If You Remembered The Cherries
In these meanders, where the crippled skies
Cannot judge the crowd of errs and faults
Lost in the dicey constellations
We traversed the path of the water
And we chase the gilded corolla of the sun
Like the bards that sang of vertigo
The pathos advanced with a scintillation
In the semblance of the felled daggers
From the banquet of Olympia
You handed him the plush cherries
And he gobbled all of them
As it smeared the gossamer pallor
In his lifeless face, whilst I was
Illuminated by a untwisted bliss
And days fluttered and squandered
Into the mouth of an abyss
And there upon the shards of poetries
He gave you flight and you soared
Together to the wan gloaming
Whilst my paws grew clammy in the soil
As I muse upon your looming shadows
And picturing the taste of cherries
With a baffled asymmetry
Now left a tale yonder the fire
Never be told to keep the light unmarred
poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Weak Beacons
The sunset of November leaned against
The propinquity of a hostile defense
And a yearning for all the suspended tears
Channeling from a cloyed and battered heart
Its alloyed blood rushed with a vexation
That molted daggers of vengeance
Unyielding to the farce world of stones
But in the illustrious night, the bones quivered
And rattled like the austere pebbles
Carrying our impeding lamentations
Somewhere, the red sun's beam engulfed
A drab bud uncurling its ancient wishes
Left unheard as the pollens shook away
Like dusts waning from the sun's graze
Whilst a flower withered to decadence
As its corolla expanded into a circle
Touching each other and coming closer
To the juxtaposition of life and death
A demise swayed like a pendulum
Refraining from the vulnerability
That was only stropped by the sibilance
Of this groveling paroxysm
The sun vying against its inertia
Gilded by a robust flame spat unto
The very leprous infection of the soul
And in these abundant transitions -
An asylum of metamorphosing cycle
I caught my own reflection in yours
Crying underneath the provoked wails
Scraping the veneer of a faithful heart
And wallowing a forward tongue
The hurtling of spear-like words
Gilded by the coruscations of what was
Stabbed like daggers on the back
Yet we feel the same, even hone the same wrath
Against all this oppressive games
And we are the same in different suits
Sleeping on different nights
Festooned by different vulturine cries
And penumbras of a lunar dime
I caught my bleared reflection -
Incarcerated inside a person I never knew
Gorging in the stale banquets of rues
Wearing shoes like a felled star
Running towards a lost future
Eyes riveted in a cold cellar
Of the dark pathos of the past
The gloaming spread its arms
And embraced the dying whims
As far as November can be
We sighed what we thought our final sighs
Like brothers in a call to incongruent arms -
Like weak beacons once aloft now toppled
And said good night to our dissimilar demise
I said good night to our different indifference
And embraced my sundered dusk
Coiling for an honest good night.
poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Days of the Sun
A spill of crimson engulfs the lusty fringing line
Whilst cobalt and mauve bicker to intertwine
And saturate in a gelid-steely hue to define
The girth and skin of the poignant horizon
As the gloaming dawn close to topple the occasion
How many colors does the dusk possess?
And why these few tarry on my firmament?
The plethora of sunsets I obstinately watched
Cannot descry what destitution beguiles
So I count and gaze, on an on, without a mind
A phalanx can beckon the exodus in His corolla,
Obstruct the panorama and anticipate the doom
As it esplanade through a month of setting suns
Futilely for the sunrise yonder its tawny cape
That never comes around, never fixes me bound
Of His elegiac maladroit songs by crickets and cicadas
Somnolent brewed to regurgitate the pensive calculations
For many a sunset only undulates to extend and never ascend
Is solitarily reckoned with a masquerade of rues and whines
As the light of hope and significance fell with the shade casted
In the immense parliament of the looming shadows
I trample vociferously disowned by my own days
And the feigned elation held the sunsets at bay
And, in a fencing veneer, stockpiled are the days to follow
For the adamant raiment of sedative bliss remained
Without my vicious skies, who then am I?
