"mischance" poems
Lo! where the rosy-bosomed Hours,
Fair Venus’ train, appear,
Disclose the long-expecting flowers,
And wake the purple year!
The Attic warbler pours her throat,
Responsive to the cuckoo’s note,
The untaught harmony of spring:
While, whisp’ring pleasure as they fly,
Cool Zephyrs thro’ the clear blue sky
Their gathered fragrance fling.
Where’er the oak’s thick branches stretch
A broader browner shade,
Where’er the rude and moss-grown beech
O’er-canopies the glade,
Beside some water’s rushy brink
With me the Muse shall sit, and think
(At ease reclined in rustic state)
How vain the ardour of the Crowd,
How low, how little are the Proud,
How indigent the Great!
Still is the toiling hand of Care;
The panting herds repose:
Yet hark, how through the peopled air
The busy murmur glows!
The insect-youth are on the wing,
Eager to taste the honied spring
And float amid the liquid noon:
Some lightly o’er the current skim,
Some show their gayly-gilded trim
Quick-glancing to the sun.
To Contemplation’s sober eye
Such is the race of Man:
And they that creep, and they that fly,
Shall end where they began.
Alike the Busy and the Gay
But flutter thro’ life’s little day,
In Fortune’s varying colours drest:
Brushed by the hand of rough Mischance,
Or chilled by Age, their airy dance
They leave, in dust to rest.
Methinks I hear, in accents low,
The sportive kind reply:
Poor moralist! and what art thou?
A solitary fly!
Thy joys no glittering female meets,
No hive hast thou of hoarded sweets,
No painted plumage to display:
On hasty wings thy youth is flown;
Thy sun is set, thy spring is gone—
We frolic while ’tis May.
3.1k
There was a feeling by the name Romance,
who asked if I would like to dance,
but clumsy I
could not comply,
my legs fell off by pure mischance.
Jul 7, 2016
Jul 7, 2016 at 12:06 AM UTC
a lone something in the sky
flies near, just by mischance
dazed by the smog,
bowing
and diving
downward
into the parting, cracking,
quaking
bellowing of tar
from the firy, sputtering lungs of these alps
eons worth of cries released in mere mouth-ajar gasps
of the earth diverging and converging
into the debt of always running clean,
running me
always downward,
as in the deep
deep
tessellations of rock
I become.
too still for my own good,
I guess –
another voice on the ash-flow tuffs of
breath to fill the mosaic
of sinewy
stripe-patterned goodbye and bygone
plating into the deep,
deep,
deeper caverns of the unseen sea
slipping off the mantle, an accident with intention,
as an echo caving downward into
nothing,
nothing,
more
nothing
polluting the depths from the palisades,
scripture rupturing lowshore into
surrounding tissues like
igneous stone
dreams of clinks ringing,
of noise
a voice
on the ash-flow tuffs
in the always running-clean water
the purity of which I intercept,
the clear-ness of it;
a sinners window.
through what's left,
I see the clam
another mouth for and of the sea
unseen,
the pearl
as unsoiled as ever
Nov 4, 2021
Nov 4, 2021 at 5:19 PM UTC
Once an Elephant was in great need to ***
So towards the restroom he made his flee
But the Elephant did not know he walked to his doom
For as soon as the got into the room
His nose got stuck into the slammed door
It resembled a schroom
So the Elephant cried for help
For help did he cried
But no soul would come to help
None would believe nothin’ but his demise.
Thus in despair he looked through the window
But to his utmost strike of mischance
He saw a view most rare
All had been covered in dough
So the Elephant pulled and pulled
For pulling was all he could do
And he pulled so much
And so much he pulled
His nose no longer withstood.
In its place the Elephant saw
His nose was covered in gunk
But beware, beware
For the Elephant bewared too,
That right there under all that gunk
No nose stood
It was something rather knew
Something like a trunk.
Jul 24, 2021
Jul 24, 2021 at 1:41 PM UTC
let silence settle by my side today
else i'd again be driven
into the echo of her thoughts
into the unfinished talks
into the incomplete memories
into her interim proximity
i summoned her as she left
but it went unheard
renegades often turn deaf
let silence settle by my side today
else i'd again be driven
into the echo of her thoughts
i'd claim it elusive mischance
i'd profess on empty hope
i'd even bridle my despair
'one can ail to no avail,
nor tears'll bring respite!'
these were her last words FOR me
let silence settle by my side today
else i'd again be driven
into the echo of her thoughts
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 12:45 PM UTC
This dry Spring
the parched earth drinks quickly,
every cool droplet precious
as the tears of the bereaved.
