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Juhlhaus Sep 2019
Animated by twitch of muscle,
Electric spark through live wire,
Humming rail and synapse,
Wheels spin at the fingertips of maybe
An ineffable humorist,
The mastermind of this beautiful prank
Pocketwatch of silver and gold
That explodes in the hand
And leaves you stranded on the platform
The second you go to check the time.
K Balachandran Mar 2019
To wind I lend my ears,
her pranks instantly cheers, then
on our separate ways.
ALesiach Jul 2019
Cold and gloomy is the night,
not a single star in sight,
Even a haze is about the moon.
Surely something horrible will happen soon.
The radio has static,
I change the station.
Wait! What is that I hear?
Please let it be my imagination,
Justin Timberlake and Justin Bieber
in concert together.
Surely the end is near,
feel the world tremble in fear.
Wait! What is that I hear?
There has been a mistake,
you have been pranked.


ALesiach © 05/29/2014
S Bharat May 2019
So Called Friends

So called friends
are
frank
As the feelingless words
They always use
and
prank.

Friendship with me
They
end
As mine are emotive words
And in them
I cannot
blend.

S. Bharat
Amanda Apr 2019
Will you be my husband?
Be the handsome groom?
Can we walk the aisle right now?
Not someday “soon”?
Will you marry me today?
Make me a happy wife?
Promise me your lips to always kiss
Every day for the rest of your life?
It is a nice day for a proposal
Come on what do you say?
PSYCHE!!! I’m just joking
Happy April Fools Day!
Sorry I didn’t post this on the first
How fast a vegetable heart can perish?
A toddler growing like a seed of corn
Planted on a fertile ground
So cherished,
Like a man after the king's heart.
Not knowing nature has a different plan against him
Or men of the underworld are strongly against his being
And too desperate to shower unending tears on her fresh mother's smiling cheeks
He was stolen away by death.

I can't forget that dark scaring night
Where all the heavenly bodies were dead asleep.
The echoes of his granny shout still live in my head
A shout she made like she just realised she has been praying into deaf ears
The prowess of which I plucked him off my mother laps to my chest
Still baffles me
The race we ran to the empty darkness outside
Reminds me of the speed of a certain Bolt from Jamaica.

In prayers, speed and tears
We continue our race to a center for health care
Too much fluid is lost, the doctor summited and aided us to continue our race for more competence.
Competence often too difficult to find in this part of Africa.
To cut it all short, competence was found
Treatment was made
Praises bell began to ring in our hearts for we thought he was already saved.
Yes, the next morning, he moved, smiled and uses hands to play!
But the noon that follows the whole story changed
And the ceremony of mourning began.
His spirited effort wasn't enough and he had to leave us,
No, he was jealously taken away from us
Just weeks before his first year birthday.

The stain of his tears still lives on my mother pillow
Reminding her that she was a grand mother for eleven months and a week ago.
His happy face still stand in a picture at a corner of her mother mirror
Recalling the fact that she has lost a gem to the world of ghosts.
His father striving to remain a man as he pushes to get loans
To pay up his medical  bills from family and folks even from supposing foes.

The pain of his departure never cease to add Bitter sound to my heart beat,
Though forgotten how cute he was when he was alive
But I never fail to remember how cute he became in dead indeed.
His demise was a script Unseen,
Till date it remain a prank to me.
Amidst all the experiences I have been forced to face
This is one of the scripts I wish it was never written nor played.
A true Story of the demise of my nephew, named emmanuel on january 22 2014. May is innocent soul rest in perfect peace.
bulletcookie Jan 2018
In arid hills on haunches sitting clown
crazy, or not crazy enough, it howls
or is that a laugh or post-prank giggle
a guttural belly shake and wiggle?

