Best Mischievousness Poems
I love watching documentaries of nature,
Full of enchanting momentous adventure,
But my favourite by far is the ocean,
As it beckons and teasingly invites us
To look at a world we could never
Imagine, serene, silent, secretive,
Spectacular, incredible, and daring,
In a magical way breathtakingly alluring,
My heart resides with the passionate,
Who proudly, and painstakingly
Dive and venture into oceans and
Waters unknown, allowing us to peep,
Into an azure Aqualand, insanely so deep,
Where incredible species of fish and
Outrageous phenomenal plant life,
Astonish and mesmerize human life,
Never to bid us farewell,
As stories spanning eras magically spell,
Bound us, invoke fantasies back to
The beginning of time when galaxies
Looked down and with infectious delight,
Smiled wisely upon our planet
With a knowing, futuristic magnetic,
Mischievousness, enjoying it’s
Confounding aesthetic
Layers of anonymity, of underwater history
Until finally one beautiful day,
Pandora’s box opens revealing to us our
Oceans mystery.
I marvel at knowledge collected,
Intensely reported and documented,
So please don't pollute our oceans so vast,
And promise to keep such, forever to last.
My cousin is wearing an ankle bracelet because he got in trouble with the police.
He's always getting himself in trouble, his mischievousness will never cease.
He was given the ankle monitor and placed under house arrest.
Just thinking about his situation is enough to make a person depressed.
Don't be like my cousin, never commit a crime.
Because if you do, you'll end up doing time.
(This is a true story.)
Said my wondering eyes.
Your image tantalizes me.
mischievousness pierces
through lascivious eyes
sinking into mines,
waiting to touch.
A sugary kiss
on soft lips
lusciously pasted.
My palpitating heart
like a butterfly revel to nectar,
with magic slowing its wings,
and gloating it's colors.
Never will we part.
Oh ecstasy Indeed I am indebted,
This tingling excitement of a day dreamer
and a sweetness to savor.
© Al. Juman The "said" Poet 6/24/2016
Never mind; we all have brain but not intelligent.
Misunderstanding and disappointment is living base;
Harassment and mischievousness why do we face?
Is someone responsible somewhere for this dent?
Is hell or heaven a living standard an approachable hint?
We waste our present to plan tomorrow or to analyse yesterday,
We never estimated our progress but celebrating a birthday,
The entire life education fails to teach us mankind,
But modern human is living in a ghost tent.
Eats smell and spreads stink but not avoiding mint.
living in waste; searching better taste for standard living,
never learns a lesson, crime is his fashion for care giving,
Why do i disturb others and like sound sleep for more relax?
Always looking short cuts and direct rout for a clean shaving.
Peace to the world is a sin to say to all ears
Humanity would always be at war with itself
Millions of states would always war themselves
History will be recorded in the past and present
No fight, no friend, no enemy; no success.
Adam rebelled against his maker godlessly
His salty heart revealed mischievousness
the religious diversity, would always stand
cultural differences would always hurt us all
languages shall darken our minds against peace.
Peace to the world is an illusion to the eyes
Till the maker journey from Jerusalem home
Until the messiah blow the trumpet of doom
War shall remain sweeter than peace to ears
All humans shall dare and look the sun’ eyeball.
The bombshell of a victorious coward in the street
Shall flaunt our whiskers scaring the stubborn house fly,
Hoping to dine, shine and dance the steps of the gods.
We shall seek no more of peace but of love and unity
The gargantuan union of minds mooning thoughts
© John Vincent Artistry
For: Film Republic Pictures
This Satanophobia makes me fear more
A jobless framework like a rust armour
From the arsenal of an old strong warlord
Surefooted to cut down a long strong rod.
Its an aframomum melegueta
Which its pungency hurts than a cutter.
Idleness; a caustic abstract worker
Bow in the hand of evil chief archer.
Seest thou an idle man; devil's abode
Activates arch injurious spirit mode
There, every evil venture was acted
To destroy good works that was created.
The master of mischievousness is good
At making an unused hand as his food.
He puts evil on an engage-less man
Like ao dai on vietnamese woman.
Ye idles away like a falling leaf
While others toil to earn a coin for beef
And ye rip off them of their hard labour.
An idle man, a devilish harbour.
