"prowl" poems
I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.
I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.
I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,
and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.
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it falls through the glow of the wintry trees
building a cover under the breeze
luminous lights sparkle and hatch
snow pack high on the briar patch
pine cones fall from rustic fir
squirrel and robin shuffle and stir
sitka spruce at tunnel bluffs
ravens roost on the cedar rough
dusted peaks at hurley pass
snowline cuts the avalanche
fox and lynx are on the prowl
hollow eyes from spotted owl
cool winds up the valley trail
whirling snow round diamond vale
chilling flakes in candle hands
moonlight shines across the land
northern lights in krypton green
the sounds of verve are bitter sweet
curtains hang from a cold dark sky
counting stars, a lullaby
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 12:17 AM UTC
The road behind bares us a backdrop, too many nights find us fractured in our thoughts and the dreamers we once were are far from the two people who stand today.
We're broken, mere splinters of our shipwreck past, driftwood on a shore that drowns every time the ocean breathes.
The path is littered with slaughtered dreams that didn't bleed.
As time and tide wait for no man shall we find it a tragic scene?
simply erased with the sunsets demise?
No one gets away without a scar and mine speak a road map to chaos
and a found hello to you.
Mine own scars are fingertips
gouged into the sand and faded
but salted by tears of the ocean, inerasable by the tide.
A soul washed up upon the shore, a road map etched delicately into fine bones.
You can trace where I'd been before. All roads lead to your hello.
In broken lines and have uttered phrases and one too many empty night.
Backdrop of chaos does paint in the darkest colors you could ever imagine .
How does it gets so flawed by our own creations and vices my dear?
Does it still ring ever so true?
The bell rings true whispering distant voices
Empty nights are just bottles lined up as dead soldiers
We contemplated our own truths and fell victim to our own vices
The backdrop is black, no colour beneath skin.
Honestly? Where does our downfall begin?
Two ships underneath the nightscape past the spark once understood the flame and nothing more .
In empty alleys, like cats to prowl, we find our moments, and then bury our thoughts to lay for no others to see.
half written papers and half heard conversation the keys of the piano haunt the silence as myself shadows that still remain.
Nothing is but a thought and those are like dead flowers laid to waste a reflection of far better times
The night crawls to meet the day as it has so many times before.
The thought of the minds bottle lay empty upon the table.
A fond farewell is but a sugar coated goodbye.
And I seldom have minced my words to mask their sting.
The page forever bleeds.
Pages that lay scattered on a ***** floor
Bleeding ink into cracks
that will forever more
hide the spirit of our souls.
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 7:23 AM UTC
I wish I was Canadian
so this could be my game
But here I stand in GM place
And scream and shout the same
I watch the puck, the stick the skates
and marvel at the skill
As gladiators prowl the ice
Hunting for the ****
Across the blue the offence moves
bearing down once more
A pass, a fake a sudden slap
it's in the goal we SCORE
The crowd goes wild and shouts with joy
our voices become one
And in that moment, I join their ranks
I am Canadian !!!
Apr 2, 2010
Apr 2, 2010 at 5:14 PM UTC
Listening ears don't come easy
Most come with mouths harbouring wagging tongues
Pouncing on the chance to retell your story
Exploiting your need to empty acrid lungs
Listening ears, they're indeed very rare
Unidentifiable no matter how well you know
Lurking behind a mask of concern and care
Sweet words employed so your cards you'd show
Listening ears could be just a myth
An idiom to quench the thirst to confide
Listening ears sometimes come with fangs for teeth
Hungering and lusting for your trust and pride
Listening ear, oh why you come with a mouth so foul
Why the cunning trickery and unscrupulous deceit
Kindness as bait, when in fact you prowl
Many none the wiser until they are bit
Listening ear, in you I gave my trust
I bared my innermost and gave my all
Hoped that you'd soothe my ailing crust
Instead you lifted me high only to watch me fall
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 7:51 AM UTC
The jungle makes its calls, welling up from hollows beyond.
Monkeys and wild things make their way through the spaces in between,
rapping from unseen places on long barriers
and marking their territory.
