"mischiefs" poems
Lipstick cigarettes and the empty soul of modern rock n' roll
laid in ruin amongst my collection of black soul addictions and sultry benedictions.
MIDI saxophones and an ex-girlfriend on the telephone
directing me to find my home, to rebuild the comb, to banish the bartender and the Reverend ******
Alamo idiot stand and a neon Jesus
waving newcomers into the whitewashed port town known as "Cuba North".
At the Caged Gorilla, Linda, the waitress,
laughs through yellowed teeth, while my bloodshot eyes crawl up her red gums.
Binge'd and my brain keeps parallel with the ceiling fan
while a plain clothes cop tries to give me the reprimand for nostalgic mischiefs.
Handcuffed and looking for that old fiend, Freedom,
while Miranda spews on the back of my skull, slides down my shoulders, dots the cement.
Out the door and tourists with cameras looking for evil behind my irises,
but I can assure my handshakes feel the same, I'm front pew tame, and I blend with the parade.
Jan 12, 2012
Jan 12, 2012 at 7:13 PM UTC
A thousand what ifs, a thousand one years.
A thousand beliefs, a thousand one fears.
A thousand what ifs, to thousands of ears.
A thousand mischiefs, to the heart waiting here.
People know darkest is before sunrise.
But with these what ifs, it's darker than dark.
A thousand what ifs and a thousand one sighs.
What if my hoped flame was merely a spark.
A thousand what ifs, should I try to listen
And think and ponder and even consider,
A thousand more chances in my eyes glisten
A withering hope or a shot of wonder.
And thousands of ways, I could hope to die,
Or live, or feel, or end or begin.
And thousands of times, maybe I'd lie
To think that it's real or too good a sin.
A thousand and more, should the truth be told,
I've thought of and given too much my thoughts.
A thousand less more, it was never gold,
Maybe I never knew what I wanted sought.
People say darkest is before sunrise,
For you I decided to live in the dark.
Maybe I like how I lived a lie,
Or truth, whatever, you've made your mark.
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 6:19 AM UTC
Gitano yawned,
stretching out under
the shrine of Öli.
Here he plotted
and hid a mouthful
of secrets; and the Lord
watched over him
as he slept.
He plotted,
for coyote wisdom
is disguised by folly
and cunning
and guile.
All about, the vermilion
stain of Mars. The coyote
chuckled mischievously,
dreaming at the feet
of the Master and Judge.
Above,
a ziggurat raised
to the Goddess.
Two great black eagles
circled in a sky
of dry roses and lilacs.
La Santisima Muerte
stood at a distance,
yet bore Gitano
in Her *****
His mischiefs were scribed
upon a cartouche
to amuse gods
and teach men;
Yet men are not
so easily taught
as gods are amused;
For men have not yet
learned to believe
what makes them laugh.
And so Gitano sleeps,
and talks while he sleeps;
wherefore the Ways
of mischief and trickery
were laid bare.
The secret is to teach
at the expense
of innocence.
Certain illusions persist;
they must be shattered,
but their thrall
can only be broken
by design.
Whether bitterness
takes root in the wake
of the shattering
is not Gitano's concern.
Because sometimes
realization can only come
through being made a fool,
revealed to ourselves
as absurd.
Angry at our own foolishness,
we blame the one
who denudes it.
The coyote, too, is a Fool.
A Fool can learn,
shaping destiny
by taking responsibility.
Through death a Fool
becomes wise,
seeing the joke.
The burden of karma
is left to those
who cannot laugh.
Man grits his teeth,
his brow furrowed.
He despairs.
Gitano chuckles,
unperturbed.
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 3:57 PM UTC
The first time I saw you
You have eyes that were so innocent,
Hair that perfectly frames your face,
And a smile gives of an aura
Endlessly making me linger
To your being.
However i doubted that
Not all people can be like you
So a rainy day came
And so does your frown
I observed you passively
Hoping something changes
You were so busy on things
With your hand flicking along
I assumed you were consumed
By the world and its people
I approached to help you and asked
"Are you okay?"
