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janessa ann Apr 2018
Banana.
Banana.
Banana.
Banana.
Banana.
Banana.
Banana.
Banana.
B­anana.
Banana.
Banana.
Banana.
Banana.
Banana.
Banana.
Orange.
Or­ange you glad I'm not a Banana?
Because everybody knows that the Banana is the ***** of the fruit world.

Spanish version:
Este poema es plátano.
Plátano.
Plátano.
Plátano.
Plátano.
Plátano.
Plátano.
Pl­átano.
Plátano.
Plátano.
Plátano.
Plátano.
Plátano.
Plátano.
Plát­ano.
Plátano.
Naranja.
Naranja, ¿estás contento de no ser un plátano?
Porque todos saben que el Plátano es el pene del mundo de la fruta
Hope this makes you laugh. cuz thats my goal in life.
K Balachandran Jan 2015
Anger, is the steaming red on her face
refusal creates in an instance;
jealousy is foaming green
profusion of colors in motion
takes this dance for them to upward
and downward turns,
or a sudden dissolution---
an intense ****** in unison.
Even in darkness he  can see the
spasmodic ebbing waves
sleep is the banana plantation
where night wears translucent green
"nobody would see us here"
she whispers in his ears,
as if they are thieving ***,eyeing
the yellow banana she likes, to play with

Purple is the psychedelic color
smeared on horizon when
dreams repeatedly fly down
like night bats and happen
the way mind designs
we don't want to leave the scene
of the dream even when we know well
that the show for us is now over
we just want to hang around
like the dog,  in the place
it  got a juicy bone.

Yellow is the banana song
that's heard as wave after wave,
by the blind bat squadron
that roams with raw aggression,
for raids above the plantations
Unripe bananas show green fingers
to say "NO! we aren't ripe"
like coy underage virgins.

Then, they ripen, go yellow
some even bright red, inviting
who is blue here is the sky
and those bats who got
the bananas still raw green

Night decents on the banana land
as the white umbrella of sun
is snatched by the dark maiden.
Black is the bat's wing extending
and folding like lust, umbrella and the like.

He finds her shivering fingers like a serpent,
on the banana trunk slithering down,
as he dreams bats, banana, blue sky
and she slithering over him.
Sensuality connects, colors, assorted things  and places that become symbols for experiences , ***, lust ...
Poetic T Aug 2014
Banana, Banana, Banana
How you tease from up high
I love your yellowness
The taste from the heavens
Up high
I've tried to climb,
I've tried to swing,
Each time
I end up on the ground
My face does greet first
Not my feet.
But you evade my advances
How you do tease me
You were a flower
You blossomed
Then you became
The yellow nectar,
That which I want to eat,
You taste so good
When going down
All I wish is for a banana
A single one will do
We were meant to be
Banana & Monkey
like
Squirrels  & nuts
Paired since the start of time
I start to give up,
We weren't meant to be
I kick the your base in anger
The vibrations shake
And with in a moment
A monkey
Buried in yellow,
From my
Head
To my
Feet
Monkey and banana together
Like we were always meant to be.
A FUN WRITE FOR SATURDAY...
Amina Yakubu Dec 2012
BaNaNa is SweEt
BaNaNa is SweEt
COmE and lets eAt
COmE and lets eAt.
BaNaNa is swEeT
ThErE is SuGAr in it
SuGAr in it
BaNaNa is SWeEt
COmE and lets eAt
COmE and lets eAt
BaNaNa is swEaT.
Micah Fagre  Sep 2014
The Banana
Micah Fagre Sep 2014
The banana is an inside joke
from God
It is His calling card
And you can call home
if you would hold it to your ear
and speak directly to Him
Just kidding
Bananas are for the belly

He would have used perforated edges
but naysayers would be in an uproar
"How could your God think us so stupid!"
For they always imagine
that God reflects their own stupidity
And the atheist too
would have a fit
and a slew
of jokes about how the real evidence of God
has banana split

But just like little children know
mother puts the best food in the lunchbox
Humble believers can tell you
good loving means good grubbing
on the inside of the banana peel
And that's real
There was once a little banana
That lived in a grocery store
He loved to hang out with the other fruits
But mostly to explore

