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Hasan Aspahani Jul 2017
HE took me
To the dirt road
Along the creek
The flow of time.

We met a child
Who can not swim strongly
But good at fishing.

He took me to the cemetery.
We saw
A child and his father pray
Visiting women
They are very dear

He pulled my hand
To the banana garden
Which bear fruit on long bunches,
And it knows
Will soon be cut down by a machete.

He was lying with me
On a night
And awakened by various things
The scramble wants to be a dream
In a rush sleep.
maggie W Jan 2017
I wanna  be your cold stone girl,
The one you not only flirt but order a banana flavor for.

The thought of  you going to other cold stone
without me there frowning upon your choice
could **** me even in the city I love the most.

While we're both chasing our own dreams
I'll always remember you said
"Who knows what will happen,it's a small world"

I wanna be your cold stone girl,
The one that always greets you with a smile.
If you cannot find any cold stone you like
in  Nanjing, don't worry
I'm always up for ice cream in the cold

In February, you are off to my city
I secretly wish you won't for fall any cold stone girls
that giggle at your corny  jokes

I wanna be your cold stone girl,
and keep you company
While we both sail around the world.

10 months sounds like a long period of time,but
it's a small world after all.
When we fulfill that unknown dreams of our own
Meet me again in the cold stone,
for I will always be, your cold stone girl.
I wrote this in mind with the melody of "The girl" by City and Colour. Intended to be lyrics. To Michael.
Thomas Campbell Jan 2017
Oh what I’d give...
What I’d give to write within
A book whose every page is made
From smooth banana skin

The texture firm but fair,
This I long to feel
Beneath my pen which glides
Over yellow, fleshy peel

Guiding, fixing clumsy script
To exceed its usual style
Putting pen to banana
Puts to my face a smile
anyone else love writing on bananas?
Camille Avila Mar 2016
Lumipas na ang mga araw
Kasabay nito ang ating alaala
Ngunit hindi pa rin mawala wala
Ang iyong imahen sa aking isipan


Matang nakakaakit,
Labing mapula,
Magagandang ngiti,
At boses na napakasarap pakinggan


Lahat ng ito'y gustong makita't maranasan muli
Ngunit ako'y naguguluhan,
Tama bang naisin ko lahat ng ito
Kung ako naman ang lumayo.
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 ...
Brycical Nov 2014
Sing songs of parsley vivacious ***** jazz.                                    

Dance that moon hoodoo rattlesnake tango.

Play ancient games like enter the mysterious iridescent doorway.

Smoke your poetry books.                    

Remember to forget your cell phone in the shower drain.

Cauterize your family pictures onto magazines and newspapers.          

Sail across the ghost waters of unforgiven memories.

Throw yourself into your heartstrings.                                                    

String yourself onto your nirvana sphere.            

Lick the soul.

Burn square enclosures.          

Paint with your mind's mouth instead of the hands.                      

Live and ******.
M Eastman Nov 2014
Help!
I'm drowning in a sea
of Korean
Bananas
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