You gave a gesture
Seemingly making it so
Confused by these thoughts
I got tangled unknowingly
You were putting me under
Like i was in a case of plunder
With the whys and hows coming
How can i be so stupid to realize.
All this time i fell
By the time i laid
My desperate eyes on you
Thinking it was me all along
Fooling myself that
You needed help
From all these whelp
In the end of all
It was me who needed it
A help from you
From the world itself
By all the traits you have
To keep me going,
Running,
Living,
Breathing and
Hoping.
That someone like you would save someone like me
In a world that is full of mischiefs and illusions
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 9:03 AM UTC
Death is the disintegration of the body,
Life is the death of the mind.
Evaporating from shackles
The jester is here on time.
Mischiefs taken from the book.
You do it so well
That only time will tell.
Another age old being
Left to be forgotten.
You forgot again jester
And the sand timer
Has been smashed.
Take the clocks hand
Jester
It's the only applause you'll get.
Breathe them in jester
They'll never be whole
Within themselves.
Take a chance jester.
You're already dead
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 8:53 AM UTC
The lone man ventures the path to the unknown,
and to the unknown he went alone…
From there, he trekked the shadowed Valley of Death,
where bleakness was raw within, and
it swarms lost souls of their own mischiefs and miseries…
There, nothingness spawned.
Time does not exist, but nothing is absolute.
Plains and jagged paths, all but nothing to last.
He stood there in the crossroad,
where the absolute was over the horizon of
impossibilities and possibilities…
No Sages to come and see, no Forseer to oversee.
Nothing.
Without heed nor light, he strode towards the dead of the night.
The Lone Man walks along the crooked road…
Sep 12, 2025
Sep 12, 2025 at 12:32 PM UTC
Her friends made an accord
To bring her cariad
They met
They embraced
with blissful laughter
The day carried on
They went to the portal's entrance
Outside
He was preoccupied
By the device he held
Outside
She met another compatriots
Who played their mischiefs
With slippery liquids
They caused chaos
And an accident happened
With a child
Who fell
The girl came to rescue
And held the kid until
The pain was gone
And
She looked at her cariad
Waiting for something
Something or someone
She looked at her
Parents
And they urged her
To enter the amphitheater
With her platonic frater
So she went
And waited outside
She faced the fragile glass
Facing her own reflection
Tucked her hair
Behind her ear
And called her cariad to go with her
In a place she felt home
And then
Through the looking glass
Waiting for him
She saw
The way he waved
Frantically
Implicating
An urgent
Goodbye
So she went outside
And saw
Her cariad
With a fair woman
She knew
She was the Eros
While she, the frater
Platonic, should be Platonic
But what's with that look?
A look of regret
A look of pity
A look of apology
On her cariad's face
As she approached and saw them
Her heart heavy
Falling in the pitch blackness
Of Oblivion
Where self deprecating
Self loathing
Self pitying
Dwell
So she closed the distance
Greeted the fair woman
Who bothered only with a side glance
At her
And so they went
And she
With them
In a brief walk
Before they went away
Until
They parted ways
Again
With her
Cariad
Oct 29, 2018
Oct 29, 2018 at 7:36 AM UTC
The devotion that you had in your heart for me
the tune that you had on your lips for me
the surrender of your heart was a lie!
all your tears were a lie!
*however, please return to me, beloved,
my heart calls out to you*
Silvery, sweet, streams of talk
those dreamlike nights of sweet slumber
the way your eyes hypnotized was a lie!
all those dreams were a lie!
*however, please return to me, beloved,
my heart calls out to you*
The kiss that our lips shared
your love filled embraces
the innocence of your fair face was a lie!
all those promises were a lie!
*however, please return to me, beloved,
my heart calls out to you*
You were the budding flower of spring
that bloomed in intoxicating laughter
but your smiles were a lie!
all those scenes were a lie!
*however, please return to me, beloved,
my heart calls out to you*
Those promises in the Ganges of love
how you adorned yourself with my name
your bedecking was a lie!
all your those small signs, were a lie!
*however, please return to me, beloved,
my heart calls out to you*
When all your mischiefs were a lie
when your innocence was a lie
when your laughter, your smiles, were lies
why were all our quarrels - truth?