A ray of melancholia sifts through interpolating clouds
Struggling to expose its soigné flesh of albino
Into the torpor of my bleared yet thriving iron eyes
He breathed again, soldering, for a myriad of tomorrows
Emancipated from the mendacious lulls of a lunatic enchant
My heaving toes sauntered back His sorrowful malingering
In a day of dance of building shades, superfluous dips into the sea,
A thousand sheets of stripped sincerity and of risqué vulnerability,
Scull again, days of the sun! Here comes again the siphoned man!
And the moribund croon of the clock spun again
Contriving a forbidden tryst like a foreboding roulette
Pirouetting fate; pointing daggers and rolling heads
A montage in vapors of cold and sighs of incisive death
Mantled in familiar hues; Here comes his comrade gloom!
Back underneath my sky, his old barren dominion
Where sunsets give birth to another painstakingly
And soon it hopes to rise, perhaps in the fester of time
Shall it stand triumphant like a monument of beckoning
The eyes that remembered that once lingered here
For now as I woke from a lucid dream and fly from a debauchery
With sore and hope and rejuvenation of quintessence, I shall
Glacially muse upon the perpetual days of the sun
As it shred its glassine skin and run from everyone
Into oblivion, where all the quasar's grazes wan
poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Lonely Bone
The hollow bone stands alone
Amidst the clapping condor wings
Commiserating with the fallen plumes
Cascading sunwards to deny
The winds from their liberty
Whilst you traversed the leaking sun
And leave the deafening ruins
The bone bows to implore protection
Sullying in the graying sky
Where your remorseful faces
Was painted by the Eastern wind
Like a danseuse of passing time
You glanced, waved not your good bye
And left the vermillion bleeding
Trapped in the vineyard of memories
Until one day the vines would sprout
To touch the havens in your sky
Intoxicated from the brewery
Of your empty rues and bliss
But for now the bone remained alone
Whilst you depart with the sun
And the sky was ever higher
Whilst time was away and somewhere else.
poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Mutability - II.
I.
The flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow dies;
All that we wish to stay
Tempts and then flies.
What is this world’s delight?
Lightning that mocks the night,
Brief even as bright.
II.
Virtue, how frail it is!
Friendship how rare!
Love, how it sells poor bliss
For proud despair!
But we, though soon they fall,
Survive their joy, and all
Which ours we call.
III.
Whilst skies are blue and bright,
Whilst flowers are gay,
Whilst eyes that change ere night
Make glad the day;
Whilst yet the calm hours creep,
Dream thou—and from thy sleep
Then wake to weep.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Taste Of Danger
I met you at the barricade
The speed bump where the crowd has gathered
You said the bow was breaking
You wanna get some coffee or something and then
Flow for the crowd that scatters
I found my people and nothing else matters
Bull horns scream in the stormy skies
No one listens but you still have a new tribe
Cos you love the taste of danger
It turns you on (danger)
Just take a look at your face
I know whats going on (whats going on)
You love the taste of danger
Tip-toe through the riots
? ? ? braced for action
No sense, so consequence breeds...
Bounce back at ya
Cos you love the taste of danger
So bring it on (danger)
Just take a look at your face
I know whats going on (whats going on)
You love the taste of danger
Stare at the brand new sneakers on the
Idle kiss ? ? ? speaker
These are probable days my friends
Tomorrows monday and all good things must end
The cops told the crowd they must disperse
Your pretty eyes fog as the tear gas bursts
We found the horses and we move along
And I promised Id see you but the moment was gone
You attack where the spray can splatters
Deliver us from the chokes and suckers
You and me keep the time of the presidents
Bind together for someone to vote against
Well you lost the taste for danger
And now its gone (danger)
Just take a look at your face
I know that somethings wrong (whats going on)
You lost your taste for danger
? ? ?
? ? ?
