En.Citatepedia^®.ro

A Ripe Mango

smell its sweetness
like the scent of a
child's memory
soothing to sadness

its color is yellow
on hues on pale orange
smooth skin
like porcelain

its pulp is juicy
and sugarlike
in taste, and
the covering
of the seed is
leatherlike

at the core
it is better

like me, really.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The fruits on the table

I love the papayas
Spread on the table
Reddish orange papayas
Plump and Smooth to my
Hands

And some purple grapes
Sweet pulp
Luscious to my
Lips

Some rambutans
Hairy fruits in red
Tickling to my
Fingers

Pungent durian
Tasting like
Heaven to
My mind

They are all spread on
The table

And I would caress smooth
Reddish papayas with
My bare hands
Put a grape in my mouth
And my tongue
Does the savoring of
Juicy rambutans
My lips close in
To a juicy roundness
As I breathe on some
Red hairs
Of this magical luscious fruit

The durian is opened
And the taste of heaven
Comes to my mind
With eyes closed as
Though I own all the passions
Of this world

When we were young and
Crazy about ourselves
I laid her on the table
And spread herself there
She was all those kinds of
Fruits to me and I was the
Hands, the mouth, the lips,
The tongue
The stomach that swallowed her all

Every bit that was juicy
Every freshness every plumpness
She was all fruits to me
She was all nature giving in, all over
To the passions of this fruit lover.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Babies, Moms, Memories and Aromas

Babies, Moms, memories and Aromas

Young baby, helpless and wee
Head reposes on mom’s shoulder
Nestled in soft arms comfortably
Smells the hair of the one who holds her

Mom’s fresh shampoo scent, becomes imprinted deep
A comforting, soothing essence… in
The child’s vast, and unfilled memory keep
Takes up permanent residence

Small, chubby fingers twirling ringlets of hair
While the singular scent of her mother…is
Being tucked away, with loving care
Memories and scents stacked atop one another

Sweet baby powder is the smell on the palm
Of the hand That gently pats the child’s back
The odor re-enforcing a reassuring calm… and
Promptly being added to the child’s memory sack

Mom’s own smell, sweat mixed with soap, sweet and pungent
By the child is inhaled and sequestered forever within
Memory’s medicine, to be used as an unguent
And in her memory, applied by her mother’s hands once again

Baby oil and baby powder, a heady mixture...
An olfactory delight to store in a child’s mind
Another memory to sequester and treasure
Mixed with mothers scent, unique and sublime

Many years in the future, this child now all grown
Will be reminded by scents of the present, and will measure
Her mom’s sweet scent, mixed with her own
And locked in her mind’s vault, to treasure….
Forever and ever

poem by David Whalen
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Porcelain

Porcelain
Are you wasting away in your skin
Are you missing the love of your kin
Drifting and floating and fading away

Porcelain
Do you smell like a girl when you smile
Can you bear not to share with your child
Drifting and floating and fading away

Little lune
All day
Little lune

Porcelain
Do you carry the moon in your womb
Someone said that you're fading too soon
Drifting and floating and fading away

Porcelain
Are you wasting away in your skin
Are you missing the love of your kin
Nodding and melting and fading away

Little lune
All day
Little lune...

song performed by by Red Hot Chili Peppers from Californication
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Memories In The Old Brain

-the smell of water
a scent hanging in the air
a trail through parched, barren land
now greened by rain
in a time of plenty.

the taste of marrow
fresh from the cracked bone,
touched by a fire
that lights the way
to a time of plenty

the sight of a day
over savanna grass,
sight without mystery
without awe
or the art to feel the dawn
and see the light with a new eye
in a time of plenty

the sound of a wild call,
a beast
stirring the heart,
a heart yet to be gripped
by the savage's siren call
to a time of plenty.

Memories deep in my core
of scent, taste, sight, sound
water, fire, light, howl
-memories from a time undefined
-before memory shaped
light and dark into day and night
-before memory became
slave and master of time.

I am a child of these memories,
before and after.

