"roguish" poems
I love my very own pen
a pen easy to push
a pen for truth
lies out-cast!
I love my pen
the way it goes along
with my helical head
the way it goes swift
with my roguish paper
the way it writes blank prose
delighted? Not me, it's them
or you.
non-sense fonts, they say
I beg for disgrace
for they are the power
of my visions thing
they are the power of my dark ink
freedom sharpened, inked
I scribbled its wisdom
Thoughts once ooze out
ideas irretrievable
impressions? I don't need
exactly its ballpoint's labor of thoughts
desires for precession and
harmony
of ideas never pirate.
Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 2:48 AM UTC
And gusts a wind that never sleeps
When at the pond arrives a breathless boy,
Knees kneel within the reeds and muck
To glimpse distorted carp beneath.
He counts his boundless hunter's luck
As shiftless as a seaweed wreath,
Then baits the wand that bears his angler's ploy,
And gusts discern he plays for keeps.
This boy roguish
As fish are coy.
And silent in the swaying deeps
The drifting dance of carps who dream and wish
Is ceased by ripples from a splash --
Refractions of the surface shake
As sinks an enigmatic flash:
Allure from realms beyond the lake.
The one that hungers proves the bravest fish,
And silent, at the lure he leaps.
Bravery
Aug 24, 2013
Aug 24, 2013 at 12:00 PM UTC
The courtroom was buzzing,
Deals were struck,
Before Her Worship
Heard from the docket.
Will Luke be saved.
A line of roguish consorts
All on Legal Aid,
Paraded before Her,
In judical chains.
And the lawyers are asking
About The Game of Thrones.
There are too many cops,
All creased and shiny,
Carrying file folders,
Outling the crimes.
I was a spectator,
Small in my corner,
As Luke went to stand
Before his maker,
Before his deal breaker.
All charges dropped,
As if a matter of course;
Except for the charges
From the laswyer and court.
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 5:54 PM UTC
Writing prompt of the hour: mandrake
oh poison, what poison doth whisper in my ear
race through my veins like molten metal
cause the hottest summer to season in my mind
echoes a terrible trembling in my tingling limbs
it is mandrake, oh such deadly shade of night
that raises me to the floor luring my knees to my face
in unequalled gross distortions
oh mandrake, thou art a shade so deadly
as to make the blackest night quiver
now this poison makes strange ineluctable rhythms
gradually and patiently enter my body, my thoughts
like a gradual orchestral cadence of static melody
subtly wisping around my whole being.
destructive mandrake now scampers in my blood
becomes inseparable and lives in me
in fiery flocks of hallucinated concepts.
it fires through my body like burning sulphur
this mandrake, this poison
that has prolonged persistence
makes an experience of antediluvian treachery
from another time, not of this time, this present, this now
this here
mandrake has embalmed me to
the red roguish clay
I die ghastly from a writing prompt
mandrake, mandrake, deadly nightshade
fuqing mandrake
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 3:56 PM UTC
count each and every grain i
cherish them all the same
they're the only friends i have
across this endless plane of
granular particles kicked up
every so often by a storm
that shifts this desert from one
spectrum to the next like
filtering time through the sieve
of some infinite hourglass
i will drive this lumbering beast
across theses seas of sand
reclaim what they stole through duplicity
coax this hunk of junk to life
if need be to outrun the
lingering fear of inadequacy
i don't know god but i met the devil
i've been his captive for 7,000 days
a hostage of hellions obsessed
with a decadent religion of misanthropy
the shifting wind-swept dunes
my only markers on this winding road
a roguish rebel defying hegemony
manifest in maleficent misogyny
i'll strive to live not just survive in this
endless wasteland hope may yet arise
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 10:50 AM UTC
Should we?
Or shouldn't we?
Remove the confederate flag that holds pride for whites legacy.
Or so some say.
Ask a politician?
Especially a white male.
They show stupidity just within their answers.