Cos you love the taste of danger
So bring it on (danger)
You love the taste of danger
You love the taste of danger
And now its gone (danger, whats going on)
You love the taste of danger
song performed by by Third Eye Blind
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Capitulated
The daggers pointing up in our skies
are like hands praying for tranquility;
they jeopardize the hands in our waist
driving us to fractioned states
We rummaged through this holocaust
gushing fast like wounded blood
we assailed our hopes to war
and bludgeon our fears in celestial seas
The quartz devoured our steps
so we lose our ribbons and rivulets
and with every mile we take
we grew closer to the flames -
we thaw, we morph, we change
There's a steel in your eyes piercing
the velvet sheen I held complacently
but I stared on behind this veil
steadfastly, until I shut my persiennes
unto your pictures and absent stares
The path may repent but what can it do
when we have forgotten the shades of blue?
Whilst the sky rages on above us
I surrender to this dreadful taste
poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Own Kind Of Hat
Cowboys and outlaws, right guys and south-paws
Good dogs and all kinds of cats.
Dirt roads and white lined, and all kinds of stop signs
Ill stand right here where Im at
cause I wear my own kind of hat.
Theres two kinds of lovers, two kinds of brothers
Two kinds of babies to hold.
Theres two kinds of cherries, two kinds of fairies
Two kinds of mothers Im told...............Im told
Cowboys and outlaws, right guys and south-paws
Good dogs and all kinds of cats.
Dirt roads and white lines and all kinds of stop signs
Ill stand right here where Im at
Cause I wear my own kind of hat.
Theres two kinds of brother, two kinds of lovers
Two kinds of babies to hold
Theres two kinds of cherries, two kinds of fairies
Two kinds of mothers Im told .............. Im told
Repeat first chorus:
song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Lullaby
Rock-a-by baby, woolly and brown…
(There's a shout at the door an' a big red light…)
Lil' coon baby, mammy is down…
Han's that hold yuh are steady an' white…
Look piccaninny - such a gran' blaze
Lickin' up the roof an' the sticks of home -
Ever see the like in all yo' days!
- Cain't yuh sleep, mah bit-of-honey-comb?
Rock-a-by baby, up to the sky!
Look at the cherries driftin' by -
Bright red cherries spilled on the groun' -
Piping-hot cherries at nuthin' a poun'!
Hush, mah lil' black-bug - doan yuh weep.
Daddy's run away an' mammy's in a heap
By her own fron' door in the blazin' heat
Outah the shacks like warts on the street…
An' the singin' flame an' the gleeful crowd
Circlin' aroun'… won't mammy be proud!
With a stone at her hade an' a stone on her heart,
An' her mouth like a red plum, broken apart…
See where the blue an' khaki prance,
Adding brave colors to the dance
About the big bonfire white folks make -
Such gran' doin's fo' a lil' coon's sake!
Hear all the eagah feet runnin' in town -
See all the willin' han's reach outah night -
Han's that are wonderful, steady an' white!
To toss up a lil' babe, blinkin' an' brown…
Rock-a-by baby - higher an' higher!
Mammy is sleepin' an' daddy's run lame…
(Soun' may yuh sleep in yo' cradle o' fire!)
Rock-a-by baby, hushed in the flame…
(An incident of the East St. Louis Race Riots, when some white women flung
a living colored baby into the heart of a blazing fire.)
poem by Lola Ridge
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Diana, Princess of Wales Memorial Fountain
The Memorial Fountain is really rather fascinating in its design,
As the water doesn’t always follow its course in one straight line.
The Fountain in itself is an extremely interesting feature,
As it moves in all different ways, just like a living creature.
It’s a focal point to which many people make their way;
Where adults can sit and relax and young children can play.
Parents sit on the lush green grass next to the flowing water,
Whilst keeping a watchful eye on their sons and daughters.
On the side of the Fountain, visitors can choose to take a seat,
And sit chatting away together, whilst paddling their tired feet.
The Fountain aims to represent the different aspects of Diana’s life:
The times of joy and happiness, and the times of trouble and strife.
The flowing water runs down an incline, not too steep.
At some points, it’s very shallow and at others, it’s deep.
Around the channel there are various depths and widths:
At some points it rises up, while at other points, it dips.
At some points, the water tumbles and slightly churns,
Whilst at other points, it meanders in twists and turns.
At some points along the way, the water flow is pretty fast,
Whilst over other points, the water is quite slowly passed.
At some points the water runs down surfaces so very smooth,
Whilst at other points, its flow is disturbed by little grooves.