*however, please return to me, beloved,
my heart calls out to you*
तुम्हारे मन मे जो अनुराग था मेरा,
तुम्हारे अधरों पे जो राग था मेरा,
वो समर्पण तेरे अंतर का झुठा,
थे झुठे अश्रु तुम्हारे ।
पर लौट के आजा प्रिये
तुमको मेरा उर पुकारे-2
सुमधुर सरस सलील वो बातें,
मीठे निदों की स्वपनिल वो रातें,
सम्मोहन तेरे नौनों का झुठा,
थे झुठे वो ख्वाब सारे।
पर लौट के आजा प्रिये
तुमको मेरा उर पुकारे-2
अधरों से अधरों का चुंबन,
प्रेमवस तेरा अालींगन,
धवल चेहरे की मासुमीयत झुठी,
थे झुठे वो वादे प्यारे।
पर लौट के आजा प्रिये
तुमको मेरा उर पुकारे-2
तुम बसंत की कुशुम कली थीं,
हो मदमस्त हँस के खिली थीं,
पर तेरी वो मुस्कान झुठी,
थे झुठे तेरे नजारे ।
पर लौट के आजा प्रिये
तुमको मेरा उर पुकारे-2
कशम जो प्रेम गंगा में लिया था,
मेरे नाम का जो श्रृंगार किया था,
तेरा वो संवरना था झुठा,
थे झुठे तेरे इशारे ।
पर लौट के आजा प्रिये
तुमको मेरा उर पुकारे-2
जब थी झुठी शैतानीयाँ तेरी,
जब झुठी थी नादानीयाँ तेरी,
जब झुठा हुआ हँसना मुस्कुराना,
तो सच्चे क्यों हुए झगडे सारे ।
पर लौट के आजा प्रिये
तुमको मेरा उर पुकारे-2
The translation is given by karisma ji
Thanks sis for it
Jul 19, 2016
Jul 19, 2016 at 2:47 PM UTC
Your little eyes,
Little nose,
Little cheeks,
Little smile,
And, your adorable babbling,
Will forever be rewards of love...
Your little hands,
Little feet,
Little walk,
Little mischiefs,
And, your cheerful embrace,
Will forever be a boon of life.
May 26, 2024
May 26, 2024 at 5:26 AM UTC
As little Ben lay down to sleep,
sinking into his soft bed,
The night air brought with it
a sweet fragrance on it's wings
to lull him into sweet dreams.
His father coming to tuck him in,
Said Ben:"Daddy,why is it
that the sweet Night with
the pretty Moon and little Stars
does not last long?"
Replied his dad:"Because Ben,
then the Day would be sad.
And the Sun would pout.
And the Night only comes to help
the Nature prepare for Tomorrow"
Thinking about it,said Ben:
"But what if Day gets sick?
And the Sun takes a holiday?
What would happen then,
If Tomorrow never comes?"
Ponderously,said his dad:
"If Tomorrow comes,
there would be no end
to the Dark and his secrets,
No stopping Cold's mischiefs.
The Moon will walk away,
and Stars may be shrouded,
No more will there be Light
to show us the way
and drive away the fears.
No more will the Mist flee
but will snare us into her net,
to get us lost in her depths.
No end to the bad dreams,
No more warm rays of comfort.
No more Dew's pearls on leaves,
No more the sweet chirping
of the silly birds in the trees.
No Sun for the flowers to greet,
No Dawn to make them sing.
No more the frenzy of the bees,
No more the races of butterflies.
Nor the games of the rabbits.
No more prancing of the does.
Only the hooting of the owls.
Never again will the rain seem fiery,
Or the rivers golden.
No more rainbows in the sky.
No more the dancing of colours.
No beauty in the Nature to see.
No Joy to look forward to,
No Hope to wake up to,
Relinquishing hold on our dreams,
Desires and wishes unfulfilled,
We will slip into Death's slumber."
Realising Ben had fallen asleep,
his father got up from the bed,
turned off the light
and silently went to his room,
thinking all the way.
Unaware of the grave thoughts
his question aroused in his father,
Little Ben slept on,dreaming:
"If Tomorrow never comes,
There won't be no school no more."
