"cantaloupe" poems
I have never met my future self, but
I bet she still has dreams. I bet she won't
hold them in a plastic bag or treat them like some
concealed weapon.
My future self-wont be a childless human since
I have already birth galaxies of my own.
She will probably never be a vegan but will think that cantaloupe and olives will go great together.
(She will have a sense of humor.)
I don't know my future self, but I do
know she will still be half human and half
star and her DNA will still be all angelic.
She will most likely still be her own bandwagon.
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 11:08 AM UTC
It's like the movie
part of me*
It tells me where I should
go and want to be
**Please note that I will say
Not a dark place
inside my suitcase**
"Robin Red Breasted" suit
Peck and nip and tuck in place
The rainbow iridescent
Suiting her taste wet rain tents
Everyone was Green with envy
**Robin/ Rainbow event lets hear
it for our Army so many
troops**
He was sitting politely
Like a salesman of suitcases
on her stoop
She was mesmerized
Living out of a tour suitcase
She wanted daisies she was
ready for fantasies
Of him in her suitcase
Tumbling through
Another time Postman
Singing birds to ring twice
Birds all in groups
Computer laptops she wanted
to be surprised so mysterious
But ready for love ingenious
He laughed not losing sight
Robin eats like a bird
so hilarious
She packed her sunshine
yellow ribbons
she was ready to feed
Those Brooklyn pigeons
Packed suitcase ready for
the love of God
Going frenzy from her fruit loops
Robin Birdie born traveler scoop
Well nested flying South
fully invested
Rocking her flight cradle
Wherever I go or whatever I do
Traveling packs meet
Mr. Ramen noodles
Getting silly splashing puddles
The Spiritual Zen
traveling boots over a shower
He kissed them high up (Eiffel Tower)
Rome Italy wines in love cahoots
The call I'm ready "Amazon" wild
Let us go, child, another story
But the wildcard fresh air
Oh! Dear
The lightness easy does it
feathering wings the clues fit
Packing my suitcase
Love is a drug of "Europe"
Perfectly fine wine
Always hope with cantaloupe
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 9:41 AM UTC
The lantern bunting
Is looped between the street
Lamps against the sea
It is gorgeous
When you walk among them
And see
The dusk
When horizons
of ultramarine and seaweed
collide with cantaloupe and dusty red and honey .
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 3:29 AM UTC
he rides his bicycle in the the
torrential rain
plowing a froth quick and fierce
through the rivers created
the cycle once bright orange
has patches of rust the size
of cantaloupe
and has a blue hoodie wrapped
round the seat which smells musty
you can feel him panting
bathed in sweat
as each hill retains more and more of
his hard earned pace
but mother nature is kind to her
strangest son
and every hill has a
fly by the seat of your pants
whoop whoop laughing
breeze in you hair bugs in your teeth
downhill
shift to vision miles distant from
that smile
the cycle lay in the weeds by the river
broken
the night obscures
the riderless iron steed
its form twisted
it has expressions of pain in appearance
that paint cannot contain
pain for its own lost
freedom of the road
but pain for its rider
the years count on and on
from that downhill smile moment
that lives on in the heart
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 8:57 AM UTC
There once was a father antelope
Who loved fruit salad
As well as his one and only
Antelope daughter.
One day
A young boy antelope
Came sauntering over
And took a liking to
The daughter.
So he asked the father antelope,
"May I marry your daughter?"
And father antelope said,
"No."
And oh the young boy antelope
Begged and
Begged and
Begged
The father for his daughter's
Hand in marriage.
But he refused.
But you see,
The daughter antelope
Loved the young boy antelope
And she wanted so badly to marry him.
So she made up her father's
Favorite dish,
A fruit salad
With all the fruits you could
Think of.
There was
Strawberries
And
Blueberries
And
Cantaloupe
And
Watermelon
And
Every
Single
Fruit.
She knew this was the way to her father's heart
So she brought it to him
That very day
And she said,
"Please oh please father.
Let me marry the young boy antelope."
And her father said,
"No."
And she
Begged and
Begged and
Begged
Him to let her marry him.
But all he would say was,
"No."