It shapes and it shifts on the choices we make
must we choose between right eye or left to see?
Oh, such turns that we take as we follow in wake
as mischief leads us in its circles of glee

Now this Jack-of-All-Tales of canis myth wit
likes to trick and befuddle, roll snake into stick
with hide and seek fortunes it peppers its day
causing people to sneeze their hit-o-miss ways

Then we danced in the plaza with colors and tunes
their stood our guide masker, comic alien sans tragic
telling of great deeds, surprises, ancient fabled magic
'till we woke near a dawn, past shadows of moon

-cec
Tricksters
Oasis Apr 2019
After a long while I believe you are here
After the dawn of the sun

I still feel the passage of your little light within
After the rain drenched me off your thoughts

I still have a strong vibe of you
The night they said you left

I still caught the tap of your palms behind me
Though it was in deep dark

But I know you for that prank
When they all believe you aren't here

I bear the strong thing within
You are not far from where I am

Yes I miss you
I miss you every bit

Day to day
Night after night

I still cry to see you once more
You left within saying a bye

I am still outside the cold
Waiting for you to come

Adufe
Heed quickly to my calls
Run beyond the stale of time

Let me whisper after this long dream
That I know you are here.

#Adufe
#SadPoetry
#SinceYouLeft
#WaleTokePoetryCollections­
Yenson Apr 2019
They mix and spin
I kid them and prank them
They mix and spin
they watch and wait
I laugh and don't see them
I am a Prince, born a Prince
I can kid them and prank them
They want me to know my subjects
they want civil disobedience and revolution
they say they must rule and wanna put me in jail
I never taxed them, I am a benevolent Prince with no agenda
but if you trouble trouble, trouble will trouble you and you and you
So I kid them and prank them, laugh and watch as the hop around
It's such a boring past-time full of sound and fury signifying nothing
Noel Billiter Sep 2018
I use to laugh at ironic things
No punishment for the bad deeds
The Bible says that good 10 fold
The universe returns to us in gold
That fairytales and nursery rhymes
Exist to scare and keep us in line
But on this day fate stepped in
And karma it seems is a comedian
A lesson weaved throughout every line
Carefully crafted as a warning sign
It was a day like any other
As usual jumped in the shower
Quickly washed and rinsed my hair
Noticed too late that it was NAIR!
Every luscious lock and strand
Fell out completely in my hand
What seems like a sick joke being played
Or demented parts a malicious prank
A plot unfolded my part the lead
The lines straight from a horror scene
Like laws of nature or earths gravity
The rules we bend to suit our need
Like a boomerang’s invisible path
It seems to follow when it comes back
Even the ocean and it’s changing tides
Needs the moon’s persuasive side
We are the keepers of what we seek
And what we sow we indeed will reap
The nightmare that we fear the most
Comes back to haunt us like a ghost
Like Peter Pan and Captain Hook
Just a good story in a children’s book
what if the earth gets bored of us
And decides that we are entertainment
those characters we read as kids
Like Pinocchio or the 3 little pigs
Sleeping beauty or the ogre Shrek
You thought was funny as a sketch
Brought to life would pose a threat
Although to you this seems far fetched
The truth Ive written has not been stretched
I hope you read this and know as fact
What you put out there will soon come back
nom de plume Dec 2019
you have a tattoo on your left arm
that i have never seen before.
and now i know that i will never
get to ask about it.
two teenagers found dead
shot to death in a car.
you followed me on instagram
a few years ago.
and i, knowing we haven’t
talked in years, thought i should reach out.
nothing would be different if i had,
but
i’m still thinking about it.
we probably would’ve talked for
a day, maybe two,
small talk, i would've learned how you’ve
changed.
but i never said hello
because you were so different,
and i didn't know what to say
and i thought i would always
be able to ask.
when we were kids
we used to sit outside in your garage and play dolls.
we prank-called my brother’s friends on his old phone.
your birthday party is still the only time i’ve ever been to six flags.
you told me that when the sun is out and it starts raining
they say it's the devil beating his wife.
and now i’m grieving in a way that’s more
nostalgic than sad,
because 18 is far too young to die
and i just wish i would’ve asked you how you’ve been.
subtitle: i never said goodbye, but i never said hello, either.
Blckstr Oct 2018
Stop the beating of my heart.
End my life and let everything
Be forgotten like a fossil in an ocean.
Cease me from living.
Bar me from breathing.