Cause remember they kissing any___to get elected.
We should leave it to the people of that state.
**** if that were the case we still have legally accepted segregation.
Not that it faded from those good old days in any way.
Southern pride, holds strength too many.
Besides it a losing symbol that's flying high.
A rebellious symbol of folks that lost to the Union soldiers.
It wasn't Grant that surrender.
It was Robert E. Lee that surrender.
Folks just tries to eradicate this from theirs memories.
Invokes hate, in some that see the confederate flag.
While others could care less.
But politicians always been weaklings when standing up to a cause.
Which isn't something to be so proud about.
When history has shown its links to roguish thugs.
Who so insecure that being linked to a hate group makes them someone?
Except this is America and we have constitutional rights.
To fly any flag we chose, even if some dislike it.
Which includes the confederate flag that holds apart of our history.
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 11:29 AM UTC
You, of the quiet consternation
And barely discernible presence
You, of the smooth disposition
And ragged dreams
You, of the floundering eyes
And expandable conviction
Your roguish smile
And your twisted games
Your striped shirt
And your quaint brilliance
Your strongly-lined jaw
And your oneiric glances
You chase my adjectives away.
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 9:44 AM UTC
.
*The tender Willow leaves whoosh softly
with the fickle cherry blossom breeze
Painting the colour
these inevitable days ,
the fragrant scent
of springtide
No longer holding back
the dreams from deep in a heart
waxing gibbous ,
the unopined moon
rose up over an unwritten poem
painting hues with words
shaping the shadows of its song
into a musically dappled tableau
stroked by the tickle of poignant whispers
waft from the veritable roguish winter nadir
― a latent and longing heart
― beneath
a sky full of stars*
✩ ✩ ☼ ✩ ✩
wild is the wind
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 4:31 PM UTC
**Smokey rooms and idle banter,
across the fields of my mind still canter
girls in short skirts, January to December,
the embers flicker and flame as days remembered -D'ya remember?**
*Teflon tough guys with hardened looks
fast friends by nights end-foundations shook
I hook fast to the Past-MAN WE HAD A BLAST!
bait my line and cast as the time streams pass*
*some cry alas as the nights grow dim,
me I'll always have my Total Recall to dip in,
conversations reach out to snag my arm,
No alarm as I'm mugged in memory lane, just charm*
*we were charming rascals with roguish eyes,
no fools as the street schooled on us no flies!,
So we thought til life taught us harder lessons,
as the Mask beneath the Mask reveals transgressions*
faithless lovers and fair weather friends,
left their mark on our lives as they came to the end,
of their briefer tenure amongst REAL mates,
at your back in the corner as you faced your fate....
Feb 23, 2018
Feb 23, 2018 at 11:13 PM UTC
Like a hapless fly
trapped in a spider’s tricky web,
I struggle.
A vicious web,
a thousand hairy hands,
crooked as they are,
they descended on me
to squeeze my sensibilities
in their roguish grip.
A hapless fly
trapped in a spider’s tricky web,
I struggle.
Sep 25, 2018
Sep 25, 2018 at 10:40 AM UTC
Oh Yorick, you little crunchy skull, tell me, baby,
answer all the questions in "Blowing in the Wind"
on pacifism and what-is/how-to-be a man, please
and then play the piano while I lie on the lid of it
and let's sing the blues about being and nonbeing
and get drunk on scotch, as old as little young me
and the places, faces, and names we've forgotten
all while my rusty-stringed guitar gently weeps,
and geese run in droves over my grave, shivering
up and down my spine as my ears just burn alive
with the sword of death on a frazzled dried string
hangs over our heads to remind us we are young
we must not waste a second of life with "frivolity"
we are young, dead, all roguish,
we are real, but not broken--yet!
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 7:12 PM UTC
The King is dead,
but did he ever live?
Maybe once as a fanciful prince, prancing and prating in roguish youth,
heart aglow with life's first love.