Sounds of birdsong fill the air calling out to all too few.
Others prowl the paths looking for prey in caves and behind walls.
Packs of banshees laugh as the chorus grows until the final call.
The last bell rings all are free run for home.
Aug 20, 2012
Aug 20, 2012 at 8:43 PM UTC
In the sky there is nobody asleep. Nobody, nobody.
Nobody is asleep.
The creatures of the moon sniff and prowl about their cabins.
The living iguanas will come and bite the men who do not dream,
and the man who rushes out with his spirit broken will meet on the street corner
the unbelievable alligator quiet beneath the tender protest of the stars.
Nobody is asleep on earth. Nobody, nobody.
Nobody is asleep.
In the graveyard far off there is a corpse
who has moaned for three years
because of a dry countryside on his knee;
and that boy they buried this morning cried so much
it was necessary to call out the dogs to keep him quiet.
Life is not a dream. Careful! Careful! Careful!
We fall down the stairs in order to eat the moist earth
or we climb to the knife edge of the snow with the voices of the dead dahlias.
But forgetfulness does not exist, dreams to not exist;
flesh exists. Kisses tie our mouths
in a thicket of new veins,
and whoever his pain pains will feel that pain forever
and whoever is afraid of death will carry it on his shoulers.
On day
the horses will live in the saloons
and the enraged ants
will throw themselves on the yellow skies that take refuge in the eyes of cows.
Another day
we will watch the preserved butterflies rise from the dead
and still walking through a country of gray sponges and silent boats
we will watch our ring flash and roses spring from our tongue.
Careful! Be careful! Be careful!
The men who still have marks of the claw and the thunderstorm,
and that boy who cries because he has never heard of the invention of the bridge,
or that dead man who possess now only his head and a shoe,
we must carry them to the wall where the iguanas and the snakes are waiting,
where the bear's teeth are waiting,
where the mummified hand of the boy is waiting,
and the hair of the camel stands on end with a violent blue shudder.
Nobody is sleeping in the sky. Nobody, nobody.
Nobody is sleeping.
If someone does close his eyes,
a whip, boys, a whip!
Let there be a landscape of open eyes
and bitter wounds on fire.
No one is sleeping in this world. No one, no one.
I have said it before.
No one is sleeping.
But if someone grows too much moss on his temples during the night,
open the stage trapdoors so he can see in the moonlight
the lying goblets, and the poison, and the skull of the theatres.
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In my pursuit of a higher education
I am now starting to study the process of human decomposition
And how strange we all rot away like road **** and plant vegetation.
I see the word Casper and my memory takes me back to when I was a child
Remembering he was a sad and lonely invisible cartoon character.
I am now reading it is a proven scientific law, that after you pass
And you give up your ghost, your body then becomes
A breeding ground and you are the decaying host.
Trying to hide the evidence you’re now digging a shallow grave
Don’t do that because it takes eight times longer
Thinking about submerging in water? Yes, it’s a little quicker
But if someone did you seriously wrong and unfair
The quickest way to decompose them is,
Just leave them hiding under some brush and in the summer open air
So then the flies, insects and bee's’ can make a home in their hair.
Sir Isaac Newton told the world how gravity should behave
And now a modern man proved it is no longer so
I can see now, Newton is raging hard and deep inside his grave.
I have not a single fear the only thing that scares me is,
I know without any doubt now that I am insanely brave
Trust me I’ll drag your corpse also and hide it in my make shift grave.
I’m out on a night prowl to change Casper’s law
And prove to you all that it was really only just a theory
Reading books about death gives me a thrill,
Better pray and hope I don’t someday become terminally ill
Everything I do stems from my madness and with it,
Premeditated thoughts and also a great conspiracy.