So she brought out her special weapon,
She showed him the salad made from
Every fruit imaginable,
Like
Strawberries
And
Blueberries
And
Cantaloupe
And
Watermelon
And
Every
Single
Fruit.
And she told him,
"If you will not let me marry him,
Then we will run away together
And get married far far away
Without your permission."
And the father looked deep into the fruit salad.
He looked long and hard.
He looked at the
Strawberries
And
Blueberries
And
Cantaloupe
And
Watermelon
And
Every
Single
Fruit.
And without looking up
Without breaking his gaze
With that lovely fruit salad
He said to her,
"No.
Antelope
Cantaloupe."
The end.
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 7:38 PM UTC
blueberries gasoline and prostate gland
breast cancer Wonderbread and pacifier
controlled experiment space travel and honey
peanuts inductive reasoning and electricity
tornadoes torture chamber and biscuits
copyright car radio cantaloupe
golden eagle lunch break tomato
Romanian songbook rhubarb and barbed wire
always hungry nevermind meat loaf
goosefoot mango juice Ipad
mosquito bite city street and broccoli
Chinese cabbage female *** drive water sport
pure contralto goat yogurt new year
black death white light and green tea
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 8:28 PM UTC
Waiting on Haight, ********* the gold beading of a thrifted 80s shirt inside my purse,
I listen for the 71.
He tells me, from under a nose cherry-red and with a cantaloupe and a spoon resting in his lap,
of how when he was 25, he holed up with an 18 year-old girl.
One night she leaves for an ex-boyfriend's, saying she felt compelled to him, like there was a magnet between them. And he said he went to the closet, he smelled her sweater and knew what he wanted.
He got some cardboard and fashioned a fake magnet, the classic horseshoe shaped and silver-tipped kind, out of cardboard. He turned it into a necklace and waited for a day with some red roses for her to get back.
She came back and said she couldn't remember the last time someone got her flowers. And then she called her mother, and her mother asked him sternly if he was planning to marry her.
He was bewildered a little, but he said yes (this was the sixties).
And he finished the call to her mother and she was standing with her hands on her hips, "Well?"
"Well what?"
"Aren't you going to ask me to marry you?"
(I laughed at this point)
"Oh..."
. . .
"Will you marry me?"
"Yes!"
I asked what happened and he said they were together for three years. But it was a blissful three years.
He asked me if it was a good idea for a movie.
I said yes. But I probably wouldn't see that movie. I left that second part out.
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 3:54 AM UTC
It was after a long-awaited response
(Which turned out to be a slap to the face
Rather than a fresh kiss tinted with sunlight)
That, instead of mournful silence
(It is silence that I often miss),
I giggled at a thought;
I feel like a dog running alone in
A cantaloupe field,
Just a little melon collie.
A small girl taps on my shoulder while
I try to nurture the small smile playing on my lips.
My face scolds it and life returns to its
Regular programming,
Leaving me with the wisp of happiness
And the sense that he was wrong.
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 5:07 PM UTC
eye cantaloupe
batshit Midas
writer's iambic
within usurp
ender's egret
wherewithal
nearly Mykonos
orangutan elsewhere
eye dye.
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 10:55 PM UTC
Eat honeydew on your honeymoon but don't elope with a cantaloupe for obvious reasons
Nov 28, 2011
Nov 28, 2011 at 8:52 PM UTC
Sometimes I think about
the structure of atoms
and how difficult it can be
to tell the difference between me
and the cantaloupe I just ate
and where I end
and the sunlight begins.
And I wonder
if maybe when you kiss me
you leave behind pieces of yourself
on my tongue
and that’s why I remember
exactly how you taste
no matter how long it’s been.
Sometimes I think about
quantum entanglement
and how two different particles
can be inextricably and inexplicably
tied to each other
no matter their physical distance.
And I wonder
if maybe a tiny piece of your left iris
is entangled with an atom
in the muscle of my cheek
and that’s why
I can’t help but smile
when you look at me.
Sometimes I think about
our understanding of DNA
and how so much of it we call “junk”
because we don’t know what it does.
