"prankster" poems
Th poems were walking down the street
A young teenage girl,
A Professional Loser, but life lessoned and in possession of
Eagled-claws and tongue razored sharpened
From gettin/givin acidic high school barbed kisses
(She maintained up to date put down lists),
Swooped them up, hers to imprison,
Framed them to be soully hers,
Purposed for skin restoration during the wee hours of the
Crying Nights
A middle aged man, tired from failure,
Trapped tween lost rock n' roll dreams and
Unsuccessful retirement planning,
Suffocated by the hands of twixt and tween,
Grabbed the three, like a rock climbing hand-hold to
Take him home when and where his family looks at him
Pathetically.
This grandfather espied the other two,
Looked liked old familiars, friends maybe,
But eyes/words, dimmed, disparu,
Memories unsorted, disordered, jumble-merged,
Perhaps the words to a song he once knew complete,
But did he write that phrase, or was he just a poet
Thief?
The three poems went about their business,
Bringing heaven to earth,
*FYI, even Angels can't be everywhere, so,
God invented poems to do his ***** work,
Cleansing souls.*
They rode in~out of town on a prankster wave,
A cheering throng was not around,
But a singular poet saw, recorded the vision,
And thus, this nameless poet,
Below unmasked, unsealed,
Cleansed one more soul,
And that soul, this soul, as required,
Paid it forward.
Paid as in the past tense
Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 10:38 AM UTC
Dre and the chronic came out like how'd I want it;
The g funk gangster now hollywood Prankster with a little of that, you know B funk wankster probably jests was safer
claiming when everything hinted in song was stealth cuz it all was health, like if i moved to compton to expose the stealth
my friends like my friend Toney too aboriginal to expose himself
nuff said
and Peter getting **** from all innocence to all claimed are really enemies before the stealth cuz now he's stand
bred aboriginal relate like his gained was stand claiming he's green eggs and ham when all i fed him was the green eggs and spam
I'll knock first before I was wack as strength to knock confusion the **** out like you in **** dirt; the patience actually was the equal in lengths,
**** it all, like i ever needed was precision-aim-range like they all needed me to prove each women given to birth precision like it was deranged strength
when i hid from the aim range, all gained in gay haste, to what i as game take: i'll expose the ************ like actual gained raise to ever touch, that how fast it was that when the game takes at *** grabs at tag match when at back when at me..... Strength Triumph Pain
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 9:23 AM UTC
B-E-N-J-I
Come on you're way outta line
Hey, Hey
Say Hey
Out on the foreshore
Looking for some more Y'all
Come on you *****
Get out on the dance floor
Call for some more Y'all
Take me to the mall
Thinking bout you walking down the hall
For sure
Hey give me that
Picking up that shat
Put it under the mat
Ha...Ha, **** That!
I ain't no gangsta
Just a Prankster
Just wanna thank ya
For listening to my crap ya
Gotcha in the middle bit
Working for a Lil bit
Did ya see that ***
Y'all gotta go
Y'all wanna know
Where do I come from
Where is ma show
Yo Gotta Know
Yeah I Love you to
Playing it single
Looking for some insults
Running from my result
Of being an adult
Just wanna let you know
I think ya mums a ***
Oh, oh **** ya wanna blow
I'll show you where to go
There he is now you know
Ya ******* wanna throw a punch
But I'll eat ya for ma lunch
Come on bring me down
And I'll take you downtown
Oh No what the **** you know
Ya know nothing and that's how it goes
Whoa, whoa!
