"mischieve" poems
Rolling down the road, in a sunset town
A pop from the tailpipe and a rumbling sound.
Never before have you seen the town like this.
Friendly faces, children running. Bliss.
A sweet voice, humming over the airwaves
Sultry and definite, like the end of this day.
It's stampeding to a hault, to an end of days.
It should have always ended this way.
The raccoon, his days of mischieve cut short,
Forever stagnant and flat on the black.
No one will build him his tomb, an animal mosoluem, no funeral fort.
What will happen when I die, what will be lax?
We all stride to and fro,
Oscillatory on this wavelength God-given.
What happens when we finally go,
When our own life is not living?
Men may say that life is long for fear of the afterworld,
For that untrodded territory in which we know not of
But I say that life is too fleeting,
For the fish which swim, the birds above.
What is life, when put to music?
Can you hear it better when the melodies mix?
Is the world more rustic?
Are we fools to its tricks?
Sunset falling on faces of a sprawl,
One day over, one to end them all.
I feel an ocean rushing over me
I find myself floating at sea
Jul 7, 2011
Jul 7, 2011 at 9:15 PM UTC
Hail the Northern trench
filled with finesse and nests
bore of beauty and wonders
mists of bold and flooded folds
no gold to fix on tables premier
just molded plentiful mischieve
raiding from shore to shore
parading from island to Island
as they hold a beautiful damsel
elegant but daring and fairing
Hail the Southern trench
filled with tonnes of gold
bore of abundance and riches
flowing with enormous generosity
the widowed prince never lacking
accoladed with titles and mantles
will he find her worthy of love
as she is escorted on raided forests
made with trees and frosted peaks
as the rattling breeze fade in silence
to be continued.......
Feb 10, 2018
Feb 10, 2018 at 8:32 AM UTC