Someday
someday
i like to taste again the glass of orange juice that
you gave me
on that Sunday afternoon
when we were left alone
in the house
of your aunt.
it was so sweet &
so refreshing..
.there is no other glass of orange juice like that
in my lifetime
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Orange juice
Orange juice mom says drink
When i am sick
It can make me thick
Orange juice i have to pick
licking mom says no
Drinking i have to do
Hate orange juice, mom says i know
Vitamin C it has
And i need to take
for my own sake
Healthy it can make me
Power it can give me
Orange juice
Is all i need
When i am in lead
With the kids at the lake.! :)
poem by michelle al G
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Orange juice kiss
A circle of dried, sweet orange juice
Finger to mouth, the taste memories seduce
Memories of that sweet orange juice kiss
Thoughts race to the past and days of bliss
The giggling young angel standing at the bedside
The past and the present, emotions collide
Those glorious hours playing in the park
Warm sunny days before the onset of dark
When long summer day’s end and it’s time to rest
Sweet angel climbs up and lays head on my chest
If there’s one memory that brings me this bliss
It’s the memory of that sweet orange juice kiss
poem by Brian 'Peza' Perrins
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A Green Sour Orange....
first i get an orange
a green orange, the young one
sour, but still
citrus, not pungent
but inviting, not a cure for the
wound, not easing,
it penetrates pain and
makes it more painful,
then i cut the orange,
press it
and press it some more
to get all its juices....
i do not drink it
i leave it in the glass
for all those dark nights
till every juice dries,
till what you see and feel
is the same
emptiness....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What You Are To Me
a glass of
an ice cold
orange juice
on a very hot
day of summer.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Love Sometimes Goes Out Of The Window
when two mouths go hungry
when there is no glass
or water
when the house is empty
or when there is nothing
to even smell
when everything are but shadows
of a bat
when the only song is the song of
an earthworm
that you can hear only in your mind
there is no use of playing
games to delay
the flight of love out of the window.
love also needs a little convenience
such as a glass of orange juice
a slice of cake
and air that enters a room
to sleep
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Apples
I am an orange man from an orange tree and,
I want to taste the fruits of your apple tree of love;
So prepare me a table so sweet for your apples.
My juice is orange and your love is from this apple tree,
So prepare me a nice table to taste some of your fruits!
Oh, how i dream to taste your sweet apples.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Someone Like My Niece
at the party i chance to sit next to her
on a white covered sofa
we are so careful not to stain it
watching the food that we fork
the orange juice that we drink from a shiny glass
no drops please
her mother warns, she's is my sister
too concerned about her furniture
she likes her hair long and falling
like herself i suppose falling into a
certain despair, her mother, unable to
accept, she pretends she is more concerned
about the fate of her new rosewood
furniture
' i do not like myself' she whispers to
her glass half filled with tequila,
she sets aside the orange juice
too mild, she quips,
' i like to run away from her' she
insists, telling me that no one understands her here
that this house is full of indifferent people
i fix my gaze at the TV pretending i am not interested.
there is this soap opera about a mom who just lost
her son to a war somewhere in Jolo.
how can a mother's love be so misunderstood?
the mother knows how to pretend, and the daughter
drowns herself inside the bubbles of a glass wine
tequila, i am sure about that..
' i like the love story most. The brother takes his brother's girlfriend
and he punishes himself at the end. Tears and death.'
I am evading
her leading questions.
she's groggy. She leaves me and says she is sleepy. She goes to her
room and locks the door.
Then i tell myself, this world is fair. I am lucky not to have someone
like that niece. I am alone but not sad. Anyway,
the soap opera ends. Something new crops up tomorrow.
A twist of fate. But i will not watch anymore.I had enough.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Summer in Calcutta
What is this drink but
The April sun, squeezed
Like an orange in
My glass? I sip the
Fire, I drink and drink
Again, I am drunk
Yes, but on the gold
of suns, What noble
venom now flows through
my veins and fills my
mind with unhurried
laughter? My worries
doze. Wee bubblesring
my glass, like a brides
nervous smile, and meet
my lips. Dear, forgive
this moments lull in
wanting you, the blur
in memory. How
brief the term of my
devotion, how brief
your reign when i with
glass in hand, drink, drink,
and drink again this
Juice of April suns.
poem by Kamala Das
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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
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Ode To Orange Chgicken
Orange chicken, oh orange chicken,
how much I love you.
