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I like a good orange
Both color and fruit.
I like a good man
With honesty and truth.
I like a good family
Who laugh and cry.
But I have nothing
I don't know why.

I have no fruit
No oranges at all.
I know no man
None at all.
I have a family
As one should.
But it's nothing like that
It's nothing good.
Just a quick one to commemorate me coming back to Hello Poetry in years.
SMS Mar 11
I hate oranges and the way
The memory of you lingers in my tongue
A fruity aftertaste full of life and bursting feelings.

I hate bricks and the way
You told me that last day
That you’ve just been trying to build me
Into your version of perfection.

I hate waking up and the way
The thoughts of you choke me relentlessly
Backing me into a corner of false love and comfort.

I hate you..
I hate you and the way..
I hate you and the way I’m still yours.
trf Jul 2018
what has come to this
indigenous things we do~
better follow the others
cause what once was fiction
now rings true

can't blame apocalypse
our letters aren't edible
and judicious arrangements
are post script covers

so i embrace the gift
that i'm a wandering wolf~
cow paths lead to danger in my book
and these sheep follow bull's ****

raw hide as a service
systems on delivery
don't follow lines of those deserving this
what has come
& what will be
some say a comet will fall from the sky, followed by meteor showers and tidal waves, followed by fault lines that cannot sit still, followed by millions of dumbfounded dip *****. and some say the end is near, some say we'll see the armageddon soon, he certainly hopes we will, but i sure could use a vacation from this stupid ****  one great big festering NEON distraction, i've got a suggestion to keep you all occupied... learn to swim.
He's praying for rain, trump's praying for tidal waves, he wants to watch the earth give way, he wants to see it all go down, Mueller please flush him all away, so i can watch him go right in and down, i wanna watch him go right in, down a toilet's flushing bowl.
Gray Jun 2018
You know what i like? Orange.
In fact, i have like four of them in storage.

If you don’t like this tasty fruit,
I will personally give you the boot!

I mean, what’s not to enjoy?
I feed them to all the people i employ.

I’ll surely become suspicious,
If you don’t find oranges simply delicious!
Emily Mitchell Feb 2018
Words I love... jovial clear inconspicuous Bamboozled Incognito opalescent pearly radiant Airy green sprig mushroom Sprite twig nose toes land Sunset deep Vision laughter flame tongue heart hunger cold mold tail rail Grail hand ring sing orange Tangy Sweet scent delicate mysterious deep inside a rose dark hidden within the Mind lights of many colors the layers of an onion peeling away revealing the Pearl inside the oyster...

..........

The scent of an orange Tangy Sweet energetic enthusiastic Lively vibrant bright wet sparkling jittery hummingbirds...

......

Acorn Leaf twig mushroom dark deep loamy Earth dig in moist brown worms and moles Growing Seeds tiny things beginnings...

.......

Butterflies.. Jewels peacock colors drifting on the breath of the Breeze beautiful gifts tiny angels flitting from flower to bright flower...

...................
Collection of Stream-of-consciousness poetry snippets written on a note card when I was a kid... used as a bookmark for an unknown amount of time...and found recently on a dusty shelf.... it made me smile to read them... ^__^
Andrew Kerklaan Mar 2013
Delicate tang spritzes the air with a sunshine kiss

Peeling so gently it's lady-like tenderness is an elegant tea party with white gloved fingers and daisies on the mantle

Her majesty will be pleased!

A romantic encounter of citrus delight and sun-bathed security in ever loving om and happiness

A candidate as sweet could never be asked for such a casual Sunday outing and for you my dear we are but a shared slice of raspberry accented pie

So powerful but yet so softly subdued...

Like piano ballads or string quartets it is here simply for our glorious consumption

An ode to you my Sunday sweet orange!

May my taste buds always dazzle upon your  arrival
This poem is the embodiment of how I feel while eating an orange on a sunny Sunday afternoon
at Jun 2017
an orange hangs in the sky
air sweet of citrus
the falling star
paints clouds with the spectrums
of a youthful heart

the thin ebony fingers
at the edge of the sinking skies
reached for the
sink      
in  
g
darkness

goodnight.
I really like oranges.
Robert Zheng May 2017
I like mandarin oranges
I like the way they taste
I like they way they look
I like how they fit in pockets
I like their straightforwardness
I like that they are easily segmented
I like how easily shared they are with others
I like how I can hold a few in my hand at once
I like the feeling when I peel it all in one long peel
I like running my thumb under the skin as I peel it
I like the way they make my hands smell afterwards, orange-y
I like how people seem mildly impressed when I am finished peeling
I like folding the skin back into its original sphere like I never peeled it at all
I like when people play along when I give it to them even though they know it’s just skin
I like putting the peel on my head like hat or fake hair and pretending it’s normal
I like pinching the peel and looking at the little spray of citrus
I like ripping the peel up into little, tiny, itty-bitty pieces
I like having that little orange pile on my desk
I like knocking the little green ****** off
I like chewing on the big pieces of pith
I like looking at the word pith
I like saying pith, pith, pith
I like mandarin oranges
My way of celebrating mental health awareness month. Or making myself seem like a serial killer. One or the other~
PJ Poesy Apr 2017
Navels peel great, but Valencias make more delicious juice, and more and more comparisons come up. On the morning dog walk, as we venture closer to the highway overpass, that whether-or-not feeling comes over. Do we go under? Sure, there is often creepy things there, but the dog seems locked-in, so onward under. I'm not as mulish as the dog and I can tell he smells something. Usually, it is dead, whatever it might be, but sometimes it's not, and that can be worse. It's an orange cloud morning however, and dawn breaks more nicely on the other side, so for the good grace of catching a better glimpse, I'll brave it. Then, of course, there it is, an irksome tableau, morbidly funny though. Next to the airport miniature bottle of  Fireball Cinnamon Whisky, is a turned over pigeon with his claws looking as if that bottle had dropped there from his little birdies' ***** feet. I had to giggle, as my stomach turned. Poor dead bird. Things are really bad when pigeon's are offing themselves this way. Debating to take a quick snapshot or not, time lapses, and I see the blood orange sky dripping by.

So, oh well, I'll just turn about, and not allow the dog to indulge. He's a tough tug on the leash at this point, fearless little fellow. When I return home, I peel one of those Navels. Its skin and pith roll off nicely, and as I split open the sections with my front teeth, I notice the complexity of it all. Though there are juicy parts of the pulp, around the end, it can get a bit dry and putrid. Tomorrow, I shall have to wake the dog just a bit earlier to get that glimpse of a more red to yellow moment. Something tangerine may tempt.
Manny Arriaga Apr 2017
Its thick leather wraps like the layer of skin
Broken into by God
Our souls resting beneath its core
Its veins run course from the streaks of light it sheds
A delicate orb of moisture providing the very same life you once had
Now snapped at the vine of Earth
Banished forth to the afterlife of our bodies
And now torn by the thick paws of the beast
Claws rushing down your spherical canvas from the moment HE swallowed your breath
To the day He ripped all else from the tree

What gives you the urge to trickle the bright red from your blanket
Once patterned with gold but now soiled in the aftermath of a war

I used to breathe love but my lungs breathed hate
The same way a fire gives warmth but will shed to **** life

The corpse of your tongue stays moist and warmer than all
The sole pallette living with the flavor of fruit
Craving life like the way you crave it's sweetness
But once the taste dies down
So does your will to continue on
Thus the consumption of the fruit is the desecration of a breathe
Your last memory of your last sense
The touch of a golden sun
And the grime of a sweetened moon
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