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 10:20 AM UTC
In my life I’ve learned that it is possible to love two—three things at the same time with the same intensity, such as I love coffee as much as I love books as I love cigarettes in the morning.
That my vices and mischiefs are who I am, both the most beautiful and sad parts of me.
I’ve learned that just like people are happy they are sad, and just as people live they die.
That happiness and love are for everyone, but I’ve also learned that this world, and its horrors isn’t.
I’ve learned that society isn’t a norm, and that human absolutism is not a thing.
That you have to **** up to learn, as no one has ever fallen in love without being a little brave.
I’ve learned that depression ***** you left and right, that it’s a real illness and that taking antidepressants doesn’t make me any less of a person.
I’ve learned that embracing who you are is what makes you exquisite and endlessly fascinating.
That life is an absurd infinity for all this togetherness and otherness.
Feb 2, 2014
Feb 2, 2014 at 10:07 PM UTC
Would it **** if you agreed?
That we’re no more than just greed
Would it raise up the stake; if
you had fessed up all your mistakes ?
I shall love you not!
For everything you are not
But given that we have shared
The sorrows and mischiefs we beard
I learned that you are a riddle
Waiting for someone to fiddle
Through the devious games you played
I went along, with no reason to fade
Perhaps it was not your game
You’re not the one to blame
Your words.. were they true?
The effects of them, do you have any clue?
Remember the interests we had?
Of Sophie and Howl, how sad.
It has come to this,
Where I want to hit you with my fist
Remember how you strived to impress
Should I start to repress than address?
Of how hollow your promises were
Pretend all you wish, that’s how I’d refer
Perhaps you considered it just a fling
To me we were not anything
Not through the things we told
At nights I felt so cold
For at least I state faithfully
That you were the one who embraced me fully.
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 8:17 AM UTC
Alchemy beckons
I once saw him scribing pollen on bat's wings.
having long strolled the flattened earth
to capture mischiefs wonder,
wading through patented spell books
he obsessed on Death Cap Mushrooms as a panacea.
Once he levitated a Friesian
for no greater nocturnal purpose
than to mock the knowing Moon.
I had long sensed it was in his power to grief
stranger's dreams
but his ensconce was that of an Artist
rather than the Master of Misrule.
Oct 30, 2012
Oct 30, 2012 at 4:11 PM UTC
It was as fast as the northern leaves falling
Along with the winter breeze
The window was at a high altitude
And I can smell the crispiness of the coffee bean.
It was another strange coffee break
At first, I thought the clouds hindered me
From seeing you
But they're so soft and smooth to the touch --
Touched by the very eyes of fierce look.
I saw green pastures everywhere
As if it has never experienced any famine
As if the clouds are always present
To boast out their shades
And there I knew, that we were almost there.
There were no drops that lingered on the waters
Like debris or ashes of the ones who first got their defaults
It was a loss to their existence
That they rathered ****** themselves
And there was the loss of words
As they shuttered their doors and windows.
I foresee the upcoming thought
That this iron barrier shall set me free
From any fear that arises from within
Whenever I think that I'm about to fall
But to sail was never a choice to be made
In these lateral movements that were never in shell
He that rescuing the cry,
The hunger has died
And death itself was known to its end.
I felt my feet having wrinkles from waiting
And my ears heard murmurs of tiredness of being
My mouth was shut, never devoured by any words
Nor any mischiefs
For once I thought,
I was there
But I'm ready to leave with no second thought.
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 10:50 PM UTC
Voices, voices is all I hear
They tell me to come over here
I silently say no
Then they turn into crows
Nitpicking on my skin
Leaving marks of my sins
They laugh and laugh
Their laughters turns into wraths
They throw me against the wall
Feeding me pain like its a brawl
But I don't fight back
All my willpower were taken into a sack
The voices are winning
I am losing
Then you whispered into my ears
Saying to stop drowning in your tears
You lend me your hand
And said we'll fight the voices as we firmly stand
They're gone
Whistling to a mortifying song
You too, soon disappear
I start to fear
I try to feel my way out
But there's no way out
You stole the key
Closed me in the darkness
Taunting me, shoving me into the walls
My heart cracks and out he crawls
He lends his hand
I reached for it but it dissolved into sand
He fades away into my past
I'm free at last.
