The Lemon
there is no alcohol in
my lemon juice
if you are sensitive enough
you could have noticed
that this poem
is sour
there is nothing that
levitates in here
nothing drifts
there is no image of a leaf
floating in air
it is trying to refresh
the heart of summer
trying to recall the flowers
all wilting
along the paths of
dead desires.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The Sour Lemon Tree
A sour lemon tree flower attracts the bee
While its fruit is bitter not so its flower
White is its flower sweet and very pretty
Only the fruit is bitter and that's just a pity
As the beauty of its flower resist not a bee
It's the simple truth
Or see the sour lemon tree
With fruit that is bitter bears a lemon tree
But useful is its fruit good for everyday use
Once said a bee... your flower is very sweet
It carries fragrance scented out in the street
Yet bears you fruit bitter no one wants to eat
It's partly the truth
Or see the sour lemon tree
A citrus tree with fruit no other tree bears
Then out of the tree came a nice neat voice
'Twas like a voice of one who's very wise
This is what it said trees are not so free
One made a decree for every bearing tree
It's partly the truth
Or see the sour lemon tree
The Creator decides the fruit a tree bears
Whether it be bitter or whether it be sweet
The Creator decrees for every bearing tree
To bring forth fruit ordained for it to bear
Then sweet or bitter bears a tree its fruit
It's the simple truth
Or see the sour lemon tree.
poem by Clarence Prince
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A Memory Of A Red Strawberry
remember me as summer
better still a refreshing summer wind
from a green mountain
remember me as summer
summer strawberry
red, red strawberries
from your fingers to your
mouth to your tongue
sweet, sour, and luscious,
remember me, better remember me
as summer, wind, green mountain,
strawberry, red and luscious
staying in the grassy fields of your
heart and mind
remember me as past summer wind
as a mountain gone, as grass wilting,
as strawberry consumed
each flesh digested all within
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The lemon
I pick a ripe yellow lemon from the tree,
the children, even the dog imitates me
and when I warn them to eat it up
the two boys draw up their lips
from its sour taste, the brown Labrador complies,
eating right through the skin,
but will never again eat such a thing
and my picking of it is no sacrament,
to offer to the gods
not even a thieving thing
as that tree with green leaves and thorns
belongs to me
and I am not doing it
to apply as medicine with honey in a drink
but lemon juice in my mother’s pudding treat
is an essential thing
in the mix of biscuits, condense milk and custard.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Honey and lemon
Honey and lemon, I know how
The taste blends, and honey and
Pancakes, I know the taste
And lemon in ripe papaya
so sour so sweet
And Honey, how about you and me,
Do I blend like lemon to your honey?
or do i blend more as a yellow slice of
lemon
to your margarita?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Life Is Temporary, Here Is My Temporary Life For You
life is temporary, so temporary that it is like something
that you see
and then don't because it has escaped like slippery water from
the hold of your hands,
ephemeral
like a mist, like a fuming vapor from boiling water,
like an air that merely passes by your gaze
like the wind
that comes and goes away from your window
like a cloud that drifts
away from your roof, like a leaf that falls from a tree,
like a flower that blooms today
and tomorrow goes away in the wilting petals
life is so temporary like the ticking of the clock
that you hear at night
when again you cannot sleep
this is life
this is my life it is so temporary
and with all my heart
i will hand it to you as a gift
take it
take it
do you think that my life now exends your life?
do you think that you with my life can live a litlle longer?
take it
take it
it is all yours
because i still love you because i have long been dead in this pain
of you
not loving me despite....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Autumn
Go, sit upon the lofty hill,
And turn your eyes around,
Where waving woods and waters wild
Do hymn an autumn sound.
The summer sun is faint on them --
The summer flowers depart --
Sit still -- as all transform'd to stone,
Except your musing heart.
How there you sat in summer-time,
May yet be in your mind;
And how you heard the green woods sing
Beneath the freshening wind.
Though the same wind now blows around,
You would its blast recall;
For every breath that stirs the trees,
Doth cause a leaf to fall.
Oh! like that wind, is all the mirth
That flesh and dust impart:
We cannot bear its visitings,
When change is on the heart.
Gay words and jests may make us smile,
When Sorrow is asleep;
But other things must make us smile,
When Sorrow bids us weep!
The dearest hands that clasp our hands, --
Their presence may be o'er;
The dearest voice that meets our ear,
That tone may come no more!
Youth fades; and then, the joys of youth,
Which once refresh'd our mind,
Shall come -- as, on those sighing woods,
The chilling autumn wind.
Hear not the wind -- view not the woods;
Look out o'er vale and hill-
In spring, the sky encircled them --
The sky is round them still.
Come autumn's scathe -- come winter's cold --
Come change -- and human fate!
Whatever prospect Heaven doth bound,
Can ne'er be desolate.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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A Lemon Sunshine Day
To float among the new summer clouds
and under a new full silver moon I can
see the shadows looking back down at me
to smell the night time fragrance from
the first Honey Suckle trees to bloom
to feel the new summer winds blowing
through my hair, whispering new
summer secrets in my ear.