(SirCARSr. 3-2-2013)
Mar 3, 2013
Mar 3, 2013 at 5:05 PM UTC
She walks down pavement
She makes the government’s infrastructure look like beauty
Her beauty turns away the rules of the snooty conservative government
The constitution loses its soul
When she bends over to check the hood of a car about to roll
Her boyfriend accompanied by other boyfriends who hit on her
I stand on the sidelines
Problem is I murmur
You probably thought a stutter was worse
She’s such a high class gal
Despite her sultriness and I’m not judging
But I must mention she goes to Church
So you might still mistake her for being an uptown sister
She dances to rock music
Her head doesn’t even sway to the EDM that the plebeians surrounding her play
She’s an anachronism
But she just needs me to introduce her Monet’s impressionism
I bet her cultural values force her to mould Picasso’s Cubism
Even though I’m not a man’s man
She without influence is not enough
Because influencing is love
And I hope it is to this cute rebellious dud
I suppose from her house she ran
When she looked morose in school during period nine
It was English Drama and suddenly she couldn’t seem to remember the line
With her friends flanking her she walks and talks
She’s on the phone while she’s wearing her socks
She’s on the prowl she’s an active girl
That women is close to my heart
And I hope to treat her like a clam treats its pearl
Sep 9, 2017
Sep 9, 2017 at 11:56 AM UTC
There once was a girl called Goldilocks
Who lived in a forest filled with phlox
She did not to have a soul to play with
And in the forest she would often drift
She once became lost, the lonely, little girl
The one with the head full of golden curls
Panicked and scared, she came upon a house
But it appeared that everyone there was out
She helped herself to the food, cold and hot
She tried the chairs until one hit the spot
Too tired to try to make her way back
She hit the sheets to take a nap
Very picky was this lost, lonely tot
Some porridge was too cold, some too hot
Beds too soft or too hard to sleep tight
Only one she found that felt just right
Mama, Papa, and Baby Bear were soon back on arrival
After a long day of fishing for their survival
What? Who had their nose in each of their bowls?
Gone was one porridge that to the brim was full
And who had sat in and broke one of the chairs?
It looked like a human by some strands of golden hair!
Hunters? Oh, no! Could they be on the prowl?
The bears sniffed around and started to growl
Baby Bear was the first to see
The little girl catching some Z's
"Oh, cool!" exclaimed little Baby Bear
"Can we keep her? Can she stay here?"
They all came upon Goldilocks all snug in bed
Papa Bear was now furious and began to see red
"And you call us animals!" he yelled loudly at her
"Who gives you the right?! Where are your manners?!"
Goldilocks woke up with an ear piercing shriek
Facing three hairy bears, she could not speak
Out the house she ran, far enough to see her home near
And that was the last that Goldilocks saw of those bears!
"She was just a scared, little girl", Mama Bear said to her spouse
"We could have stopped her and let her stay in our house!"
Papa Bear, disagreeing with her foolish trust, swore
**** it! I told you the last one out locks the door!!!"
"You begin feeding them...they are so clever
You'll never get rid of them. They stick around forever!"
Mama Bear refused to fight, for Papa Bear refused to bend
And that is all there is to the story. THE END!
Jul 25, 2010
Jul 25, 2010 at 7:53 PM UTC
to more than I can be...
a sad isolated man,
throes of an agonizing,
stretched by her for painful
revengeful gain,
kissed with pointless avarice, divorce.
children deeming
him alienating, his faulty
insensitive sensitivities,
to easy blame
little do they know of the
piercing lowliness, the looniness of
nights he listened to sad-eyed singers,
and his late-of-mid of night scribbled scripts,
where he
off loaded the agonies of a midlife
disaster, not entirely of his-own
sown making,
but still his to bear and bare alone...
