"mischievously" poems
*coloured flames and fireflies dance mischievously around our heads
to the tiny trumpetsong of bees Joyous songs of love lulling all in revery yet silent to
mere mortals as We only hear the hush of whispered sighs stood beneath the dappled canopy of
ancient fair oak spread As sweet twilight greets us again swathing our Ianthe in milky moonlight
as she rests upon a dew jewelled knoll still dreaming of fae Unaware of the cold (or the warmth
you hold in your heart for her) She smiles as you cover her shoulders with a elven~made
blanket of gossamer wisp whilst estivating toads blink wide in the coolness of hidden
mossy beds Gently,
sweep the droplet
of Au from her eye, Deva,
as we cough etheric dust from our lungs,
sparkles floating
in the paper-
lantern light
scattering across
the midnight sky,
illuminating fates,
as those fire-flies hearts
twinkle like falling stars unseen*
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 5:21 PM UTC
Sweet eyes and a wavering soul
Was going uphill only to fall.
Always the girl to answer anyone's help call
but to her own troubles everyone stood in applaud.
Waiting for her bravery to unfold
but what they don't know
is what her eyes never told
she was on the edge
all along
see green land and blue skies
were never on her mind.
but, instead a complex maze she would always design
mischievously tricking her own mind.
She did it so that a way out was never to find
As she locked herself behind
her complex golden mind
And everyone just stood in applaud
cause they thought
her own bravery will unfold
oh they thought
She's strong enough
and her own bravery will unfold
but the truth is those sweet eyes
have gone cold .
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 8:10 AM UTC
I finally accelerate and you sense it, pulling back before I can try to satisfy this thirst
The plotting smile in your dark eyes is mischievously magnetic and I lunge forward to steal one last kiss
But one more is never enough, with you
And goodbyes are so hard even when our hello is still so fresh.
How am I expected to pass your heart over to summer?
Your lips, your hands, your salt? Who am I to just let them go?
We are two bodies, becoming one, irrespective of the distance between us
If I am, then we are. If we are, then I'm okay.
Mar 18, 2022
Mar 18, 2022 at 6:43 AM UTC
I once professed my love to the wind...
I had professed that I admired the way
it had caressed my face.
The way it cupped my cheeks
and combed through
my tousled hair.
I once professed my love to the wind...
I had professed that I was infinitely enamoured
with its playful but gentle ways.
The way it would upset
the serenity of my clothes.
The way it would engulf me cool
on a hot sunny day.
I once professed my love to the wind...
I had professed that I get addicted to the way
it would reach into my lungs
and abscond with my breath.
Leaving me asphyxiated for a brief moment
before mischievously
introducing new air;
hale and fresh.
I still profess my love to the wind...
I'd profess my adoration for the way
she fills my sails full
and my heart full of hope.
For I am a lone sailor
in a crowded ocean.
Sailing in a vessel bound for nowhere...
Traversing time and space
with my love, my breeze...
my air.
.
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 11:28 AM UTC
Stepping into the pristine, gentle atmosphere; truth hanging from the intricate crystal chandelier full of endless glow and luster - mischievously placed structure conspicuously elevating wonder
Full of flashing, coruscating shimmer enthusiastically engaging the convivial space; evoking a spontaneous internal unfolding mirroring the perpetual suffering connected to the chosen impeding of spirit’s copious interweaving.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 11:23 AM UTC
Maturity is knowing what your limitations are…(my daily chore)
<>
“Maturity is knowing what your limitations are. Maturity is a bitter disappointment for which no remedy exists, unless laughter can be said to remedy anything.”