And on the first new dawn of summer
to smell new smells, and natures old
forgotten familiar ones to stop and
hear a Robins babies peeping from
their nest hidden sunggled among
the Honey Suckle flowers, and branches.
The crickets are performing their first
concert of the summer.
With the smell of fresh summer
dirt comes Gods creatures so
small their emergeing from
cracks and crevasses of the
ground after their winter slumber.
Grandmas tulips are no longer
sleeping, their begining to stretch
looking up to that lemon summer sun,
to warm their new tips that have
started to emerge up through the ground.
Each new summer day some thing
new awakens to show its beauty..
New sounds, forgotten sounds
my garden has slept far to long.
Now the lemon summer sun has
started to do her job winter blankets
are no longer needed the blooms
have yet to be born, their in their
embryo stage.
But it will not be long until Gods
color pallette will explode and
the flowers will stand up and dance
in their dresses of beautiful colors.
The fragrance will fill the garden
all of this under the lemon summer
sun.
And on this the first day of summer.
GAYLE GOFF
JAN 2009
poem by Gayle Anne Goff
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Dear Summer
Dear summer,
It all happen on april 13th
It was the brightest day I have seen
The sun was shinning bright and the air was fresh,
And the green grass remind me why you summer are the best.
I no longer felt down cause you were around
Aand I felt like the luckiest girl cause it was summer I found
I thought of how I could repay you for all the love you gave me
Cause summer your love was simply amazing
You made the dead butterflies in my stomach revive
How can summer this year make me feel so alive?
I could of sworn this summer would last me forever
But everyone would warn me to be a bit clever
Cause seasons always change and weather changes moods.
And when my summer is here she helps the flowers bloom
But the flowers all die when its winter cause of the cold
I guess no one takes heed to what they are told.
Well im sorry my summer but today the sun isn't shining as bright
And when day light savings bbegins I gets colder at night.
Summer I noticed the leaves are starting to die
And the flowers that you love are no longer alive.
All the birds fly north and I just feel empty inside.
All of this is happening summer cause you were a lie.
They're all sick of the false hopes that you have brought them
But maybe we'll all find real love in autumn.
poem by Selina Cobain
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Blossoms of Summer
The blossoms of
summer
once so young
and vibrant
beautiful flowers
of youth.
Fade quickly
one by one
gently dropping
their petals
floating to the
ground.
Painting picture
patterns of
yesterday
now just an image
lying somewhere in
the corners of my
mind.
poem by Heather Burns
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As with sound, images are subjective. You and I may not see the same color red as red, but we will probably agree that the image on the screen is a digital image or film image, based on contrast, bit depth, and refresh rate.
quote by John Dykstra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Different Winds
Autumn gusts
coldish
death red and orange
prophesy of a massacre of green and hopefullness
(the poem dips)
winter wind
bitinig
cold
every thing is waiting
like rivers of frozen paper slicing through the air
(the poem falls dead)
spring breeze
round
warmish
enveloping my heart
yellowish green breezes blow through class room windows
begging me to fly
(the poem swells and wishes to grow)
summer breezes
i dont remember.
(the swelling poem hesitates)
but soon i will alight upon a breeze of summer
and swim through the air and sea
so i will never forget the taste
of summer air
(the poem waits contentedly for a forgotten wind to sweep it away)
In spring and summer winds may blow
In spring and summer winds may blow,
And rains fall after, hard and fast;
The tender leaves, if beaten low,
Shine but the more for shower and blast
But when their fated hour arrives,
When reapers long have left the field,
When maidens rifle turn'd-up hives,
And their last juice fresh apples yield,
A leaf perhaps may still remain
Upon some solitary tree,
Spite of the wind and of the rain . . .
A thing you heed not if you see.
At last it falls. Who cares? Not one:
And yet no power on earth can ever
Replace the fallen leaf upon
Its spray, so easy to dissever.
If such be love, I dare not say.
Friendship is such, too well I know:
I have enjoyed my summer day;
'Tis past; my leaf now lies below.
poem by Walter Savage Landor
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Evening Music
Here comes the moment of the shimmering hour
When praise like incense trembles from each leaf.
The evening air is redolent with grief
And waltzes gush with melancholic power.
When praise like incense trembles from each leaf,
Only the notes of violins are sour
And waltzes gush with melancholic power;
The sky is vast with beauty and with grief.
Only the notes of violins are sour;
Each heart avoids its pit of unbelief.
The sky is vast with beauty and with grief;
The sun's blood hazes in a chilly shower.
Each heart avoids its pit of unbelief,
Gathering its flecks of light into a bower;
The sun's blood hazes in a chilly shower -
Only your shining image brings relief!
poem by Martin TURNER
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Alcohol
Here is a story about a sinner,
He used to be a winner who enjoyed a life of prominence and position,
But the pressures at the office and his socialite engagements,
And his selfish wifes fanatical ambition,
It turned him to the booze,
And he got mixed up with a floosie
And she led him to a life of indecision.
The floosie made him spend his dole
She left him lying on skid row
A drunken lag in some salvation army mission.
Its such a shame.