Sep 2, 2015
Sep 2, 2015 at 5:07 AM UTC
Here I am breathing
Heart beating
I wish you were doing the same
It's not fair
But
It happened anyway
It happen to me
To my mum
To the world
Your features are beginning to fade
So I cling tighter on to fragment memories
I am told of your love
When thoughts of you turn into sadness
When the void you left behind aches reminding me that it cannot be filled by another
I pray that you too know of my love
We laugh your true love and I at
stories
memories
retelling
your beautiful mischiefs
You are missed
Every morning and every night
You were missed at every parents evening
You will be missed by my side when I walk down the aisle
I am told that you would be proud of me
I hope with every fibre of my being
That you are
Proud of me
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 12:58 PM UTC
The breath of the wind blows gently
shushing me, calming me
easing away the pains
that are soon forgotten
I long to see the invisible wind
to touch it, to pull it
take it to unknown places
in my vivid mind
my imagination
that is soon embellished
The breath of the wind blows softly
soothing me, calming me
taking away mischiefs
that were once forbidden
Grab onto the wind as it passes by
hold it if just for a second
know its direction, its destiny
that is soon changed once again
The breath of the wind blows gently
shushing me, calming me
easing away the pains
that are soon forgotten
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 8:03 AM UTC
Noel never comes hot,
this old codger knows his shot,
he covers everything in white
even the hairs of the slight.
He comes with a whoosh,
spreading his glittery mush
this mushy mass melts too quickly,
like a candle that melts faithfully.
Noel knows everything,
he knows what they think;
He follows them on tip - toes,
eavesdropping like the evil moles.
He lives throughout the last month,
saves his mischiefs for the first month.
That mischievousness in all innocence,
this hag he never lagged in patience.
A cold cold codger,
he accepts every lodger,
with hands too cold
and eyes that behold.
He swirls across the curling Earth,
and tints it like his own hearth.
He circles around round in rounds,
like a flake he bounds.
Wreaths and garlands round his neck,
he approaches me for a peck on the neck.
He stalks the stockings
to gasp each longing.
He pecks the pecked things away,
and,sits all night thinking of a way,
to please me with his gifts
and, feliz me with his bits.
I'll miss you Noel,
you are my bubbly bauble and bell,
I'll wait for you,
have a holly holiday, Noel.
Dec 17, 2016
Dec 17, 2016 at 4:23 AM UTC
Let's Follow The Rabbit
Who Worries That He's Late
Down To The Rabbit Hole
Where We Will Change Our Fate
Let's Forget The World
That Once We Were On
And Start A New Life
In This New Place
That Is Far Beyond.
Where Apples Are Poisonous
And Mermaids Are Real
Where Shoes are Made Of Diamonds
Crystal Clear
Where Kisses Are Antidotes
And Dusts Makes You Float
Where You Can Only Have 3 Wishes From A Lamp
And A Goose That Lays Gold
Where Step Mothers Are Evil
And Dwarves Are Good
Where Dragons Exist
So Does Magical Food
Different Kingdoms
Different Story
We Can Create Our Own Adventures
Don't You Worry
Together We Will Create
Our "Happily Ever After"
Together We Will Perform Mischiefs
And Laugh Hard Together
I Offered My Hand To You
Hoping You Will Grab It Too
"Let's Go To The Rabbit Hole Together"
That's What I Said To You
But Suddenly You Chose
Not To Go With Me
Down To The Rabbit Hole
In A Place Full Of Fantasy
You Smiled at Me
And You Told Me "I'm Sorry"
You Ran Away
And Left Me Completely
I Dreamed A
"Happily Ever After" With You
And Then I Realized
There Wasn't Even An "Once Upon a Time"
To Begin With.
Jun 14, 2018
Jun 14, 2018 at 7:37 AM UTC
I see a poor fellow
cleaning my office with sad downcast face
A miserable soul - with no hope in his eyes.
Beside him stood my idle students
some gossipping, some drooling
like sick hens
The cleaner doesn't exist for them
his world is far far away from
their high hopes:
good jobs, good money, family and friends.