But that prince, too, died,
As a mantle of hoary grey was laid upon his shoulders,
cold and stiff like the morning frost,
leaden and heavy like the sarcophagus lid,
from the burden of life he fled;
The King is dead,
but did he ever live?
Aug 6, 2013
Aug 6, 2013 at 11:41 AM UTC
The man was truly strange
Hiding cards behind his clever fingers
Cleverer than me.
He winked down my hood
And laughed
Who he was was not important
In the circus tent
Nothing held power like the cards
And he said
'I deal in cream and grey,
Put a cross in my hand and
I am what you say I am.'
And now he has a roguish smile
His feet turned up and
The bell rang
I put down the pencil
And he froze
Never to move again
He dealt in cream and grey
He delved in graphite and imprints
Nobody told him otherwise.
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 10:05 AM UTC
Schematics of crushes, roguish or
otherwise waggish, befitting to
summation, of a cosmic life span
of paper cuts suffered by poets,
and lovers alike, are not to be
understood by a future non-tactile
Internet age. Yet, may I be as bold
as to predict some sort of quark
spun eyeballs, as simple malady
one might experience in fated
approaching calamities of those
daring enough to extend electric
aeronautics of the heart? For this
is what I have found, in my online
romantic searches. The effects
leaving me only slightly, bug-eyed.
Nov 13, 2015
Nov 13, 2015 at 1:38 PM UTC
we are what
we pretend to be
caricatures of recycled
images and refashioned
motifs masquerading without
pretense of originality
carbon copies in dazzling relief
spun through cycles of roguish
vogue realities
you are what you Tweet
we've seen enlightenment dawn
and watched god die while
the planet relay-raced about
a decaying sun
drifting
children of the Digital Age
words are less than wind
they are fingertips tapping
luminous screens
spineless
lackluster and vain
beyond belief
we run our mouths
while the world burns
here's more Tinder for
the fire of distraction
GoFundMy upstart disaster
vegan hippie child of nature
punk anarchist activist
academic film enthusiast
novelist critic intellectual
psychologist pathologist anthropologist
will we practice a
discourse on delusion
or find solidarity with Sisyphus?
we are what
we pretend to be
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 1:30 AM UTC
it's a dizzying impression to see one's own depression
no class or task or master can us for that prepare
that contradictive dissonance, that roguish thought of insolence
rejecting solemn peace of mind and peeling psyche bare
nerves, synapses, signals sent? what ** depression, whence!?
it's to me no mystery, a consequence of sense
a side effect of our accursed proclivity to care
better, then, to not, and give to death concession
the tragedy, the folly, the angst, our depression
Aug 30, 2016
Aug 30, 2016 at 12:28 PM UTC
Many, are aware that police officers with roguish behavior that creates havoc against citizens.
Gets a go-green card.
But sometimes your protest must address mess within your own community.
No one, but a few disagree with BlackLivesMatter logic.
Except, maybe tackling a broad problem might be needed within their agenda.
Constantly, and daily a shooting occurs within the black community.
And the arresting suspect most likely is on a color complexion.
So a life of blackness should matter when crime happens too.
Mothers, quit protesting the wayward youth.
A hardhead must be left to face justice.
Girlfriends, wives, quit protecting a fool that refuses to listen.
Leave those "pity party" folks debating you shouldn't have abandon them.
When in truth they wasn't trying to change.
Protect a criminal only play for so long.
Blacklivesmatters, tackle issues that many ministers refuses to tackle.
Except in sermons.
Obviously, many within the churches refuse to fight for justice.
But preach be like Jesus when talking about fear.
Well, what about them?
Everyone cries about gun violence when a family's member's killed.
Well, what happen with those complaints?
When they was living.
Sep 4, 2016
Sep 4, 2016 at 9:40 PM UTC
Read these pages and you will see
The roguish man I used to be
A testament unto what was "me"
All this raging immaturity
And please take note: This was no fad
These things I wrote here, so genuinely sad
What I may call poetry you may call bad
And it's all okay, because I was truly mad!
