Your mind is an abyss sated with emptiness,spore of an ink-jet,
the heart is erupting with repugnant repulsiveness.
Your conscience ravage by your impulsive act.
You indulge in savagery shackled by misery creativity is a mystery .

You diverged from an honest life and now you're perjuring in art you dark-prowlers.
Converged with parasites marauding, Proud-Writers.

Cursed with uncertainty you're embracing lies, in the realm of thieves there's a decaying crown.

I am in love with the night.

My body craves the chilling midnight breeze.

My mind lingers in dark corners

and wanders through the silence of the small hours

with ghostlike ease.


I am one with alley cats

and all the prowlers of the dark.

We dance our slow samba

through sorrow and peace,

weaving from one emotion to the next

and back again.


We sing in whispers,

harmonizing with the hush tones

of life in piano.


We are phantoms.

We are the moonlit shadow-men.

We are the presence you feel just before sleep takes hold.

Feel us sweep through your mind like a storm wind.

We bring the cold.

We bring the quiet.

We bring peace to all but ourselves,


for there is no peace in the night.

We are the children of uncertainty.

we have taken the hand of chaos and kissed it

and felt all of life's woe and elation.


I have seen possibilities so boundless

that I may never rest this riot

and so

I will forever be a lover of the night

and she will forever be my mistress.

Out of the gate I see no eyes
That I remember or swear are mine
This house is burning yet it stands
Her hair rests on me a thousand strands
I am not myself no I see not my body
O' lone bones praying on their knees
Get away from me and head to the bay
Outside there is fire a falling and
The seas are churning with red
Not in the end but in the beginning
We enjoyed the past time of sinning
I know not whether these thoughts are real
Or if my mind has grown too confused
All I know that the howling wind
Is crying but oh' where to begin
"This face of mine is starting to show wear"
The wife said to the man
"Go now if you must, this is too much too bear"
The man pulled his coat over his bare back
Opened the door out the wife then relaxed
Each hour is clicking like the sound of gun shots
My soul is leaking loudly out the overflowing soup ***
Now no idea is worth sharing
If you don't love it with all your giving
Books mention nothing of them but you still read on
For something may be in there to make you not a pawn
Either I have started myself on a path
Or it all is apart of the greater wrath
I never found my place or knew where to go
I'm out in the dark like a white long lost lark
I seek no pity or no true friendship yet
For if it exists will only weigh me down
I just wish to find a pair of loving lips
Perhaps a woman that keeps me cool as she gently knits
Intelligence in the finest degree penetrates the fortress walls
Minds machine makes mere soldiers laugh
With the apple arcade glowing in the afternoon shade
Candy cane blossom in the ***** of a fusion
Life leering inside the window of its special widow
Towards the north end of the avenue the prowlers prowl
The darkly lit bars tenants moaning as their stomachs growl
Torn up workers spread their cracked and caked hands
Law men approaching spinning his billy club stave'
Not in the light we are remembered but in the
Shadows of minds of the ones left behind
In the ice of the snow brown on the sludge outside
Amusing oneself with the laughter of the crowd
The madness mad cow disease
Where smiles are not smiles and the brain childs watch
Tantazlizing yourself into submission as your wishing
For a writing on the wall that never came and will never
Come to the door or the mailbox or to the internet or
In love or in hate or in greed or in money or in Fame or
In sleep or in dreams or in rest, the place where you are
Tested again and again relentless and insane
Pulling your hair out and your teeth have gone numb and
Inside the fire is burning but on the grass on the lawn your
Dawn is now rising but your eyes can't see the sun

She stood beneath the breaking sky
And held every cloud in her hand.
Sang each a lullaby
And laid them to rest in the sand.

But tide waits for no one.
Tide waits for no one.

All the same, day after day,
The prowlers who preach to the sun,
Keeping some lonely at bay
And blind to all that they've done.

Tide waits for no one.
Tide waits for no one.

Clouds rise round the devil,
As he sits by the deep blue sea.
Cries as the waves lap his feet,
And each tear belongs to me.

