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
Categories:
prowling, angst, cat,
Form: Rhyme
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
Categories:
prowling, depression,
Form: Dramatic Verse
Her tiny paws move slowly
Exploring the unholy
Many foes the kitten meets
Preying ‘neath living room seats
*March 24, 2017
Categories:
prowling, cat, humor,
Form: Jueju
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
Categories:
prowling, loneliness, metaphor, mystery,
Form: Free verse
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!
Categories:
prowling, books, humor, sexy,
Form: Blank verse