#ginger
It is cold, Ginger Tea.
Talk!
Nothing much, just
I like honest and modest people.
Leal?
He is not, yet?
Nov 29, 2021
Nov 29, 2021 at 10:22 PM UTC
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.
Aug 5, 2020
Aug 5, 2020 at 11:30 AM UTC
Serving up poetry like ***** and ginger ale
(with a rum-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 vodka/ginger ale ratio, and things seem fuzzier
and for that I am eternally grateful for the miracle of potato
distillation
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
and
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.
Jul 5, 2020
Jul 5, 2020 at 8:20 AM UTC
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.
May 21, 2020
May 21, 2020 at 2:48 PM UTC
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
Mar 8, 2020
Mar 8, 2020 at 1:07 PM UTC
It's strange, but
my head feels off
today.
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.
Feb 17, 2020
Feb 17, 2020 at 11:08 PM UTC
I take a bite
of a ginger and chocolate
cookie
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.
Aug 25, 2019
Aug 25, 2019 at 3:21 PM UTC
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
Mar 2, 2019
Mar 2, 2019 at 8:40 AM UTC
Ginger beauty
With the curly hair
Poofy and floofy
She loved all the stares
Face of a perfect shape
But always alone
Ginger beauty
Why the long face?
Is it because your grace is all fake?
Ginger is not.
More like just brown locks.
Face made of plastic
And a body that only looked fantastic.
Ginger beauty
What a face to behold
But don't come to close.
For what meets your eyes
Is not what is in her soul.
Dec 17, 2018
Dec 17, 2018 at 3:11 AM UTC
She's the type you fall in love with knowing you shouldn't/a special spice of life that you crave no matter how bitter the aftertaste or how poisonous the root...
Nov 23, 2018
Nov 23, 2018 at 11:34 PM UTC
"I'll have a whiskey,
ginger ale on the side."
is what he says
i don't even thinks he know
what the reference is
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 2:36 PM UTC
Her eyes were pale, a blue crystallized moment frozen like an arctic ocean, frozen in a moment in time, and a beautiful one at that.
Her hair, a smooth red, long strands of vanilla scented silk.
Whether put up in a bun or let down, there was something about the way it framed her face.
When let down, her hair complimented her smile in a way that can only be explained as upper class charm though being an every day country girl, but while also being somewhat natural in an animalistic way.
Not in a barbaric sense, but a natural set of waves and curls that when combined with her fierce locking blue eyes seemed to grip my heart and aggressively pull it into her grasp.
A sort of fierce sexuality hidden beneath her pale complexion.
A fire like body, hair, and personality in equal measure. I, of course, found her beyond the definition of irresistible.
Mar 28, 2018
Mar 28, 2018 at 10:17 PM UTC
He’s got natural rhythm, a girl in a red dress, a suit of clothes, a hat and a silk vest,
A set of brogues, a packet of cigarettes, a 20 dollar bill with no regrets.
He’s got a fast mouth, a slick deck of cards, chequered blues and a V8 ford;
He’s got jazz, gospel, and ragtime too: a carpet bag and a jug for *****
Sheba, Sheba, Sheik!
He’s got it, he’s got Jake,
His feet will roam from town to town.
Sheba, Sheba, Sheik, Sheik!
He’s the devil with a big black snake,
Your feet may never leave this town; not alive anyway!
For he’s on the board walk,
She’s on the board walk,
We’re on the board walk now!
He’s got mojo, see him switch and walk, a winning smile, a stick of chalk,
He’s a hot shot, man about town, his skin is sweet and his eyes are brown,
He’ll strut that rooster, beat them gums, take cash or cheque before she comes.
He’s got jazz, gospel, ragtime too, a carpet bag and a jug for *****
Sheba, Sheba, Sheik!
He’s got it, he’s got Jake,
His feet will roam from town to town,
Sheba, Sheba, Sheik, Sheik!
He’s the devil and no mistake
Your feet may never leave this town; not alive anyway!
For he’s on the board walk,
She’s on the board walk,
We’re on the board walk now!
Song Link: https://youtu.be/l5papPgYaBc
Mar 6, 2018
Mar 6, 2018 at 6:53 AM UTC
Emerald city's genuine goddess of all things green
Slept upon a grassy field where does live flowers yellow
beside the greatest garden ever generously growing
sweet green grapes,
ginger, guava, greens, and ginseng
underneath a starry constellation comforter
contentedly
with a soft lullaby from a nice nightingale ,
and a warm smile from an adoring mystical moon
She slept soundly the whole night through
Mar 5, 2018
Mar 5, 2018 at 12:54 AM UTC
The library smells
like ginger and coffee
and books that haven't seen the light of day since they were published
the sour scent of unopened pages
and the bittersweet commercialized coffee
diffuse throughout the building,
procrastination,
this is the smell of procrastination.
the air is swirling,
whipped along by the passers-by
its cool embrace is welcoming
gently blowing through me, onwards
cooling my mind as i brace
for the swell of tests and
tests and
tests
The coffee scent relinquishes,
as well as the task at hand,
and my dorm is calling me
Dec 6, 2017
Dec 6, 2017 at 2:55 PM UTC
i run my hands
through her
imperfect hairs
wanting to feel
each and every one them
my slender fingers
combe the knots gently
it was soft and smooth
from much use
of hair products
her ginger strans
fell around her beautiful face
pale
paler then what its
supposed to be
skin white as paper
as dark shades
hung below her
long mascara lashes
my eyes overflowed
with tears that were always
never ment to be seen
they
drip
drip
down my face
falling onto the dry crimson
that matted her beautiful hair
the scent so thick
i could feel myself suffocating
in the scent of her own blood
Oct 30, 2017
Oct 30, 2017 at 11:24 PM UTC
the truth is missing.
a whole town looks
for traces of your
orange red brown hair
after you vanished into
another plane.
the truth is questionable.
you don't know where you are
or how you breathe
or where your flesh and muscle and bones
and wounds have washed away.
was it the other side
or this side?
the truth is stuck.
you push every wall of thin air
and you find that it
is endless.
you shouldn't want to leave.
you can't.
Aug 18, 2017
Aug 18, 2017 at 6:56 AM UTC
Scarlet-haired maiden. Blood-soaked kitten. Our history once bled from my veins. May the ink from my pen be the last drop to leak from my stitches. I have cursed, I have blasphemed, and for what? You are as blind as ever as to what I am saying. It is as if those crows finally got around to doing my bidding. Scarlet-haired maiden, I am but a Jester to call you so. Calling you a maiden is a folly no less disastrous as calling a Siren a fish. Blood-soaked kitten, you dare call yourself such a familiar? Call your fat self a, "Little" in search of a father figure? Hark… You're but a beast rolling around in lovers' blood. Licking the sweet nectar off your soft and welcoming fur. Had I not known better I'd reach down to the pits of hell just to pet you. I'd risk your curious claws getting at my loose thread. Sadly… I am but a Jester…I lead you back to our old tree. Our shrine where Gaia herself guarded our love. Where I gave you my heart in the form of an odd pedaled flower. To this day, I dare not to let a white Jasmine flower offend my nostrils. Its sour scent will begrudgingly throw me back to sweet—fleeting—moments. Moments where I had you play the "Loves-Me-Not" game whilst utterly ignoring the warning sign of the very NAME of said game. Moments where I was unaware of the very games you were playing.
Jul 26, 2017
Jul 26, 2017 at 8:14 AM UTC