The rain furrows the dusty creek banks
like sunken, careworn cheeks.
the timid water hurries
past sandbars and gravel spits,
around balding rocks crowned
with rotting riverweed.
and in the green places that remain
to be sought and found between
the highway noise and the factories,
there the shy ones grieve with us
for all those lost to disease and violence,
miscarriage and mischance.
We round the bend;
the yearlings start and bolt
through the tangled underbrush—
an exercise in their own fragility.
The mother does not run.
she moves warily
a few paces away
and meets our gaze: measured, assessing.
She takes us in, then bows
her graceful neck to the tender shoots
that break the hardened clay,
the gesture her benediction of peace.
May 9, 2021
May 9, 2021 at 10:42 AM UTC
Everyday, A New Person
Stop! Lest you think,
This is some poem, of a nature serious
I warn you with supercilious contempt
This is a mischance, a contretemps,
This is a dumb poem, like Suntan Lotion^
Inspired by that silliness's Broadway success,
About how everyday, I awake,
A New Person,
With a new designer hair styling
O Yeah, I gotta grip the sink counter,
When I see how my pillow friends^^
Have revenged themselves the night prior,
Upon awakening, I contemplate suicide by pills
But more labor saving for the undertaker I usually choose
Setting One's Hair On Fire
It be awful, it be ridiculous
That my hair defies gravity
Standing straight up,
After a night of lying down,
This is the product of rocking out to the
Hardest of hard rock n' roll.
Now I am a man,
Re hair and grooming I ain't usually
Prioritizing and swooning,
But get this,
It takes a tube daily,
Of alcoholic gel,
To get my pop,
To do the 'lie flat down flop'
When my woman strokes my hair,
She doesn't think I notice,
How she subtle slides her hand down my shirted arm,
To dispose of the newly acquired kitchen grease,
I sometimes, on really bad hair days,
Need to employ to encapture my Grayed Fleece
No faking joke, my mind out strokes
When I look at what handiwork
Has worked me over,
Multi-directional, punk sensational,
I swear it also has changed colors!
No unrequited love, just requited hate
For my torqued, drugged, twisted hairy fate,
Two minutes to write this idiotic ditty,
Ten minutes to nerve to open my eyes to look twice
At what the hairie fairies mischievously hath wrought,
Is unbalanced, demand a recount, a fair fight sought
Soon it will be clear, if you think this poem amusing,
Be in readiness for an Ode to the Haircut upcoming,
Be in readiness for an opera, entitled naturally,
Get Thee To The Barber of First Avenue
As soon as I get the nerve to leave the bedroom.
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 9:09 AM UTC
A prophet of woe and mischance?
My big white ghost that watches me.
Flies beside in the icy rain,
roe deer running with us in the dark,
to see me home.
It gave that dread unearthly shriek,
Christmas night in the forest, no fright.
Tonight it flew through cars and frost,
to pause at the window as we drove.
To satisfy itself.
No ill omen, no destiny of fear.
Just a spirit,
finding me a course to steer.
Staying near.
He was wrong,
I doubt he ever saw one.
Jan 6, 2011
Jan 6, 2011 at 4:20 PM UTC
I’m cold… You think I’m really fluey?
I’m not for sure… Maybe you’re right.
The weather’s nasty by mischance for now.
And I’m not wearing my cozy woolly scarf.
This February snows a lot and rages.
I’d like to wrap in plaid and not to leave.
I know it’s blues. I know for certain, sweetheart.
You shouldn’t get a feel for me. I’m peeve.
The spring will come. There will be a revival
Of new ideas, follies and delight.
And I will rise, I will return, my dear,
Better than previous. I will be vitalized!
Feb 8, 2025
Feb 8, 2025 at 3:32 PM UTC
Your early inborn magic did not
fortell the whirls and winds
of the future. The shine of
youth ended in turbulence.
Dismania, like fingers, touched,
you. Ivy on brick, the tendrils
pierced. Walls of
uncertainty nourished
and you, welcomed the
future.
There were no tomorrows.
Pulling you through the
mirror of myself you tore
into
uncertainty.
No Magi, not even
with gifts of surcease
brought by the force
of love
released you.
Still the running child
you crash into a future
whose spiders claw at you.
Tomorrow waits
protected
by your addiction.
Reach into the future
all you want,
you cannot tear the
crawl of your destiny
away.