some accidents happens for unintentional,
unintended intentional new seasons appear,
stumbled, tumbled, fumbled his way onto
this H~oly P~lace, where someone might listen
to his explanations, expiations, excoriations
of his all too common tragedy, and said:
this broken human, he's got his reasons,
read his overly long treatises, his entreaties,
to those that prowl, rowing, in this corner
of the silence of the internet, where only the
trolls, the cold, the easier to-be-meaner oft thrive,
and found none of that, but an oasis of sheltering,
embracing comforting, those who actually admitted
his writings could be loved, and perhaps the writer
himself, was
deserving
of a second chance, a verbal embrace. a rereading forgiveness,
a pat
on his natback, a sympathetic sensory intaking,
and perhaps-this debt, eternal, that put the
for and the fore in a new baby born, named -
new forever
came into existence
the very same
e
that begins those conjoined words
***e~ternally grateful
"and now I sleep in peace when the day is done"
but the night time
is still the
write time
Sep 13, 2025
Sep 13, 2025 at 11:42 AM UTC
Did you ever wonder why
Why the crows always sighed
Shallow sighs that seemed to signify
The broken pieces of happiness that once used to collide
Looking back at it now
I could hear a poetic prowl
A town full of memories
A land full of histories
Think simply, they used to tell me
Because with that, they said
You can take on life slightly more effortlessly
Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 1:46 PM UTC
The night approaches swiftly, like a tiger on the prowl,
As the night moves forward you can hear the hoots of Great Horned Owl.
The hours pass by and the clock keeps on ticking,
And here I lay on the couch just thinking.
In my time of relaxation I pondered and I thought,
Is the path that I’m on a wise one or not?
Hour after hour I begin to feel sleepy.
So I rush to my bed, relaxed, until I feel something beneath me.
In a rage the room turns pitch black, with flashes of red and yellow.
And in a panic I jump off my bed and run like a crazed fellow.
The door slams shut and my panic becomes deeper,
Until I hear the voice of a mysterious twisted creature.
“He says be wise with decisions that are made with haste,
You would never want a fortunate opportunity to go to waste.
Never feel forced to be on time with what you choose,
Because it will not be the respect of others, in which you lose.
Indecisiveness is wisdom, which with time will bloom,
So from here on out do not spend your days in gloom.
If these words are not followed, a different life you shall live.
A life in which you are selfish and refuse to charitably give.
One that is chronological and filled with bland affairs,
A life that is careless and lacking in truths or dares.
In the blink of an eye light pours in from spontaneous lightening,
And in a matter of seconds this all feels more frightening.
I turn to open the door, but the door will not open,
Scared for my life, I scream “This isn't the path I have chosen.”
As I lift my head up and turn around, the monster in no longer there,
At last my room is filled with light, it was all just an insightful nightmare.
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 6:06 PM UTC
You won't recognize them I bet,
your secrets, even in broad day light,
if they walk towards you smiling,
wearing dark glasses to hide their eyes
in a humid day.They now wear clothes
of different styles to take you for a ride,
even cross dress and change the accents,
they play games with your hazy mind
--the secrets you once buried deep under.
They stand peeping behind blinded windows
prowl as shadows soliciting behind half open doors,.
Time flies in a hurry like migratory birds left behind,
you have to strain your ears too much
to hear even the faint foot falls of the past!
Old memories have changed their manners
they try to distract one with invented details
Like the muffled voices in an attic dark,
on a fateful day so long, your old secrets
speak an archaic tongue, that needs to be interpreted.
One has to be artful as the turbaned village elders
who would for your astonishment interpret
the vocabulary of lizard calls, key to nature's intents.
Or the trained eye of an elder who in flashes
of meteor falls, reads the secret messages of universe.
To get a true sense of your own secret
you have to tread the places they hide.
Make them shed their crusted hides
by which they conceal their true color,
which one has been waiting to see,
with a palpitating heart, walking back
to where one walked once, long forgotten.
That is why elders on days of yore
would exhort, embarrassingly repeat too,
not to have any hidden secrets that hurt
even if breathtakingly beautiful like a courtesan.
In some moment one won't expect
dreadful they could turn and become witches,
with fiery eyes, dreadlocks, and long nails.
Mar 25, 2017
Mar 25, 2017 at 4:11 PM UTC
I only wear my red lipstick
when im feeling sinister,
when im feeling poisonous.
I only wear my red lipstick
when im on the prowl,
searching for my prey,
ready to pounce.
I only wear my red lipstick
when im loving you,
when I feel close to you,
when I feel close to you,
almost melting.
I only wear my red lipstick
for you.
