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Sadie Jun 1
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.

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.
Tahlia-rayne Oct 2018
I felt the fear rise like crashing waves and rebel against the thoughts inside my head
Getting their guns and knives ready inside my stomach to slice and shoot their way out of the knots tying together inside
Gripping my heart tight in its iron grip.
Squeezing ,
And curiosity shyly inching through all this rebellion happening inside my body to see what all the fuss is about
And you
Standing there watching me with that tilt to your mouth and those eyes screaming mischief
Completely oblivious to this war inside my body that you bring with you when you come my way.
Blake Aug 2018
Long wavy brown hair
Freckles against otherwise creamy smooth skin
Long eyelashes and dark brown puppy eyes
Loud laughter and big smiles
Confidence boosting and adventure inducing
Long summer nights filled with new experiences
Long talks about things that hurt
Longer talk about things that don’t
Fun and mischief laced into every step
Every heartbeat being worth it
Absolutely breathtakingly perfection
Everything I’ve ever wanted
And for a while
I’ve finally got it
And you make everything so extraordinary
She’s everything I’ve ever loved in people put into one crazy chaotic beautiful mess. And I loved every bit of her
Pagan Paul Aug 2018
Merrytree the Holly sprite
danced across the snow,
no mark did she leave in sight
wither whether she doth go.

So joyful and magickal is she,
darting in betwixt the flakes,
her wild spirit cavorting free,
laughing at mischief she makes.

© Pagan Paul (30/08/18)
Martin Narrod Feb 2018

The mischievous talents of the voice
It’s delicate bombs ripping through
Each footstep to the cool desert air
Where before the sunrise I break from
My two slops of oatmeal to have a cigarette
Seema Aug 2017
I will flap my wings
When the tower bells will ring
Flying with the birds as I sing
Reaching the palace to see the king
Who's hosting a feast with enormous ling

I look like a bird, in colourful disguise
A little naughty but all say I am wise
I know their pretty bogus in telling lies
I am the queens, apple in her beautiful eyes
The king my father, the queen my mother

I am no other,
But their youngest child, playing with my brother...

Feel like a princess :) duhhh
When a potter raise crunch
though with a hunch
soon will be a bystander
they eye a ricochet cyst
round skin that summon Alexander
the glaze cleave an arm
and this idle their crafts
let inside hand again stroll  
that wing a cafe by night
and purpose their hutch
still in a penitentiary
near a dock by parliament it charm
an aft-glow where melancholy
heart departing the moon
here yet a parole by noon
though still it ample tonight
with auxiliary light it toll
but debt show this dolor
they won't tolerate anymore.
Hope E Jan 2017
Sinners cast out of heavenly firmament
I may still be wringing my wings
But do not miss take this moment of reprieve as a slip
His fingers trace closer to her lifeline
My senses cry mischief
I've met your kind
Newly downed gods
licking fangs in anticipation
Gods' forgotten are not naive
to your ways of rebound recreation
Demons are the aforementioned sinners. They are the forgotten children of the gods who were initially cast out of heaven for their relentless curiosity of the human race. Their self ordained purpose is to train the newcomers to control their (blood)lust; which is mostly quenched through ****** deviance. These newcomers are rebels by choice. Nonconformity is more of a hobby than a necessity for them. But they are woefully unaware of the pitfalls that come with being cast from the firmament. One of which is mortality. The other: love.
Tamal Kundu Dec 2016
Crackling mischief waxes every moon; Moon, the plaited devil
Three harvests blue, summits everest shelf to scrape out crunchy
Bliss, and scurries away, with exasperated steps in tow.
For my niece, Monoshree (Moon, for short)
Form: Light Poetry
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