They don't care.
What am I supposed to teach them?
Do I show them the way
of all the tyrants and mischiefs
of the world who are bent on
piecing up the ***** among themselves
letting go of their self-respect and dignity
or do I preach something different
A less trodden way of
measure, struggle and equality
Are they ready for it
Will they listen to it
Is it worth the it?
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 6:14 AM UTC
She descends down the ruined stairs
of the moon, and into a lake she vanishes,
increasing its beauty and sowing in love.
........so full with charm, with sensuality,
and with an appealing glitter of face
which arouses the soul.
Her gravity causes the trees to dance,
the water tides to swirl and the clouds,
to loosen their ambrosia on the earth.
She seduces the surroundings with her
coyness, making the creator blush,
and gaze with amusement at what He
had created.
Everyday, everytime she trespasses the
property of my soul....And slowly
with the passage of time, her mischiefs
stole something from me
~ something unseen.
Jul 30, 2017
Jul 30, 2017 at 1:33 AM UTC
Bummed for the joys
Of sunshine and paradise
Lost in the grid
On your visions I bleed
I can't take you places
Being just a rock n' roll kid
I defer to your sight
Flights and mischiefs
The smoke that fills my lungs
Are full of decisions
Withered with thoughts
Failed attempts and secret missions
I am a fool for one
My footprints is your basis
I feel the sun on my spine
I can't take you places
Sored heart bruised arms
Shimmering mind but still a loser
You are the world
And I can't take you places
Mar 28, 2018
Mar 28, 2018 at 12:24 PM UTC
SANDOVAL
At home, they say Death takes a female form,
And in her cave a billion candles burn
Which mark the dwindling measure of our lives-
Short stubs for the infirm, fresh spires for babes.
When our own taper sputters at the base,
This fickle life winks out.
CORTÉS What said he next?
AGUILAR
“You see our signal fire on the butte,
Whose dark clouds broadcast swift alarms for war.
If our old friends push off with crowded sails
Before those flames to embers smolder low,
Then shall they safely coast from Mayaland,
And may God blunt what mischiefs are to come.
But, if they loiter when this fire is cold,
We’ll ***** their lingering lives, for at that time
Shall I raise up my droves of rabid braves
To course this quarry like the hounds of hell.”
CORTÉS
I wish I’d that false truant in my hands,
For it will never do to leave him here.
OLMEDO
Those of the breed to grapple their own hearts
Must own that something in their soul is stirred
In answer to the awful frankness of these howls,
And if, by our own shared humanity,
We may uplift them to civility,
So might they pull our most self-searching down,
To dance, to stamp and rage. We, to resist,
Must be as much a man as they. If not,
Rebarbarism claims her wayward natures,
And our prim, mincing minuets may yet
Yield to innate impulse: leaps, bones and blood.
CORTÉS
Clear out! Our foe’s friend orders we embark,
With sails puffed by this sometime Spaniard’s threats.
These titles- “Captain,” “Chief”- these are but breath,
Yet- backed with tooth- are words which utter death.
Speed North! At merrier campfires will we rest. All exit.
Nov 26, 2016
Nov 26, 2016 at 1:50 PM UTC
we claw through brittle days
upon calloused hands
hearts chiseled into Celtic swords
yet we hold on-
hunkering down through
blistering nights,
trudging beneath
the frosted moon,
awakening at mottled dawn, sleep deprived,
riddled with a profound ache
for distant fairy stories
we will not surrender
to shrieking banshees,
to long-stemmed loneliness,
to prevailing hunger,
to our minds' mischiefs fretting
as shadows in
unforgiving hours
instead we galvanize as druids,
extracting golden amber
from faraway dreams
depositing them as seeds stowed
beneath winter's cloak-
lore keepers
of pandemic secrets
-until spring
thaws the frozen river beds
of our poetic fingers
pollinating speech
while we spawn
into garnet roses
(blood soaked with piecing stems)
a reawakening of voracious beauty,
the roaring Aslan,
unmuzzled prophesier
of breaking dawn
Nov 24, 2020
Nov 24, 2020 at 2:15 PM UTC