Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Lalaouna Amina Nov 2021
It is cold, Ginger Tea.
Nothing much, just
I like honest & modest people.
He is not, yet?
at 4a.m
The next Morning after a stormy night,
I wake up to peeling fresh ginger and lime,
How beautiful it is to see this new day.
As i sit on my bed with window open and the blue sky shining bright while this summers sun is beaming naturally against the green leafy trees, i gently sip onto this fruit filled spiced water of purity.
The breeze of the summer floats through the window and i feel it brush against my delicate skin.
Longing to taste and smell Summer's last few pieces of nature's breath air.
Cool and windy, i can see that Summer in slowly coming to an end.
A nostalgic poem about Summer and how we're in August, now we are slowly coming to the end of summer.
Nat Lipstadt Jul 2020
Serving up poetry like ***** and ginger ale
(with a ***-soaked crook and a big fat laugh),
the anti slow-soul-erosion antidote to...normality

way up ‘high’ on a ledge, overlooking the mountain range,
got my Stetson on, canteen full of ***** and ginger ale,
matches in my pocket, Chris Stapleton in my ears, and
a *** soaked blunt between my lips to get even hi-higher

a big fat laugh crosses my lips, creases my face, it’s time
to lean up against that big tree, light myself up, strategize,
how to get even higher, how to get down, how to do both
simultaneously, at the same time, without dying too slowly

the sunrise cheats, clods of plain ugly clouds covered it up,
i know it’s on account of me accumulating, stuff, bad poems,
delayed gratification of not confronting the situational, at the
cellular level, though the intersection with macro-international
clusters of men destructing their corner of the world surely
ain’t helping, but the drip into veins cools the paining’s ardor

the woman is edgy, debating if it’s that time, to give up, to snap
that towel across her face like a forgotten hotel wake up call request,
should-she take the truck and go visit her sister in Ashtabula
for a week of *******’ and staying longer, a couple of years more,
and me muse what i recall from living alone, and how it was easier
and so much harder that the shakes begin but that don’t stop,
but adjust the *****/ginger ale ratio, and things seem fuzzier
and for that I am eternally grateful for the miracle of potato

could do much more additive, but you don’t got the patience
like I do, so, forgive in advance and here’s hoping that maybe

someday you’ll learn this craft and the  extreme patience it
requires, how to savor a word, its conjunction with the one that
comes before and after, the combinations that make a verse, a stanza
sobering beautiful that it robs your breathtaking sensors, a scar minder to, for god sakes, ****! **** that trip to trite, give us something to shout about,

exhale on the moraine morass, that’s the other side of, yup, over
the rainbow that landed on the peak, cause a peek, is just the start of a trip downwards sloping doggy on my hands and knees and yeah, i’m drunker than I care to deny so I’ll head back down, or roll down, to find out what my next adventure will take, maybe I’ll chase after her,

and fall on her neck with sorries, sorrows, and kisses, besides,
now that I’m done, the sun decides to show a couple of cracks
and that’s some kind of of sign to wrap this sonata up and try a
new fugue, letting its contrapuntal composition tune cleanse me
save the day, and a corner of the world, hell it could even spread
like somethings good, successful  counter terrorism, zero shootings in New York and Chicago, forget, yeah, what they call that?  oh yeah,
peace on earth.

just maybe.

always write about, of and to your peer poets..
Chloe DeAngelis May 2020
How lovely is the freckle upon the fire child,
How beautiful are these sun kisses.
What a summer that transpires under blue eyes,
What virtuous hands to clasp mine in camaraderie.
To all the sparks, the red heads, the gingers, the orange licks of heat:
Continue to burn, for it is amazing to see.
I’ve known a few redheads in my time, and they truly are wild and lovely.
Steve Page Mar 2020
I'm a post-punk ginger goth
A freckled-faced banshee fan
Pale make-up matching my skin
I don't easily tan

I'm a post-punk ginger goth
They call me ginger-goth man
Taking my sunlight secondhand
Part of a bat cave clan

I'm a post-punk ginger goth
A Mary Shelley fan
The original goth had ginger hair
I continue as she began
Apparently Mary Shelley had ginger or strawberry blond hair.  Not very goth.
Alex V Feb 2020
It's strange, but
my head feels off

If I touch it,
it will try to float away.

So I'm standing by this car,
and I don't know where you are.

And my mind will fly away,
but on the ground my heart will stay.

Frozen roses on the floor,
ginger hair and stolen lore.
Said he didn't mind to stay,
but when it rained, he ran away.
Carl D'Souza Aug 2019
I take a bite
of a ginger and chocolate
and chew
pungent ginger
and sweet chocolate;
soft crumbly cookie pieces
roll over my tongue
as I chew;
my mouth waters
and the flavours
of spicy ginger and delectable chocolate
mix in my mouth.
An oval
lude in
the hair
of platitude
with just
an air
to ginger
his tea
O madly
in the
sands of
a stump
sure meme
that gladly
fornicate him
but a
sound view
A law in brief
Next page