In my husband's first pastorite
Had some young married men
Who were full of mischievousness
At a church social late one night
These young men disappeared
Out of everyone's sight
Out on the parking lot
They did their deed
Duct taped the headlights (Another use for duct tape)
So when we did leave
They could laught at the pun
But my husband just
Onto the road he did run
But he stopped when he
Saw their faces
Oh the sight of their
Disgraces and horror
That it could be a disaster
This quirk of nature has no definition, formless.
Boundless, yet gravitation it pull us together.
Ties that bind in chemicals and sensory receptors.
The limbic system, amegdela, primal carnal.
Holding no preconceived notions form whom we shall yield it up to.
Lift up our cup to allow,
Lips of attraction to drink to their contentment whether in short sips or hurried gulps.
Finding delight in quenching another's (our own) thirst for this liquid.
Revealing the fulfillment for another.
Allow that person to wrap themselves around me in their fog.
Spinning a cocoons of comfort.
The telling factors that bring us near one another, close enough to offer a taste.
Maybe those soulful eyes forelorned and distant,
with the embodiment of a truer self held deep in the liquid black pupil.
Or the curviness of eyelashes undulation around bony prominence.
Or perhaps it is parted lips engaged in conversation.
Maybe the tousle of hair tilt of the head.
Strong chin.
Gestures or logic and analysis.
Could it be the way they are a loner, perhaps we would like to capture that wolf and tame it.
Fullness of their laughter and lightness of spirit only shown in a moment of intense humor.
The particular way they speak a word or leave something unsaid.
For their audience to be left guessing.
Perhaps it is the thought of whispered words between two in a passionate embrace.
The want to have a cheek gently touched.
Or maybe it is not that at all.
What if it is a quirk in their persona, an inconsistency in their demeanor.
The lack of coothe the need for social etiquette. Mischievousness in a smile. A wounded warrior in need for solace and repair.
How an explicative may fly forth in excitement. Or the need for someone to tell the they have something on their chin.
We offer to one another
These drinks these quaffs of intoxicating acts.
Reciprocation is desired.
He is not more than four
with the adventurous eyes of a conquistador;
he is rascal but cute,
and with his innocence my rebukes he dilutes!
Little rascal, slowly ride your tricycle down the bumpy block;
be careful not to fall off, and don't turn when I yell, " Stop! "
When I was your age, I did what you are doing now,
and riding fast on grandma's farm...I hit the biggest cow!
Cry when I scold you, it'll teach you a first lesson;
better watch out for danger than get hurt and bleed!
No Spunge Bob's ice cream at six o' clock, if you won't slow down!
I laugh when you say, " I am sorry! " thinking of your treat!
He has a sharp mind, a knock for furious things and all the more he must dare;
and as rascal as he seems, he hugs me when he's wrong...and sadly breaks down!
I am a fair uncle, and I wouldn't punish him for a mischief that he has done!
And pedaling away he gets more thrilled than a clown with fuzzy, red hair!
He is growing up too quickly by the day,
and like a rebellious grown-up...he puts up more resistance,
but if he thinks he'll get away with his childish mischievousness,
aside form being rascal but cute, in a second I'll wisk him away!
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
What a world where men swim in wickedness,
Drink in envy and mischievousness
Riding with their wings so pure
But heart as black as the coal.
Yes wickedness lives behind the gate of the world
Evils had cracked the walls of goodness.
Good things last no more
Drums of war sounds more like a thunderstorm
And children are left naked and in misery
Effluvium of epidemic day in day out
Piled up in a bundle as plantain
Troding to hell amidst tears.
Women are now the breadwinners instead of men
While the villain freed and the innocent languished in pains
Go tell the court they have done us no good
Go tell the church it went against the holy doctrine
Tell you the school its teaches us harm and revenge
Its only held red chalk writing revenge and war
And we sat on the frying pan smiling as if we are honoured but
alas, the world is evil
The world is lost, thousand years behind things remained the same.
Take away food from me and give me books
Let me learn the art of war like father who fought bravery
In the civil unrest but were disappointed by the leaders.
I can defend my people, my self and all.
Where is mother ?
Has she been taken out of the dungeon like the other women?
I pity those women the war came upon.
The civil unrest slaughtering human in cold blooded hands.