**** me!
****** a thousand nails into my chest,
Slit my rasping throat, cut my trembling wrist
And let my blood drip on the floor
Until it forms a sea, enough
For my horrible childhood reminiscences
To drown and walk off the shore,
Where I am the fragments of sand,
Trying to create a stone
Just to be whole, firm, and strong.

**** me!
Pour a hundred-gallon of water into my mouth
And let my pain evade and flow out
Of my suffocated body.
Maybe then I can finally say
"I'm fine"
Without trying to extend
My hand above water
Or trying to breathe bit by bit
While my lungs load a river.

**** me!
Pull my eyes out, so I won't feel my tears anymore.
Slice my ears, so I won't hear myself again yowling in mourn.
Break my legs, so I can finally stop myself
From jumping on a deep water like a stupid whelp.
Hook my heart out of my chest.
Bludgeon my head to death.
Maybe then, I won't feel for once
Like I'm a canary underneath
The undertow of an ocean,
Wings ripped off and flight unfound.

**** me
Because I can hardly breathe.
I'm drowning in the thought of being sad
While losing the reason to feel so.
Every day, anxiety drags me to my bed,
But insomnia has this silly prank of hammering my head.
I try to ask anyone for help,
But whenever I see people in my surroundings
All I feel is like eternally drowning.
They make me feel like a terrestrial flower,
Trying to breathe underwater.

Every night, I write poems,
Not to **** boredom
But to **** something that kills me -
Ceaselessly.
Every letter I write on a paper
Feels like the water
Inside an aquarium where
I keep on suffering
And drowning forever.

I'm in the abyssal zone,
Too deep that even light can't penetrate.
Darkness engulfs me,
And light easily burns me
Take me from this depth.
Take me from this kind of death.
This depth makes me lose my breath.

**** me
Because living already feels like dying.
**** me
Not becase I'm tired of living,
But because I'm tired of dying!
**** me
Because it's suffocating.
It's asphyxiating me.
This darkness makes me
Hardly see
Myself.
It feels like I'm dying forever,
And I don't want to die anymore,
I'm drowning.
I can never reach the shore.
Save me!
King Tutankhamun Feb 2019
Still puffin' cigars in my sixty six jaguar
Made a hood star from climbing a far
**** the drug games I made my name
Through lyrics of pain easing ya migraine
Words pure as Columbian *******
That's means you'll go insane
Tryna hang with the dark Knight Bruce Wayne
Which means ya mentallydrained going
derange
My smiff n wesson lays a nice range
From the Midwest to the south of Central Texas
Get love from my barrio we stay thorough
Haters get marked like zorro  so follow
The leader beat pleaser turn ebenenzer
Once I spit vocals take over ya locals
Can't Max  me out my own **** hardest to hit
Ya swear it's back in the year of nine six
Slammin' all of the these industry clowns like Jordans did the Knicks
A Timely essence
Even if I'm chillin' with the dead residence
you'll still feel my presence no hesitance
To foes stained ya calicos wake ya up with a cup of
Flow
and I stay smokin' girls ******* holes setting fires to their mentals