Kurt Vonnegut
<>
maturity comes when you cannot,
even try, to fool oneself,
indeed, you preposterousness,
make you laugh hardest
at your very, fully owned, selfhood
preening mirror disguise
Is this a poem, a lamentation, a pithy regurgitation
of Vonnegut, and you say: “Don’t care, it’s words
that gotta come out, be released to empty the heart”
a daily excess removal of that daily overflow of the
days first words when new day light and nighttime’s REM
sleep overlap, and the music starts of a life time of favorites,
and like a pleasant thorn direct into your temples brain,
the leaking, then the spilling spirals unstoppable onto the pages, and the first true relieving exhalation comes with
the excited exorcism of the stones of your life, come outside
your body and there is a freshly born stripe upon your face,
not yet a scar for it is yet to ripen by healing, but it is your
creature for loving…and it is good company with so many
prior guests who have checked in, stayed for a moment’s
observation, departed after getting an extended checkout
time, joining the many who came and went, disappearing
in to the internet’s ether, where we one will join them eventually,
though you smile at that thought, cause you’re mature
enough, baby, an all growled up dude, to know that when
you reached that stage, you will be, non-stop laughing
at *** serious you imagined you were, and wondering out loud
why it took so long to recognize that mirrored visage as
one big ole fool with a smile upon his face…
p.s so much for that promise to take a break from beating
yourself up, but you know what, it is pleasing, in that way
when upon the grand occasion of waking up to another
unexpected day of living deserves a deep, but rueful,
laugh out loud and others’ look at your self and argue to
only mischievously agree,
you are indeed,
still crazy after all these years…
Jul 8, 2023
Jul 8, 2023 at 8:24 AM UTC
How much i love it,
she knows well,
eyes curiously down-
at me eating squid;
the eight armed cephalopod,
soft and dainty to eat,
in more ways than one,
now spread eagled in my front,
"I could eat you too
if you wish" I banter,
she looks at me mischievously as if
it's more than a joke,
and shakes head.
"Would I be as dainty
as such a fish?" she asks,
as if she is serious to get an answer,
flashing those expressive eyelashes,
clearly in a way I can see what it means!
"Yes, bilateral symmetry I have,
but not eight arms, is it okey?"
She knows all about my tastes,
(who would, if she doesn't?)
squids, octopus and the like
and clams...ooh, i love them, so much
bit sticky stuff, yes I like to mess up a bit,
that way, isn't it exciting?
I relish, squid and cuttle fish,
till I am fully satisfied.
Was she a fish in my waters?
To tell you the secret: she wasn't.
she was an octopus!
wily? yes, but lovable.
who strung me with,
her soft, supple tentacles!
Imposing her sweet wishes
on my senses,
eventually her wishes
become my commands,
to the end,
till she asks,
no more.
)O(
Aug 14, 2012
Aug 14, 2012 at 8:46 AM UTC
She was a mischievous child.
Young, beautiful, playful, curious.
And at the mere age of six,
She had a secret.
Her eyes were two twinkling, shooting stars.
Stars that she had mischievously reached up and snatched from the sky one night with a butterfly net
When no one was looking.
She kept them safe, tucked away in secretive sockets so no one would know what she'd done.
They were her secret to keep.
The world spun on, and she aged and aged.
Her life went on.
She married, she worked, she had children of her own,
And not a single soul did she tell her secret of stolen light to.
Finally,
It was her last day on this planet.
She lay in her bed, covered in crocheted blankets, adorned in wrinkles
With her six year old granddaughter sitting at her bedside.
She felt herself starting to die.
She mustered up all the strength she possessed to sit up one last time.
She leaned over towards her granddaughter.
She put a bony, gentle finger to her pursed lips, and winking at the darling youth.
And then,
Mischievously, with a knowing smile,
She reached up and plucked the two twinkling, shooting stars from her eye sockets.
She extended a frail hand, palms filled by two orbs of pure shimmery light
And with a tender, placid touch
Set the stars into the sockets of her granddaughter
For the girl keep for her lifetime
Just as she had.
She slowly, calmly, laid back down.
She winked again at the youthful girl, who, in turn, put her finger up to her pursed lips.
Then, leaving her long-protected secret in the hands of her darling kin with new sparkling eyes,
The aged mademoiselle gently shut her eyelids over dark, empty sockets
For the very last time.
{alaska}
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 9:37 PM UTC
Don't go by convention, na!
Grab a chair and sit next to me,
Not at the opposite side where
So distant you'd be,
No! I'm not saying so because I want to
hold your hand or something-
not that I would mind, but no-
Just sit beside me, so I could
lightly punch your arm,
secretly stare at your dimple,
watch your eyes mischievously twinkle,
also take a spoonful of your slice of cake-
so be near me and,
let closeness be the highlight of this first date.