Behold the fence they stood,
Stranded in hell,the street their native home.
In us lies the fault not the world itself.
We wanted so much of the luxuries
So wickedness hastened in and we could not fight bribery and corruptions.
they are now our neighbours
We drive and play in the neighbourhood.
We caused it, we killed our brothers and sisters
Who could shield us from evil.
Keep paying your dues when liberalism
packets profits from your sweat;
and don't mutter a disapproval word...
when your stomach growls for an altruism
that enriches the lives of the smart,
while yours is not considered sacred.
The horrifying screams
that were suddenly halted
by an exhaled breath are fragments
of all hope and the beginning of all strife;
they remain inside and make
your agonizing soul bleed:
don't think of possible revenge...
while smelling the stench of the blood.
It's the ultimate self-sacrifice
preventing the horrendous carnage
of thousands who cling to life,
barely making their ends meet,
just picking up their breadcrumbs
and continue the squalid living and ache
for the abundance promised
by a liar who only sought gold.
Is it possible to avoid cruel glances and hatred feelings,
not hear threats that disquiet a tranquil life
meant to be lived by all who seek happiness,
not disharmony, conflict, or insidious rife?
Is it human to break hearts and rejoice
over their grievances caused by malicious deeds?
Mend yourself for the actions that brought ambivalent moods
of distrust, why hurt others and not be punished by the same token?
Don't keep spinning your wheel...it will stop and bring you down!
The horrifying screams that were suddenly halted
by an exhaled breath in distress have retained
their fret to encounter more frightful images that prolong
their play of mischievousness among enlarging shadows,
no powerful light will make them vanish into nothingness:
there's no redemption without realizing the gravity of wrong.
instead of crunchy bread.
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.
I've been detached from anyone, and specially life,
merely trying to survive on feeble hope,
dangling from this rough and steep rock;
I look above and another view transforms my strife.
I tried to be that invincible hero, helping others
ignoring myself and, most times, my indispensable needs;
putting others first, if they were part of my family...
as the truthful words of the Gospels brought perfect clarity.
On my last days, I'm trying to survive on feeble hope,
wishing that they wouldn't forget me when silence surrounds me,
when every delightful memory will make my throat chocke;
comfort me and assure me that there'll be a serene place awaiting me.
At times, I was overtaken by anger, shouting to bring peace
to an incident of jealousy, or an act of mischievousness;
forgive me for my behavior, and you may have called me a square,
an almost senile old man...being ridiculed for his bad manner.
Now, your age is void of knowledge, of the wisdom I still seek,
perhaps your intentions are naive and harmless;
I understand how bizarre it can be when youth is at its highest peak:
disregarding wise words that can correct your whims.
In dire and discontent, I'm trying to survive on feeble hope,
and my mission is almost complete: from a prophesied birth...
to an unannounced death, unless everyone awakens and realizes my hurt;
but if my conscience is righteous and pure, wouldn't Heaven pull up my rope?
The divine nature got stunned,
When our destination merged,
First time you held my hand,
A lightning of feeling got surged.
Wind was stirring mischievousness,
Sun was concealed with cloudy envious,
We were travelling with time,
Yet its impact was extraneous.
Our hands were glued together,
My shoulder was happiest to serve your head,
The bus was in its own world,
We were cuddling in our own thread.
Smiling were showering from words
Discussions were feeling aloof,
That bench still cherishes that moment,
Where we started our home without roof.
Moon’s shyness was evident,
His shine was spreading onto my life,
We were experiencing telepathy,
Silence was covering that benign strife.
Those 7 hours were magical,
Passed with speed of light,
Every second was exquisite,
Dissolve into my soul, a delight.
We were together as friends,
Yet something was strange,
We were talking endlessly,
Dearth and miseries were out of range.
We created a true friendship tie,
Translating earth into sky,
Roller coaster has already climbed,
Ride was definite from that high.
Silken sweet eyes
of mischievousness
and intelligence,
captivating,
fascinating,
spots and locks
that’s what I need.
Set it down,
line um up
your hips got the groove,
make me drool
with every move
enticing,
inviting,
making me swoon
even with what you think are boons.
So self-conscious
and naturally teasing
she stops the room by being.
Angel?
Succubus?
Does it matter,
she’s
just what I need.