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 4:17 PM UTC
Only the eyes remain as they were.
The rest of her face is ravaged
by acid. Acid thrown by two
boys on a cycle. Just
another dare.
She combs her long hair carefully. Plaits it
neatly away from her face. No curtain of hair
to hide behind. Puts a bindi in the battleground
of keloids, scars and uncooked skin. She wears
them well.
The boys genuflect in a temple, mothers kissing
saffron kerchief covered heads
before they gel their hair
and go on another prowl. This is what
men do, you see.
Lakshmi puts another layer
of cream on her burns and then stands
behind a beauty counter selling bindis
and lipsticks to girls with unblemished faces,
like their eyes. Like her eyes.
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 4:32 AM UTC
the day is at its end
the towers and domes in the city
are a lonely sight...abandoned,
all closed.........all hushed up
the gnomes of the day are mostly gone...
beware...the gnomes of the night
have just woken and are now energized...
raring to prowl the dark halls and corridors
out to the unlit alleys, backstreets and corners
cloaked by towering shadows
all set to play havoc to unknowing passers-by...
in the dark where all restraints are set free
where unconquered demons
take center stage...
in the dark,
where the dead gets to live again...
in the dark, where anything goes, unnoticed...
in the shadows, where
the dark sky is the limit....
until the first shafts of light come in...
when once again, all secrets
seek refuge in their hiding places
---------the dark takes a rest---------
---------as a new day unfolds--------
Sally
Copyright 2013
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 9:43 PM UTC
"She tried to be everyone else's anchor but only sunk in despair, when She was engulfed in her own destruction and reached for hands that weren't there. But She had the strength of ten thousands waves that crashed at sea, with the heart of a lioness on the prowl for just a glimpse of her Free."
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 11:44 PM UTC
I'm a midnight sneak,
At Google I'll peek,
My eyes grow round and glow,
It's well after midnight, you know,
I'll filch some treats,
Addictions need sweets,
I'm quite house trained,
Computer feeds my brain,
All alone in this darkened room,
Stalking through Google's runes,
Is that five am to prowl?
Shhhh, I'm insomniac midnight Owl!
Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 at 12:30 AM UTC
It's not a habit with this i have no control
This is something I cant get up the nerve to tell no
I need it as i rub my legs 2gether wanting a fix
All im needing is one hit
Then for a while my mind will be free
It will float in the air passing through the trees
Without it in my body there is a friction
What i have is an addiction
Cant stop moving without it i have no ease
The thought of my addiction buckles my knees
It gives me shattering teeth and goose bumps
Knowing the addiction is too much
Wanting to have control but it wont let me
Never wanting this addiction to leave
It solves problems that i don't want to understand
Time consuming addiction needing a helping hand
Sleep never comes when i have not fed my craving
For it i go begging,pleading,prowling,and slaving
A habit no; much more complex
Wondering how im gonna come up with the next
A hard ******** from me rise when i see it
Knowing i want it **** i need it
My addiction
Soft complexion smile is light
usually go on the prowl for it early mornings and late at night
I cook it up with my own hands as i mold it to my liking
And when i get it just right i slice it
knowing that i want it but i have to make it want me too
knowing that my addiction is you
Apr 20, 2010
Apr 20, 2010 at 1:32 PM UTC
I have no pack
I have no mate
these howls I make
for my own sake
I do not hunt
I do not prowl
that which I want
lost in tomorrow
This wilderness
I roam alone
nothing to miss
nowhere is home
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 10:09 PM UTC
represent yourself as vicious
bare your fangs
strike down the innocent
you define a beast...not the wolf
when you prowl on victims
take life without remorse
and let rage control you
you are an animal...not the wolf
when you are cunning, swift
protect the weak
howl in the spirit of the wild....you are the wolf
when you're mysterious
calm with power
leading with purpose....you are the wolf
A wolf knows family
A wolf knows instinct
A wolf knows wild
A wolf knows what guides them
my guide is not the wolf...I am the wolf and I am guided by destiny.
Aug 2, 2011
Aug 2, 2011 at 10:59 PM UTC