At three points, the course can be crossed by little bridges,
Near to where the water jumps down over little ridges.
At some points, the foaming water cascades over a waterfall,
Whilst at others, the water slows down into a leisurely crawl.
The water is pumped from the top, down in two directions.
At the bottom, the waters meet in a pool of calm reflection.
To spark some kind of emotion, the fountain never fails.
Some simply come to remember Diana, Princess of Wales.
A real air of majesty this special Fountain does possess.
It is a fitting tribute to a much-loved and missed Princess.
poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Green River
The red cherries.
You ask me to taste also
the acidic lips.
Cannot speak the -
language of eyes.
A city of tears.
Sun plays with shadows.
I keep walking towards
the green river.
poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
There Is A Garden In Her Face
There is a garden in her face
Where roses and white lilies grow;
A heav'nly paradise is that place
Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow.
There cherries grow which none may buy,
Till 'Cherry ripe' themselves do cry.
Those cherries fairly do enclose
Of orient pearl a double row,
Which when her lovely laughter shows,
They look like rose-buds fill'd with snow;
Yet them nor peer nor prince can buy,
Till 'Cherry ripe' themselves do cry.
Her eyes like angels watch them still,
Her brows like bended bows do stand,
Threat'ning with piercing frowns to kill
All that attempt with eye or hand
Those sacred cherries to come nigh,
Till 'Cherry ripe' themselves do cry.
poem by Thomas Campion
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
There is a Garden in Her Face
There is a garden in her face
Where roses and white lilies grow;
A heav'nly paradise is that place
Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow.
There cherries grow which none may buy
Till "Cherry-ripe" themselves do cry.
Those cherries fairly do enclose
Of orient pearl a double row,
Which when her lovely laughter shows,
They look like rose-buds filled with snow;
Yet them nor peer nor prince can buy,
Till "Cherry-ripe" themselves do cry.
Her eyes like angels watch them still;
Her brows like bended bows do stand,
Threat'ning with piercing frowns to kill
All that attempt, with eye or hand
Those sacred cherries to come nigh
Till "Cherry-ripe" themselves do cry.
poem by Thomas Champion (1619)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
Chocolate Cherries Is Much Safer?
she told me eating
chocolate cherries
is much safer
perhaps I prefer
getting drunk drinking
in alcohol sour cherries
drinking the second
the third one would
love to share
artists might define
this drinking
as frustration eating
how quickly spirit
frustration times
slip away passing
Dedicated to Miroslava Odalovic.
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Happiness Tree
someone has planted the happiness tree
with branches so strong with roots heavenly
its buds they grew rich and its leaves they grew wild
it grew in the wind where the children all smiled
its bark it was rich and it enriched each new day
the birds of the heavens nested inside its bay
where the spring buds burst daily
for each new spring brides day
the happiness tree offered sustenance and cheer
with ornamental blossoms that changed through the years
its growth was like succor to the robins that sang
whilst its strength was its beauty
a joy to behold when they stretched out their lungs
it grew in the woods amongst the sparrows and toads
the tramps slept beneath its branches so fine i am told
away from damp and the ground there so cold
whist the ducks they did paddle
amongst the owls and the swine
the happiness tree offered a haven at best
for lonesome night travelers n need of some rest
it welcomed the sun and occasional rains
though it smiled on the poor
plus those lost in pain
the happiness tree grew in the dales
its vision was welcoming to the moss and the fells
the squirrels ran amok there amidst its terrains
whilst the chorus of blackbirds sang their refrains
the happiness tree was destined to grow
with its welcoming branches and strong roots below
surrounded by grass and the meadows of morn
it offered a sanctuary to all natures new born
Winter Evening At Home
Fair Moon, that at the chilly day's decline
Of sharp December through my cottage pane
Dost lovely look, smiling, though in thy wane!
In thought, to scenes, serene and still as thine,
Wanders my heart, whilst I by turns survey
Thee slowly wheeling on thy evening way;
And this my fire, whose dim, unequal light,
Just glimmering, bids each shadowy image fall
Sombrous and strange upon the darkening wall,
Ere the clear tapers chase the deepening night!