And I wonder
if maybe years from now
they’ll be able to read my base pairs
like a novel
and some scientist
will be able to look at them and say
“This,
just here,
this is how we know
the subject fell in love.”
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 12:03 AM UTC
It's a natural phenomenon
That all or most of us girls, whether
you have big ones or you're from the iddy biddy ***** committee -
Have confidence issues
About the size of them bras
We grow up looking at all the beauty and perfection in the magazines
Those shiny, glossy pages of materialistic vanity
Thinking ...
I wish that was me !
Beauty, is in the eyes of the beholder
Yet, we shrivel up with fear when
It's time to be with another
Thinking they're wishing the size
of them bras was BIG
As a ripe yellow Cantaloupe! :)
You lose your confidence even if
It's not true
Our men can't help themselves
Cheating roaming eyes, as they scan those surgically implanted
Plastic fantasies
Rise and heave !
Forgetting what a real woman looks like
They fall for the ones with a huge
Chest on the outer crest
They're glorious! !
But underneath -
They have confidence issues too
That's why the knife was their
Best bet
Jrap/2016
Oct 1, 2016
Oct 1, 2016 at 10:21 AM UTC
What kind of life
does the man have
that licks yogurt
from his hands
in the dairy aisle
while I squeeze
packages of cheese
and you shake
a cantaloupe
like a magic 8 ball.
It smells sweet
but the problem
you’re having is that
you can’t hear the seeds.
What kind of life
do we have?
Ask again later.
What kind of life
do we have?
Outlook not so good.
And the man?
Concentrate.
Ask again later.
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 8:24 PM UTC
~
One spoon at a time they feed
the morning horizon
Soft offerings of color
picked ripe from the vine
~Cantaloupe dreams~
A small slice of moon
the dawn’s crescent smiles on me
with a Cheshire grin
cocked slightly to the side
~Plum pudding blankets~
Suspended above life, moving slowly
but coming of the day
as alarms break the solitude
nestled in down pillows
~Raspberry whispers~
Singing the scent
of the fresh sunrise dew
on wishes coated in sparkling splendor
and footprints beyond the gate
~Nectarine blessings~
Sweet on my lips
beneath an orchard arbor
I hold you close of my morning
and taste the bounty of your love
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 1:04 PM UTC
I know what we have is really quite solid.
But today I convinced myself of an earthquake.
Perhaps it began on screen
Some distant, modern tragedy.
I felt
The gravity
You know the kind
Some feel in a theme park ride
At first
It was a calculated calm
A day in the park
Vision shot through
pixilated
Bedding me
under
in **** fixation.
Such is my kaleidoscope to our collective,
defecate,
fantasy.
When the world turns 'round
those candy colors
dissolve into perfect fractals
geometry.
Single-file they beam--
pushing out
pop-cultural enemas
like frosting.
And then— too bright!
A riveting newsflash
the kaleidoscope
is
cracked.
flickering
gasps.
We watch
a city as
its body's streets--
collapsed.
see the banner of
blood now runs
down the news anchor's face:
There's been a
catatonic quake.
Interrupting this program
the woman
with a saccharine smile
makes A Devastating Report:
Yes.
We're all undertow
Evacuate then buy this ****** cream
move and upgrade your resume
The water broke and the oil spilled,
but the economy is definitively
under control.
This puppetry is
sedation by generalized asphixiation,
this American Dream glaring from the T.V. screen
is mindless work
-our salvation-
Harder work? Isolated suffering.
What with toxic invasion,
designer cantaloupe to nuclear waste,
more storms and third world turnover rates.
Higher and higher inflation,
predatory insurance claims-
minimum wage won't cover my education.
Bloated babies
not on T.V. and not in Africa
but holding Mamma's hand
loitering downtown,
near the grocery chains.
See the quake perpetuate:
These are American hunger pangs.
Occupy for Change.
Aug 3, 2011
Aug 3, 2011 at 1:22 AM UTC
Crystalline gliding.
Clippin' cuticles in cubicles
& itching for a kaleidoscope
dance
with The Phantom
sidling ridged in the ceiling's fold.
Glazed eyes from a friend.
honey crueler.
Polymerization twists coffee sweats with briny tears
& my pores breath the calcification.
