Mischief of Me

A Poem by Randolph

Babbling is the new Zen.

And then this happened:

Mischief of Me.

My mind flocks to a new sensation.

Thirsting for a splash of inspiration.

Garthering round, a Murder of Crows.

Where my thoughts tumble, not even I know.

And oh tumble they do.

Sometimes clever. Always new.

Shimmering, a spell spirals into view.

Nothing truly wicked, yet that also stews.

A flight above, an Unkindness of Ravens.

Circling around this new found haven.

Protective of my native madness. None are craven.

Nonsensical sounds my throat percolates.

A broth to simmer in, savor, anticipate.

Guarded by a raucous Parliament of Rooks.

Uncaring of curiousity and nervous looks.

Used to my odd ways, my proclivities, my books.

Unbound, my mind tinkers with a thought.

A rambunctious infant, not what I sought.

Such as it is I set the spell free.

Wonder how they'll cope with a Mischief of Me.

It's a marvel how I cope with a Mischief of Me.

© 2018 Randolph

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Reviews

Vivian Fisk

I find this poem exceedingly inspiring, something I can and will come to again for a reminder of what a friend the mind can be. I often check into mine just to see what's there, what I might find to amuse myself with. And I too sometimes find mischief, very young and playful; but never have I found these glorious birds of yours! (And I never knew there were all these formal congresses--I learned that by looking them up.) I believe what so inspires me here is the successive orderliness of these “flights of fancy,” the plenitude of the ideas, and the visual of a patient stewing of the mind. You can actually experience the poem as it's being built, and while it's exciting and joyous, it's also very rich and calming.

And...I myself sometimes enjoy playing with a bit of wickedness. It has a fascination like nothing else, and a beauty too. Darkness really shouldn't be played with, I suppose...but then the world shouldn't be so evil, should it?