My flows set on auto pilot causing riots
Baltimore rage untamed had to put my rhymes in a cage
Seen the guage
Cocked back ain't no taking away from that
Deaths in progress only blessing you seen
Is stress so take another hit of cannabis
Before you enter the eternal abyss hang ya body over the
cliff
Like Big Red record every word I said
And still can't get a word to the feds I'm the black
Hoover
got flats from Houston to Vancouver
Let me show ya who's the real bruiser
Spittin' rhymes that lay more bodies than Fallujah
Cruise right through
tha
My rhymes is tank shootin' missles with no
thanks
I'm only here to live out
My fathers prank
Though the devil keep me above all levels
Tryna stay from the goods I was made rebel
Fools thought they was Cain til they found out I was
abel
Killin' em with microphone cordless cables and
turntables
Read between my eyers n you'll see visions of many
halos
only last night, having reach my fill of ms. amber bathing in a ginger ale jacuzzi - chasing a choir boy castrato cat waking me four times i had to utter in frustration (which i later noted): mortality is such an insufficient measure of things... i would be ****** if i didn't make a quick ode to Ovid's ****** poems... to truly appreciate performing oral *** on a woman? i suggest you first appreciate eating oysters... not oysters: no, having performed oral ***, looking at the moon in the quicksilver sheen to see your face all slobbered... an appreciation of eating oysters, is most certainly, a precursor to performing oral *** on a woman... beside:

wenn alles weisheit wurden zu kommen auf Indien -
if all wisdom were to come from India,

needless to say - these ancients still treat
greece as some sort of ongoing "experiment" -
that nothing, absolutely nothing:
is viable -
they might as well call it the still to progess
into a foundation state of affairs -
the west is seen as fickle -
a thought it not so much entrenched
and passed on, as it is made vogue one
generation - disappearing for some time:
before reappearing...

no proverbs ever came from the west:
nothing akin to:
besser ein spatz im ihr hand -
als ein taube auf ihr dach -
i just like how it sounds in german...
the original reads:
lepiej wróbel w ręce - niż gołąb na dachu
(better a sparrow in your hand,
than a dove upon your roof)...

legit. proverb: hold the simpler joys
in your hand, closest to you,
that look up and think that a dove
upon your roof will bring peace to
your household...

as long as everyone under the roof
has simple and "immediate" joys in hand
close to the heart...
peace is not tempted by spotting
a dove on your roof...

here's another one... and i was looking and
i was looking and i was looking
and i thought i couldn't find some,
some sort of alternative...
if only Ted Bundy went down this route...
then again... if he did...
he would have started jerking off
to fine art... the detail of the tongues,
the ***** and the ability to filter
out what is happening outside the erotica...
what?
i will drill this example in...
every, single, time:
Bronzino's venus, cupid, folly and time...

perhaps i am that old,
before free internet *******...
some of us had the ***** and the rose cheeks
to walk into a newsagent and pick
up a pornomag...

well... "*****" - more like...
sculptor's digest... or...
**** subject pages for that lesson
you'd love to take at school
where you could paint a ****...
oh hell: paint all the flowers in the world...
flower: covert: female genitals...
all the flowers in the world...
but not the torso and the mystery
of the bellybutton
nor the cow-sacks of Surabhi...
after all... they started multiplying in number
and you couldn't, after a while,
tell apart what it was about them...
peach on the front,
peach on the back...
and what would a hindu know of
the tetragrammaton?
when H... is a surd in their language?

i tried almost everything...
but upon my final discovery...
hell... it just started making sense...
glory-hole... the dreaded lesbian genre...
once in a brothel i was asked if
i wanted 2 hours with her,
or an hour with her and her friend,
i replied: i still don't know what i'm
going to do with you...
i don't live by the motto:
the world is divided into men
who have slept with two women
and a the men who haven't...

give me two legs of chicken...
i'll know what to do...
a woman can multitask...
after all... if a muslim gets 72 virgins...
a woman is guaranteed her
3 greyhounds... one for each 'ole!
'ere comes the charging bull...

der wesheit auf Indien:
nothing reflexive about it -
just enough to ease you into a mirror
of non-reflection:
i.e. something to destroy the self
with and incorporate -
a billionth part of yourself...
wisdom worthy of meditation -
but not exactly stretching
into a labyrinth of thought -
call it all you like:
clumsy thinking,
spaghetti alleys and cul de sacs,
the labyrinth -
why complicate life, which is already
complicated, by complicating thought?
after all: what is thought?
the first question of the θ-moral?
the th'ought i?