You're sweet, sticky, and tangy, all at the same time,
you go great wi th soy sauce, but never with lime.
ode to orange chicken, which I love to devour,
it's been in my mouth so often, it knows that i have power.
It knows the names of my taste buds, Jill, Lil, and Bill,
sometimes the orange chicken is happy, but sometimes it's held against it's will.
Whenever I eat orange chicken, it goes CRUNCH, CRUNCH,
and I have to have chow mein, and that goes MUCH, MUNCH!
Ode to orange chicken, it is always in a bowl,
but did I mention, i also love eggrolls.
poem by Aubrey Harmel
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When you squeeze an orange, orange juice comes out - because that's what's inside. When you are squeezed, what comes out is what is inside.
quote by Wayne Dyer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Glass Candy
Glass candy
Transparent
Pink, blue, green, orange
Any color.
Glass candy
Inedible
Invisible
To most.
Glass candy
Shiny
New
Kind of rare, right?
Glass candy
This poem is nonsense
But at least it makes a point
About glass candy.
poem by Addie Taino
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Red And Orange
Ther's a red house,
Inside there's an orange door.
Beside that there's a red carpet,
On top of an orange floor.
There's a red table,
Below an orange ceiling.
Upstairs there's a red bed,
Inside an orange room.
There's a couple of red people sleeping soundly,
Next door two orange ones too.
Outside there's a red truck,
No one knows what to do.
I don't see the proble,
Why don't you leave us all alone.
But now I see the red more clearly,
And I know what's done is done.
And I'll float away with the cloudy smoke,
Before the inevertable happens and I start to choke.
Good bye red house,
So long orange door.
I'm going for a long sleep noe,
Six feet under the floor.
Come over here and sit on my knee and finish your orange juice.
quote by Sonny Liston
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Let Them Be
let the shoes come and accommodate your feet
and the gloves your hands
and your shirt and pants let them all come near you
and wear your body
let all of them come
let them be let them be
let them have you
the shoes will take you to the door of the house
the home you are longing
the stairs meet you
and the windows open like eyes looking out to another face
the floors and ceiling give you a space
where you can sit with the chair
that opens its arms
a glass serves you milk
or orange juice, tell it what you want
to quench your thirst
a saucer, a plate, a spoon and fork
they all come before your hands
some muffins and jelly
they all come before your mouth
they all come to feed your hunger
this is your home now.
Destiny is waiting.
You do not do a thing.
They all do it for you.
There is no worry.
Destiny does it for you.You see.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Fresh Prince Of Bel Air
Now this is the story all about how
my life got flipped, turned upside down
and I'd like to take a minute just sit right there
I'll tell you how I became the prince of a town called Bel-Air
In West Philadelfia born and raised
on the playground where I spent most of my days
chilling out, maxing, relaxing all cool
and all shooting some b-ball outside of the school
when a couple of guys said "we're up in no good"
started making trouble in my neighbourhood
I got in one little fight and my mom got scared
and said "you're moving with your aunte and uncle in Bel-Air"
(Only the first three episodes of season one)
I begged and pleaded with her the other day
but she packed my suitcase and sent me on my way
she gave me a kissin' and she gave me my ticket
I put my walkman on and said I might aswell kick it
First class, yo this is bad,
drinking orange juice out of a champagne glass
is this what the people of Bel-Air livin' like,
hmm this might be alright!
I whistled for a cab and when it came near the
licensplate said "Fresh" and had a dice in the mirror
if anything I could say that this cab was rare
but I thought now forget it, yo home to Bel-Air
I pulled up to a house about seven or eight
and I yelled to the cabby "Yo, home smell you later"
looked at my kingdom I was finally there
to settle my throne as the prince of Bel-Air
song performed by by Will Smith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You Can't Just Leave It If It's Good
A sweet peach eaten down to the pit.