Late one night when all was quiet
He slid onto the floor
Slipping and sliding
Outside the Bakery door

Tiny cries were heard inside
Springing into action
The Brave Little Banana
Was gaining some real traction

Spinning left and spinning right
Rocking less then more
Harnessing all his banana power
He spun right through the door

Glancing up and looking down
He spies a cookie of butter
Draped across a cookie sheet
He thinks somebody cut her

She lifts her head to see his face
A tiny smile upon her lips
He reaches up to help her down
Holding her sugary hips

He steals some frosting from a knife
To patch up her little tummy
And in his best banana voice he says,
“You’re looking rather yummy”

She laughs out loud and says to him,
“It’s time for us to part,
Thank you sir and you shall be
“Forever in my Heart”

Heading back to the vegetable aisle
A super hero ”disguiser”
Hopping up on the cooling tray
No one will be the wiser
Oh banana peel,
your colors vibrant and fluctuating.
The 3-D spots of speckled brown,
deep and pure,
yellow and sun sprayed,
swaying in the trees,
lackadaisical in manner.

Oh banana peel,
protect you from our bile.

If i could have a peel of my own,
a comfy womb;
yellow and sweet.
I too would sway in the trees
lackadaisical in manner.
The Sunday, sun spray sprawled across,
my green to yellow to brown,
my sour to sweet,
to soft and cream