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 3:45 PM 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
i am beginning to see the ships--
like phantoms, they sail in&out;
of the ports they choose,
only to leave as they please
[disappearing just as mysteriously & mischievously as they arrived],
leaving dents in the worn docks they rail into.
& i am as worn as one of these;
just as covered in filth &
weak to the sea winds &
sinking in the high tides
[& looking for places to hoist anchors away]--
visit me at sea someday,
as more than one who stops at the pier to drop off another's shipment,
but as one who desires to stay for holiday
[a few weeks, a month, perhaps]
before going off into the sunset alongside the wavering seagulls
toward a Light at the edge of the ocean
*for at harbor,
there is always refuge.*
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 2:13 AM UTC
Dog jumps up on bed
Lays beside my head
Mischievously looks at me
As if to say
"I shall **** on you in the night
Wait for it...
the dream stink is coming"
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 12:48 AM UTC
As I searched for an escapeOut of a path of oldDestiny Stumbled Me Back Onto a new path of goldAs follow the yellow brickDown the spiraling wayThere are obstacles and peopleThat try to lead me astrayI see you right nowWhere the two roads entwined Smiling Mischievously Having a motive in mindYour presence intoxicates meYour hands making my body like fireMaking me want to lose controlAnd tempting hidden desireBut as I start to wake upI see your true selfIts not another manIts another copy of himselfI abandoned that dark timeLeaving the man I loved thereFor he hurt me greatly Filling my life with despairDon’t fill my head with nonsenseWith Pretty words and hopeThey are just as usefulAs being in a hole without rope.You did good for a whileHaving me go with your deceptionBut now that you have let slip your natureIt has given me a clear new perception.You can not own meThis wild horse will not be tamedAnd if you hate me for thisI walk high unashamedSo I walk past youOn this path of shineCan promise that not again Will our paths entwineSo with my pride kept safeUnder protection and knifeNow I’m ready to beginA fresh new start for my life
Feb 23, 2010
Feb 23, 2010 at 8:41 PM UTC
I try to measure the overwhelming depth of the ocean,
And with a sly deception shudder at my fantastic obsession.
The Me Within opens his wings, flies high in the sky,
Lovingly callous about the miles treaded by.
*
I weave around myself, an aura of hapless piety,
Adorn my helplessness with a cocoon of sincerity.
The Me Within emancipates – out of the golden cage,
To soar the mountains steep with an astounding rage.
*
I look at my past with guilt, remorse and sorrow,
And search outward for an excuse that I could easily borrow.
The Me Within looks ahead never to turn back,
His burlesque gestures mock at me for the pluck that I lack.
*
I live in a world of purity, of rituals, of rights and of wrongs,
Content with the legacy of my notes, happy with the tyranny of my songs.
The Me Within is mischievously charming, gamboling in between,
And I hear his whistle blowing, humming a tune so serene.
*
I count my days, count my time, and count my blessings, to win,
And relinquish the countless moments of joy, scared of committing a sin.
The Me Within is a careless lad, who happily loses with a smile,
And brandishes his joyful hat, every once in a while.
*
I wish I could be like him, and he’d live my life like me,
I’d paint the sky with freedom, and dive through the depth of the sea.
Reality shrieks yet again, with her deafening draconian din –
When he leaves me, and I leave him, I’d meet the Me Within…
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 6:28 PM UTC
If I should have a son, someday
with thick, dark hair
And an easy smile
I will tell him, everyday,
that he is loved.
I will remind him every time
His knees strike the ground in defeat
that he is strong
and capable.
Every time he comes home
with a broken heart
that he won’t admit to
I will tell him he’s perfect.
If I have son
whose eyes sparkle mischievously
I will remind him, the best men
Got where they were not with tricks
But with hard, honest work
and he’ll smile cynically
like his father would
“Yeah, mom,” he’ll say
but I’ll only smile
Because I know he’ll remember.