A sexist persona in these pages are flaunted
Sisters are sirens while your heart is haunted
And a "Lady" reading these pages may feel daunted
But Jim did say - "women are wicked when you're unwanted"
Best of luck while taking this journey
Your eyes may bleed, don't call the attorney
I'll wheel you away myself on the gurney
My writing is artistic, however disconcerting...
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 9:53 AM UTC
She gazed out from her cave as the man rowed by,
A roguish look in his pirate's eye,
And yet, when he came, she did not withdraw,
As he sprang from his boat to the desolate shore,
And rose twixt them such vision of desire,
That each was consumed by the other's fire,
For what is a man, if he loves not?
And what, a woman, if she be forgot?
And each they sought, in the other's embrace,
That languid, loving, longed for place,
Where may be seen, and felt, and heard,
A look, and a touch, and a whispered word...
May 2, 2018
May 2, 2018 at 1:46 PM UTC
Whenever I allow myself to think of love, my mind runs
To the chambers where secret memories are stored,
In sealed chests, on high unreachable shelves, deterring me
From opening, dreaded Pandora boxes, stripped of hope.
Yet sometimes the endeavour to reminisce overwhelming
Feelings I struggle to repress, commands me to climb the stairs,
Unclose the safes of the unspoken, as I forbid tears
From pouring, out of clouded eyes, still loving.
You are there, with your roguish smile, chivalric deportment,
Statuesque poise, Michelangelo’s David, I compared, giddily
Gazing at your tragic features as if you were, the one
And only whom I could ever love, desire, crave, forgive.
Suddenly though not unexpectedly, intrudes the scolding guardian
Of remembrances, treating me as an impostor in my own mind,
A thief of frames concealed, yelling at me as you used to, reminding me
Of reality, your swinging lunatic humours, mercilessly lashing me with words.
Scars time will never heal, they lie when they say it will,
It has no power over what we were, nor can it erase even the slightest
Faintest flare of what we felt. Whenever I allow myself to think of love,
I still think of you, but that’s the maximum I consent to do.
Jul 31, 2017
Jul 31, 2017 at 4:46 AM UTC
another chalk-written name
thunderclap behind the eyes
no time to count the stars
that dance
or should that be burning
brush me in a language
unfamiliar
like a splash of a kiss
or smoke in the throat
tell myself what I think
you would say
know I won’t soak
in your roguish potion
Jun 18, 2019
Jun 18, 2019 at 7:17 PM UTC
In a world where waves crash and pirates swagger,
Some ladies swoon, and their hearts stagger.
Take the warning like a siren’s call.
A lesson to heed, fair ladies all.
Pirates seem badass, but they’ll break your bottle of ***
And give you sass.
All their charm is behind a smoky haze,
By knocking over the oil lamp, they set the ship ablaze.
They’ll hug your hips and say they like women curvy.
But beware they might give you more than scurvy!
With their roguish charm and a wink,
You find them alluring. They’ll have other parts of your body besides your heart burning!
Fishermen may be lame, but they’re steady as a reliable game!
They keep their poles and bait out, waiting for you to reach out.
So sit by the fisherman and lean on his shoulder, sigh a breath.
As you two stare at dawn’s rise, life has new depth.
Sep 29, 2024
Sep 29, 2024 at 2:28 AM UTC
Poor Spider! Engineered her nets
To cast among the eaves –
And now her silk supports the nests
Of enterprising thieves!
A Roguish Bird with yellow smock
And beak like crooked spear
Crept up upon the wing and took
His pick of all her gear –
Poor Spider! Crawling home to scour
Her bastion torn to shreds –
She sets to task , and in the hour,
Hangs dew-kissed curtained webs!
Jul 15, 2018
Jul 15, 2018 at 11:56 PM UTC