The week has to have a weekend Days have to have a tomorrow And goodbye to yesterday’s/ In turns will bring the months to an end/
What do we have to face moving forward setbacks and more worried looks in the bystanders eyes.. When all is set and done, we have to say grace We have to look up every morning and whisper to the skies.
The news broadcaster’s never speak of genuine love, They only wishes to be littered, While, begging folks to do their part The cooing of the dark lonely dove a symbol that there’s is no more love in ones heart during the these stressful day/
Ten o’clock curfew at night,\/ Essentials workers must only be seen at dawn/ No more than ten to twelve people on sight/ And large outstanding gathering must be gone/
Black Friday’s deals, window shopping strolls Everything seem on hold, the biggest black hole of 2020/ And nothing spoke to me: not even a 60 inch flatscreen TV/
Let’s take a page from the Jewish customs Bury the dead in the next seventy two hours/ All November traditions is limit/ Thanksgiving Day a Tic, tok
All Saints Day, All Souls Day, Mischief Night, Bonfire Night Once you take down the statues, of useless figures Would History of the injustices will be erase/
A life well lived always includes some sort of mischief, a healthy balance at least – nothing malicious: it’s just part of the business, it’s why the sound of laughter is so mouthwateringly delicious and spontaneity brings one to their knees it’s so ******* religious! What I’m trying to say is: learn to laugh with life. Simply put, there’s just too much humor to not share your light.
germinal ; creature undresses from his cool rubbery dead skin steps scent free into the sodium light and works on its pallor
fleshed out from the plumbing a manic talent it sports the label , Mr. Talon and favours a facade of mercurial cosmetics
now, a character most vividly colourful and male-ish a voice a maddened song he breaks his face and makes it a smile
armed with this sickle bringing his comedic heavings to the public he goes gory across the fresh laundry a violence upon the canvas a spree upon welcoming sadness an open mockery breaking ease and seizing upon an audience
no more chiding from within the shade (egging on villains and dropping muse-meal) the folk hero the prankster this fierce performer of mischief takes the stage in a full suit of teeth-skin and he’s really quite ravenous for your abiding applause
‘popular in the mutterings founded in the gutterings bring out the chalk lines and biohazard baggies for this fierce performer of mischief !’
A cat is mischief incarnate from claws to whiskered nose. He spreads his form indiscriminately whenever and wherever he goes.
19% in his tail; the sweeping fluff of doom. 23% in the wailing cries that wake you in nighttime gloom.
8% in the claws and teeth which teach the unwise to take care. 31% in the legs; carrying him from disasters- he caused- everywhere.
19% in the eyes that direct these ongoing rebuffs of fate: surveying all that smacks of horror in the humans who are always too late.
Knocking things off surfaces, shredding toilette paper, sleeping on clean clothes, racing the hallways at night and the yowling. They are the best and worst roommates; without even considering the litter boxes.
blue, the color of the ocean, the color of the sky, the color of intelligence, the color of calm, the color of a cold, depressed winter.
green, the color of trees, the color of nature, the color of mischief, the color of safety. the color of a bright, adventurous summer.
my eyes, a swirling combination of blue and green, a representation of intelligence and mischief, a source of calm and adventure, a union of complementary opposites, a storm of different sides of one person.