If I have a son
who runs like the wind
And still aches to go faster
I will hand him over my pair of wings
And send him flying
And if he sings in the shower
And still aches to be heard
I will give him every whisper of my voice
Until he can shout across mountains
And if I have a son
I will hold his baby soft hands in mine
And tell him to keep those hands soft
And caring.
Like his father’s hands.
And I will brush his hair back
From the stubborn forehead
And kiss the crinkled brow.
If I have a son
I will tell him everyday
That he is a man.
May 22, 2012
May 22, 2012 at 10:59 AM UTC
*Among the giant pale mountains of the north,
Lies a small shelter not too far of heavens core,
As a glittering star upon the valleys that worth,
The iciness of the wandering wind sailing north,
Thriving the ghastly stillness with a stern roar,
There, under an old decaying oak tree,
He often dreamt wondering lost and sore,
Pleading and entreating murk ravens that bore,
This silent cry of his urges that implore;
**"God, mighty God, to thou and only thee,
I beg thy mercy, I beg thou to let me see,
Her Seraphim countenance that I adore,
Which I have seen once and nevermore,
As she came like a leaf during a windy fall,
Leaping and dancing with bare nimble feet,
As tender as a spring wave she yielded a call,
To my vacant heart to love a love so sweet,
Conquering my psyche with a mere smile,
So gentle, as a warm Dutch summer heat,
Her peculiar eyes mischievously took my all,
Making my heart intensively vivaciously beat,
Lord! Bring us together once and for all,
As the first seed of love and life, Adam and Eve."**
While the mountains murmured the echo of this call,
His days became dull of melancholy and grief,
Like a saint praying for a sinful deed,
A sinful love of wicked desires and deceit.*
© copy right protected
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 3:11 PM UTC
We were suckleberry sonnets
Crabapple tree climbers
Little girls in pink frills
With fire drills in our heads
from our mother's
They told us
"don't let a boy touch you"
We were rockets aimed for the moon
We always came a little too short
I always thought it was just me
Part of me always knew
I always knew it couldn't be right
I was nine
I wanted a boy to teach me things,
things my father never could
He was fourteen, I'd known him all my life
I liked his trampoline
But his hands
I ******* hated his hands
They tugged and pulled at me during hide and seek
He whispered
"Stop crying"
(I was always asking for it)
He could see it when I smiled
I guarded my smile like I guarded his secret
My nine year old mind didn't want it anymore
I wanted him less than I wanted to erase it
Erase the things he'd planted so mischievously
I was an empty nine year old casket
I rode my bike like a hurst
I wore my turtleneck like a bulletproof vest
I thought he couldn't hurt me there
I was an angry sailor without a single burst of wind
A single burst of freedom
It's all I wanted
all I ever needed
I needed someone to free my from the grips of the Devil
I prayed to my mother's God
He didn't answer for two years
I thought he would free me like the night
I thought he would let go like a never ending story
But he's always been a part of my story
My suckleberry sonnet
my first love
my broken mother
all my nightmares
Thanks, *******
I don't let him ruin me anymore
He doesn't own me like he used to
He no longer steers my so easily swayed ship
He's just a piece
(A piece of **** of course)
But only a small piece of me
I ride my bike like it's a steed now
I don't wear turtlenecks
I don't own a bulletproof vest
He's gone
I'm still here
Mar 27, 2013
Mar 27, 2013 at 3:46 PM UTC
I struggle to stay balanced
my asymmetry is well established
my to-do list is longer than my hair
which I need to cut, by the way
So many dead ends, so little day
So many tasks, my schedule cannot sway
the gears are moving, the thoughts invasive
the fears are proving to be quite abrasive
too much, cannot face it
so I meticulously place my crystals north
so I ridiculously colour coordinate my clothes
anything to escape myself mischievously
I struggle to stay in one place
I struggle every day
Aug 25, 2021
Aug 25, 2021 at 3:51 PM UTC
For a feline girl who's so sweet and scared
Her tail twitches mischievously
Her tortoiseshell fur is so pretty
Her face is so adorable and cute
Little, little Molly Ann,
You are a feline princess
And even though you are
Kind of shy and timid
I still love you dearly
And I am so glad that you
Are here to keep me company
When I get lonesome
Dearest Molly Ann,
I love you and always will
You will always be
My sweet little Molly Ann
~Marian~
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 9:22 AM UTC
My mom is mischievously, mysterious,
with her momentum.