oh don't get me wrong...
that an elephant shouldn't exactly pair
up to a rabbit in the kama sutra:
spot on...

even i became tired of the meat-market...
after a while i just felt like a butcher
looking at cuts of meat...
cam-girls: i don't remember paying...
the genres... god... i probably looked
at 5 in total...
hello exotica... ebony...
glory-hole... ****...
the horrid affair of the extremes -
lars von trier nymphomaniac
confessions type of genres...
hell... i even tried ******...
but still: the meat-market...

well no point looking for alternatives
in the islamic world...
unless you are really ***** for
eyes in the kneeling position
while looking to and from the heavens
of a catholic confessional booth...

some variant of softcore ****:
latex whole body suits...
girls in gimp suits with a zipper
for a genital opening...

but still the meat market...
****? only to laugh at the farts...
but still... the meat-market...
and still the all pervading sense of voyeurism!
that's not enough, it wasn't enough to begin with,
then i'd come across articles
in legit. newspapers (the times)
about how women tend to watch
more violent *******...

for a while i entertained the no-man's land
affair with girls ******* videos...
**** became a little bit weird
when i turned that upside down
and focused on: pregnant women
*******...
and... i just borrowed something from
a 1976 novel by Michael Crichton:
eaters of the dead -
better known as the Wendol in the film
the 13th warrior -
where the diety was a pregnant woman...
i played into that fantasy...
which coincided with the time
i ****** off ******* for 2 hours
and imagined:
well... i guess... ******* are off limits
to men when a woman has a baby...
and she's actually breastfeeding...
i couldn't imagine this fantasy to live
beyond that date of conception
through to having finished breastfeeding
a child... but... for a while...
i gave careful attention...
to what it would be like...
with a lactating woman...

that was the zenith of my exploration...
eh... *** parties? filmed in those shabby
intz intz horrid dance music scenes?
n'ah... i wanted something more...
more... archetypical...
something teasing the forbidden...
but not forbidden as such...
something akin to:
having to convince her to **** while
on her period, in a bath,
wearing a ******: to ease, the, cramps!

ugh... czech house party *** scenes...
or those scenes from prague,
the inverted glory-holes...
what you see are cubicles
of women's legs sticking out...
again:
too much imagination already given...
none of this was akin to
Bronzino's venus, cupid, folly and time...
everything was moving,
i was nothing more than a ******,
always the 5th wheel of the wagon...
somehow, yeah, "somehow" necessary...
even if a woman was ******* 3 at the same time,
there was the fourth... watching...
via the 5th one: filming...

hyper-geometry of a triangle...

what was essentially missing?
accents of eroticism - subtlety -
to have an image in your mind - quiet static -
and to allow your imagination to seep in...
all the other western alternatives
were nothing but meat-markets / slaughterhouses...
none of your imagination could seep in...
not even with the first pornomags
of my teen years...
protruding ******* like the eyes
of judge doom from: who framed roget rabbit...
which always begged the question...
very much akin to the question
posed by Milan Kundera in:
the unbearable lightness of being...
**** with your eyes closed...
or your eyes open?

the sensuality of worms and all those
murky beings: primordial *** -
eyes closed -

      eyes open? the seemingly anti-sensual
inconvenience of mammalian
reproduction - with no pain upon giving
birth: what pleasure upon reaching an ******?
asked the wind of a savannah to its inhabitants.

Islam still wasn't helping -
i could never understand how a woman's eyes
were the most ****** aspect of a woman's body...
perhaps her hands...
well if you have hands like i have...
what you have in your pants isn't exactly
an ego-trip... you're holding a sparrow...
she's holding a bulging ribcage of an albatros!
you can hold a basketball with one hand...
and she is... a knuckle short of your four...
why wouldn't a woman's hands be the most
****** aspect of her body...
after all... a non-discriminatory plateau:
all are the hands of a a geisha...

geisha... islamic eroticism still isn't working...
hair... hair...
a lot of people complain if they have
a fly / a hair in their soup when served
in a restaurant... jokes on me...
i have a beard and the hairs of the beard
are the same consistency of ***** hair...
so i basically have ***** on my face...
ha ha...
why hair? what's so ****** about hair?
what if i tell you that as women age...
almost all of them decide for the pixie girl look -
and what if i told you that...
ifindwomenwithshorthairintheiryouththezenithoferotica?
ag­ain... islam isn't helping...