Back up the chorus
It's not all for us
It's all for one
But I'm not done yall
I ain't no gangsta
Just a Prankster
Just wanna thank ya
For listening to my crap ya
Gotcha in the middle bit
Working for a Lil bit
Did ya see that ***
Y'all gotta go
Y'all wanna know
Where do I come from
Where is ma show
Yo Gotta Know
Yeah I Love you to
They call me Benny
Just got change from a twenty
Y'all know so many
Wanna get me
But now you see
They all wanna leave
Because I ain't all that great
But still, they wait
Another rhyme on my hands
But I can't defend
Every man on this
God Forsaken Land
Show Me Where
I can put ma hands
On ya body
Can't touch me
I ain't no gangsta
Just a Prankster
Just wanna thank ya
For listening to my crap ya
Gotcha in the middle bit
Working for a Lil bit
Did ya see that ***
Y'all gotta go
Y'all wanna know
Where do I come from
Where is ma show
Yo Gotta Know
Yeah I Love you to
One More Time Y'all
One for the money
Two for the show
Three to get ready
And **** you to
I ain't no gangsta
Just a Prankster
Just wanna thank ya
For listening to my crap ya
Gotcha in the middle bit
Working for a Lil bit
Did ya see that ***
Y'all gotta go
Y'all wanna know
Where do I come from
Where is ma show
Yo Gotta Know
Yeah I Love you to
©2017 Written By Benji James
Jun 14, 2017
Jun 14, 2017 at 5:04 AM UTC
I find
some eyes
shine innocent
naive with
camera love
unconscious gaze
that gives
warmth back
not the
pouting posing
dead eyed
child woman
making mock
of what
she thinks
the world
wants of
her
high gloss
no warmth
gangster prankster
doll
magazine
cover lover
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 12:30 PM UTC
Do you also wince at the seeds of a watermelon
crawling there inside your mouth?
Do you also feel the bile inside begin swelling?
No way now it won't come out.
I eat only the ripest from the market
yet am forced to spit out with haste.
All the maggots and vermin seem to target
just the fruit I yearn to taste.
Life is a malicious prankster
and whatever grows are her tools.
If you're handed lemons, don't thank her-
for the only ones who take it are fools.
Jul 25, 2014
Jul 25, 2014 at 2:33 PM UTC
When anger and hatred
flow through your veins,
let love reign.
On gentle Spring nights when
memories haunt you like
the lost dead,
let love reign.
When stress and confusion
overwhelm you and the
future seems as
uncertain as a roll
of the dice,
let love reign.
When you think God is
a grand prankster and
it feels like an
eternal winter in
your heart,
let love reign.
When the pictures remind
you of times long gone,
and the mirror is
a hard place to live,
let love reign.
If you get lost,
like I do in a
poem or a song,
let love reign.
In my dreams, I will
see you, and kiss you,
and hold you forever,
and there will be no
good-byes
only good mornings,
if we let love reign.
Nov 7, 2024
Nov 7, 2024 at 8:23 PM UTC
our fruiterer is a riddling prankster
who jumps up from every corner
and tray and stacks, with any old silly riddle
(1)
“Looking at apples, eh?”
he approaches Sandy
*“What did the apple say to the bug?
Oh – stop bugging me!”*
And he laughs at his own humor
(or lack of it)
while severe Sandy rotates
an apple in her left palm
and he ventures to the next vulnerable customer,
who is me
“How, my dear man,” he proceeds to ask
“do you fix a broken tomato?”
I shake my head, bewildered
and he unpacks his own riddle:
“Tomato paste!”
And he roars with laughter
his chilli-sharp eyes pointed
at his next customer
(2)
And off he goes with his riddles –
with his booming voice, no pause
and wrapping his answers in cracking laughs
He jumps to an old man
and he says:
*“Why, do tell me, do bananas
never feel lonely?”*
“Cos they always come in bunches”
And the young couple he regales with:
*“Why did the tomato go out with the prune?
Oh, come on…simply cos he couldn’t find a date!”*
And to an old woman he says
in near-Oedipus style:
*“What did the Dad Tomato tell his Kid Tomato?
Ketchup!”*
And as in a light musical
he turns about and whoever he finds
he unleashes his final:
*“How do you fix a cracked pumpkin?
Easy peasy – you use a pumpkin patch!”*
Ah, our fruiterer is a riddling prankster
who jumps up from every corner
and tray and stacks, with any old silly riddle
Jul 11, 2013
Jul 11, 2013 at 7:44 AM UTC
Four old men, digging a grave
on a hillside
one with a pick, two with shovels
all with stories
passing them around
stories, pick, shovels
taking turns
not a single earthworm in this ****** soil
plenty of rocks.
Don is the oldest, at eighty-plus
a good man with a pick
breaking, pulling clods of clay.
After thirty years in a
San Quentin prison cell,
he’s walked across the USA
three times. Big guy, gray ponytail,
not one wrinkle on that copper body,
power of a bronco
behind gentle eyes.
Terry is bald, seventy-plus,
in the Air Force he was trusted
with nuclear launch codes,
then thought better of it and hit the road,
dirt-bike racer, merry prankster,
grinning beatnik, psychedelic dancer,
always good with tools
wields a shovel like a pencil
writing the hole
as a poem.