Yet thy still orb, seen through the freezing haze,
Shines calm and clear without; and whilst I gaze,
I think, around me in this twilight room,
I but remark mortality's sad gloom;
Whilst hope and joy cloudless and soft appear,
In the sweet beam that lights thy distant sphere.
poem by William Lisle Bowles
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Summer Wine
I walked town on silver spurs that jingled too
A song that I had only sang to just a few
Ahe saw my silver spurs and set let pass the time and
I will give to you summer wine
Ohh-oh-oh summer wine
Strawberries cherries and angels kiss in spring
My summer wine is realy made from all this things
Take off your silver spurs and help me pass the time
And I will give to you summer wine
Ohh-oh-oh summer wine
My eyes grew heavy and my lips they could not spek
I tried to get up but I couldnt find my feet
She reassutred me with an unfamilliar line
And thene she gives to me more summer wine
Ohh-oh-oh summer wine
Strawberries cherries and angels kiss in spring
My summer wine is realy made from all this things
Take off your silver spurs and help me pass the time
And I will give to you summer wine
When I woke up the sun was shining in my eyes
My silver spurs were gone my head felt twice it size
And left me cravin for more summer wine
Ohh-oh-oh summer wine
Strawberries cherries and angels kiss in spring
My summer wine is realy made from all this things
Take off your silver spurs and help me pass the time
And I will give to you summer wine
song performed by by Scooter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Shards of Oblivion
Haplessly wafting through the pavements
Where the sun sprawled in supercilious entanglement
The mirage somersaulted in a carousal
Whilst my iron eyes thawed in arousal
And there in the vacuous silence of the horizon
Nonchalant of the maelstrom, I exhibited a forlorn
Writer with the garish polar lights as my pen
And the pavement my escritoire, too sullen,
And the paper is a blotted film upon my head
And the story I lace is from a nylon thread
That I found in the jagged fragments of my desk
Whilst mice and men scampered on the fractions and hex
My penmanship in a sodden rapture
I gnashed upon the panging stature
Of myself as I tried to press and swallow
The shards of oblivion, staining my paper with peccadillo
Though, no blood will seep out from my frenzied rivers
The gargoyles will snigger upon the driftwood that I am and slaver
In this farcical poetry effacing incarnation
Devouring the sanguine glowing bastion
Yet I endure, impassioned and despondently
Combing and palming the shards blithely
And gorge upon its piercing kisses
And the blasé of the looming chess pieces.
poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Thoughts While Watching A Still Painting Of Pears And Cherries
upon a tray
are the still orange pears
below are the three cherries
and the wilting leaves
i like the way the pears'
way of seducing me into biting it
the cherries compete with
the enticement
the leaves wilt with envy
and here i am watching and not
even allowed to touch anything
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Saddest Photographs I: Library Picture
I can picture you
In the quietude of the library
Sauntering past the hulking shelves
With the grace and levity of a gypsy
And vague in the opalescent visage
Though you are scarcely touched
By the cascading fluorescent lights
Snooping through the grave of books
That conceals the picturesque vision
Of the dexterous infection of a smile
Whilst your nimble hands graze
The sleeping books on the case
And stir the stationary dusts
Into rippling mystical shards
Until you make your choice
And haul out your book supplely
Like picking up a wild tulip
Whilst I muse upon the scene
Inside a forlorn alley ensconced
In a book left ajar in my palms
Similar to the tulip that you hold
Near the realms of your crystal heart.
poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Shekinah Light
The shekinah light drove Moses into the cleft
Felled Paul on the way to Damascus
Blinds all who look upon God’s unveiled face.
The light must be diffused to bring life
Light cast shadows from creations store
Beneath the shadows, life teams multicoloured.
Only the shadows give meaning and hope
So the light came, human in form
Seeable, recognisable, man shaped
Yes the light in him gave shape to everything
He is the prism by which love is known
Creation is ordered, humanity has hope.
The shekinah light of glory can be looked at
Bring new life, new hope, out of the shadows
poem by James Tipp
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!