Tide waits for no one.
Tide waits for no one.

I know where they secretly hide-
these proud two-legged crawlers
(I've been their bane for forty years
fishermen call me 'King of the marine prowlers')

their claws might be sharp
like the brightest knife
the trick is to hold them
by their shells--- no strife

for my nimble, steady and well-trained hands
last week one thousand  I caught--no surprise
every restaurant in town courted my favour
last year I won 'The Village Best Crab-man Prize'

six hundred books on this shining creature
I have read.  I have written a book 'Understanding the Crab'
word got round and there are a thousand crab-people by the sea now
but they return home by sunset and all that they say is  'The day is crap!'

Thrown into wildness
I was thrown into wildness...

Law of the jungle runs deep in ones veins
food chain topped by vicious prowlers
if blood keeps running cold
murderous minds grow more bold
predators take pride in their
hunter's prowess.

Thrown into wildness
I was thrown into wildness.

Where fights in the dead of night
and greedy hands with high demands
are everyday life
all part of ulterior motives
and rotten plans.

Where pretentious intentions
are the cost of survival
and no saints nor prophets
are offered revival.
It's hard to stay calm...

It's hard to stay calm
when wrath's laid on the tip
of your palms.
Gluttonous man eaters drool
in the depths of the concrete jungle
over lustful people
whilst maintaining an iron ******
rule.

Thrown into-

The sad reality of living day to day
and sloth's not tolerated
unless you've royal blood
survival instincts often tempt
a few to stray
their ways forgotten rest
beneath the murky mud.

In the end, envy runs errands
against the common folk
for in the jungle defenceless insects
have no place in the grander plan
or any rights to live humble.

It's a vicious cycle that takes
its toll
being thrown into modern wildness
and when the sun goes down
and follows darkness,
the world is then devoid from
kindness,
and humanity is swallowed whole.

Moonlit concrete canyons echo with howls.
                   Signal midnight terror!  Packs are on the prowl!
                                                      
                     Demonic toothy grins with lunar glow aglint
                    suggest savage passions with more than a hint.
                           Cowering sheep paralyzed with fright
                 look to wary shepherds on guard through the night.
                             Ravenous rovers mate fang to fleece,
                        predatory prowlers drawn by plaintive bleats.
              Lobos fear no shepherds’ dogs nor bullets from their guns,
                      they only fear the cage, wolves were born to run.
                                                    
                     Death may be their destiny but living is the chase.
             They’ll run the neon jungle ‘til they’re killed or catch a case.

when the night is a fleeting shadow
the sky a highest blue
your sleep is a blink you missed
all the night prowlers hide
around the corners of your dreams
and the wolves in sheep's clothing
walk in plain sight down the street
a smile hiding the intentions of their heart
and a growl just beneath their teeth.

Her eyes fold gently
as she takes bits of honeycrisp
from my fingertips -
the first from the tree,
still hard, ****,
warm in the thick after rain,
hinting at cinnamon.

Her usual distractions,
squirrel on wire,
bobbing heads of neighbor girls
on trampolines,
lifting reigns of monarchs
and viceroys, mourning cloaks,
slamming doors,  
jumbled voices beyond the fence,
bright musks of night prowlers
in the grass,
all ceased to beguile.

As if desirous of desire,
she stiffened at the first crack
of my teeth through the flesh
of this first apple,
then bounded across the lawn
and sat before me,
not as a beggar may,
but as an adherent
to the rites of giving.

Bit by bit,
taking each with neither lurching forth
nor brushing my fingers with her teeth,
her velvet black ears lain back,
her brown eyes reduced
to sweet slices of rapture,
she chews each in its time,
savoring each in its time,
not as a dog may,
but as a disciple
to Autumn's way
of giving.