David is almost seventy,
bearded like a prophet,
wizard of China
raised like a farm boy,
adventures in Alaska,
heroic high school English teacher,
telepathic with animals and teenagers,
can speak to horses
in haiku.
Digging is therapy.
A hard job, the work of death.
A time for muscle and sweat,
our language of grief.
We joke, I’ll dig your grave
if you’ll dig mine.
We agree, each canine
has an individual personality
but also each carries
dog spirit. As one leaves
you welcome another
different, individual
but the dog spirit renews
rejoins your life
making you whole.
On this land already
I’ve buried four dogs, two cats.
Dakota will make five,
good company.
Terry says “When Dakota arrives
in doggy heaven or wherever
dogs go, she’ll report
there are good owners here.”
A good review
on doggy Yelp:
Fear not, next puppy.
Four old men, digging a grave
on a hillside
among spirits.
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 9:55 PM UTC
Life—what a cruel prankster you are.
My childhood
felt like a peaceful breeze—
beneath that breeze was a brewing tempest.
You threw me from grassland
into a never-ending abyss.
I tried to crawl out of it,
but you hurled back a rock called Expectations.
My soul, once cheerful,
was torn to shreds by your rock.
After facing the worst,
I tried to crawl again.
But then you cast a mystic pebble.
I glanced at it,
thinking it small and easy to conquer.
Yet reality struck again—
that pebble was an ever-growing giant
named Doubt.
Under these weights
my peace was crushed,
my sanity stolen,
my heart shattered.
Even after all this,
I tried to regain strength,
wanting to climb again.
Yet you showed me no mercy.
You sent toward me
an abyssal storm of Negativity—
devouring my mind, breaking my spirit.
Yet you stand there, menacing,
wanting to take more from me.
Even after sending me into that nothingness,
you still want more.
O prankster, stop with your prank.
I beg you, please—
return my peace.
Sep 9, 2025
Sep 9, 2025 at 3:46 PM UTC
Call me such the liar and fool this is true, give no notice of the kindness and careful actions I have given you; but if still you feel cheated and swindled by my small offense, then I offer up in recompense. That while you sleep and so soundly slumber in your bed, behind your dreams I visit you in your head. A more clever prankster there never was to prey upon your petty needs, only to guide you through your misled deeds. However you may have strayed so far from these your gentle homes, I will have you back before the sun arose. Call to me not before the midnight hour for from your lips my name will hover, and roll along your awaking tongue the name Jack Underhill will be far gone.
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 8:38 PM UTC
There’s an inner child
Deep inside that it reside
kingdom of heaven
It creates
When we are connected
With this inner child
Playful and joyful
Mysteries and wanderings
Unfolds a new world
Before our sufferings
Age fades it
We suppresses it
But our heart
Can’t deny it
Unexpected and sinful
Makes you behave youthful
We will find a new life
With this inner child
Prankster and trickster
Master of laughter
God’s own devil
Cries to get reveal
Please this child
With game of life
Touch the heart
And feel the sky
Know the life
With the child inside
Apr 8, 2012
Apr 8, 2012 at 2:39 PM UTC
We love this wide open grass lands,
the prankster brook running through the middle,
clanging its anklet bells,
jack trees, bearing fruits, happy
spreading sweet smell in the air,
silver bellied fish, jumping up from water,
just to show how mirthful water life is,
swirling wind that hums a tune
and changes the coconut grove,
to a group of lissome girls dancing as if possessed.
I love your gentle eyes , probing my soul deep,
talking eloquently without words
finding a new language only we can claim our own,
the setting sun's good bye to the hillside,
sudden appearance of a million stars, a symphony of light,
all over the eastern sky,
your long, garrulous fingers speaking with my eager fingers,
**your full luscious lips, giving me lingering, therapeutic kiss,
the way we walked side by side, inebriated by the seasoned wine of love,
and how we decided that night we'd cross all the limits. and find the treasure.**
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 1:30 PM UTC
An Abandoned School
Young dreams, now scattered fragments on the floor:
A little handle into a corner flung
The disc of sizes never again to fit
A number two pencil into place for a trim
Nor will the made-in-Chicago hopper
Ever again save for the classroom prankster
Sweet-smelling slitherings of cedar shavings
To fling about while Teacher’s at the board.
A new Ticonderoga ****** into
The spinning Scylla and Charybdis blades
Was tested by steel, the dross savaged away,
By turning the handle and grinding away,
And from this grim ordeal emerged The Point,
The perfect point, the adventurous lead…
It’s not really lead, stupid, it’s graphite;
That’s what Teacher said. Don’t you know anything?
