several snakes spiraling
hissing a message in her ear
telephone is dialing
waiting for a call from someone dear

(on the velveteen tangerine)

roller skated through the town
laces strangle each other like constrictors
gravity is upside down
the pair of skates are like twin sisters
(on the velveteen tangerine)

ivy climbing legs and boughs
stemming into leaves and flowers
time is spinning backwards now
the clock has been gone for hours
(on the velveteen tangerine)

cream and sugar sweet
share a cup of tea with company
friends talk about their week
lounging in the leafy canopy
(on the velveteen tangerine)

eyes stare at the strange sight
unattached and independently
moonlight shines on glades of green at night
trees blend into starry scenery
(on the velveteen tangerine)

citrus spheres hang from tree limbs
peel the hard rind to make it nice
pick one or a dozen at your whim
drink sweet juice or swallow a slice
(on the velveteen tangerine)

beware of seeds and centipedes
but take a chance and you will dance
with delight around midnight
on the velveteen tangerine

It was early morning when she descended the steps
to the porch side, teacup in hand, dressed in her nightgown.
Steam billowed from her cup, and with a swallow
she examined her garden of weeds and unexpected peonies.
It was early for blooming peonies; frost, like glass,
still settled on the lawn, reflecting sunrise light of tangerine.

The radiant glow of tangerine
cast amber trails across steps
covered in an icy coating of glass.
Between her fingers she tucked her nightgown
and gingerly treaded the garden of peonies
that melted the frost in one great flower swallow.

The barn swallow,
perched not far from the path of tangerine,
must have also taken notice of the peonies
as he took the first steps
to nest-building. She imagined that his lady bird, also in her nightgown,
would enjoy the flowerbed of glass

that he chose for their home. Sipping her glass
of tea, she admired the familiar swallow
lover as she folded into her nightgown
bouquets of peonies that glistened in the tangerine
sunlight. She took the steps
back to the house, recalling her own swallow’s peonies:

Peonies
placed in vases of glass,
peonies lining the porch steps,
peonies presented over morning tea. With a swallow,
she carefully, methodically lined the tangerine
trail with the peonies from her nightgown.

Her nightgown,
stained with the rouge petals of peonies,
dragged along the tangerine
terrace of glass,
blood red with the memory of her swallow
lover’s peony-petaled steps.

The steps to the house creaked beneath her nightgown.
The barn swallow, quieted by the rouge of the peonies,
shut his glass eyes to the skies of tangerine.

Who now is this smiling
Forgotten, Positively high
Just yesterday i was reeling
From the blindspot jabs of soft goodbyes.

But still these hands are ever restless
Rhythmic at work and upon the walls
But the altar remains breadless
And the garland lazy droops in the halls.

Well, it seems certainly I’ve seen
That remaining glow, that faint sheen
I’ve heard the wind shyly whisper
Tangerine- Tangerine

Is there now nothing to do but softly sigh
And to remember all that I believe
To sit and succinctly cry
And at once be relieved

To extend my hand
To know another
Head in the breeze
Open from cover

Always happy
Never mean-
The wind it names
Tangerine-Tangerine

Bit of chaos in her
I've heard them say
I witness it’s panaish
Twice upon the day

Found some disorder
Here in myself-
Somethings are dead
Others are in health

Little wild
But a dream-
The wind its cries
Tangerine- Tangerine

I am melting into a dream of tangerines;
Falling, passing the branches of citrus blossoms that once were.

I land on a rigid peel,
the brightest orange in the colored pencil set.
There are indents in the skin,
depressions, each belonging to a different story,
this tangerine has been through a lot.
From a young bud,
to a ripe fruit,
it has grown.

Do not make the mistake of calling it an orange, or a clementine,
it is not.
It is a tangerine.
Peeling it almost sounds like a symphony.
Inch by inch, the orchestral rhythm plays off,
until you are slicing it, accidentally rupturing its walls,
in that moment, it sounds like a little boy, who doesn’t quite understand why it’s encouraged to chew with your mouth closed.

A tangerine,
each segment of it looks like half a pair of healthy lungs,
pure, and fresh.
It is a surprise when you bite into it.
Realize, the prettiest things are not always the sweetest,
they can be a little tangy, a little sour.
The taste bouncing off the inside of your mouth like it is a trampoline.
Realize, it is a tangerine;
**from a young bud,
to a ripe fruit,
it has grown.

The joyous reflection
of your smile
in my tangerine dreams.

Tangerine, tangling.

The dunes in your eyes
and the tributaries in your thighs
Never want to be seen.

Tangerine, my precious queen.

I never want to leave your scene
I'm happier than I've ever been
My heart will always glow marine
For you, I will scream:

"Tangerine dreams!"

Speaking of broken hearts
and mended fenced in mem'ries  
I am painting skies
of tangerine, saffron
& an illuminated lilac hue
against the starkly contrasted crisp cornflower blue, stretching canvas that is
along with all the
other blindingly beautiful colors of a twilight sky

And those dripping cotton candy stratospheric clouds
Ice crystals freezing into supercooled
water droplets
Streaking the sky in cirrus whispers
..I hear them whisper, "hello"...

Blinding beauty
through unadulterated sunlight
I am fleeced like a lamb
watching in awe,
..in wonder
then stomping sounds
of coming thunder,

Finding depth and height
out  in the stratosphere
Blinded by the
After Light
or afterglow
affected by the amount of haze
I'm in a daze
...as I am reaching

High above the fading light
of a brilliant early fall sunset
I take a big breath
of that sumptuous air
and twirl my skirted legs
my painted toes
where I know
I am back
to solid ground

Appreciating the last time
I say sleep well
to you  my dear
summertimes sweet mem'ries
and the fun we had this year.

Cherie Nolan © 2016

Just a little touch
I know you’re not asking for much
Bite the tangerine
Live out your life’s theme
In the daylight, I step inside
The night is deafening
And while the stars take flight
The moon is threatening
Just a little touch
Don’t tell me to hush
Bite the tangerine
Bang the tambourine
Charm me with the tools that I taught you
Wear all the jewels that I bought you
Throw some wood onto the fire
Whisper all your darkest desires
Just a little touch
You know I’m not asking for much
Bite the tangerine
Dream a little dream

Who's kidding?
The world kinda *****.
a lot.

Pardon my melodrama,
but I feel justified
as the Greeks were famous for it.
And I'm straight up feeling like Apollo.

Because:
I've given up on the usual moan-and-groans
of a daily wake up routine.

The sun a peeled tangerine,
tasting so sweet and new,
and is too far away to really care
when things become navy blue.

I just want to radiate like that.

And I'm absolutely going to.

No matter how much the world *****, I'll keep ******* on that tangerine.