Dancing to the rhythm of time

I am old
in a time of plenty.

poem by Ronald Shields
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Juicy Lucy

Every time I call her name shes right there by my side
Every time that I think its a change
Theres no place left to hide
This must be for real
This must be for real
This must be for real
It cant be a dream
Every time I blow my love
Shes knockin on my back door
Every time that I tear her clothes
She pulls me down some more
This must be for real
This must be for real
This must be for real
It cant be a dream
Juicy, juicy, juicy, juicy lucy
Juicy, juicy, juicy, juicy lucy
Juicy, juicy, juicy, juicy lucy
Juicy, juicy, juicy, juicy lucy
Scary woman put me under, under her spell
Never tell, if I risk it I ____ her
There still standin, try to get my hand in
But she gets away________one stride
Every day she comes around
Lookin good and tryin to catch my eye
Aint no way to tell her no
I guess I never even thought to try
This must be for real
This must be for real
This must be for real
It cant be a dream
Juicy, juicy, juicy, juicy lucy
Juicy, juicy, juicy, juicy lucy
Juicy, juicy, juicy, juicy lucy
Juicy, juicy, juicy, juicy lucy
Every time I tie her down she wants to let me go
Every time I start to slide
Shes tellin me Im way to slow
This must be for real
This must be for real
This must be for real
It cant be a dream
Juicy, juicy, juicy, juicy lucy
Juicy, juicy, juicy, juicy lucy
Juicy, juicy, juicy, juicy lucy
Juicy, juicy, juicy, juicy

song performed by by Nazareth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Choose Your Color

I will paint the walls blue
Blue is calm, blue is power
Blue is the color of tranquility
Do you see my colors yet?

I will paint the ceiling green
Green is healthy, green is peace
Green makes time move faster
Do you see my colors yet?

I will paint the floor red
Red is fire, red is danger
Red is the symbol of passion
Do you see my colors yet?

I will paint the sky purple
Purple is sad, purple is gloomy
Purple is the color of romance
Do you see my colors yet?

I will paint the tree black
Black is fear, black is death
Black is the symbol of grief
Do you see my colors yet?

I will paint the street yellow
Yellow is happy, yellow is fresh
Yellow is the color of sunshine
Do you see my colors yet?

I will paint the fence orange
orange is wisdom, orange is wealth
Orange is the color of success
Do you see my colors yet?

I will paint everything white
White is good, white is pure
White is the color of faith
Have you seen my colors yet?

(August 16th,2006)

poem by Christopher G. Turner
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The Smell Of A Woman

The smell of a woman,
When I am down there.
There's nothing on earth,
That quite can compare.
Earthy, moist, steamy, and rare,
Like tropical flowers perfuming the air.
The smell you find, at a womans core,
will make you want her, more, and more.
I can smell a woman across the street,
Way before our eyes will meet.
That delicate scent carried on the breeze,
Coming from a woman, seeking release.
The scent of a woman, when she is in heat,
You'll find yourself commonly looking for it.
And when I find it, it's a matter of time,
Till close up I smell that scent so sublime.
The smell of a woman all over my face,
The sweet scent of a woman, will have me crazed.

Don Juan Tenorio

poem by Don Juan Tenorio
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Ex

to the one we love
that we desire we always remember the specific

hard to forget
really: the mere touch of the hand
scent never leaves from the palm
the nearness of the breaths
there is still fire burning
crackling popcorn nearby

that time where you were seated near
at the park
in one of those benches
facing the road

the smell of the pines still
sticking in your nose
the laughter of children
playing

that exact bench that spot
where you left
the mark

the feel of wood
the color of the wind
the taste of that ice cream on the
crispy cone
that orange sunset and then the neon lights
that started to flicker
like stars in the sky
that evening

the sadness of departure
finally

oh, it made you stronger.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Orange

The month was June, the day was hot,
And Philip had an orange got,
The fruit was fragrant, tempting, bright,
Refreshing to the smell and sight;
Not of that puny size which calls
Poor customers to common stalls,
But large and massy, full of juice,
As any Lima can produce.
The liquor would, if squeezëd out,
Have filled a tumbler-thereabout.