Girls are stupid. They play with dolls and stuff.
I’ve got a real cap pistol. I’ll draw it.
You want to see? Look! No, wait, that’s not right;
It’s better this way…Ma’am? Uh…integers?
Arithmetic is stupid. Science is fun.
I’ve got most of the Audubon bird stamps
And I liked it when we cut up the frogs
Old people are so mean. I’ll never be old.
A leaking pipe drips the minutes away
Outside a broken window summer sings
Its songs of freedom as it always has
The desks are gone, the electricity is off
The air smells of education and decay
The classroom now is littered with the past:
A broken crayon, a construction-paper heart,
A silence longing for children’s voices.
Nov 16, 2016
Nov 16, 2016 at 8:04 PM UTC
She is a man,in the blood stream,
gushing within her veins.
He acts her woman, willingly,
and he likes it every bit.
Together they create by chance,
a tumultuous ****** history,
never before seen, perhaps.
This subversion remains a secret,
with a meaning, on which
they never ever bothered.
A mighty cyclone, she transforms
that uproots structures monumental
if she really wants to trample everything.
He is a prankster wind,that love
billowing saplings; ripe rice as well.
Hovering on air, over land and water,
tumbling together, exploring depths,
they create mysterious wind patterns,
that add to the folk lore and myth.
Aug 24, 2015
Aug 24, 2015 at 3:03 PM UTC
The rare civet cat in my thoughts is wild at heart
precious, as the species is fast facing extinction,
adamant and headstrong, just accept her the way she is
yes lives in my attic, keeping an eye on me, independently
Did you say you smell musk on my body?she must have
smeared it all over, inadvertently, a prankster too, she is
can't think any other chance otherwise, but her ebullient
moments are different,she herself turns a fire work then.
Some strange coincidences in life, don't allow any questions
certain secrets,her heart's wish, are yet to be unraveled
Yes, yes,her musky fragrance on me, spills magic,I enjoy it
Feb 10, 2016
Feb 10, 2016 at 10:23 PM UTC
fumbling callow lovers
clumsy and all too eager,
sit in the bamboo grove-
he tries to give, the first kiss,
on her trembling lips.
prankster wind's hands
vigorously shake
the bamboos in the grove.
bamboos sing in ecstasy
pining lovers by and by
find the shore of pleasure,
merge in that symphony.
Oct 31, 2011
Oct 31, 2011 at 1:36 AM UTC
Never did I think
the little prankster pup
newly entered in my life,
could express so quick
in a tongue not his;
ebulliently thankful,
he runs towards me
and yells "PA PA"
every time I get near.
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 6:37 AM UTC
“If you’re given a chance to have a power, what would it be, and why?”
I often hear this. May it be for fun, or even a question asked to a candidate in a pageant. I am no beauty queen nor a prankster, but like anyone else, I would give my so cliché answer.
If given the chance, I want that power to travel back in time – to revisit my childhood. Yes, I want to be a child again, even for just a week! Yep, being carefree, feeling no worries of what tomorrow will bring, you know, just living in spontaneity. Eating my chocolate-flavoured ice cream until my tooth aches and still be satisfied and crave for it. Running in the fields dancing with the flowers with the sound of the rushing wind, playing hide and seek until the sun gets down and you hear your mama shouting at the top of her lungs calling for your name. And going to bed with a smile plastered on my face for a day well spent. And in the next day, I don’t have to worry if I woke up late, for sure, grandma prepared a brunch for me. No worries of being late to run errands for what’s important is meeting with your neighbour friends to go for an adventure again – collecting meaningful bruises and beautiful scars.
You see, I miss being a child. We were so eager to be an adult, with the thought that if you become one, you could have more freedom to do all the things you wish to do. But no, it’s the other way around. The moment you realized you’re an adult, the greater responsibility you need to carry. As we mature, so as the duty expected from us.
Ohh. How I wish to go back in the ‘90s.
Nov 24, 2017
Nov 24, 2017 at 8:18 AM UTC
I woke up one morning
Actually I've woken up every morning including this one.
Next
Sometimes at night I sleep (that's also a joke)
When I look at you
You're beautiful.
Its when I look away that you're a ****** up mess.