The Stalkers

Under the celestial awning
There are degrees of darkness
Stygian and silky night - blue
Secret light seeps out of hurts
Soon absorbed by night's hue
By the quay lovers watch light
Commit suicide in dark waters
Only the sleepless see this and
Night prowlers with knives
Killing someone with passion
And bath in blood at midnight

Our eyes meet across a crowded room
Or one where none but we are present or
Perhaps it is one and the same place,
That same room
Whence distractions of others melt,
Dissolving from our awareness

We circle in a literal and figurative manner,
Closing the gap
Two predators aware of the other's thought,
Intention and indeed desire,
Prowling in ever more certain cirlces as to the
Evenings inevitable closure

Then later when the killing is done
And all predatory passion is sated,
The post coitic
Post feasting lethargy sets in,
We stretch and yawn ,
And sleep

Manner of ingress yet inexplicable!

They chew interminably, greedily.
They nibble at anything-
Pieces of furniture, carpet, metal.
Even my jungle boots.

They lick voraciously, noisily.
They mop clean spoons, plates
Pots of soup then disappear with the meat.
Even my tooth brush!
Creepy crawly prowlers!

My mini library of late ,
Now their relished adventure;
My literature, a potpourri
Of ****, saliva, and stale spill.
Perhaps they too read.
From a safe crevice of my privacy,
They peer at me, at my helplessness
At my restlessness, mocking my anguish.
Smelly jumpy nocturnal mice!

Some stories are more true than others
This may be one of them
Or it may be another
Some bend the line
Between fiction and fact
I detract……
Believe it or not,  
Back before the world began
Before you were you
And I was me
We created the world
The way
We wanted it to be
So don’t be so proud of all your degrees
Because you created you
The way I wanted you to be
You decided where you would live
What you would do
All the experiences you would go through
I’d tell you this is a fable
And that’s one reality
If you were only able
To understand
You’re under an umbrella
Of insanity
Or could that be me
Fear not, Sir Lancelot
Your truth lancer
Is just a fantasy dancer
She’s never coming for you
Is that what you want her to do
You should never believe a fantasy dancer
Did you ever hear the riddle
Or was it a conundrum
About the two brothers
One always told the truth
And one always told a lie
How to tell the difference
It really wasn’t necessary
I’ll tell you why
hmmm
I forget the point I was going to make
Something about what is true
And what is fake
Yes, I think that was it.
So while you were planning
To do everything right
I was escaping into the night
The streets were lit in incandescent light
Nocturnal prowlers of the twilight
We too were hoping to get it right
Living under the shroud of night
Rising as the sun is setting
Bed wetting
Corset letting
Underground abetting
Courter’s of midnight insights

But in the end
Even the darkness was so bright
One gets tired of the artificiality
Self-imposed marginality
And decides to come into the light.

It’s as if these hills hold a second sight  
The sycamores when still and silent  
Ghostly white and they weep for the empty rookery  

The heron
Just as pale and blue  
Stand an apparition on the banks  
Lonely for the colony and its need  
He is smoke to my water  
The current moves me through his gaze  
Holds me there through the bend  
And then I drift beyond it  
  
He remains  
like my history  
And its fog of memory  
To keep the edge  
To eye the flow  
Dig capable whistled leg  
Into pale hues of fossils  
And time placed compression  
Impressions of my used to be  
  
The prowlers with yellow eyes  
Curve and sweep  
The startling screech  
Cries fear  
Into the calm of all this  
Beauty  
But often eerie  
And foreshadowing quiet  
Brushy tails shiver my good sense  
  
I will go to the river  
And strip down to nothing  
But the peach of me  
And the wonder in my regard  
Of all of this  
And its spiritual entry into my being  
Dive in and feel my soul float  
Out of the cool caress of my skin  
  
The night and its moon  
Will color me an *******  
But pale mood  
To suit the atmosphere  
And its esoteric tastes  
I will be a mystic here  
And chant my name to the stars

The pursuers


Under the celestial awing
there are degrees of darkness
stygian and silky night-blue.
Secret light seeps out of hurts
soon absorbed by night´s hue.
By the quay, lovers watch the light
Commit suicide in dark waters.
Night prowlers with knives
killing someone with a passion
and bath in blood at midnight.