator in a starless night.
No one gets laid off when corporations merely “downsize.”
Cutting vital services won’t matter with “government austerity.”
The “minimum wage” is a living wage while you starve on it.
Mass incarceration isn’t a problem in “correction facilities.”
Immigrant children are not caged in concentration camps.
Cages are not so cruel in “detention centers.”
Prowling predator in a starless night.
Devolving American imperialism reached its crescendo
with its devolving dystopian democracy
giving birth to the criminal president,
the nihilistic tyrant
rubbing salt in our wounds.
Published: Dissident Voice September 19th, 2021
PROWLING THROUGH A WHORE HOUSE
Alone,
in heat, I prowled
my whore house, scanned
the faces of the ever-willing ones
awaiting for my picking.
“Heck, no!
I’ve had them all,”
I said. “Have even come for some
of them again and yet again
for want of something new.”
Off to another
whore house then to prowl,
and trawl, then found a plump one,
thin one, and another in between,
paid price for take-home beauties,
“Hah! Monogamy go hang!” I said.
An orgy
dreamed and hungered for,
the licking, ravishing, caressing
through a dark night, senses-lit
and straight up till late morning,
heavy-lidded, sheets in disarray,
weary, after all assumed positions
still not wanting to let go
first wanton beauty in my arms.
Ah!
Two more books to go!
Her tiny paws move slowly
Exploring the unholy
Many foes the kitten meets
Preying ‘neath living room seats
*March 24, 2017
The slow caressing night
A splash of night lotion
Crumpled bed sheet
An unending novel of love and anguish
The distant rumble of a train
Ever-echoing hills and their mystic caves
The terrains of age-old fleeting life
A sudden lightning and the blinding darkness thereafter
The eternally seething inferno
Satan’s serpentine encroachments
Intermittent showers drenching hoary trees
The sudden scourge of a flash flood
You stare at darkness’ face, its ambiguous
Strategy of preying upon you, or
Turning you into a predator yourself
Serious trouble is prowling.
There’s snow, mew-mew meowing.
Those steel-blue eyes, mesmerizing.
Serious trouble is prowling.
His tail’s not tucked between his legs -
Stands up like a towering keg.
In his haunt, he’ll never beg.
His tail’s not tucked between his legs.
Trouble’s whiskers, like a great ‘stache.
Fur looks pettable, but claws clash.
The calico cat - would-be ash.
Trouble’s whiskers, like a great ‘stache.
Snow’s low-down, to the ground, alone,
and doesn’t want his cover blown.
He eats and reaps the seeds he’s sown.
Snow’s low-down, to the ground, alone.
The girl called him “Snow” - he’s “Trouble.”
He turned the household to rubble.
Was kicked out of cash-cow bubble.
The girl called him “Snow” - he’s “Trouble.”
Don’t feel sorry - keep up your guard.
He’ll lie his way into your yard.
A shark, remember he plays cards.
Don’t feel sorry - keep up your guard.
Serious trouble is prowling.
There’s snow, mew-mew meowing.
Those steel-blue eyes, mesmerizing.
Serious trouble is prowling.
10/20/2022
The black dog is prowling around
Just quietly without a sound
The dog sniffs here and there
Who it gets it doesn’t care
It licks your hand just to say
I am not going to go away
And when you’re feeling low
In it jumps and steals the show.
© Paul Warren Poetry