Sometimes when I'm sad, I name all of my greatest accomplishments. I dont mean to brag or anything but I was born so hard. They even gave me a certificate for it.
I love getting drunk and leaving myself letters, I found one the other day and it said "help me. I want to die so bad. I drink because maybe one day my heart will pump exclusively alcohol and my brain will shrivel and die, taking all these ****** up thoughts with them" what a prankster.
No but seriously, have you ever thought a guy was cute. Not in like a "I would totally **** David Beckham" sort of way but like, nice face bro. No **** amiright?
Shout out to all my friends. You guys actually find me amusing sometimes. That's impressive. I'm an alcoholic because I listen to my own jokes
I like telling people a joke and then when they laugh I say something funnier to follow up like "making other people laugh is the only reason I have Kurt cobained myself".
I mean come on. What is pain without humor. Sometimes it's nice to take a break. Being so deep can really hurt you, but you don't have to worry about that because I'm small.
Thank you.
May 28, 2016
May 28, 2016 at 5:34 AM UTC
Just a little prankster,
what harm can fire do?
Burning like a mountain top
must have the avian flu.
Why do'st thou sigh so loudly,
in streets to clear and broad
why do you hate the anglewoods
whose math is great and odd?
Oh jeezy miss Givens
whatever will they say
when they find out all the naughtiness
discovered on rainy days?
Wet and grey like mutt-pups
soggy like the news,
however can I cry
if she won't sing the blues?
Jun 9, 2012
Jun 9, 2012 at 9:52 PM UTC
Three poems, wet, gleaming and not much left for imagination,
in a deserted beach, collided with a prankster wave, mad after poems,
the lithe one, went up, up, like a kite, the shapely one tickled the eyes a bit,
when came face to face, and the hefty one went down like a rock.
Jun 10, 2013
Jun 10, 2013 at 3:36 AM UTC
no picnic when panic
no streets unborn here
germinal ;
creature undresses
from his cool rubbery dead skin
steps
scent free
into the sodium light
and works on its pallor
fleshed out from the plumbing
a manic talent
it sports the label , Mr. Talon
and favours a facade of mercurial cosmetics
now,
a character most vividly colourful and male-ish
a voice
a maddened song
he breaks his face
and makes it a smile
armed with this sickle
bringing his comedic heavings to the public
he goes gory across the fresh laundry
a violence upon the canvas
a spree upon welcoming sadness
an open mockery
breaking ease
and seizing upon an audience
no more chiding
from within the shade
(egging on villains
and dropping muse-meal)
the folk hero
the prankster
this fierce performer of mischief
takes the stage
in a full suit of teeth-skin
and he’s really quite ravenous
for your abiding applause
Sep 20, 2019
Sep 20, 2019 at 1:44 PM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
From Princess Esther Fatouma,
The future queen of lies and deception
Dear ALLAH Elect, the most high,
Who blessed me with the powers to cheat
My luciferous pleasure to have contact with you,
Based on the pathetic and critical condition I find mine self,
Though, it's not financial problem,
But my health you might have known
That cancer is not what to talk home about,
Though I don't know you, but your are my sweet victim
And my contact with you was not by mistake,
But by the divine favour of ALLAH the maker of I the prankster
I am married to Mr. Mohamed Sule, I love him dearly,
My husband worked with Tunisia embassy in Burkina Faso
For nine years before he died in the year 2008.
We were married for eleven years without a child.
He died after a brief illness that lasted for five days.
Since his death I decided not to remarry,
When my late husband was alive
he deposited the sum of US$ 2.2m, waaa!
Two million two hundred thousand dollars,
in a bank in Ouagadougou the capital city of Burkina Faso
It is a wonder why all this sonnetic fortune,
In west Africa Presently this money is still in bank.
He made this money available, minus chains
for exportation of Gold from Burkina Faso mining.
Recently, My Doctor told me some thing new;
I am yet to visit the land of my ancestors, my husband
That I don't have much time to live because of the cancer problem,
Having known my condition,
I decided to hand you over this money
To take care of the less-privileged people,
You will utilize this money the way I am going to instruct herein
I want you to take thirty Percent of the total money for your personal use
While seventy percent of the money will go to charity
Helping the orphanage and all those that are homeless,
And I pray that you are foolish enough to provide your bank details
You would have converted yourself in to over parented orphanage.
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 7:43 AM UTC
Thought maybe I'd stop
writing haiku for awhile.
April Fools, *******
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 11:30 AM UTC