The prowler entered wordlessly
into our back yard.
On padded feet he crept along,
finding an open door.
Like a thief in the dark of night.
silent , unobserved.
Up the stairs the intruder came,
I was taken unawares.
The prowler pushed the bedroom door
open just a crack.
He saw me snoring peacefully and
plotted his attack.
The prowler leapt upon my chest
A little ball of fur.
I'd wondered where our cat had been-
You never know for sure.

Midnight prowler
                                will you open this door?
                              let me in, let me explore
       the concealed chambers beneath this conscious floor
let me borrow some of your dreamdust
                                                       ­                and sprinkle it in my eyes
                                                            ­          therein let me stay confined
then I
fall  and br  e  ak
and         s      c               a         t          t         e                 r
far                                                            ­              and                                                ­                         wide
                                               when this becomes a nightmare
                                                       ­              i
                                                               ­      t
                                                               ­      u
                                                               ­     m
                                                          ­          b
                                                     ­               l
                                                ­                    e
                                           ­                         t
                                      ­                              h
                                 ­                                   r
                            ­                                        o
                       ­                                             u
                  ­                                                   g
                                                               ­      h
                                                               ­       t
                                                        ­              h
                                                 ­                     e
                                          ­                           s
                                                               ­     k
                                                          ­          y
i wake up with a start, with my true love lying beside
as i see his peaceful face, i realize  
i’ve been dreaming…and everything in my world is alright!                    
- Vijayalakshmi Harish
17.09.2012

Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish

Perspiration coats skin
That stays invisible in the black of the night.
Rain hums an erratic but steady melody,
Leaving rhythm-keeping to the bodies;
Burnt with lust that consumed them
Quicker than rain can douse spirits,
Knowing they downed spirits in a whirl of confusion.
Throats burned, and tongues searched for answers
To questions she didn't recall asking.
Retracing memories' footsteps back...
Back to the bar where his charm set a flame that,
Ironically, made her wetter than the rain-soaked coat
That he took from her, whilst offering his own.
She remembers now.
Walking, talking, thinking away the rain,
Until his soft lips were upon hers and she resisted nothing.
Pushing, pulling, each other into a niche
That will hide their encounter from the wrong kinds of eyes.
A moment after the darkness swallows them whole
Does the predator devour its prey.
It is a prowler, always stalking the scent of pheromones,
Always leaving behind ruins.

By: David W. Clare

Bangkok summer fun
I'm running wild
Chasing shadows for a while in the sultry Asian sun
Hello Kitty! She slaps my face, my face in just for fun...

Can't sit down, it's just not allowed
The more you move the more you're away from the crowd

(C) In perpetuity all rights reserved
(P) FilmNoirWorks

The shadow in the dark
The stranger in the night
Footsteps in the grass
Dew disturbed

Wishing, praying,
I am his prey
Hiding and hoping
That he, the predator,
Does not find my naive den

Like a body in a tomb,
I wait for sunlight
To pierce the night
And free me from the darkness

Time is fluid
When you're afraid
Hours are minutes
As you count your blessings
And not your seconds

Does he mean me harm?
Or is he imagined?

The Chicago Tribune called it,
“The Affair of the Decade!”
Everyone’s mothers called it,
“Another tragic heartbreak”.
When the coroner wiped his hands,
He predicted a sensation,
And so did every uniformed man
Sitting in the po-lice station.

In a cold Illinois motel,
A man in a suit smiles.
He was twenty years in,
A detective for the city.
Oh, that smile he’ll smile,
But gone is his laughter,
Along with his pity,
For tonight, tonight,
He would shoot up the city.

Regina combed her blonde hair,
And took the lift down to the lobby.
The pale-skinned princess,
That woman’s body…
How many fell for her
Remains quite a mystery.
We watch,
Ladies and gentlemen,
We watch,
As her dress moves in the breeze.
Like a dandelion in the dark,
She rides the carriage
Into the park.

The detective stood alone,
A cut-out cornerstone.
He was no longer nervous,
He looked like a statue,
And the ******-white snow
Fell quietly to his shoes.
In the moonlight, she came.
He spoke her name.
In the moonlight, she walked.
But when he spoke, she stopped.

“Regina, Regina,
Please reconsider.
Without you,
The nighttime is darker,
The cold air much thinner.
Without you,
The wind becomes sour,
The daylight so bitter.
Regina, Regina,
It’s just a few days…
Say yes,
And in the morning,
We’ll be far from this place!”

But that Regina, Regina,
She let him down easy:
“Your job is to spy,
To live in the quiet.
You’re a prowler,
You were born to sneak,
And I will proceed,
But do not follow me.”
And we watch,
Ladies and gentlemen,
We watch,
As she turns on a dime,
Leaving our detective behind.
A poor, tortured soul,
He smiles that smile,
And in an act of desperation,
Pulls out his frosted .45.
For Regina,
He aimed, and
For Regina,
He fired.

In the heart of Chicago,
Be it snowfall or in heat,
No one can be spared
When a man is in defeat.
T’will be the foggy air,
The hot metal, and
The echo of the gun
That will help us remember
The night that we watched,
Ladies and gentlemen,
We watched…
We watched...
The snow, and how
It lost its innocence that night.
And poor Regina, and how
Her yellow dress blended into the sight.
The detective, and how
He would step into the street,
Killing everyone he’d meet.
Twenty men dead,
Now the asphalt is sticky,
And the blood spilled is gritty-
For tonight, tonight,
The detective shot up the city.

The coroner wiped his hands,
And predicted a sensation,
And so did every uniformed man
Sitting in the po-lice station.