Beet red eyes sting like molten hiss
& pollen still buries it's way deep
into the tree trunk,
Bleeding like a sour calf
just to stroke a
coconut leaf
in the musky village.
I live inside a cantaloupe
so I can't elope with status quo.
Sipping puddles & licking groggy mud spots
so the Queen calls me swamp belly.
She looked like she was carved out of rice.
bitten & frail steps
with gentle linger
teased soft grass
in the concrete canal
where the streets glistened
with mustaches drenched
in honey brown ale.
His brain is a tickled cauliflower
encased in Papier-mâché,
Lima bean boogers
&
nicotine stained chestnut shells.
Gears torque and crudely animate
his sluggish form and peanut butter
body.
Diabetic eyes,
that bark like a sloth &
lay a thick layer of custard over their
last nerve,
intrigue mine own to stare
into the vague emptiness.
Jul 25, 2014
Jul 25, 2014 at 3:31 AM UTC
~
Silhouettes, shapes,
clouds backlit
by a distant sun
rising slowly
in the east,
Cantaloupe swatches,
painting introductions
of a desirable dawn,
drape the sky,
illuminating my heart
to another
wondrous day
with you
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 7:14 AM UTC
you are so ****** in the head.
they say "crazy can't see crazy"
but, baby, i looked you dead in the eyes,
and man, someone stirred your brain with a fork.
cerebellum penetrated by tines.
amygdala spooned into their mouths like lukewarm soup.
sliced a knife straight through your hypothalamus.
left the rest to swirl around in that thick skull of yours.
you're used goods, they told me.
you passed your expiration date.
a little too ripe around the edges.
i could see that.
you asked people to palpate your skin,
like checking cantaloupe.
you spit out your seeds in between
inhaling smoke and ******* down liquor.
she warned me that you were a wild one.
rebellion and fierce independence.
all lions and tigers and bears,
sutured together with wolfish teeth
and hyena laughter.
forever breaking out of cages
and biting the hands that fed you.
now if only you could see it too.
or if only i'd saw it earlier.
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 8:35 PM UTC
~Marmalade skies~
one spoon at a time they feed
the morning horizon
Soft offerings of color
picked ripe from the vine
~Cantaloupe dreams~
a small slice of moon
the dawn’s crescent smiles on me
with a Cheshire grin
cocked slightly to the side
~Plum pudding blankets~
suspended above life, moving slowly
but coming of the day
as alarms break the solitude
nestled in down pillows
~Raspberry whispers~
singing the scent
of the fresh sunrise dew
on wishes coated in sparkling splendor
and footprints beyond the gate
~Nectarine blessings~
sweet on my lips
beneath an orchard arbor
I hold you close of my morning
and taste the bounty of your love
Jul 13, 2013
Jul 13, 2013 at 7:12 AM UTC
These special summer afternoons
have no time markers,
no human dividers,
no watches watching
or clocks clocking,
just grins and smiles,
divining the divide,
painting lovely
the one canyon
of humanity and nature
attending to each other
These summer afternoons
have no time markers,
but drift perfectly sequentially
from sun to nap to
black striped grilled franks,
and red watermelon,
orange cantaloupe,
cold coronas,
and desserts of
indeterminate beach walks,
and quiet talks
These summer afternoons
are as close
as I remember,
what it was like to
be seven or eight,
years of age,
knowing only
carefree summer months
that were
carelessly treasured,
thinking there is
always another,
looking forward to tomorrow
to do nothing in
exactly, happily,
the same way innocently
I am an adult
and that means,
cares are ever present,
ever fair or fear not,,
they lurk and
attack the goalie,
with noisy or subtle unrelenting attacks
but as I overlook the waters,
scenario soul gentling me
under the cooling coverlet of
the perfect breeze and
what lurks
is the moment
the eyes and heart
are fulfilled,
satisfied by what they see
The bay,
dotted with the boat traffic
not too much,
but just interesting,
a right tiny armada
to entertain,
all of us,
inattentively observing
the submerging
descent of
summer daytime friends,
and I think of you only,
at this perfect second
and I am besotted
with grief
and guilt
why can I not grant you the moment,
that I desperate wish to share
my arm is not, not,
careless slung, but
grasping firm with squeezes tight,
finger under chin chucking,
come friend be with me,
and for just this moment
your anti-toil tool here,
your plight beyond my comprehension,
though I live a life on the unknown edge,
what matters is the relativity of us,
and I relate to your weariness,
I weep with desperate knowledge
transporting you here is still an
impossibility
though my eyes see glory,
though my heart cannot refuse
the scene's peace invading me,
it is not fair, it is not fair
and I want you
to have this more than me
so I can keep it too
until then it is a glaze,
surfacing the coating,
that is me
but substance is untouched
until this guilt morphs into a
shared pleasure
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 4:36 AM UTC
to be with melon
live next to a melon
o a cantaloupe
my soul eats
now this melon
melon melon melon
a melon in front of her nose
and behind a melon
and on the right side
and with a left melon
melon melon melon
she is like love
as sadness as happiness
but there is no difference and never
melon melon melon melon melon
16.08.18
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 8:27 AM UTC
Despite your resignation and sudden departure,
shooting in the direction of Not Me as soon as my lips parted
and those fateful words escaped,
you never left.