Oh banana peel,
others discard you hastily
in the banana peel sunset.
But to me,
you are beautiful.
beauty is in the eye of the beholder, so why judge?
Through the years of transparent existence, a void of illusion becomes apparent and slowly becomes nothing more than a side-show. The dribbling glimpses of truth fade like the bones of old. No man can create such an indentation in the mold of space and time that the observers at the end of eternity will render their imprint upon the infinite gaian consciousness and body of universal proportions of any significance. Even the earth laughs at such ridiculousness. The ego is a strong bind - it can create maya and attachment to such fantasies easier than a bear can find it's ideal location for a winter hibernation. It's a world of craziness, where nobody knows whats going on.
The man woke up from his deep slumber. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Squinting, he looked around, studying his surroundings and taking mental notes. His thoughts are ***** scribblings on a subway wall. His heart is beating, searching for a band to play in rhythm with. His soul is aching from loneliness and desire. His feet lifelessly surrender their position up on the couch and find the floor, shrieking from the cold of the linoleum. His presence is that of a bird with a broken wing still attempting to fly. He stands up and stares at the ceiling.
The room is small. Four walls of white, one window and one door. The window looks out over the grey city. The door leads into another room - the room most would call a kitchen. In the small room before the kitchen, there is only a couch and a blanket. No lamp. No television. No electricity. No electricity in the entire apartment. The kitchen holds no refrigerator, no oven, no toaster, no pantry. It's called a kitchen because that's what it would be if somebody else was living in the apartment. There are two bananas on the floor along with a box of wheat flake cereal. No milk, no bowl, no spoon. The bananas are almost entirely rotten. The box of cereal is on its side, leaking bits of wheat flake, resembling a dying soldier on a battlefield who's losing all his blood through the wound on his neck rather than a box of the West's favorite morning go-to breakfast.
The man is observing the cracks on the ceiling, along with various stains with no known origin to him. His eyes dart from one corner of the room to another to another to another and back to the first. Spiderwebs. Dust. Decay. A perfect example of life's ability to take care of itself. Biodecomposition. When no one is around to look after a house, over time, Nature will take over it. Vines will grow and overcome the walls. Rain will fall and wear away the roof and general structure. Winds will blow, taking blindshots at the weakened building, eventually cause it to fall. Nothing lasts forever. Everything goes back to where it came from.
The man now steps into the "kitchen", where he begins to study the stains on the ceiling in this room as well. His mind is electric, with no thoughts in the usual sense, but rather just a vague presence of void to help the ceiling stains feel important. He is the space through which everything around him can exist to their fullest potential. After a measureless amount of time, the man walks over to the sad bits of food on the far side of the small room. He picks up one of he bananas and studies it. He feels where it came from. The tropical skies and smells and earth of Costa Rica. There's a little sticker on the banana that says so. Each bit of fruit in the markets nowadays are individually stickered...for prosperity, one can only assume. Though it's best to never assume anything, and instead be open to everything - afterall, anything is possible, at any time. Likelihood and probability are also important factors in the universal constitution of existence. What was the likelihood that this man, when he was a little child, figured he'd be holding a rotten banana from Costa Rica in his hand inside of a kitchenless kitchen? Who knows? The man wouldn't be able to recall his thoughts from early childhood - he barely remembers waking up and experiencing the chilling sensation of early morning linoleum. In any case, everything is exactly the way it's supposed to be, for it wouldn't be if it wasn't meant to be.
He slowly peels open the banana peel to reveal this brown, soft mush of tropical fruit. Just the way he likes it - soft enough to chew with his toothless mouth. He takes his time consuming the fruit, savoring every particle. After a good bit of time, the fruit is gone and all the man is left with is the peel. He takes another good look at the peel, once again imagining where this particular banana came from. Then, in two swift bites, he devours the entire peel - sticker included. He figures the sticker came from Costa Rica as well, and thus must carry that Costa Rican tropical vibe of health and longevity. His eyes then focus on the wheat flake cereal lying next to the other rotting banana. He bends down and picks up the box. The box is upside down when he picks it up and so the cereal spills out all over the area of the "kitchen" floor that seems to be dedicated to eating food. The remaining banana is now covered in wheat cereal.
The man drops the box back onto the floor and takes a seat alongside of it. His fingers hold his face from drooping onto his knees. His knees are keeping his torso from melting onto the floor. He screams with no sound. The pains of existence seep through his hollow eyes and into the receptors of his soul. He screams with no sound. He’s as empty as the American Dream.
The cobwebs are spreading from the corners of the room and are aimed for the human form sitting in the “kitchen” screaming silence with all his might. The cobwebs grow. The commuters of the city highway are commuting. A thousand birthday celebrations are being had. A thousand people sexually uninhibited, joyously seizing the moment in disgusting miraculous unity of mortal physical desire. Junkies are roaming the street for their morning fix. Teaching are teaching their students absolute lies. Governments are stealing the lives of billions and counting. And the cobwebs are growing, encompassing entire walls. The the ceiling. Then the floor. Then they crawl up the lifeless legs of the man who sits screaming in silence and the spiders overtake his body. They stitch his mouth shut and close his eyes with their spun proteinaceous spider silk. The man withers into the wind of time and vanishes from the world without a single soul taking notice. Leaving nothing behind except an empty apartment, overdue rent, and a number in the system of Western Society. His spirit cries sorrowfully as it flees the clutches of molecular existence into the realm of eternity and space. Heaven. He made it. He looks down at the people of the world he just left and sings a pitiful song for them. He’ll see them again. Afterall, they are Him. And He is Them. His Heart, the Sun, burns as the world he left turns. The lessons He left are slowly being learned. One by one. But still, there’s a space between the atoms, between the cells. And that space can never disappear. Without it, there would be no point to the story. All would be one, as it is, and there’s be nothing to overcome. No triumph. Just an endless loop of bizarre beautiful experience and pattern.
Bethany Davis Nov 2011
Banana taffy,
Hard and smooth,
Like a banana cream pie,
But not as rich.

Banana milk,
So playful smooth,
Like liquid laughter,
Like dancing mirth.

The fruit's so different,
Not rich or smooth,
A different taste,
A different love.

This fake banana,
Makes me spin,
Dancing like a child,
So young, so free.
JoBe Arenas May 2014
Take a banana
Peel it
Dice it
Put it aside

If you thought this
Was a recipe
It is
For a disaster

Take a banana
Peel it
Dice it
Put it inside
A little clever poem on bananas
ron stickson May 2014
In a broken down hut
In the middle of the wood
Nor pizza hut nor Squirrel's nut
Can calmly describe that, that could

And somewhere within thy
Lies a seemingly twisted fate
Where two old hags bye and bye
Will simultaneously copulate

It would arise my suspicion
Should there be a banana
and henceforth there be a petition
To Outlaw that Repulsive banana

For one to see into the future
Monkeys would be granted intelligence
Causing bananas to nurture
and my brain to be punctured by a fence

If you still can't see
That bananas are a fruit
Then I guess you will have to ***
While gassing toot toot
Written when I was naked getting ready to take a shower.

— The End —