Keep Pat and Chris in, we need them to be shy boys



2 of the coolest kids in school were suddenly locked in a basement
By a hooded bandit, who wants them killed, and nobody can save them
Except for shy boys Brendan and Brian, but because they were shy boys
They prefer to play together in Brian's room, and forgetting about the silly fact
That Pat and Chris were being held captive in a basement
Their parents were worried, but Brian and Brendan didn't care
All they wanted to do is play little shy boys games and let Pat and Chris suffer
Pat yelled out, come on Brian, be a little cool kid, and save your mate Pat
I will like you forever, and ever forever to come
But of course Brian didn't believe in that sort of tripe and said to Brendan
Do you think we should save Pat and Chris, buddy and Brendan said, no Brian
Let, them suffer, you see those two think nobody will capture them
No, Brian you aren't like them, no dude, be a little cool kid, and stay with me
I will show you how to be a real cool kid, and we will much around forever, dude
Brian said, yes, I aren't like Pat and Chris, they are two Christiana who believe
That God will save them, well, where is their God now, yes this is sweet revenge
Pat and Chris are my two little shy boys, keep them there, Charnwood murderer
Brian and Brendan went outside at night to find where Peter Buchanan
Lived so they can have some fun and on their way, Brian and Brendan
Ran into a prowler and ran as hard as they could to get away
While Brian and Brendan got back home before he caught them
The prowler said the next day at the mall, treat Brian and Brendan like shy boys
As long as we have Pat and Chris, that is all worth while
And Pat and Chris were screaming so loud they can be heard from the other side
Of the world and beyond, and Chris was yelling, let me go you ****** punk
Or I will get my fiat free, and whack it straight through your fucken head
And Pat said, I will bash you up, mr kidnapper, and he said, come on Chris and Pat
Treat Brian and Brendan like two little cool kids, you 2 aren't like us anymore
Treat them like cool kids or you will be ******* here forever
And Chris was gagged and buried alive in a coffin, but Pat was free
Because he promised to treat Brian and Brendan like 2 cool kids
But he will still tease then a little, so Pat went to Brian and Brendan's house
And teased them by saying, you kids no nothing about the world
You go about thinking you are better, but your ****
But your still cool kids. So don't stray away, you are 2 cool kids
I will never let harm get in your way, cause you are both cool kids
Chris was being buried, and Pat told Brian because Brian teaeed Pat
Then a young hooded man came around and ******* Brian and Pat
And then locked them both in a cage together, while Brendan
Was being buried alive with Chris, and Brian and Pat, are now victims
Of this kidnapping that was planned to get Pat and Brian together
And the man yelled, ding **** the kid's are dead
We have Brian and Par with us, the kids are dead
But who gives a ****, so ding ****, Brian and Pat are dead
With Brendan and Chris, oh yeah they are so dead to us
Brian and Pat were struggling saying to each other, why have you snatched us
We are your cool kids, and we are cool kids, your a ****, mate
And now, Brendan, Chris, Brian and Pat dead
The world is free of the cool kids, let the vonerable run
****** *******

My waking time
in the narrowest part of the creek
chases spots in the shadows
a streak between bushes
thirsty tongue lapping green opal
cautious cotton on the fallen leaves
the priceless prowler in the morn mist
or in the dusk
the graceful glory
in the hinterland of my heart.

The bedrock underlying much of Manhattan is a mica schist known as Manhattan schist.  Schist is foliated or layered in appearance. Quartz sparkles, micas, and amphiboles are primary minerals in schist. A melted rock, just like the city resting above, it too, a famous melting *** of humanity.

This one poem too, composed from pieces of other poems,
folded in layers of many others that melted together,
in harmonious discordancy

<~>

this glorious grime,
this delicious dirt,
stuff of my blood,
genes of my children's children inheritance,
of thee I sing,
in thee I revel,
of thee, I am composed

the city I love,
where I was born,
schooled and fooled in,
by many a woman

the city where I named
and raised my children

will probably die in
this city, and when
I am long forgot,
my name never uttered,
    who, will think of me?
Perhaps,
whenever someone says,
"he was such a rascal"

these tales I took,
some or all,
from beneath my skin,
where city streets grit,
was injected beneath my skin
and came with the title,
City Boy

so today, on a reborn street,
near tall towers no more,
I rest upon reconstituted speckled curbstone,
the city's lowered down ledges,
the city's lowered down-town boundaries,
constantly redrawn,  
but nonetheless, always rebuilt from their own
regenerated stony compost,
and the typical NY passersby doesn't even notice
a man, head in hands,
unsilently weeping, thinking that:

We lose or throw away so much we should have kept,
We keep so much we should have thrown away

street prowler, heart growler,
Art Deco lampposts,
the mountain range of east seventy second street,
begs the bagger's question,
each post
begging each other,
"from whence will come my inspiration?"

licked the stubbled sidewalks,
fell down into their living caverned cracks,
light needed, needy softly heated,
orange and green pizza neon signs,
saying here,
if you see upon what be,
these are your city's homeland colors of veracity

perhaps
NYC was model precursor
for our internet presumed-to-be-alive-but-who-can-say-for-sure
model for the world today,
where I know not my apartment's neighbors name,
yet carry his second child
in my arms,
when the fire alarm
summons us all to flee
to street safety...
and still only
"know" his child's first name,
and his father,
as Apt. #16D

all this exponential signage
of this NYC boy grousing,
are his defrocked muses him annoying,
with a serenading blizzard
of one trick pony repetitions,
their coronets trumpeting his unmasking,
*making this essay, his revelations,
a product of their harmonious discordancy