The happy boy, with greedy eyes,
Surveys and re-surveys his prize.
He turns it round, and longs to drain,
And with the juice his lips to stain,
His throat and lips were parched with heat;
The orange seemed to cry, Come eat,
He from his pocket draws a knife-
When in his thoughts there rose a strife,
Which folks experience when they wish
Yet scruple to begin a dish,
And by their hesitation own
It is too good to eat alone.
But appetite o'er indecision
Prevails, and Philip makes incision.

The melting fruit in quarters came,-
Just then there passëd by a dame,
One of the poorer sort she seemed,
As by her garb you would have deemed,-
Who in her toil-worn arms did hold
A sickly infant ten months old;
That from a fever, caught in spring,
Was slowly then recovering.
The child, attracted by the view
Of that fair orange, feebly threw
A languid look-perhaps the smell
Convinced it that there sure must dwell
A corresponding sweetness there,
Where lodged a scent so good and rare-
Perhaps the smell the fruit did give
Felt healing and restorative-
For never had the child been graced
To know such dainties by their taste.

When Philip saw the infant crave,
He straightway to the mother gave
His quartered orange; nor would stay
To hear her thanks, but tripped away.
Then to the next clear spring he ran
To quench his drought, a happy man!

poem by Charles Lamb
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Choice For Specifics....

take a little
of this
crispiness,

throw that creepy
creature over the window

smell violets, feel
smooth porcelain

taste honey and
a grain of this universe

found in salt

spill sour,
nibble.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Meaning Of The Rainbow

The rainbow
Red because the blood I see because of you.
Purple from my heart
Orange your favorite color
Green the color of your eyes
Yellow the color of your hair
Blue the color I feel every night
This is the color of my rainbow
The meaning of the rainbow
You use to point at them
And this is what it reminds me of now
when I see the rainbow
I cut when I see red
I let you bruised my heart so my heart is purple
When I see orange I feel hatred
I think green and I want to puke on you
I see blue and start to cry
I see yellow and think about you
So I restart with red over and over again

poem by Baybay Tucker
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Murder is a Colorful Thing

Red is the color of the blood splashed on the walls of my home.

Orange is the color of her stained shirt because of the red of the blood splashed on the walls of my home.

Yellow is the color of her shirt before it was stained orange because of the red of the blood splashed on the walls of my home.

Green is the color of her stomach as I cut her tummy open through her once yellow shirt stained orange because of the red of the blood splashed on the walls of my home.

Blue is the color of the happy sky while I cut into the green of her tummy through her once yellow shirt now stained orange because of the red of the blood splashed on the walls of my home.

Violet is the color of my swollen face from crying under the blue happy sky while I cut into the green of her tummy through her once yellow shirt now stained orange because of the red of the blood splashed on the walls of my home.

Murder is a colorful thing...

poem by Tamara Buengener
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Wish it is Funny

funny thing, i can still feel the touch of the scattered petals, white roses with red ones
funny thing, i can still hear the coo of the turle doves freed, flying high
funny thing, i can still see the golden sun slowly sinks under wide ocean
funny thing, i can still taste the sweet yet semi dry wine, passionately aromatic
funny thing, i can still smell your citrus-minty scent, soothing my senses
funny yet unfair
everything i feel, hear, see, taste, smell accompanies YOU
everything i feel, hear, see, taste, smell symbolizes you
everything that i feel, hear, see, taste, smell is not funny at all
it is bringing me black smoky background
it is bringing me delusions and hallucinations
it is bringing me confusion
funny but wish it is fair
dainty as the roses
free as the turtledoves flying nowhere
golden as the sun collided under the wide ocean
passionate as the wine
citrus-minty as your scent
wish it is
funny

poem by Shelomith Noarbe
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A Rainbow

She's not the end of my rainbow
she's its beginning-
I am blinded by her colors-

her red, crimson, blood-red lips
which promise fire and burn
into me with the furious fury of red river flows
she gives in her passion eddies.

