"mischievousness" poems
Hi there,
I see your brown eyes that dare
I see their happiness,
and unpredictable mischievousness,
Warm with crinkles on the edges and all
Promising me an irresistible fall
you there
They said, your brown eyes that dare
Telling me to be brave
and pursue these things I dare crave
Swearing to be there by my side and be
The best of friends with me
hi there
I say to your brown eyes that dare
I see your happiness,
and blatant lightheartedness,
But I see behind those madness and all
That your heart and soul are ready to fall
I'll be here
I wish your brown eyes could hear
I'm now telling you, be brave
Just let go of the darkness you crave
I swear to be by your side and be
Ready for you to lean on me
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 6:59 AM UTC
Hershey, black satin, as long as my torso
Diamond green comforting eyes
Velveteen curious nose
Tongue like a pumice stone
Her elegant but waddling stride
Powerful, confident and territorial
Sitting like a queen on her throne
Cat of mine, mother to be
Tuxedo, black and white, bow tie and all
White sock covered feet like satin gloves
Long white elderly whiskers
He reminds me of Fred Astaire
Quick calculated light on his feet
Shy yet debonair
Patient, watchful and full of pride
Father to be
Oreo, friend and foe
White as snow, black face and tail
Large circular patches of black
Fearless fence and roof climber
Youngster full of mischievousness
Paws in the air, tummy exposed to the sun
Purring so loud she vibrates
Kitty of mine
Aug 1, 2010
Aug 1, 2010 at 6:14 AM UTC
I know this girl from Texas
Who rustles up smiles for free
Feels like home on the range
With lasso in hand
Pretty as you please
Warm and comfortable as a campfire
Wild as a coyotes howl
God was right in his choice
Giving her an angels voice
Mixed in with a Southern draw
There's a mischievousness to her roundup
Like that of a rouge rodeo
Playing life's full hand
From sunrise to sunset
This girl from Texas that I know
Feb 24, 2017
Feb 24, 2017 at 7:21 AM UTC
___________________
another mourning morning, usual signs of warning,
wanted to wash away the distress signs of no sleep,
turned on the tap, out came only troubled waters,
my only friend, the voice from the mirror, pretending
to be coming from me, speaking: Oh Lord, Oh Lord!
*is there no surcease for me, somewhere, can I find,
little bites, small plates, pieces of peace, the kind
of kindness that eases, repairs the dividers of mind,
the country stone fences that been growing wilder,
when, troubled child of 10, window breaking, beyond
youthful mischievousness, evil streaked, so deemed*
Give me a boat, give me a bridge, give me a road, a home,
one of those things poets, songwriters about, wax lyrical,
Oh Lord, give me time, 45 seconds, even two or three,
Being strong, being confident, am I not entitled to that,
a boat, sturdy mast, cause sailing from storm to storm,
just glimpsing dry land, is that too much, a pale beyond?
love, nah, a bridge too far, not even on the menu, not blinded,
I am off key, not well enough, between the peaks between,
*I am out of sync, bubbling discombobulated, a **** besided, behind,
lend me a finger, not even a hand, a kernel, not even a cob,
a string, forget a rope, a washcloth to bathe and dry,*
lay me down, lay me down, to live, even just not dying.
Jun 16, 2020
Jun 16, 2020 at 1:08 PM 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
Moments of happiness
Laughters and joy
Whispers of mischievousness
Life all the way...
Then....
Anguish and pain
Sentiments of despair
Cries amidst relentless rain
Promises scattered in air
The story ends and such a sudden good bye
Sweetest Love! I wish I could die...
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 4:01 PM UTC
We opened a book that started with the name
of our country.
The right side was numbered corruptions and the other side was numbered greed & bad leaders.
We burnt the stride of our bodies into aches and dreams waving away fire and foliage of silence.
Women learnt to carry portrait of bodies of their dead children on their shoulders, beautiful corpse.
It reminded us of the civil war in front of our Father's betrayed house.
It reminded us of lyrics written on the walls of our Hut with a framed keys of memories.
Love that taught us to look back into our heart and draw current of men in their ignorance in search
of a better home than those bridges we burnt.
Things like the pains in the eyes of a boy,
Things like the tale on the lips of a girl,
Things like sadness in the soul of a mother painting the images of her lost children in prayers.
Those strange tears stranded between chapters of the smoke as they travelled to the lonely cloud,
With the echoes of our forefathers last libation
Like the voices trailing from a boy's name for the lost of his prestige.
There are things that we may not know that leave our footprints to our heart through the opening in our nostrils and ears.
In our land was where a boy once stood on the face of the sun, his shadow reflected on a mirror.
He saw his future carted away by his fears.
Lost girls found in his assaulted plights
Trying to find home in a shark's mouth.
They hold water from the oceans together basking their hope on the traffic of women holding their bodies and leaving their dead for survival.
We do not live in the moon!
We do not whisper to the wind of the song we
heard him sing every day!
Of things that come in white and black are
like our straying country weeping with the
images of the masses.
Like those corpses brought back to BENUE.
Those images are the images of darkness projected by a big screen of the sky to our eyes.
Our names burnt into different rivers holding different tribes that seek for freedom.
We wrecked our testimonies to bleed blood with flames to suffocating cities surrounded with pity.
Those things on white are the way we were built but the black demons corrupted us all leaving memories to sneak our hearts into dark places where mischievousness can take over us.
©John Chizoba Vincent
From_A_Pen_Refusing_Frustrations.
Apr 21, 2018
Apr 21, 2018 at 5:43 PM UTC
It was an autumn morning we sat at the restaurant for a roasted cup of coffee. You could feel the fresh leaves as they fell softly on the ground. The fresh air had a distinguished scent. The wind had been windier than other days. It had been drizzling a bit. They sat there and they exchanged a few words quite casually. They sat there listening to Adele - Love song. She had been carefully listening to the instruments which were being played. She enjoyed the accordion which was his favourite instrument too. He said for some reason he had a Déjà Vu and it was somewhere in France, Paris. She asked him had we ever met in the past life? He stuttered as he did not know what to say. He looked into her eyes and she looked into his eyes. He saw her eyes sparkle, you could tell she was in love they were full of joy, there was a certain light inside them that he could not comprehend and that's what fascinated him about them, they were full of mischievousness. But one could see that life had been abusive towards her. She saw the innocence of a child when she looked into his eyes. She could not comprehend what came to rip out that youthful innocence out of him. All of a sudden a black shadow of emerged. There was silence. TBC
Jun 30, 2017
Jun 30, 2017 at 9:15 AM UTC
Your smile is so captivating.
So sweet, yet with a pinch of mischievousness.
The touch of your hands,
Gentle yet strong.
The sound of your voice, sincere, calming,
inviting, sweet, yet firm.
And eyes that tell a story.
What kind, I have yet to read.
Haven’t gotten close enough.
Not one to approach.
Observing you, from a distance,
able to see your interest
in someone else.
Disappointment rising,
too late once again.
Apr 27, 2018
Apr 27, 2018 at 2:41 PM UTC