The refuge of cool bedsheets in bedclothes on a bed too big for me
houses nightmares and a silent love affair,
neither tangible nor real,
but when the sun peers through the curtains and my REM becomes
remember, I do it; I sit up, kick back damp bedsheets and bedclothes
and let my feet dangle from the heights.
A cantaloupe, a fragrant pollen drenched lilly, ginger beer,
these are my companions in a desolate Whole Foods.
I stroke, smell, drink, relive the ecstasy of my own reveries,
the ones I created before I lay eyes on you,
before, when your name was merely a source of laughter,
like some fat obnoxious cartoon on television,
lovable and detestable in one viewing.
I walk to my car and turn the ignition-- that makes my fetal position
in fifteen minutes
significantly more realistic.
Somewhere between the interstate and the inter state of my mind,
the threads unravel and dissolve,
and the knot that stated not, no, never,
says yes, you **** well can, now, and always.
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 10:42 AM UTC
Wily white meadow--
Bridles her name- silently
And--
Caribou hold their tears.
Roots promise with midst-
To miss her--
So cantaloupe may be-
In-every-second.
We aren't in lilac and lily.
But my paws are padded
Told-telling--
I walk.
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 2:29 AM UTC
from full to three fourths, to half, to quarter
then from darkness back to new
all the moon’s phases in mere minutes
I’ve seen pictures on the internet
a beautiful sight to behold
to watch her silvery bleu cheese
turn into a reddish cantaloupe
perhaps her face is embarrassed
to admit its heavenly glow
is but the sun’s reflection
perhaps she’s forgotten her place
in the earth’s natural order
she is not less, but equal
yin to sun’s yang
lost in the moment
she changes her mind quickly
emerging from earth’s shadow
she feels contentment in sun’s warmth
once in January’s wee hours
so very long ago
I spent the night outside
as backyard astronomer
telescope at the ready
awaiting a comet’s promise
a party of others crescendoed
suspense’s energy and excitement
but their numbers quickly waned
with the fogging of my telescope lens
coldness prevailing over patience
I sat alone for hours hanging on to hope
in the company of trash cans
sitting in silence as solemn sentinel
they said it would light one third of the sky
ONE THIRD!
a sight never to be seen again in lifetimes
I waited for its brightness and brilliance
until dawn started to peek out
over the eastern horizon
just then a sparkle of light preceded the rising sun
is this it?
could this be Kohoutek?
it seemed to slowly climb into the morning
as it approached and grew bigger
I realized it was just an airplane
what a rip off
what a wasted night
I was robbed
cruelly cast in the role of Kohoutek’s fool
nothing to do now
but bring my frozen telescope inside
and jump into a nice warm bed
will she be kinder?
will Luna eclipse that memory?
will her heavenly glory
be worth the cold and the wait?
I sat on the edge of my mattress
gathering the covers upon my shoulders
should I go?
nah
maybe next time
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Dec 11, 2011
Dec 11, 2011 at 8:25 PM UTC