.a thing of genuine beauty, is always predicated upon transcendent value of inquiry... to transcend the common, daily, human squabbles... it becomes areligous... while daily human squabbles continue, what has been lost, is an item of transcendence, it was never to be a focus of some "parasitical" sycophancy of tourism... there's nothing to be celebrated, and... nothing much to be awed by either.

well, what did the ottoman turks
do to the hagia sophia?
they converted it,
but they weren't philistines
to the point,
   or say, a bunch rabid mongols
from the 13th century
in Bagdad...
                      like:
                     and why didn't
the nazis not destroy certain valuable
cultural cruxes?
   that picture of st. paul's cathedral
during the blitz...
  yes, the english might think
it was a symbol of defiance...
but i'm pretty ******* sure
that if one luftwaffe bomber dropped
something on st. paul's,
they'd return home and be
shot by a firing squad...
            they might have been
nazis... but they weren't philistines...
even the ottomans...
süleymaniye was so jealous
of the byzantine building
that he had to commission the construction
of a building to match-up
to the hagia sophia in some
way...
           again:
                  prank call buddha...
tell him they're also
tearing down idols in northern europe
with their phallus cult
           of the large wooden
***** carved from a tree.
what's that?        you yell'ah?
i mean: in the heyday
   of scandinavian black metal...
varg vikernes... 'nuf' said.

_________
a
pick phone up   put it down again
take a selfie   no another one   and again   light isn’t right
what’s on Twitter   scroll for twenty minutes   pause   basically
PREGNANCY PRANK [GONE WRONG]   add to playlist
oh how can he be the president   like   says it ‘coz he can
love the warm weather   global warming maybe   but oh well
Starbucks for breakfast   lunch   Spotify playlist
like   red heart   blue thumbs-up   share   like
that inspirational quote   you know   basically   I can relate
CHEATING PRANK [GONE WRONG]   add to playlist
election   couldn’t have told you there was one
have we left it yet   like   what are we leaving again
petty crime rise   stay vigilant
something about Brussels   a royal up the duff  
but did you see what Kim was wearing   like   did you hear
what her sister did   with that guy   you know   that guy
look  she’s uploaded   why we broke up   shame
oh yeah   oh well
retweet
Written: April 2019.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time as part of Savannah Brown's escapril challenge. A link to my Facebook writing page can be found on my HP home page.
M ona Jul 2019
To me love isn't flirt, flirt isn't love,
Love is just a game of hearts.
Winking isn't the cue to your so called true love,
it's just a prank on the name of the love.
You two hold your hands tight not to apart!
But dear if the hearts split , what you'll answer to your love?
You text till late hours to keep a sweet chuckle always.
First love yourself then you will love others.
Just crave for that day when he'll be yours,
and gear up yourself to turn your Love into chaos.
The so called'love' what is going on in this society is just a laughing staff to me. I think love is a feeling which is hard to express totally.
Stephen S Dec 2018
There's only static on the line,
No one can hear me speak.
My headphone jack just gave it up,
and my battery is weak.

I try to hop on social media,
Even if the app is freezing.
I want to share my latest selfie,
and do all that people pleasing.

I've got a great idea,
For a funny viral prank,
but I can't do much about it,
'cause my camera screen is blank.

I did a software update,
that erased half my conversations.
For a connected person like myself,
That means some huge frustrations.

This thing is looking worn down,
my plastic case is cracked.
Looks like my luck has run its course,
The display just went to black.

I could always buy a newer model,
and gain the status it denotes,
but perhaps instead, I'll walk outside,
to see the world up close...

— The End —