May keep that pit sitting,
In one's mouth a bit.
Like a hold...
Onto a taste one can't let go.
To show...
How something good can take control.
Dried pineapple slices and raw cashews too.
Can hook someone to snacking,
No matter the mood.
Like a hold...
Onto a taste one can't let go.
To show...
How something good can take control.
A nice banana smoothie with strawberries too.
Added with some orange juice and lemon to boost...
Is good.
Just to have it as a beverage,
Is good!
No matter the mood.
A sweet peach eaten down to the pit.
May keep that pit sitting,
In one's mouth a bit.
Dried pineapple slices and raw cashews too.
Can hook someone to snacking,
No matter the mood.
Like a hold...
Onto a taste one can't let go.
To show...
How something good can take control.
A nice banana smoothie with strawberries too.
Added with some orange juice and lemon to boost...
Like a hold...
Onto a taste one can't let go.
To show...
How something good can take control.
Like a hold...
Onto a taste one can't let go.
To show...
How something good can take control.
You can't just leave it if it's good!
Like a hold that has control.
You can't just leave it if it's good!
Like a hold that has control.
You can't just leave it if it's good!
Like a hold that has control.
You can't just leave it if it's good!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fresh Prince Of Bel-air
Now this is the story all about how
My life got flipped, turned upside down
And Id like to take a minute just sit right there
Ill tell you how I became the prince of a town called bel-air
In west philadelfia born and raised
On the playground where I spent most of my days
Chilling out, maxing, relaxing all cool
And all shooting some b-ball outside of the school
When a couple of guys said were up in no good
Started making trouble in my neighbourhood
I got in one little fight and my mom got scared
And said youre moving with your aunte and uncle in bel-air
(only the first three episodes of season one)
I begged and pleaded with her the other day
But she packed my suitcase and sent me on my way
She gave me a kissin and she gave me my ticket
I put my walkman on and said I might aswell kick it
First class, yo this is bad,
Drinking orange juice out of a champagne glass
Is this what the people of bel-air livin like,
Hmm this might be alright!
I whistled for a cab and when it came near the
Licensplate said fresh and had a dice in the mirror
If anything I could say that this cab was rare
But I thought now forget it, yo home to bel-air
I pulled up to a house about seven or eight
And I yelled to the cabby yo, home smell you later
Looked at my kingdom I was finally there
To settle my throne as the prince of bel-air
song performed by by Will Smith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Homemade
Blessed are those,
Who have had the experience...
Of walking and talking.
With the ability to chew gum.
And,
Can appreciate the taste of a banana split.
With an occasional strawberry and banana smoothie,
Homemade with vanilla icecream and orange juice.
With wishes to whip up another.
Knowing the taste of this has been delicious.
That's what I call a tummy tuck!
All that other stuff,
Is not on my 'things to crave' list.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Why Oranges Are Beautiful
In total frankness,
I bear no particular fondness towards any of the fruits.
I'm sure there are nut-jobs who are obsessed by oranges (or indeed amazed by apples, captured by coconuts or plum-tuckered-out with enthusiasm for plums) .
Yet, they say beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
And, more than once, have I found myself with stinging beauty beholders after citrus juice squirted into them.
Therefore,
If oranges are beautiful,
And I have had their beauty in my beholders on more than one clumsy occasion,
Then surely if I behold hard enough I shall be favoured with their beauty?
They are (after all) a lovely colour,
And my favourite juice (above no other) .
Also, how very satisfying they are to peel.
And they do provide a taste of the exotic.
Under waxy peel (if I were to wax poetic) ,
I see delicate white veins tangle over sweet flesh,
Where baby seeds wait and rest.
And how easy the segments are to share.
I mean,
Perhaps if the Evil Queen, had poisoned an orange rather than an apple,
She would have got a lot more done that day.
You know,
If that's the way you (or your head) rolls.
poem by Grace Roberts
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