But perfectly perpetuating her
purpose on earth.
Never wavering wondering, or
wishing for it all.
Only knowing.
She is in her palace.
Filling her chalice.
Toughening the callus,
That's needed..
Necessary negativity to neutralize,
The highs and balance the lows.
Candidly correcting the corrupt
With a simple smile.
Lifting the leveled and the loveless,
With ease.
There is no tail,
That could make a wail.
Only mine of I fail,
But, I won't walk that trail.
I'll take the teachings and trials,
She will give.
Learning love and limits
With a laugh.
I just want to say,
Thank you
For my life and the love you've given.
You're perfect, just for me.
May 11, 2022
May 11, 2022 at 6:04 PM 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
"The other one, the one they call [Sophie], is the one things happen to."
Slurring steps like words, not even drunk, yet
still seeing clearly the blurred letters you sent.
*I let her cry, although I never understood
how the salty spate should heal a temporary break.*
Blowing up small things to make them big is, what?
we were taught, more than being warned on how they will pop.
*I can clearly see through the glass bones and paper
skin, sitting and tightening her ribs, enjoying the plague.*
Spilling speech, strictly to rid myself
of your poisonous finger-tipped bones.
*I let the break hurt more, swinging mischievously, pulling off the band-
aid slower to compose the tones for her to express.*
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 3:13 PM UTC
why are you so enchanted by the light?
why do you keep on sticking to bright streetlamps
when strolling
through cold, quiet streets
bare of any living being?
(*with their fingers crossed behind their backs
and knives hidden in their smiles*)
the creatures mischievously sneaking around in the dark
are given the benefit
of spotting you right away
they easily observe you
(and see through your hesitant footsteps and shivering arms)
from a safe distance
and wait
for the chance to pounce
what is it
that makes you so
terrified
of the darkness?
is it because of the stories your mother told you
when you were a wee, little thing?
when you could barely understand the words coming out of her mouth?
when all you could believe in were your mother's words?
"Remember this: always walk under the streetlights, so the monsters don't chase you. They're terribly frightened by the light."
child,
do not be afraid
of slipping in the darkness.
do not be afraid
of what kind of unknown being lurks inside.
do not be afraid
of breathing the same air as your predators.
why not blend with them
as they search through their surroundings
all terribly confused
as to where their prey was
as you observe
(and see through their hesitant eyes and shivering backs)
from the shadows
and wait
for the chance to pounce?
/ *after all,
creatures of the dark
rarely expect the attack
coming from their own side,
don't they?* /
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 2:26 PM UTC
I cup your ears in my hands then I kiss your forehead, your eyes, tip of your nose, your cheekbones and finally your lips systematically removing your doubt & fear of my love for you.
Ten fingers embrace your shoulders; trace your spine undressing the unworthiness while kissing entire center of your being sealing just how much you mean to me ; yet your eyes tell me a different story every time possessing a thieves glare as if you've taking mischievously what was giving
So I lifted & uncleave from you yet before leaving I held your hands turning them palm side up
I kissed your palms unlocking the shackles of guilt that you thought no one noticed
giving you freedom to live
freedom to be .
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 6:58 PM UTC
Cold November winds blow
Sending icicle daggers through my coat.
Gray skies trying hard to snow
To blanket this barren land.
Stark naked trees reach beseechingly to the sky
Begging for their wintery coat of white.
Dried leaves dance mischievously through the streets,
Freed from their prison of branches.
Bundled up munchkins still play outdoors
Sent outside by frazzled moms.
Squeals of laughter drift into my thoughts
And are reminiscent of times long since past.
Sledding and ice skates, tubing and hats,
Hot chocolate, mittens and scarves.
November may be a month of gray,
But it ushers in winters wonders and fun.
Soon a blanket of white will cover the trees
The leaves will no longer dance
The wonderland transformed into a playground of white
As winter takes over the land.
Nov 19, 2010
Nov 19, 2010 at 7:39 AM UTC