Her cheeks glow with that same tint
and floating high her aureola gleams
above violet eyes which stream
out and into deep my soul-
where our Rainbow Yellow lives.

Joy is surely the color yellow;
we are joined-participled,
framed by her tresses of similar hue.

Her orange is mellow light
and plunges down her dappled nape
to her nipples making them
orange-erect and wanting.

Her body blood at center now
is violet and indigo;
blood flow now beneath her skin
glows with these;
two hues blending to announce
the purple promises she makes
with her body-scape
arched high
rainbow-shaped
making our colors blend;
and now the semi-circle is reversed
to allow me into her deeper hues.

Outside the trees display green;
inside our rainbows sing
announcing
yet another new beginning.

I catch me then a rainbow each day,
marvel at it
lying in my bed
translucent.

poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Sunset (the One We Agreed Upon)

i like your sunset
flaming firmament
hues of fire, red hot iron and orange fruit combined
tasting like salt and sugar and vinegar to me
v-shaped seagulls like fighting planes

and the silence of the vast space
like i am in the library
the librarian on sick leave
and all the books are taken

did i forget the flavor?

(remember we agree on a poem with a color, taste, sound, smell
and whatever)

vanilla, and the sound, i already told you,

pssst, silence.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Color of Change

Red is the color of passion
the color of love
the color of hate
the color of anger
and the color of regret
purple is the color of richness
of happiness
Black is the color of emptiness
Of shame
and of sadness
where is the color of change
Is it between the red and black?
or between the purple and black?
somewhere between the happiness and emptiness
somewhere between the love and the sadness
i believe change is orange
straying away from the dark colors leading towards the red and purple

poem by Athena Macknight
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Hot Toddy

Warm
Brown
Sugar
Vanilla
Silky smooth
Makes me relax and forget about my day
As she infects me
Everything inside me begins to sing
Steam rises
And in its wafting presence
Is her scent
Her sweetness is not overpowering
Because it's all real
I place her at my lips and take a drink
Instant comfort
Makes me feel like I'm covered in a perfect
Warm
Soft
Cozy
Feels like I'm home
A place I felt safe
Blanket
She's the perfect mix of sweet with a kick
The color of brown amber liquid
Soothing, as I taste her on my tongue
Instantly, I want another drink of her
She travels through and through me
Leaving warmth in her wake
A low flame in my veins
A dying fire on a winter's night..
Giving me just enough heat to want to stay close
I take another sip..
She leaves a smile on my face
And, when I'm done
I finish with a knowing
That soon,
I'll want her again

poem by Rabia Minhas
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What Color? (Hope)

what color
was the dust
from which the stars

were made?
what color is the hunger
written on the child's face?

what color is justice,
forgiveness, desire, truth?
what color is the wind....

the rain, gravity,
and knowledge?
what color is equality?

what color is freedom?
what color is eternity?
what color is redemption?

what color is God?
what color were the nails
that hung Jesus on the cross?

what color was enlightenment
falling on the Buddha as he sat
'neath that tree?

what color is prejudice, hatred,
fear, greed, apathy.....
what color your skin?

nay, what color is your blood?
and what color are the eyes
of humanity staring through the darkness?

and what color is hope?

poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Color of Our Skin

The color of our skin
Need not have shades of prejuduce
A tinge of biased thoughts therein
And hues of endless racial malice.

The color of our skin
Does not show our state of heart -
What we are, or where we've been,
Or the love we have there to impart.

The color of our skin
Does not show in our poetry
We write the human side we're in
And show the canvas of diversity.

We're thankful for these colors
And hope that people come to know
Whatever reasons our poems are for,
We are all colors of the rainbow.

poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Orange

I hold in my hand my last source of food
I squeeze it in my mouth
the sweetness envelopes my taste buds
growing increasing the ever small size of my belly
letting the taste of this orange last as long as possible
the orange becomes dried up
no more food to be found on the island

poem by Jessica Roberts
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