Caroline Shank
10.13.2022
Dec 13, 2022
Dec 13, 2022 at 10:09 AM UTC
A little of every kind of,
Committed atrocity,
Sadly displayed on the wall,
In the peace ability of national standards,
Grains of silent sands,
Keep a drift the ocean floor,
A music mayhem,
Mischance nuscance,
High way 14
Keep right, slow left,
Ok now don't stop
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 9:25 AM UTC
a storyteller, the odd girl
who rested her head in the cold sand
smiled a weary, weary smile
What is it, she asked
how about a tale, one of the gods
and a gallant hero
She smiled, teeth showing
as the water covered her face
How about one of the sea, she replied
A tale of the sea?
Yes, and how it connects all the continents
With the sea, I can go anywhere
And I'll give you a hero,
Not so particularly gallant
Yet wisdom of Sun
the Sun?
Yes, silly, the tale is the Sun and Light
And how they existed side by side
As two halves meant to be
Yet their cousin, Life
Grew dark and heavy in envy
And became the sea
To drown their love
Yet Sun, in all his glory
Felt pity chip in his fiery rays
And with an explosion of power
Brought the inferno from within
Of Life's deepest throne
And brought forth liquid fire
To spew across that of Life's watery bodice
Oh, how Life was infuriated
And howled with rage
Yet soon...soon Earth began to mold
And soothe Life's churning ways
Earth was beauty of green
And she spoke most eloquently
So that Life began to lap to her shores
And call to her in tune and lore
Yet with an ach to her heart,
A flaw to Sun's sight which cannot be seen
The Wind swept Earth away in howling love
Grieving, Life took the beings
Dwelling in his dreams
And placed the creatures on
Lady Earth's lovely, lovely shores
As gifts to her, so that Lady Earth
Could love instead the expanse
Which Life, the sea, became to be
Wind so then battered the sea
And swept him high in his throne
So by mischance parts of Life
Cascaded unto Earth's kingdoms
Earth, weary of such cruel tricks
And taken aback by Life's otherly touch
Shuddered so that her shoulders
Began to tremble in a terrible fit,
And Life, the sea, soothed her shores
And sang her crashing melodies
So the fright would leave her body...
And to this day, the world remain as is,
Life, the sea, sparring with running Wind
The Wind bold and dashing
Running untethered in great leaps
The relentless affair, the Triangle of Time
An existence of infinite grief,
And streaks of bubbling joy,
Under the heavenly eye of Sun and Light
them why are you here, on the shore
laying down on the eve of Life and Earth
Well, you see, the girl said
The Sun and Light are ancient and wise
And created all that is,
Yet as I lie here in the sand
I sometimes, quite silently,
Feel the aching yearn Life, the sea,
Reach for Earth
and if there is no Earth?
Then the loneliness of Life
Will consume him and turn
Him into ice, as seen
By Great Uncle and Aunt
North and South,
Where Earth does not dwell
can you hear Life, the sea
Yes, and how mournful
Does the music flow
An ancient tune of why
Loneliness fell to the bottom
Of the heart
Jul 30, 2017
Jul 30, 2017 at 11:54 PM UTC
I was the last served from the dish of good luck
Where I sat at the table of life
The man before scraped the residual muck
From the plate with the edge of his knife
But the last shall be first, and so I was served
The primary course of mishap
I could not comprehend how I had deserved
Such a rich and luxurious scrap
How can one poor person consume such a feast
Of mischance as allotted to me
Others would sink in despair, at least
To see fate their forsworn enemy
Jul 18, 2017
Jul 18, 2017 at 9:21 AM UTC
The faint perception of a friend, you knew
is now an unknown face that puzzles you,
a once familiar moment - an early memory,
is but a fleeting remnant of what used to be!
A glimpsed mirage departs before fully seen:
teases, but denies recall of a long ago scene.
Frustrated and angered when a studied glance,
caused you to wonder if by some mischance,
it was no more than an idle, passing scene?
When further like happenings are seen
to aggravate and leave you angrily upset,
then more irritation is spawned and you get
agitated and unable to control your rage!
When others show no respect for your age,
and the future seems to be a barren waste:
hours drag, though days pass in undue haste!
When those you once knew well, disappear,
and you no longer recall times held dear.
You live in darkness, and can no more
find the key to unlock memory’s door!
Desperately you seek for the revealing light,
that gives a rational reason for your plight,
but find there’s none you can discover!
Bemused in a maze, unable to recover
those times with which your life was filled,
seemingly lost forever, and your brain stilled
by the curse of dementia, retreats in sleep!
When you finally succumb, your family weep
for your leaving to a place as yet unknown,
but freedom from the distress you’ve known,
sees you no longer bewildered in dementia state!
Embracing relief, you gladly go to meet your fate.
Rhymer. April 16 th, 2018.
(Another friend just passed away from this diabolical condition. Rhymer.
Apr 16, 2018
Apr 16, 2018 at 12:05 PM UTC