Oh demon alcohol,
Sad memories I cannot recall,
Who thought I would say,
Damn it all and blow it all,
Oh demon alcohol,
Memories I cannot recall,
Who thought I would fall a slave to demon alcohol.
Barley wine pink gin,
Hell drink anything,
Port, pernod or tequila,
Rum, scotch, vodka on the rocks,
As long as all his troubles disappeared.
But he messed up his life and he beat up his wife,
And the floosies gone and found another sucker
Shes gonna turn him on to drink
Shes gonna lead him to the brink
And when his moneys gone,
Shell leave him in the gutter,
Its such a shame.
Oh demon alcohol,
Sad memories I cannot recall,
Who thought I would fall,
A slave to demon alcohol.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Leaf
to a non-poet a leaf is just a leaf
and when it falls
on the ground, there is nothing but a
fall
but to us who claim this art
a leaf is not just a leaf
but it can be you or i
falling and when i reach the ground
you feel the heart of the leaf
beating
for its falling, its failure as a leaf,
its surrender to a certain death
its claiming a portion of this earth
to rest and be part of this
world, it rots, and it speaks some line
before it rots
a poem, a valediction on an anthill,
an eulogy of the other leaves that
fell before the great falling
it can be a story of humanity written
on the lines of its face, it will have flesh
on its layers, some mouths on its
seams, and it will tell too
about the tree where it comes from
how the clouds drifted so close to its stalk
how the sun kissed it on top of everything
a leaf is a world. just as a poem is.
we live inside it. Through it. Even
outside it. Even in circles.
we make understanding so complicated.
yet we are so simple as you see us.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Remembrance
I.
Swifter far than summer's flight--
Swifter far than youth’s delight--
Swifter far than happy night,
Art thou come and gone--
As the earth when leaves are dead,
As the night when sleep is sped,
As the heart when joy is fled,
I am left lone, alone.
II.
The swallow summer comes again--
The owlet night resumes her reign--
But the wild-swan youth is fain
To fly with thee, false as thou.--
My heart each day desires the morrow;
Sleep itself is turned to sorrow;
Vainly would my winter borrow
Sunny leaves from any bough.
III.
Lilies for a bridal bed--
Roses for a matron’s head--
Violets for a maiden dead--
Pansies let MY flowers be:
On the living grave I bear
Scatter them without a tear--
Let no friend, however dear,
Waste one hope, one fear for me.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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This Poem..
This poem
was about to speak to you
assuming that there is a you right there and now
but
hesitated, a little unsure of itself
this poem
though all ready to be
a bouncy, Tiggerish, extravert sort of poem
is going instead to take a quiet moment for
introspection
this poem
remembers that computers are essentially
binary – built up of millions of yes-no choices
so
this poem
is above all,
yes;
hoping
in still a Tiggerish way, to hear you also, say
yes
this poem
finds that it has
certain hidden desires
which it rightly or wrongly
was going to lay on you
like
this poem
would like to tell you
something new which
you might or might not believe
until some time later
when you’d say
yes!
this poem
would like to touch your heart
(impertinently assuming
you might need aortic massage)
so that when you finished reading it,
you’d say
yes!
this poem
presumptuously
would like to enable you to
see the whole world with fresh eyes,
as if never before,
be the first day
of Creation for the
rest of your life
so that you'd say
yes yes yes
this poem
would love to
be Irish, throw magical, spellbinding words round you
like two hands throwing wild flowers
over you in a summer meadow,
looking into your eyes, laughing, kissing,
dancing over the green hills to blue skies hand in hand
enchanted with a life you’d passing forgotten,
always known, while time
is eternity and
you and I and all things are
yes, yes, yes and
yes
this poem
at this point
introspectively with a touch of humility
thinks
maybe it’s sufficient, purer,
just to want to
pass you in the street,
smile right into your eyes
maybe shake hands, even
kiss both cheeks how ever many times
and know that without necessarily
saying anything
the answer’s
yes
this poem
hopes it’s made its point
without mentioning
love or other well-known,
complicated things like that and
moreover it’s gone on long enough
because
this poem loves
what happens in silence
what happens in stillness
and just wanted to say
yes?
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Poetry Is Like A Beautiful Work Of Art
A poem has no write or
wrong,
How to write your poem
is up to you,
Visualize a perfect poem
That readers will love,
Adjust a poem as much as
you want,
Remember a poem is like
art,
You write it with meaning
and passion,
Add as much as your heart
desires,
Short or long it does not
matter,
Add a picture with your
poem,
Add a quote or a verse,
it is a poet's decision,
Always be proud of your poem,
Let the words flow when you
write,
A poem expresses a feeling,
thought and emotion,
Add a frame and hang it up
on a wall,
share your talents with the
world,
Poetry is like a beautiful
work of art.
poem by Derek James
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Howard
Some people claim not to drink alcohol but,
Most of the medicines they take are made of alcohol!
So, who is learning from whom?
The hamattan is in and i am feeling cold,
But i am waiting for Howard my lover to come in;
For he is like the summer on this love.
I will never say no and i will kiss him all over,
And like the glorious heart of an oak;
For i have learnt a lot in my life to take up this love.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Every letter must be chewed before you can refresh yourself with its juice.